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“Araceli enjoyed her solitude, her apartness from the world, and she liked to think of working for the Torres-Thompson family as a kind of self-imposed exile from her previous, directionless life in Mexico City. But every now and then she wanted to share the pleasures of this solitude with someone and step outside her silent California existence, into one of her alternate daydream lives.”
This description perfectly captures Araceli’s character. She is quiet and keeps herself carefully out of other people’s lives, due in part to the trauma she is trying to escape by leaving Mexico City. However, part of her longs for another life and dreams of something else. At the outset of the novel, she is unable to see how she can accomplish these dreams. She learns during her journey that she can dream, she can still be amazed, and she is strong enough to go after what she wants.
“But they hadn’t even bothered asking Araceli what she thought and had simply foisted more work upon her. Araceli saw her standing in the world with a new and startling clarity. She lived with English-speaking strangers, high on a hill alone with huge windows and the smell of solvents and lacked the will to escape what she had become. She quietly accepted the Torres-Thompsons’ money and the room they gave her, and they felt free to make her do anything they asked, expecting her to adapt to their habits and idiosyncrasies, holding babies, supervising boys at the park, and probably more things.”
Araceli recognizes the issue of the racial divide in the Torres-Thompson household (and, by extension, much of Californian society) and puts words to the feelings for the first time. She realizes that the parents, consciously or subconsciously, view her just as “the help,” and possibly interchangeable with Guadalupe. They see her as a moldable savage. Interestingly, Araceli tends to view the family with the same distance and apartness.
“What have they done to each other, these people? Araceli felt the need to restore order and understood that the violence in the room might spin into something unspeakable were it not for her presence. Today I am the civilized one and they are the savages. They have taken the living room I have worked so hard to give the sparkle of a museum and they have transformed it into a wrestling ring.”
One of the strongest references to the “barbarians” in the title, Araceli witnesses the aftermath of Scott and Maureen’s fight and sees them as “savages.” This further emphasizes the distance Araceli puts between herself and the Torres-Thompsons. It also calls to light how Scott and Maureen’s failure to communicate has led to savage violence; without being able to communicate, they have become barbarians.
“You can think you know someone as intimately as they can be known, you can commune happily with their odors and their idiosyncrasies for years, but then they show you something distasteful, something frightening precisely at the moment when you’re too far in to get out.”
This is advice that Maureen’s mother gave to her as a girl. It emphasizes how Maureen feels trapped in her relationship and also shows why she had always been expecting Scott—or any man she would have ended up with—to hit her like her father had. Maureen’s response is not to talk with Scott or deal with the “frightening” revelation about him, but to run.
“This American family whose home she inhabited had come to this hill above the ocean to live apart from the world. They are runaways, like me. It was an obvious truth, but one Araceli had never fully pondered before.”
Araceli realizes that she and the Torres-Thompsons do share a lot in common. They are all trying to escape. This is one of the main themes of the book: escape. Araceli is the only one of the three main characters to make this connection, however. This realization is part of what leads to her ability to move beyond running, later in the book. Without a similar revelation, the Torres-Thompsons continue running.
“Brandon waiting until Araceli’s eyes caught his one more time, because after less than a minute walking under the July sun, he was struck by the strangeness of what he was doing: undertaking an expedition through streets he knew only from the windows of his parents’ automobiles.”
This passage describes the only time Brandon hesitates before following Araceli on their journey through LA. Only for a moment, he realizes how odd it is that they are following her. Thereafter his imagination takes over. This passage also emphasizes his and Keenan’s separation from the harshness of the real world. He has only ever experienced the world from a distance.
“In truth, Brandon never should have been allowed to read the Fire-Swallower books, given their graphic descriptions of scorched-earth warfare, including the slaughter of entire villages and their children with blades forged from various metals, real and fanciful, and the antagonists who filled their speeches with fantastic rationalizations about ‘the weak,’ ‘the strong,’ and ‘the pure.’ It was all meant to be an allegory about the cruelty and demagoguery of the modern age and its imagery drew heavily from the outrages of the twentieth century, so much so, and so realistically, that the sharp-eyed Brandon had long ago concluded that the story was not entirely the product of a writer’s imagination.”
This passage shows that, for all his imagination, Brandon is more perceptive about what he is experiencing than it appears. He is seeing the cruelty of the modern world and simply interpreting it through the only lens through which it makes sense. He has only ever seen the dark side of life in his books because he has grown up so sheltered. However, the books themselves are not truly an escape, being based on real life.
“Maybe innocence is a skin you must shed to build layers more resistant to the caustic truths of the world.”
This statement, thought by Araceli about the boys, could apply to any of the characters. As they confront the harsh realities of life, all of the characters must confront their own naivete. Araceli must learn about life in the US and its contradictions. Scott and Maureen must learn that there are consequences to their childish actions. The boys must learn what it’s like outside their protective home.
“That is why the Americans prosper. They don’t have these silly, inbred resentments like we do. We are too clannish. It’s always held us back.”
Salomon Lujan says this to his daughter to explain why America is superior to Mexico. This is ironic because the entire book is about how clannish America is—everyone in the book has an “us versus them” mentality at some point. The crux of the novel is the tension between the clan that believes that illegal immigrants are a dangerous plague and less than human, and the clan that believes the other clan to be ignorant savages.
“Griselda knew that wordlessness too; it came from carrying a secret so long you forgot you were carrying it, until someone or something reminded you of its existence and you felt the pressure of the words against your skin, and you realized the words were always there.”
In a moment of understanding, Araceli and Griselda realize they are both illegal immigrants and that the fear that comes along with that fact is an ingrained part of their identities. They are so used to the fact and the fear that they almost forget about it—it becomes normal. It is particularly tragic in Griselda’s case because she has lived in the US since she was 2. Mexico is a foreign country to her, and yet she doesn’t belong in the US either.
“She would speak her story in Spanish and la señora Maureen would tell hers in English; it was obvious to her that the two languages did not carry equal weight.”
More than any other quote, this passage sums up the issue of the racial divide in America. English holds more weight than Spanish, more weight, perhaps, than the truth. The casual racism that pervades society and the legal system makes Araceli and Mexican Americans something less than their white counterparts. This is the central theme.
“There are other, easier ways of returning to Mexico. They will grab me and drag me across the dirt like a calf in the rodeo, and then cage me. We must endure these rituals of humiliation; this is our Mexican glory, to be pursued and apprehended in public places for bystanders to see.”
Building on her previous realization that her word is not worth as much as a white woman’s, Araceli realizes that the assumption of guilt is what she should always expect. That she will be tackled, arrested, humiliated, and treated with suspicion is not something she faces because of what she has done, but because of who she is. If she had been a white woman, then she would not be in this situation.
“Rather, he saw in the presence of people introduced to him as ‘the officers’ and ’the social workers’ a confirmation of the fact that he had survived an adventure tinged with danger. He had gone to a place far from the warm security and predictability of his home, and had returned to tell the tale.”
The adults, who should be the protectors of reality, reinforce Brandon’s imaginary journey. He has cast himself as a hero in his own adventure story. Unlike other characters, who would be prone to see themselves as victims, Brandon sees himself as a hero; it is no coincidence that Araceli references him when she comes into her own. She learns from Brandon, among other things, to be the hero of her own life.
“When Maureen shouted, ‘That’s a lie,’ Janet Bryson shared her sense of motherly indignation, and felt herself instantly freed from the state of vibrating meaninglessness that seemed to settle over her mind and home during those long hours when her son was away.”
The author takes the time to explore both sides of the racial divide issue. Although Janet Bryson is one of the more fanatical characters who calls Araceli a monster, she is not beyond sympathy. The fear that she channels into hatred comes from a place of motherly fear. She feels that she is losing her son, and that his connection to their Mexican neighbors is only pulling him further away. This pain and confusion lead her to feel compassion for Maureen and to become a staunch advocate of Araceli’s deportation.
“Why is it, he wondered later, that stories begin to turn old the first time you tell them? Why won’t a story allow itself to be told over and over?”
Brandon recognizes that a story starts to lose power after its first telling. This applies to his own story as well as Maureen’s and Araceli’s. When they each recount their version of events, the public believes them, more or less. However, the more Araceli insists on her innocence and Maureen insists on her version of event, the less each are believed. When the media gets involved, repeating and misconstruing everything, it all becomes more muddled. In the end, the truth becomes irrelevant. All that matters to either side is winning.
“Why is it considered such a remarkable and noteworthy thing for a mother to raise her voice?”
Maureen causes a sensation in the media when she yells at a reporter who is questioning her fitness as a mother. She becomes almost demonized for losing her temper or showing any emotion at all. In this passage, she rightly calls out the hypocrisy that makes it a newsworthy item when a woman expresses emotion. As if women are always to be silent and calm in the background while their husbands speak. Notably, Araceli’s impassioned shout asserting her own innocence likewise becomes a news story.
“What other eyebrows, mouths, and brains were out there, conspiring to put her behind bars again, and what did they see in her, that they would want to punish her so?”
Araceli marvels at the vehemence with which people in the media, who have never met her, wish for her to be in jail. She cannot believe the power of the media firestorm to decide her fate. At this point, she does fully understand why they want to punish her, but she is amazed nonetheless at this logic.
“Word has spread that the subject of this broadcast frenzy was living among them, but now the arrival of the deputies’ brass badges and their dangling batons and the flashing lights of their cruisers transformed the novelty into a threat, and brought to life the goblins that haunted their daily consciousnesses.”
When the police come to arrest Araceli a second time, it expresses the deep-rooted fear shared by the entire Mexican American community. The entire town goes into a frenzy, thinking that the police have come for them all. Even though they’ve been following the story, the fear goes so deep that they panic. This is one of the biggest tragedies in the book and in reality—that people who have done nothing wrong live in such fear.
“Janey Bryson knew she could never make those old days come back. Instead, in this work of letter-gathering, this volunteer activism, she felt like a woman weather-stripping her windows and basement in September: it was something she did not so much with the hope of making things better, as much as to keep them from getting worse.”
This section, in which Janet Bryson acknowledges that she cannot recapture her seemingly idyllic childhood shows the powerful role that nostalgia plays in fanning certain types of hatred. Janet is so nostalgic for the past that she lashes out at the Mexican community because there had been no such community when she was young and happy. The idea of nostalgia is a very real and often overlooked reason for polarized political views.
“It was during Keenan’s sixth birthday, in a moment of high dudgeon following his outrageous, bigoted, and incorrect observation that Keenan was ‘the white boy’ and Brandon was ‘the Mexican.’ It was the sort of thing he said when he had too much alcohol, which was nearly every time he arrived for a family gathering, and she had resolved at that moment to banish him from Paseo Linda Bonita for at least a dozen birthdays.”
The section explaining why Maureen banished John Torres from the house accomplishes two goals. It shows that John, who would easily have been a saintly figure, is not perfect and perhaps holds some racist views. Maureen’s extreme reaction also shows her discomfort with race in general, and especially distasteful views of the same. As a privileged white woman, she has little experience with, or understanding of, Mexican culture, and so she shies away violently from anything that would associate her with racist views, since she would not want to be thought of as sharing them.
“Simply negotiate the charges down from felony to misdemeanor in exchange for a guilty plea, give the defendant credit for time served and hand her ass forthwith to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement representatives at the county jail.”
Ian Goller’s sole goal is to have Araceli deported as a symbol to both sides of the debate. He is willing to offer her a fake plea deal, knowing she is innocent, in order to achieve this. More than any other character, Ian Goller is the author’s way of showing how a person can believe themselves to be good but can do wrong in service of their own beliefs. Interestingly, it is as if the strong, casually racist laws about immigration have created Goller—he hates Mexicans for clogging up his court, but would they clog his court if they had more equal freedoms?
“I’m supposed to be one of them. This explained too the stare from the shopping cart vato. Scott Torres was being judged by a set of rules of tribal loyalty, simply because he possessed a Mexican surname. So strange, the clannishness of these people.”
One of the things that Scott struggles with toward the end of the book is his own Mexican heritage. He is half Mexican, but his community sees him as something of a traitor to for his role in Araceli’s arrest. Despite this, and due to his father’s attempt to erase his Mexican past, Scott does not identify as Mexican at all. In fact, his children speak more Spanish than him. Still, he feels the anger of the “clan” of Mexican Americans, though he finds himself, ultimately, incapable of truly sympathizing with them.
“It’s not your decision to make. This case doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the People now.”
Araceli’s case clearly does not hinge on the truth once the media is involved and has created two sides. Instead, the People—those in both camps—demand victory for their side. When the lawyer tells the Torres-Thompsons that they can’t decide to simply not press charges, he means that the public will not allow the fight to simply fizzle out. Araceli is caught in a war of extreme opinions and dogmatic belief. There is no calling it off before the battle.
“Her desire to protect Brandon and Keenan had only brought her trouble, she continued, and Araceli could see now that you survived in this country with a certain kind of coldness and distance from others.”
Araceli gives an interview on Spanish TV explaining how her protectiveness for the boys was turned against her. She understands finally that American culture is not like Mexican culture. There is a coldness, a divide between “us and them,” even down to the individual level. This is the closest the author comes to laying blame for the current social issues surrounding race and immigration. There is the suggestion here that better communication, more understanding, would lead to a more workable and welcoming society. Notably, lack of communication is also the undoing of Scott and Maureen’s relationship.
“‘Para alla,’ she shouted above the roar of wind and engines, and then she said it in English too, just because she could ‘That way.’”
The author leaves Araceli’s ending purposefully vague here. He does not say which way she chooses because that is not ultimately the point. She did not learn where she belongs—instead, her journey taught her that she has the power to choose and to make herself belong in either place. She understands both, and she finally has someone to share her journey with. She is free, and she will be ok.
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