Lost Children Archive: A Novel by Valeria LuiselliLost Children Archive: A Novel by Valeria Luiselli

Lost Children Archive: A Novel

byValeria Luiselli

Hardcover | February 12, 2019

Pricing and Purchase Info

$33.73 online 
$36.95 list price save 8%
Earn 169 plum® points

Prices and offers may vary in store

Quantity:

In stock online

Ships free on orders over $25

Available in stores

about

“The novel truly becomes novel again in Luiselli’s hands—electric, elastic, alluring, new.” --Parul Sehgal, The New York Times

"Impossibly smart, full of beauty, heart and insight . . . Everyone should read this book." --Tommy Orange


From the two-time NBCC Finalist, an emotionally resonant, fiercely imaginative new novel about a family whose road trip across America collides with an immigration crisis at the southwestern border--an indelible journey told with breathtaking imagery, spare lyricism, and profound humanity.


A mother and father set out with their two children, a boy and a girl, driving from New York to Arizona in the heat of summer. Their destination: Apacheria, the place the Apaches once called home.

Why Apaches? asks the ten-year-old son. Because they were the last of something, answers his father.

In their car, they play games and sing along to music. But on the radio, there is news about an "immigration crisis": thousands of kids trying to cross the southwestern border into the United States, but getting detained--or lost in the desert along the way.

As the family drives--through Virginia to Tennessee, across Oklahoma and Texas--we sense they are on the brink of a crisis of their own. A fissure is growing between the parents, one the children can almost feel beneath their feet. They are led, inexorably, to a grand, harrowing adventure--both in the desert landscape and within the chambers of their own imaginations.

Told through several compelling voices, blending texts, sounds, and images, Lost Children Archive is an astonishing feat of literary virtuosity. It is a richly engaging story of how we document our experiences, and how we remember the things that matter to us the most. With urgency and empathy, it takes us deep into the lives of one remarkable family as it probes the nature of justice and equality today.
Valeria Luiselli was born in Mexico City and grew up in South Korea, South Africa and India. An acclaimed writer of both fiction and nonfiction, she is the author of the essay collection Sidewalks; the novels Faces in the Crowd and The Story of My Teeth; and, most recently, Tell Me How It Ends: An Essay in Forty Questions. She is the w...
Loading
Title:Lost Children Archive: A NovelFormat:HardcoverDimensions:400 pages, 9.5 × 6.52 × 1.37 inPublished:February 12, 2019Publisher:Knopf Doubleday Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0525520619

ISBN - 13:9780525520610

Look for similar items by category:

Reviews

Read from the Book

Part I: Family Soundscape   Relocations “An archive presupposes an archivist, a hand that collects and classifies.” —Arlette Farge “To leave is to die a little. To arrive is never to arrive.” —Migrant prayer   Departure Mouths open to the sun, they sleep. Boy and girl, foreheads pearled with sweat, cheeks red and streaked white with dry spit. They occupy the entire space in the back of the car, spread out, limbs offering, heavy and placid. From the copilot seat, I glance back to check on them every so often, then turn around to study the map again. We advance in the slow lava of traffic toward the city limits, across the GW Bridge, and merge onto the interstate. An airplane passes above us and leaves a straight long scar on the palate of the cloudless sky. Behind the wheel, my husband adjusts his hat, dries his forehead with the back of his hand.Family Lexicon I don’t know what my husband and I will say to each of our children one day. I’m not sure which parts of our story we might each choose to pluck and edit out for them, and which ones we’d shuffle around and insert back in to produce a final version—even though plucking, shuffling, and editing sounds is probably the best summary of what my husband and I do for a living. But the children will ask, because ask is what children do. And we’ll need to tell them a beginning, a middle, and an end. We’ll need to give them an answer, tell them a proper story. The boy turned ten yesterday, just one day before we left New York. We got him good presents. He had specifically said: No toys. The girl is five, and for some weeks has been asking, insistently: When do I turn six? No matter our answer, she’ll find it unsatisfactory. So we usually say something ambiguous, like: Soon. In a few months. Before you know it. The girl is my daughter and the boy is my husband’s son. I’m a biological mother to one, a stepmother to the other, and a de facto mother in general to both of them. My husband is a father and a stepfather, to each one respectively, but also just a father. The girl and boy are therefore: step-sister, son, stepdaughter, daughter, step-brother, sister, stepson, brother. And because hyphenations and petty nuances complicate the sentences of everyday grammar—the us, the them, the our, the your—as soon as we started living together, when the boy was almost six and the girl still a toddler, we adopted the much simpler possessive adjective our to refer to them two. They became: our children. And sometimes: the boy, the girl. Quickly, the two of them learned the rules of our private grammar, and adopted the generic nouns Mama and Papa, or sometimes simply Ma and Pa. And until now at least, our family lexicon defined the scope and limits of our shared world.   Family Plot My husband and I met four years ago, recording a soundscape of New York City. We were part of a large team of people working for the Center for Oral History at Columbia University. The soundscape was meant to sample and collect all the keynotes and the soundmarks that were emblematic of the city: subway cars screeching to a halt, music in the long underground hallways of Forty-Second Street, ministers preaching in Harlem, bells, rumors and murmurs inside the Wall Street stock exchange. But it also attempted to survey and classify all the other sounds that the city produced and that usually went by, as noise, unnoticed: cash registers opening and closing in delis, a script being rehearsed in an empty Broadway theater, underwater currents in the Hudson, Canada geese flocking and shitting over Van Cortlandt Park, swings swinging in Astoria playgrounds, elderly Korean women filing wealthy fingernails on the Upper West Side, a fire breaking through an old tenement building in the Bronx, a passerby yelling a stream of motherfuckers at another. There were journalists, sound artists, geographers, urbanists, writers, historians, acoustemologists, anthropologists, musicians, and even bathymetrists, with those complicated devices called multibeam echo sounders, which were plunged into the waterspaces surrounding the city, measuring the depth and contours of the riverbeds, and who knows what else. Everyone, in couples or small groups, surveyed and sampled wavelengths around the city, like we were documenting the last sounds of an enormous beast. The two of us were paired up and given the task of recording all the languages spoken in the city, over a period of four calendar years. The description of our duties specified: “surveying the most linguistically diverse metropolis on the planet, and mapping the entirety of languages that its adults and children speak.” We were good at it, it turned out; maybe even really good. We made a perfect team of two. Then, after working together for just a few months, we fell in love—completely, irrationally, predictably, and headfirst, like a rock might fall in love with a bird, not knowing who was the rock was and who the bird—and when summer arrived, we decided to move in together. The girl remembers nothing about that period, of course. The boy says he remembers that I was always wearing an old blue cardigan that had lost a couple of buttons and came down to my knees, and that sometimes, when we rode the subway or buses—always with freezing air pouring out—I’d take it off and use it as a blanket to cover him and the girl, and that it smelled of tobacco and was itchy. Moving in together had been a rash decision—messy, confusing, urgent, and as beautiful and real as life feels when you’re not thinking about its consequences. We became a tribe. Then came the consequences. We met each other’s relatives, got married, started filing joint taxes, became a family.   Inventory In the front seats: he and I. In the glove compartment: proof of insurance, registration, owner’s manual, and road maps. In the backseat: the two children, their backpacks, a tissue box, and a blue cooler with water bottles and perishable snacks. And in the trunk: a small duffle bag with my Sony PCM-D50 digital voice recorder, headphones, cables, and extra batteries; a large Porta-Brace organizer for his collapsible boom pole, mic, headphones, cables, zeppelin and dead-cat windshield, and the 702T Sound Device. Also: four small suitcases with our clothes, and seven bankers boxes (15” x 12” x 10”), double-thick bottoms and solid lids. Covalence Despite our efforts to keep it all firmly together, there has always been an anxiety around each one’s place in the family. We’re like those problematic molecules you learn about in chemistry classes, with covalent instead of ionic bonds—or maybe it’s the other way around. The boy lost his biological mother at birth, though that topic is never spoken about. My husband delivered the fact to me, in one sentence, early on in our relationship, and I immediately understood that it was not a matter open to further questions. I don’t like to be asked about the girl’s biological father, either, so the two of us have always kept a respectful pact of silence about those elements of our and our children’s pasts. In response to all that, perhaps, the children have always wanted to listen to stories about themselves within the context of us. They want to know everything about when the two of them became our children, and we all became a family. They’re like anthropologists studying cosmogonic narratives, but with a touch more narcissism. The girl asks to hear the same stories over and over again. The boy asks about moments of their childhood together, as if they had happened decades or even centuries ago. So we tell them. We tell them all the stories we’re able to remember. Always, if we miss a part, confuse a detail, or if they notice any minimal variation to the version they remember, they interrupt, correct us, and demand that the story be told once more, properly this time. So we rewind the tape in our minds and play it again from the beginning.

Bookclub Guide

“The novel truly becomes novel again in Luiselli’s hands—electric, elastic, alluring, new.” --Parul Sehgal, The New York Times"Impossibly smart, full of beauty, heart and insight . . . Everyone should read this book." --Tommy OrangeFrom the two-time NBCC Finalist, an emotionally resonant, fiercely imaginative new novel about a family whose road trip across America collides with an immigration crisis at the southwestern border--an indelible journey told with breathtaking imagery, spare lyricism, and profound humanity.A mother and father set out with their two children, a boy and a girl, driving from New York to Arizona in the heat of summer. Their destination: Apacheria, the place the Apaches once called home.Why Apaches? asks the ten-year-old son. Because they were the last of something, answers his father.In their car, they play games and sing along to music. But on the radio, there is news about an "immigration crisis": thousands of kids trying to cross the southwestern border into the United States, but getting detained--or lost in the desert along the way.As the family drives--through Virginia to Tennessee, across Oklahoma and Texas--we sense they are on the brink of a crisis of their own. A fissure is growing between the parents, one the children can almost feel beneath their feet. They are led, inexorably, to a grand, harrowing adventure--both in the desert landscape and within the chambers of their own imaginations.Told through several compelling voices, blending texts, sounds, and images, Lost Children Archive is an astonishing feat of literary virtuosity. It is a richly engaging story of how we document our experiences, and how we remember the things that matter to us the most. With urgency and empathy, it takes us deep into the lives of one remarkable family as it probes the nature of justice and equality today.1. Whom do you immediately associate with the “lost children” of the title? How many layers of getting lost appear throughout the novel, and is it always/only children who are lost?2. What are some of the reasons behind the family’s trip to Apacheria? Discuss the parents’ separate and combined work projects and their expectations for what will happen to the family once they reach their destination.3. What is the difference between a documentarian and a documentarist? How do the two forms of study, observation, interpretation, and synthesis make their way into the story of the family and the structure of the novel itself?4. Can you identify the source(s) of conflict between the husband and wife? Which memories of their early life together and time at home with the children, as well as how they respond to the children during the car ride, suggest why they might not be able (or willing) to stay together?5. The wife/mother is the arguably the primary narrator of the novel, and it’s through her that we understand the goings-on of the trip. Does she prove herself a reliable narrator, and if not, what are her biases in telling this story?6. The seven boxes in the family’s trunk each belong to a different family member. Do you think you could identify the owner of each box based solely on its contents? What does this suggest about how the characters know one another, and also about how they chose to represent themselves in what they packed for the trip? Consider the wife’s question, “How many possible combinations of all those documents were there? And what completely different stories would be told by their varying permutations, shufflings, and reorderings?” (57).7. Maps, news clippings, sound recordings, photographs, books, poems, loose notes—these are some of the items that appear in the boxes/text. The family also listens to music, and to audiobooks, in the car. How does having different media contribute to the polyphony of the novel? What do these documents suggest about whether the characters can, or cannot, know a definitive “truth”?8. For most of the book the four family members don’t have first names, except their chosen Apache names: Swift Feather, Papa Cochise, Lucky Arrow, and Memphis. How are these names more or less representative of their identities in this time period, and to what degree are they chosen or given? How do they ultimately help unite the family when they’re separated, literally and figuratively?9. How do the stories of Manuela’s daughters and the children on the plane motivate the mother on her journey and in her work?10. What are the most memorable and significant stops the family makes along the way? How do they reinvent themselves in various situations, and what does this flexibility in their identity suggest both about their bonds and about America today?11. Consider the repeated stories that are told and read throughout the novel: Geronimo’s fall, Elegies for Lost Children, “Space Oddity,” Lord of the Flies, etc. How do they overlap with and inform the narrative of the novel? Do these connections influence your understanding of the novel as an “archive” in and of itself?12. Although “the boy” is biologically related to his father and “the girl” to her mother, what connects the boy to the mother in the novel? Describe their bond, including how they test and support each other along this journey, and how they share space as.13. How do the sections in Part II and Part III narrated from the boy’s point of view reflect or shift the mother’s point of view? Reading his interpretation of the events she narrated, did you find any holes, gaps, or misunderstandings in what she knew about him and Memphis—or (potentially surprising) similarities?14. How does the boy’s voice differ from the mother’s, besides the obvious differences of their age and life experience? Consider his reliance on his camera, the Polaroids in his box, and the stream-of-consciousness narrative in the “Echo Canyon” chapter.15. What are the children’s ideas about what it will mean to be lost, and how do they each work to stay together even when they’re forced apart? In this sense, are they more in control of their memories—that is, are they more or less “lost”—than their parents?16. By the end of the novel, has the meaning of “home” changed for the characters? What are some of the ways home was lost, found, and reimagined?17. The author offers a Works Cited at the end of the book to describe the various references and allusions she draws upon throughout the novel. How does this information change your understanding of what is fact versus fiction, and of the ways stories get passed down among works of art over time? After reading Luiselli’s description of her methodology, would you describe her as a documentarian or a documentarist?18. The novel draws upon a number of real-life current events and stories about the immigration crisis in the United States. How did you feel about the way this situation was presented? Does the author’s referencing of so many histories and time periods, and narratives of displacement, create a more universal portrayal of being uprooted or without a country? Have you ever felt a similar kind of displacement?

Editorial Reviews

“Luiselli’s imagination is keen and uninhibited. Lost Children Archive is a retelling of the American road novel, with a twist. In this version, the journey has been taken to save a marriage. Luiselli is a superb chronicler of children; the daughter and son feel piercingly real—perceptive, irreplaceable, wonderfully odd. The book [is] an archive of curiosities, yearnings, animated by the narrator’s restless energy.  [Then it] breaks out of the rhythms of the road trip, into a heart-stopping climax… The novel truly becomes novel again in Luiselli’s hands—electric, elastic, alluring, new.” —Parul Sehgal, The New York Times “Daring, wholly original, brilliant. . .fascinating. What Luiselli has pulled off here is a twist on the great American road trip novel, a book about alienation that chronicles fractures, divides, and estrangement—of both a family and a country. It’s a remarkable feat of empathy and intellectuality that showcases Luiselli’s ability to braid the political, historical, and personal while explicitly addressing the challenges of figuring out how to tell the very story she’s telling. Luiselli is an extraordinary writer [with] a freewheeling novelist’s imagination.”—Heller McAlpin, NPR “Engrossing…brilliantly intricate and constantly surprising—a passionately engaged book [with] intellectual amplitude and moral seriousness, [and] a beautiful, loving portrait of children and of the task of looking after them. The kids are utterly alive, hurling questions and mangling adult signals: we are with the family, inside their Volvo wagon, or looking over their shoulders as they eat in diners and stay in motels. It is a pleasure to be a part of the narrator’s family; just as pleasurable is the access we gain to the narrator’s mind—a comprehensive literary intelligence. She thinks about belonging and not belonging, and about borders and the dead. As this complex novel turns, the back-seat kids are the ones who must tell the story. . . what ensues is a gripping and fantastical tale. An intensely allusive, beguiling mixture of the real and the doubly invented. Luiselli [is] playful and brave.” —James Wood, The New Yorker “Luiselli is a master. Not since Lolita has a road trip so brilliantly captured the dark underbelly of the American dream, the gulf between its promise and reality. Luiselli confronts big picture questions: What does it mean to be American? To what lengths should we go to bear witness? Will history ever stop repeating itself? All the while, her language is so transporting, it stops you time and again.” —Carmen Maria Machado, O Magazine “Urgent, profound, and poetic, this is a modern classic in the making, one that should be considered required reading . . . Threading together a rich tapestry of heartbreaking stories is the story of [one] family on the road. As their journey continues, it becomes clear that something else is driving this family to the Arizona-Mexico border—something of much greater importance than their projects, their careers, and even themselves. Lost Children Archive asks important questions about the nature and importance of storytelling, fictional and factual. It is a layered narrative about family, immigration, justice, and hope. There is no simplicity in [the novel’s] structure, no easy ending. The story is still being written, being told, and perhaps most importantly, being heard.” —Sadie Trombetta, Bustle “An epic road trip [that also] captures the unruly intimacies of marriage and parenthood... Luiselli’s mind is a delight; her writing shimmers like its desert setting. This is a novel that daylights our common humanity, and challenges us to reconcile our differences.” —Kristen Millares Young, The Washington Post “In probing, elegant prose, Lost Children Archive maps one family’s road trip [through] a strange, beautiful, iconic landscape of gas stations, diners, and motels, [into] Apacheria, a place that contains the histories of ‘the last free peoples on the continent.’ The novel unfolds with great attention to voices, echoes and silences; it has a dreamlike rhythm that feels both urgent and reflective.” —Denise Delgado, WBUR “A resonant Great American Novel for our time—a dense and layered novel of the Americas, evocative of Kerouac and Bolaño, Rebecca Solnit and Juan Rulfo. There [is] a counterbalance of intimacy and inventiveness to Luiselli’s writing.” —Andy Tepper, Vanity Fair “Poignant…Though Lost Children Archive is unquestionably timely, it also approaches a certain timelessness, like all great novels. The novel reminds us how fragile family can be—a taut web where a slight move might turn the homespun constellation to chaos.Lost Children Archive is laced with the melancholy of last things…the stories told of the last Apaches, [and] also the choices of literary touchstones: Rilke, Woolf, Eliot, Pound. Luiselli leans on literary inspiration not out of need—her sentences are often as scintillating as those of her forebears—but out of the documentarian’s reverence for the archival impulse. Lost Children Archive hits the right pitch and finds the right surface, whispering back to us our own questions and concerns, reverberating with the headlines of the present, and the great art of the past. Like the struck match, [it makes] us aware of the dark, unknown space that surrounds it, of the ignorance that envelops everything we think we know. The maddeningly ‘relevant’ political novel is all the rage right now, but what separates Luiselli’s book from the pack is that it manages to be political without being propagandistic, rousing without any didacticism. This novel is the kind of book we need right now.” —Tyler Malone, Los Angeles Times “Stories appear on the news, lacking in compassion, meant to inspire fear. But there are those trying to paint a fuller picture. Valeria Luiselli is one of those people. Lost Children Archive is a story, but also a response: to the articles, to literature, to the nonprofits and schools, to the American landscape, to ideas of family, and to ideas of choice. There is so much truth in this novel. In some ways, Lost Children Archive is like a love letter to literature. Luiselli is an exceptional writer who knows her craft; this is a beautiful text, in which everyone is searching for connection and reconnection—a novel asking for more consideration, more mercy, and more action.”  —Abigail Bereola, San Francisco Chronicle “The spirit of Bolaño animates this novel about our American-made border crisis. What starts as fragmented narrative gives way to a suspenseful climax. Lost Children Archive is a story about all American sins.” —Boris Kachka, Vulture “Luiselli writes like a poet. Intelligent and patient, her telling of this historical moment of walls and inhumanity breaks open the mystery that surrounds immigration, making visceral a reality that few regard when thinking about the lives involved. She is ethnographer and activist, fictionalizing political work as she is immersed in it. A heartbreaking book.”—Lucy Kogler, Lit Hub   “A highly imaginative, politically deft portrait of childhood within a vast American landscape—a rollicking tale that contains within it an extremely disciplined exercise in political empathy. For her upside-down Western, Luiselli adopts the Virginia Woolf technique by which the minds of characters are linked as they watch the same objects move through the same sky. Luiselli takes the minds of children seriously, and the reader witnesses their intelligent eyes and ears recording each detail of the borderlands and registering the full terror of them. The reader becomes aware, subtly, of how language shapes what it describes, as the children’s speech mixes fragments of what they hear with their own, weirder inner lexicon. . . . Luiselli braids and reworks disparate texts…[characters’] experiences overlap to create a patchwork representation of how America might see itself. There’s no way to convey through quotation the effect of the novel’s most thrilling section, a single sentence sustained for some twenty pages near the end, which remains measured and crystalline, expertly controlling plot, setting, character, fluctuating views and moods and voices . . . Luiselli shows the reader something she wouldn’t normally see, and also maps the past onto the present in ways that can reveal hidden contours in both.” —Lidija Haas, Harper’s  “Luiselli is one of the most fascinating and impassioned authors at work today. Lost Children Archive is a haunting hybrid of lyrical storytelling and political fury—a powerful indictment of the cruelty and inhumanity inherent in the current American immigration system, and a vital work for the Trump era.” —Dan Sheehan, LitHub “This novel is the epic Luiselli’s fans have been waiting for: the story of a road trip across America, a family journey mirroring the course of a nation in trouble.” —Vulture “Lost Children Archive reads like a memory. It unfolds in vignette-like scenes and takes you deep into the head space of its narrators. Luiselli is an imaginative writer; her work as an advocate for asylum-seekers informs the novel’s skillful blend of family story and issue-driven themes. The characters join people forced to face separation and relocation to unfamiliar territory, their current situation an echo of so many others—echoes [that] will remain in the mind of the reader as well.” —Trisha Ping, Book Page “Luiselli’s new novel maps a crumbling young family’s journey across the United States in search of the stolen home of the Apaches amid a national backlash against immigrants. Luiselli trains an analytical eye on the tropes she’s dealing with, drawing out threads that we use to define fuzzy ideas like a family, and holding them up to the light.” —Claire Fallon, HuffPost “Powerful and timely.” —Sarah Stiefvater, PureWow “Spellbinding, haunting… Luiselli weaves a complex narrative from the migrant crisis on the southern U.S. border. It begins as an astute study of marriage and family; as the family travels farther on ‘the long, lonely roads of this country,’ the novel's sense of desolation widens. Underlying it all is a huge borderland haunted by vanished cultures, by migrant children who perished in the wilderness. Luiselli breaks up her narrative with inventories, lists, quotes, maps, poems, photos, stories, statistics and more, blended into the book in a metafictional way so that, like her protagonists, Luiselli becomes an archivist, assembling reality from many disparate sources. The cumulative effect is powerful.” —Scott Neuffer, Shelf Awareness “An ambitious road-trip novel that traverses geography, ideology, and time, while exploring the dissolution of a marriage, Lost Children Archive is heartbreakingly relevant to the humanitarian crisis at the U.S.-Mexico border. Luiselli has a gift for layering on the themes while also honing in on what makes the political so personal.” —A.V. Club “Poignant, intense, keenly timely . . . Luiselli is no stranger to inventive storytelling; [this] latest work is perhaps her most politically relevant. A couple and their children embark on a cross-country road trip from New York City to Arizona; the scale of the migrant crisis redirects their efforts. Stories of Latin American asylum seekers and the disappeared Apaches overlap and converge; themes of translation and migration resonate. This is one of few novels that fully and powerfully conveys the urgency of this unsettling situation.” —Diego Báez, Booklist (starred review)   “A gorgeous and vital ghost-rich soundscape, and one of the most brilliant portrayals of child-parent relationships I have ever read. Luiselli floods extraordinary light onto childhood, parenthood, the literary consciousness, and how we make sense of past and present pain. LOST CHILDREN ARCHIVE is one of the best novels I’ve read in recent years, and one of the most important.” —Max Porter, author of Grief is the Thing With Feathers “ Valeria Luiselli writes with so much intelligence and compassion and originality, her work always astonishes me. LOST CHILDREN ARCHIVE is absolutely phenomenal.” —Claire-Louise Bennett, author of Pond  “A haunting hybrid of lyrical storytelling and political fury, the book is a powerful indictment of the cruelty and inhumanity inherent in the current American immigration system.”  —Dan Sheehan, LitHub “Engrossing.” —Southern Living "Impossibly smart, full of beauty, heart and insight, LOST CHILDREN ARCHIVE is a novel about archiving all that we don’t want to lose. It is an ode to sound. Valeria Luiselli looks into the American present as well as its history: into Native American history, and the many intersections between American and Mexican history that are and have always been there. This is a road trip novel that transcends the form, while also being the perfect American road trip novel for right now. Everyone should read this book.” —Tommy Orange “Remarkable, inventive. . . . A family treks south to the U.S.-Mexico border, bearing tales of the anguish of migrant families all the way down. The opening sections are thick with literary references and social critique; imagine On the Road rewritten by Maggie Nelson. But the story darkens as they witness the [families’] plight firsthand, and later, as the couple's children stumble into their own crisis. As the novel rises to a ferocious climax, Luiselli thunderously, persuasively insists that reckoning with the border will make deep demands of our emotional reserves. A powerful border story, at once intellectual and heartfelt.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review) “Superb, powerful, eloquent. Juxtaposing rich, poetic prose with direct storytelling, and alternating narratives with photos, documents, poems, maps, and music, LOST CHILDREN ARCHIVE explores what holds a family and society together, and what pulls them apart. The novel begins with a family embarking on a road trip, and culminates in an indictment of the tragic shortcomings of the immigration process. Luiselli demonstrates how callousness toward other cultures erodes our own. Her novel makes a devastating case for compassion.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)