American Dirt

Chapters 9-12 take Lydia and Luca from the safety of Carlos and Meredith’s house in Chilpancingo to Mexico City and beyond, where they face a series of challenges. The chapters provide glimpses into Lydia and Luca’s personalities before the trauma of the massacre, bringing to light new connections between the two.

Lydia recalls Luca's mutism, and reveals his first words were, “Let’s read that one again, please, Mami, except this time let’s make it a more agreeable ending” (78). With this anecdote, Cummins reinforces the close bond that exists between mother and son. Luca’s desire to change the ending of a book recalls Lydia’s fondness for Choose Your Own Adventure books as a child, which the author describes in Chapter 7. These adventure books present readers with options at the end of each chapter. The outcome of the plot is thus dependent on the readers’ choices. Lydia recalls backtracking when she did not like how a story ended. It was the flexibility that appealed to her as a child, the knowledge that she could undo something if she felt she had made the wrong choices. Every decision Lydia now makes may determine whether she and Luca live or die. Anecdotes about changing the past take on greater weight in this context.

Lydia’s realization in Chapter 10 that she and Luca are migrants marks a critical moment in the book. Throughout the novel, Cummins invites readers to identify with Lydia through shared socio-economic markers, such as class, wealth, and education. The plight of migrants seemed distant to Lydia before her family’s murder. She pitied migrants and did what many other middle class people do–she donated money, all the while remaining emotionally uninvested: “She’s wondered with the sort of detached fascination of the comfortable elite how dire the conditions of their lives must be wherever they come from, that this is the better option” (94). Even in her current predicament, Lydia cannot come to terms with the fact that she and Luca are migrants: “Migrante. She can’t make the word fit [Luca]. But that’s what they are now. This is how it happens” (94).

Cummins employs juxtapositions throughout Chapters 9-12. For example, beauty serves as a foil for the grotesque violence described at the outset of the book. In Chapter 9, the missionaries gawk at the lush canyons visible from the back of Carlos’s van, pulling out their cameras to take pictures. In Chapter 10, Lydia and Luca bask in the beauty of the Biblioteca Miguel de Tejada, admiring its cathedral ceilings, the quality of the light, and the “color-drenched murals of Vlady” (93). In Chapter 12, mother and son marvel at the fertile, mineral-rich fields near the Casa del Migrante. Cummins also juxtaposes vitality and stillness. The former, exemplified by the “onslaught of sensory stimulation” in Mexico City, stands in opposition to the silent stillness demanded of individuals in hiding, exemplified by Luca lying on the floor of the van when narcos stop them at a roadblock.

Despite the growing distance between Los Jardineros territory and Lydia and Luca, danger constantly hovers over the two protagonists. Cartel checkpoints, menacing bands of men, and nightmarish modes of transportation keep Lydia and Luca in a near-constant state of fear. The threat of violence even permeates the church-run sanctuary in Huehuetoca, where Lydia is told to watch her tongue and Luca witnesses the expulsion of Lorenzo after a sexual assault. Despite Hermana Cecilia’s assurances of safety, Lydia stays vigilant through the night. The mother-child bond, defined by Lydia’s instinct to protect Luca, is among the most important themes of the book.