Elva Treviño Hart

Subtitled: Stories of a Migrant Child. This is a memoir of the author’s childhood, when she and her family would travel from Texas to Minnesota each summer to work the fields.

I found the book compelling and interesting, full of the kinds of childhood memories that were familiar to me – family outings, a mother’s cooking, a father’s expectations and rules, games played, neighborhood fiestas, and a favorite toy received at Christmas. It also had some heartbreaking memories – the loneliness, the feeling of “differentness” or not belonging, and the lack of things we consider basic (like a bed or indoor plumbing). I understood the young Elva’s conflicted feelings about school – wanting to excel at something, yet wanting NOT to be singled out for praise.

Where the book broke down for me was in Part Three, when the adult Elva begins to explore her background as a way of understanding her own emotional / spiritual struggles as an adult. It seemed too much like an assignment a therapist might have given her to keep a journal of her feelings. The result is that I ended the book no longer admiring her for her dedication, industriousness and motivation, but annoyed with her self-absorbed reflection. I’m glad she was able to work through her personal demons, and I’m glad she found her writer’s voice. But I would have been happier with the book if she had ended it sooner. For me, she lost a star with part three.
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