Rivermouth: A Chronicle of Language, Faith, and Migration

by Alejandra Oliva

The Undocumented Americans meets Tell Me How It Ends in this chronicle about translation, storytelling, and borders as understood through the United States' “immigration crisis.”

In this powerful and deeply felt polemic memoir, Alejandra Oliva, a Mexican-American translator and immigrant justice activist, offers a chronological document of her experience interpreting at the US-Mexico border, and of the people she has encountered along the way. Tracing her family’s long and fluid relationship to the border, each generation born on opposite sides of the Rio Grande, and having worked on asylum cases since 2016, she knows all too well the gravity of taking someone's trauma and delivering it to the warped demands of the American immigration system.

In Rivermouth, Oliva focuses on the physical spaces that make up different phases of immigration and looks at how language and opportunity move through each of them; from the river as the waterway that separates the US and Mexico, to the table as the place over which Oliva prepares asylum seekers for their Credible Fear Interviews, and finally, to the wall as the behemoth imposition that runs along America’s southernmost border.

With lush prose and perceptive insight, Oliva encourages readers to approach the painful questions that this crisis poses with equal parts critique and compassion. By which metrics are we measuring who “deserves” American citizenship? What is the point of humanitarian systems that distribute aid conditionally? What do we owe to our most disenfranchised?

As investigative and analytical as she is meditative and introspective, sharp as she is lyrical, and incisive as she is compassionate, in Rivermouth, Oliva argues for a better world while guiding us through the suffering that makes the fight necessary and the joy that makes it worth fighting for.

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Audiobook, Politics, History, Latinx, Spanish Literature

320 pages

First published June 20, 2023

About the author

Alejandra Oliva is an essayist, embroiderer and translator. Her writing has been included in Best American Travel Writing 2020, nominated for a Pushcart prize, and was honored with an Aspen Summer Words Emerging Writers Fellowship. Her book, Rivermouth, is forthcoming from Astra House in 2023, and received a Whiting Nonfiction Grant. She was the Yale Whitney Humanities Center Franke Visiting Fellow in Spring 2022.

Reviews

[Roxane · Rating 4 out of 5]

I am fascinated by translation both in theory and practice and it is translation that serves as the foundation of this excellent book that is about borders, and migration and how migration experiences can be so different. It’s part memoir of growing up as the child of immigrants while working with migrants seeking asylum and harbor in the US. Oliva has prescient and deeply intelligent ideas throughout. It’s always a pleasure to see an excellent mind at work.

[Rain · Rating 3 out of 5]

A memoir that delves into the complex and often harrowing experiences of interpreting for asylum seekers at the US-Mexico border. As a Mexican-American translator and immigrant justice activist, Oliva brings a unique and deeply personal perspective to the narrative.

While Oliva’s prose is admirable, the memoir’s deeply introspective voice overshadows the broader message. The story often meanders, with a wandering style that makes this memoir feel like a collection of thoughts and experiences still in the process of being fully understood.

The largest detractor is how this story is saturated with an ‘us vs them’ mentality, which feels both exhausting and overused in contemporary rhetoric. The book also employees a lot of neologisms, seemingly aimed at the under 30 crowd or reflective of the author’s personal style.

*Side note: The only thing that is going to change the border policy is the government. And why would they fix it when every four years candidates can bring up the immigration issue, and incite voters on both sides.

[Traci Thomas · Rating 4 out of 5]

I liked this book and found it smart and reflective. I appreciated how the author was very real and humble about her place in these stories. I was most interested in her thinking about translation and language and less interested in the religious aspects (though the faith stuff was less bothersome).

[Kat · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is not a novel, not an essay, not a documentary. It´s something on the edge between memoir, loose thoughts, and documentary. Even though it´s beautifully written I have struggled with reading this. The author jumps from one topic to another only to throw in some of her own personal experiences. It´s very chaotic and hard to read, and it requires a great deal of focus from a reader.
Fantastic as a lullaby.

[Emma Deplores Goodreads Censorship]

Read through page 63. This is one of those books where the author is just close enough to the subject matter to think they can write a book about it, but not close enough to write a great one without putting in more work than this one has. It comes across not quite sure what it wants to be - a memoir, a nonfiction account of immigrant experiences, an argument - and so isn't doing any of them well. Oliva has no border-crossing experience of her own (her family has roots in both the U.S. and Mexico, but her parents are professionals who moved to the U.S. on a student visa before she was born). Her experiences volunteering to assist immigrants, while admirable, seem fairly piecemeal and short-term; she isn't following any single person's journey or providing information you can't find plenty of other places. And her reflections don't feel particularly new. In any case, I didn't find myself wanting to read further.

Some recommended alternate choices for border- and immigration-related nonfiction:

The Distance Between Us by Reyna Grande (memoir)
Crux: A Cross-Border Memoir by Jean Guerrero (memoir)
The Ungrateful Refugee by Dina Nayeri (memoir/journalism/argument)
City of Thorns: Nine Lives in the World's Largest Refugee Camp by Ben Rawlence (journalism)
There's No José Here: Following the Hidden Lives of Mexican Immigrants by Gabriel Thompson (journalism)
Enrique's Journey by Sonia Nazario (journalism)
El Norte: The Epic and Forgotten Story of Hispanic North America by Carrie Gibson (history)
Working Hard, Drinking Hard: On Violence and Survival in Honduras by Adrienne Pine (anthropology)

[Dan]

Alejandra Oliva's Rivermouth: A Chronicle of Language, Faith, and Migration is an reflection on language and translation, family and belonging, and human borders and the costs of imposing and enforcing them. Through her work preparing migrants for their Credible Fear Interviews and preparing the necessary bureaucratic paperwork, Oliva reveals their courage, determination, and determination, and the humanity of every single applicant. A book to be remembered.

[mali · Rating 4 out of 5]

beautiful memoir reflecting on language, translation and humanity. oh and fuck ICE

[Tommy Nyfenger · Rating 3 out of 5]

The author never used the word “and” as a separator or when listing things and it really threw me off. In terms of content, she is a young author and I think this book is a collection of her thoughts as a young person and is thus filled with semi-inconclusiveness which I both liked and didn’t like. Sometimes she would introduce major arguments that she didn’t quite have a definitive opinion on (or at least it was lost on me) or whose explanation seemed incomplete. A common theme is her approach to interpreting, particularly with asylum seekers, and how she isn’t sure of the best method to convey their stories, make them feel comfortable, guide them through the process, etc. As a fellow young person, I feel her sense of uncertainty and I enjoyed listening to her share how she is navigating her career and thinking about her role in the world. From the author’s perspective, this will be a very cool piece to look back on in a few decades as a snapshot of what her understanding was and how it has developed from here.

[Jennifer · Rating 5 out of 5]

A stupendous and elegant journey laid bare by the author's experiences and exploration of language.

[Joan Didier · Rating 5 out of 5]

I hope you'll read this wonderful book, written by my daughter in law!

[Deacon Tom F. (Recovering from a big heart attack) · Rating 3 out of 5]

Powerful and honest.

[Grace · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow. What a heart-breaking incredible novel this author has created. She manages to weave in beautiful insights into culture, translation, and faith. This is a book I highly recommend you read.

[Nick · Rating 4 out of 5]

Alejandra Oliva mixes a memoir of her life, meditations on what it means to translate (and the difficulties of doing so), and her volunteer work interpreting Department of Justice for Spanish speakers. I must admit that it is the work of interpreting that affected me most, since I have done much the same work, principally at the local immigration center. She captures the absurdity of the forms--of asking hard-working mothers if they have participated in genocide or are Nazis (because the statute provides that neither can be considered for asylum--despite the recruitment of German scientists after the war), questions that they must also see as absurd, to be followed by offensive ones: have you engaged in prostitution or sex trafficking? Have you sold drugs? Guatemalans and Colombians fleeing paramilitary violence are asked if they belong to such organizations.

I understand the need for forms and bureaucracy, and to follow the law, but it is wrenching to see the claims of people in danger denied on the basis of which judge is making the decision or into which jurisdiction they fall. The system is underfunded, which leads to huge backlogs at both the border in ther courts, and there's no standardization, which results in success rates in asylum cases in Georgia or Louisiana that are a fraction of those elsewhere. Oliva explains this better than I've seen elsewhere.

I cannot leave this topic without pointing out, that for all the wailing and gnashing of teeth about immigration, this is a problem that has the imprimatur of the U.S. government and people--because of the sad history of interventions, especially the comic opera Reagan policy in Central America, for exporting gang members from home-grown organizations like MS-13 and Calle 18 to Central America, for funding cartels through failure to cut drug demand and arming them through by allowing the NRA and gun manufacturers to be puppet-masters. The de-industrialization of America and the disappearance of middle-class jobs in many communities has hollowed out much of the heartland. And thoughtful leaders of some of these communities -- like the Republican officials of Springfield, Ohio -- have recruited legal workers to strengthen their labor force and fill the jobs they do have. What do they get for it? Vituperation from the troll farms, their mouthpieces in the national media, and thee anger addicts who follow them.

The fault, dear Americans, is not in our borders, but in ourselves.

[Sofia · Rating 2 out of 5]

a nicely styled compilation of fragmented observations more or less related to the border crisis that have been said before. I just didn’t get anything new out of this, other than some of the remarks on faith and the physical description of the border facility. I would be interested to read something else from the writer on another topic and with a different publisher (I’m now two for two on real editorial disappointment with Astra books)

[Katherine.rothstein · Rating 4 out of 5]

4 stars but almost gave it 5.

A truly insightful read that ties together so many questions I have in working in writing/ advocacy work.

A memoir of sorts that ties in translation theory, biblical allusions, and personal stories in a truly beautiful and poetic way that all tie together in the end. This spoke to a lot of qualms I have with my personal stake in advocacy work and the limits of language. It inspired me to read Walter Benjamin’s article on translation she references throughout.

4 stars instead of 5 because of the one loose thread I feel like isn’t tied up in the end: the reductive treatment of the history of US-Latin American relations/neo-colonialism. The author entirely blames the CIA— and occasionally corporate American interests— for the destabilization of the Americas. While I agree they are factors, I think the lack of mention of Guatemalan conservatives in her discussion of the ousting Arbenz makes me question her credibility and interpretation of other events/ theories I am less well versed in. Overall, I always wonder how this sort of reductiveness, which is needed in a book which traverses across so many themes and concepts, takes away agency from the very people it seeks to enfranchise.

Sometimes this book can be read almost as an opinion piece, where she is really only giving you one perspective (which I guess in inherent in a memoir) but in the case of history, it feels like a really slanted telling that is perhaps disingenuous when you consider most people are going to take most of what an author says at face value.

[Mel Frieders · Rating 5 out of 5]

author does such an amazing job of contextualizing the experiences of migrants trapped in the US immigration system. i was hesitant going in because i have a very basic knowledge of immigration policy but she does a great job breaking down the process into entering the US, applying for asylum, and navigating immigration courts. incred!!

[E · Rating 5 out of 5]

So important. So tender. This is the type of book that makes me fall in love with writing and reading; the kind of book that makes me wish/think I could/would be a writer.

[Dave Fillingame · Rating 3 out of 5]

2.5 Stars? Some good stuff in there and great writing but kind of all over the place in terms of organization and ideas and a lot of the ideas may not be new to people who have been paying attention to immigration issues in America over the last 5-10 years.

[Laura ・❥・ · Rating 5 out of 5]

Everyone should read this book right now.

[Michael Lilienthal · Rating 3 out of 5]

https://tapestryradio.org/scotchcast/...

[sonyaaaa]

I had to take a long break from reading this book while I was going through my own immigration struggles because it all got a bit too much. I'm very glad I finished it though - Oliva's prose is excellent and full of fascinating discussions on the role of translation, community, and connection. It's also ultimately a reminder that our genocidal governments do not care if you live or die bestie!!

My only gripe is that this book sometimes felt like a random collection of thoughts and experiences that left me a bit unsatisfied. I often found it hard to map out the actual sequence of events that asylum seekers go through. Also didn't love the audiobook narrator, but that's a separate thing. Would still highly recommend it though, especially to those unfamiliar with the horrors of the US asylum system!

P.s. I really recommend 'On Immigration' podcast ep that Alejandra Oliva did for You're Wrong About - a great whistlestop tour of the topic & extremely digestible!

[Zina Bibanovic · Rating 2 out of 5]

It may be my own fault for having such high hopes, but I was continuously disappointed by this book. Even the parts I thought were good and interesting and important were disappointing because they were so short and either never picked up again, or only returned to after a hundred pages, during which I’d already forgotten about them.

I feel like this book should’ve been four much shorter books - one on translation, one on stories from people crossing the U.S. border or fighting against the U.S. immigration system, one on faith and one on the authors relationship to these things. Mixing them together, in my opinion, drowned the interesting things the author had to say on these topics in the confusing, rambling nature in which they were placed together. It just didn’t “weave” together for me, at least not most of the time, which was a shame. Her experiences with translating immigration forms and being at the border are really interesting, but she did not do enough research (again, in my opinion) on the theories she brings up regarding immigration, belonging, identity politics etc. Anzaldua gets such a brief mention I wonder if she was just name-dropped as a formality. There are so many brilliant theorists working on immigration theory and related topics, but the confusing and shifting focus didn’t allow any space for them. This points to another problem, which was the intended audience. I think it’s safe to say that the people who are going to pick up this book are already interested in immigration justice and are somewhat progressive. Yet, the author was sometimes almost condescending in her assumptions of what the reader didn’t know, or even couldn’t, know. Given the relatively superficial analysis she provides, I don’t think this sort of assumption was warranted. It really made me question who she thought she was writing to.

This brings me to the writing itself, which was probably the most frustrating part of this reading experience. I think I understand why other reviewers have said the writing is “beautiful” and “lyrical” - the author uses poetic turns of phrase and a lot of nice imagery to make her points. However, the book needed another strict copy edit. There are so many strange sentence structures and awkward phrases that I was taken out of the story by the quality of the writing on almost every page. This sounds harsh, but it did ruin the book for me - this is probably not on the author, but on her editors.

The most beautiful part of this book were the stories from the border. She did a great job at creating an image of the border crossing in Tijuana, and respectfully relaying the stories of people she met there.

[Michael · Rating 5 out of 5]

Oliva's Rivermouth was an eye-opening, yet emotionally- and morally-challenging read. It reads as a series of episodes and reflections on Oliva's work as a volunteer at the border and as a translator. Oliva is bilingual, and spoke Spanish in her home growing up while in her community she primarily spoke English. As a result, she described seeing herself as an outsider to those Spanish-speaking people who were involved in making asylum claims after crossing the U.S.-Mexico border.

Oliva's narrative was compelling and did not center her experiences, but the experiences of those at the border, beginning with descriptions of what the process of crossing the border, having a credible fear interview as part of an asylum claim, asylum hearings, detentions leading up to a "withholding of removal" hearing that can last many years, and the awful conditions at these private detention centers.

I also found Oliva's theological reflections moving and compelling. She went to divinity school, and grew up evangelical charismatic. This gave her a degree of introspection about her own motives that helped cut some of the stinging critiques of well-meaning non-Spanish speakers, predominantly white women who were also volunteers trying to help asylum seekers navigate the cumbersome process.

[isa · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5
This memoir is very well written but I finished this book with the feeling that nothing new was really being said. It might be that this was written for people who don’t pay attention to immigration so I wasn’t really the target audience and I found a lot of her examples to be repetitive with what is already out there. Still was interesting to read her personal story but I would be interested to see what this memoir would have looked like if she wrote it 10 years down the line because she’s writing about events that happened to her very recently and I wonder if maybe writing after reflecting more would have resulted in more interesting insights

[Bethany · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rivermouth was exactly what I needed to read about the immigration crisis because it showed clearly who was *actually* experiencing the crisis: immigrants themselves. This book is a call for reform at the highest levels down to individuals' thought processes. I can't possibly recommend it enough. It's only February and I've already put Rivermouth on my Best Books of the Year list.

**I received an electronic ARC from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.**

[Alle · Rating 2 out of 5]

Not bad.. but not good either. I realized at about 60% of the way through I could quit the book without consequence. While I finished, I’m not sure much was added. A relevant topic but meandered into doldrums, at least IMO!

[Enchanted Prose · Rating 5 out of 5]

Humanizing the dehumanization of asylum seekers (US-Mexico borders, especially Tijuana-San Diego 2016-2019 immigration activist experiences): What does it feel like to hold someone’s life in your hands?

In 2016, when Mexican-American Alejandra Oliva volunteered to use her bilingual translation skills to help Spanish-speaking asylum seekers cross into America “the right way” as “enshrined in the United Nation’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights,” she felt her activist work “a matter of life or death.”

The dream of Rivermouth: A Chronicle of Language, Faith, and Migration is to change minds, even a little, on the humanitarian crisis on our southern borders. What’s remarkable about this eloquent, piercing, candid, poignant memoir – a personal story embedded with the stories of seekers of freedom from oppression, torture, death – is Oliva’s inner strength despite becoming “wrapped up in a grief for a world I thought existed but doesn’t; for a country I feel still has to be good but isn’t at all. I am horrified by my own safety and comfort; I am in danger of flying apart at any moment.”

Whatever you think of Oliva’s razor-sharp critique of our immigration system – she coming from a position that it’s “fundamentally unjust” – you have to admire the courage it takes to tell it like it is based on real experiences on a hot button issue Americans have hard-core opinions about. She clear-eyed that:

“Fixing the immigration system means fixing everything else in this country that is tired of living up to its promises or never did, means transforming this country, and the reach it has across the world, into one that does not take resources – including people – rapaciously for capital while leaving those it considers disposable by the wayside. Any work you do to improve the world is work that can be done to improve it for everyone.”

Oliva tells us her last name means “a call to watch over and guard peace.” It’s hard not to be affected by Rivermouth IF you keep an open mind to this highly controversial issue. Perhaps approach it like sitting in the jury box having sworn you can when presented with the evidence?

How do you translate someone’s trauma and fears into a mere 140 words permissible on the form an immigration judge uses to decide whether an asylum seeker can stay in America or be deported? Should we really be shocked how badly the odds are stacked against them? (80% of immigrants we’re told are sent back to their country of origin.) Even pulling out all the stops, seen as applying a richly expanded, interdisciplinary approach to our concept of translators of the “written word,” the memoirist still feels “utter powerlessness” of the “bureaucratic violence” (a lawyer’s words) perpetuated on human rights victims.

Oliva feels gratitude she can use her bilingualism for social justice. Preparing immigrants for the all-mighty Credible Fears Interview during the “worst moments in their lives,” perhaps more than anything she brings to bear is an act of the Faith in the subtitle. You may assume that’s the secret to her fortitude. You’d be right and wrong. She admits to a “complicated relationship” with Christianity, although she was a student in divinity school who stopped to do G0d’s work (now graduated). “The closest I’ve come to finding God is in the rivers.”

Rivermouth is a book with an aching soul. Rather, many aching souls in “deep grief.”

Trained by a social justice activist group in NYC, the New Sanctuary Coalition, Oliva calls asylum seekers “friend.” Her ability to walk in someone else’s shoes gives new meaning to the definition of empathy. Writing out of pain and love, she’s the best friend an asylum seeker can have when she may be the only person standing by his/her side in the courtroom. How cruel the legal seeker of “a better life” is locked up in abysmal detention centers and doesn’t even have the money to make urgent calls looking for a pro bono attorney to defend their life is worth saving.

The do-or-die form cited above is known in immigration circles as I-589: Application for Asylum and for Withholding of Removal. Chilling how even the word removal conjures up treating humans as trash.

This manifesto bears witness to horrific stories of migrants, particularly from Honduras, Guatemala, El Salvador, and South America, who wait endlessly in long lines hoping to hear their names called on a mystifying list so they can cross the border and a “border river” that nurtures lives or destroys them: the Rio Grande River that runs nearly 2,000 miles flowing into our southern borders. The focus is on the Western border between Tijuana, Mexico and San Diego, California; Oliva’s parents came from Mexico into Texas.

The biggest, delightful surprise is learning how much grander translation is than we thought. Language, an overriding theme. Translation theory and practice is seen as a holistic, humanistic view of what it means when you’re translating in the real, spoken world, not the literary one. Drawing on inspiration and guidance from literature, poetry, art, philosophy, history, mythology, biblical references, psychology, body language, and political/social/cultural insight, we’re presented with an intelligent, vivid, disturbing, complex discussion that lets us see what “in-between” people are willing to do when they “start walking across a continent.” What must it feel like to suffer a “both-and-none identity crisis”?

Spanish is the language of “tenderness” spoken at Oliva’s home with her family and friends, notably when lingering after dinnertime in the Spanish tradition of “sobremesa” (English translation roughly “over the table”); English, the language of education and cultural assimilation.

“Spanish speakers of the United States have little in common as a group” despite so many of us thinking they’re homogenous. “They are of different races, religions, nationalities, political alignments, economic classes, immigration statuses.” What they do have in common is a “shared language and the shared misfortune of proximity to a world superpower.”

It’s this shared language that acts as a “bridge” enabling Oliva to do the heroic work she describes – even more than being a translator and interpreter. She’s a social worker, counselor, therapist too. And like the workers in those professions, she has the emotional scars to prove it. Which is why she doesn’t come across as looking down on us or preachy. Especially when you learn why she became personally invested. Could no longer bear to “look away.” Her plea: “Don’t Look Away.”

Rivermouth is not a scathing partisan rebuke. While it begins in the 2016/2017 era when a Republican President “systematically dismantled” our immigration system, Oliva is an equal opportunity critic. Words aren’t minced for Democratic presidents either, nor America’s historic role in stirring up the immigration crisis in Central and Latin America. This is an American critique, not a polarized one.

Expect more Spanish words than usual. Many translated in a sentence or more afterwards so you can figure out enough of the meaning not to disturb the flow. A couple of chapters are loaded with Spanish conversations you may or may not want to stop to google. You’ll get the gist. Search, you’ll easily find the English translation. Like everything else in this book, it’s intentional. To show how language is a critical tool for feeling welcomed or excluded.

The “real work” turned out to be “very different than what I expected,” Oliva says. You’ll feel the same about this searing, award-winning read that calls upon us “to step into the river.”

[Ben · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you’ve read Solito, American Dirt, or any memoir or fictional account of immigrating to the US from the south, then you’ll enjoy this work. It’s a sympathetic, factual account of one woman working with immigrants and aiding in their journeys. Some outcomes are good. It’s heavy on the information and details of immigration, but there are personal stories and anecdotes woven into the work.

[Lindsey · Rating 4 out of 5]

A beautifully written book that deftly weaves together themes of immigration, translation, and family. Oliva conveyed a great deal of urgency and moral clarity in the prose, and I don’t think I’ve ever read a nonfiction book where the author’s anger jumped off the page quite like this. It took me a while to get through simply because the heaviness of the material wasn’t always what I wanted to read when I had the time. Nevertheless, it hooked me and kept me coming back.

[Melissa]

Difficult to review. Honest and thought-provoking. Meandering at times, you could tell that the author had a lot that she felt she had to include whether it fit into what was around it or not.