I spoke too soon when I accused Ted Conover of not writing "action-packed" books in my previous reviews. By my calculations, Ted (I guess I can start calling him by his first name now, since I've read three of his books. That makes us old friends in my delusional mind 🤡🥳) was most likely having the adventure of his damn life when he wrote this one. 🤣
The first chapter reads like a Liam Neeson movie (at least that's what I scribbled down on one of the pages as I was reading it. I've... only ever seen one Liam Neeson movie... I don't actually have any idea what kinds of movies Liam Neeson usually makes.)
One of the few things I remember from journalism school is the importance of a creative "lede"/"lead" (depending on your spelling preference, for some reason I can't recall. I must have left class early to chain-smoke that day) or opening "hook." Ted delivers that in chapter one: "Sun slipped through the cracks left by poor workmanship, providing the shack's only light. A space around the plywood slipped across the window, a slit between the corroding sheet-metal and it's jamb, tiny arcs between crumbling cinder blocks and the corrugated tin roof," the book begins.
He goes on to describe his experience befriending a young man named Alonso at a bus stop in a Mexican border town, accompanying him as he negotiated with "coyotes" (the men who earn their money guiding Mexican immigrants across the border, with varying degrees of competence... Forgive me, but I laughed out loud when Ted described realizing that the coyotes, who were actually naive teenagers, planned to lead them across a river in what was basically a child's floaty pool *WITH A DAMN LEAK IN IT!*) and later waiting for the coyotes in a shack, apparently scared for their lives. He goes on to write: "Alonso, squatting down to give his legs a rest, surveyed the scores of [cigarette] butts. 'Lots of 'wetbacks' waited here, eh?' I thought of the minutes of worried waiting represented by each butt, the cumulative anxiety of them all."
For some reason I didn't personally connect with this book as much as I did with Ted's book Rolling Nowhere-- probably because, given that he wrote Rolling Nowhere in his early-mid 20s, I related to the experience of *trying* to write something that, despite your lack of life experience, meaningfully captures some important part of the human experience.
But, in terms of writing, Coyotes is him at his absolute best. I kept noticing the sheer amount of attention to detail and subtle emotion (for example, in one chapter, he describes listening to a Mexican migrant in a bar who was so desperate to enter the U.S. that he hopped a train and hid on top of the axles. It was an extremely dangerous endeavor-- the train could jerk forward too quickly at any moment. After several beers, the man in the bar admitted to witnessing another man who was attempting to do the same thing fall to his death. Ted writes about the conversation: "'You know, you're under there and it's nighttime , you see sparks,' he said, the aggression gone from his voice. Vicente had stopped looking at anything particular in the cantina. He was looking somewhere into the past." I found this observation incredibly moving.)
The pacing and build-up of tension in some chapters was unlike Ted's other books-- like I said, it felt like watching an action movie. I have this feeling that men often tend to have their own action movie fantasies, the same way that women often tend to have dramatic soap opera fantasies. I'm convinced Ted was living out his action movie fantasy in this book. 🤣 If you don't believe me, while waiting in the shack for the coyotes to return and still feeling unsure about his safety, Ted noticed an empty glass bottle nearby. "If worse came to worst, I thought, I could grab it by the neck, knock off the bottom against a wall, and have a weapon," he wrote. Next to that paragraph, I wrote in red ink: "Lol, I'm sure Ted. 😂"
Anyway, about the immigration issue itself: I'll confess I'm pretty ignorant on the topic, aside from what I just read in this book. I went in with the following assumption: America is basically like the lifeboat in the scene from Titanic where the passengers are arguing about whether to go back and rescue more people in the water. They *wanted* to help, but there wasn't nearly enough room for everyone, and if they tried they were afraid of getting swamped by all of the people desperately clamoring for safety and getting dragged into the water themselves too. I wish they would have gone back, like most viewers, but maybe it really is one of those situations where you don't know what you would do if you weren't there. I get it: self-preservation is a human instinct. Anyway, I guess that metaphor still stands in some senses (the world is filled with people attempting to flee terrible conditions and we can't take them all) but the situation is a lot more nuanced than that.
For one, the Mexican migrants (at least the ones in the book) who leave home for the border, usually as young adults, do so for economic reasons (they come from incredibly impoverished places, we're talking dirt floors homes here) but also for the same reasons most young adults leave the nest. They are lured by the temptation of (in this case specifically, American media images) adventure and excitement in a new place, by a chance to experience something different and maybe better. It just seems like human nature.
That said, as the mother of one migrant son lamented in her Mexican village, he could have stayed home and learned a trade but was lured by the risky prospect of earning easy money in the U.S.
On the other hand, the American government doesn't actually want to shut down illegal Mexican immigration totally (at least not when this book was published in the 80's) because it would alienate Mexico and, at least according to the argument Ted presents in the book, America's government thinks it is best to maintain a "good neighbor" policy with Mexico. Also, rural American farm owners who rely on Mexican immigrants have good reason for their choices (to reduce costs. They are trying to make ends meet, too). So do the American corporations, I guess, who reduce costs by outsourcing labor to factories in Mexican border towns. (The people living in those towns make more money at the American factories than they would without them.) And so do the Mexicans from poor villages who make more money than they could have ever dreamed of back home by working for less than minimum wage on American farms. And so do the Americans in towns with dwindling jobs who rightfully raise hell about the companies letting migrant workers come in and take the jobs they should be getting because the migrants are willing to work for less money. The whole issue just seems like a hodgepodge of different people with different motivations. It seems like just a collection of different humans "humaning," as one YouTuber I saw put it, and I genuinely don't know if there is a solution. I'm not sure what to think of everything yet, but I'm glad Coyotes has prompted me to think more about it.