Ocotillo Dreams does what many other fiction works do - addresses a social injustice. Operation Restoration is a police action orchestrated by INS, (Now called ICE), The Mayor of Chandler, and the Chandler City Police working in collaboration to round up Mexicans - Mexicans who are US citizens, Mexicans who are documented, and Mexicans who were undocumented. In other words, when a resident of Chandler is brown, the police stop the resident and ask the resident to prove legality. The intention is to rid the city of undocumented workers. The result was "casting a wide net" and whatever fell into that net was unapologetically fair game. (This thanks to Sheriff Joe Arpio). Ocotillo Dreams is set in 1997 when Operation Restoration occurred. Ocotillo Dreams answers and challenges this part of Arizona's history with Isola, a woman who leaves San Francisco to attend to her mother's property after her mother passes away. Isola is walking from point A to point B, does not have a purse, phone, wallet, or anything on her to validate her identify, and so she is arrested for being brown in Chandler.
The above paragraph is a small portion of the larger story. Operation Restoration is actually a small detail to tell the larger narrative of an estranged relationship between a mother and daughter. The Mother has left the comfort of San Francisco to live and work in the Arizona desert. Palacio does little to develop the mother's initial reasoning for going to Arizona. Why not Southern California? Why not New Mexico? Texas? Isola, the daughter, learns of her mother's secret life with Rescate Angeles after her death.
I love that Palacios creates a range of classes into which Mexicanos find themselves. So very often, the narrative written about Mexicans is limited to "drug dealers, rapists, murders" (Trump) or illegals, or "vatos" (I'm quoting a former colleague here), or farm workers. Palacios shows us Mexicanos who reflect the whole range of humanity: Lisa Martinez is the lawyer. Isola is the emerging Literature professor. Adele is the business owner. Pifi is the house cleaner. Zurdo is the pollero. Marina is the activist. Marcel Palan is the journalist. Cruz is the undocumented immigrant doing any and all odd jobs to make a living. Nacho is the sou chef who cuts lettuce all day long. Because Palacios offers a gamut and range of characters, I value and enjoy reading this work. Furthermore, I appreciate that Palacios shows the difference between recent immigrants, immigrants of long standing in the US, first generation Mexicanos, and second generation Mexicanos.
We are not monolithic. Our struggles are not the same. We often times don't even understand each other if some of us come from the second and third generation. When interactions between recent immigrants and 2nd generation Mexicanos talk, Palacios captures the awkward communication that comes from not really having the same common language.
In spite of loving the above elements of this short novel, I struggle to go above three stars because the work is so full of plot holes. Isola lands in Phoenix, meets Cruz, a strange man in her mother's home, and then immediately engages in a sexual relationship with a squatter. What? Cuz he helps her out with the gardening and bar-BQs some wonderful carne asada? Really? And then within a week of the sexy bits, she says "I love you" to Cruz. The pacing of the novel is fast, but for the sake of telling the big nuggets of the story, the particulars are left undeveloped.
Why would everyone want to conceal from Isola that Cruz is a lothario? Why not immediately state that Cruz hooked up with Marina, Isola's mom, and that Isola might not want to sleep with her mother's former lover. Especially if the lawyer, the friend, and Gretchen all knew these details about Cruz? The particulars struggle to hold together.
At one point, Cruz calls Isola from jail so she can bail him out, (yeah - cuz under Arpio's leadership that's what undocumented Mexicanos do-- just call someone to bail them out), and even though Isola never has a car, somehow between receiving the call from Cruz and getting to the police station, she magically purchases a car. No, the acquisition of a car is not a major plot device, and getting an automobile doesn't move the plot forward. But if Palacios can sort out getting a car for the other characters, then surely the protagonist could have this plot hole sorted out. And was bail even paid? Who paid it? Why is Cruz standing OUTSIDE of the police station rather than behind bars when Isola arrives at the station? The details don't hold. In this instance, the details of what happens to undocumented immigrants behind bars would make the reader more sympathetic to the people rounded up under Operation Restoration. Palacios abandons those details.
So why do I still love this work? I don't know. I just do. I'm going to leave this book rating with four stars rather than three.