A Campus Novel with Real Stakes

In current liberal and leftist circles in the United States, identity is often seen as a matter of choice and a battleground for freedom. Despite no longer living in America, I remember how identifying as Tejano, Chicano, or Latine rather than Texan, Mexican American, or Hispanic carried deep philosophical and political implications. Identity also relies on the recognition by others—a societal struggle that often impacts marginalized groups more harshly.

Karla Cornejo Villavicencio’s first work of fiction, Catalina, navigates this struggle for recognition in a campus novel featuring a Latine senior at Harvard. Catalina thinks about books, boys, and clothes; worries about her working-class immigrant grandparents; and dreams of becoming a writer. Despite being deeply American in her experiences, Catalina is not considered American by law, being an undocumented resident born in Ecuador and raised in New York after surviving a car crash that killed her parents.

This novel examines an aspect of identity that is not about choice: nationality. Although Catalina identifies as American, her undocumented status, stipulated by her birthplace outside U.S. borders, leaves her with two treacherous options to change her situation: marriage or legislation. This law-versus-love dilemma sets Catalina apart from other campus novels, highlighting that for immigrants, political issues are deeply personal and intimate.

However, these tensions remain in the background as Catalina focuses on typical undergraduate concerns—her friendships, the arts and letters secret society she’s invited to join, party outfits, and boys. Proudly self-aware, she acknowledges that the boys are an “audience” for the personality she’s testing out. Cornejo Villavicencio’s prose shines when Catalina’s theatrical self-presentation is at the forefront, particularly in a scene where she meets Nathaniel, who becomes significant in her life. They share an electrically charged moment over a misunderstanding involving Catalina’s Spanish-speaking grandmother, revealing layers of identity and expectation.

Catalina’s boldness and the authenticity of her desires inject realism into the scenes, providing vivid glimpses into each character’s uniqueness. These specific moments make general stereotypes in other parts of the novel even more jarring. For instance, Catalina’s vague descriptions of other Latines contrast sharply with the detailed depiction of her friend Delphine’s Afro-Latino father and Puerto Rican mother. Such dichotomies reflect the complexities of identity in contemporary America, where stereotypes sometimes serve as a placeholder for real recognition.

Cornejo Villavicencio’s nonfiction debut, The Undocumented Americans, profiled vulnerable immigrant workers and was a National Book Award finalist. That work shifted the immigration discussion from “Dreamers” to their often-overlooked parents. Written shortly after Donald Trump’s election, it documented the despair and political terror faced by immigrants, including the policy of child separation at the border.

While Joe Biden’s presidency has not significantly improved the situation for migrants, it has allowed Cornejo Villavicencio to explore less urgent but significant dilemmas of undocumented immigrants who are relatively less precarious. Catalina’s impending graduation brings a crisis of purpose—writing a good thesis seems futile when her immigration status bars her from desirable jobs. Her political awareness leads to a kind of paralysis, exacerbated by her reluctance to join Harvard’s organizing efforts for Dreamers.

Near the novel’s end, Catalina’s grandfather receives a deportation order. Desperate, she turns to a famous filmmaker, Byron Wheeler, for help. They plan a short film that could spotlight her grandfather’s case, even though Catalina is apprehensive about being a “poster child.” Despite her ambivalence, her love for her grandfather convinces her to proceed.

The novel suggests that in America, becoming a stereotype may allow marginalized individuals to be seen and to gain some measure of agency. Such a transformation asks marginalized individuals to subsume their unique identities into a broader political identity to wield any power.

As the story progresses, events seem rushed, and the conclusion is abrupt. The documentary remains unfinished, the grandfather’s fate takes an unexpected turn, the DREAM Act doesn’t pass, and Catalina doesn’t marry Nathaniel. This unsatisfactory ending might be intentional, reflecting the ongoing struggle for recognition faced by undocumented Americans like Catalina, leaving both her and the readers in a state of unresolved tension.

Source: particlenews.com