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Essay on My Grandfather

Students are often asked to write an essay on My Grandfather in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on My Grandfather

My grandfather’s kindness.

My grandfather is the kindest person I know. He always has a warm smile for everyone. When I visit him, he greets me with a big hug and asks about my day. He loves to share stories and treats from his garden.

His Love for Gardening

He spends hours in his garden, growing vegetables and flowers. His hands are rough from work, but he handles plants gently. He teaches me names of flowers and how to plant seeds. His garden is a place of magic for me.

Tales of the Past

Grandfather tells tales of his youth, making history come alive. His stories are full of adventure and lessons. He makes me feel connected to the past and teaches me the value of experience.

Grandfather’s Wisdom

He gives great advice. When I’m upset, he listens and helps me see things clearly. His words are simple yet deep, and he always knows how to make things better. He is my role model.

250 Words Essay on My Grandfather

My loving grandfather.

My grandfather is a kind and gentle man. He has white hair and always wears a warm smile. When I think of him, I picture his cozy living room and the stories he tells. He loves to share tales from his youth, and his eyes light up when he talks about the past.

Teaching Me Life Lessons

One of the best things about my grandfather is the wisdom he shares. He teaches me right from wrong and shows me how to be patient and fair. His life stories are like lessons that help me understand the world. He believes in hard work and always tells me to do my best in school.

His Hobbies and Interests

My grandfather has many hobbies. He enjoys gardening and has a beautiful garden full of flowers and vegetables. He also likes to read books and newspapers every day. Sometimes, he reads stories to me, and I learn new things from them.

Spending Time Together

I love spending time with my grandfather. We often go for walks or play board games. He listens to me when I talk about school or my friends. He gives me advice and makes me feel important. My grandfather’s house is a place where I feel happy and safe.

In conclusion, my grandfather is a special person in my life. His kindness, wisdom, and love make my world a better place. I am thankful for every moment I spend with him, and I hope to make him proud as I grow up.

500 Words Essay on My Grandfather

Who my grandfather is.

My grandfather is an important person in my life. He is my father’s father and has white hair and warm, gentle eyes. He’s not very tall, but he stands straight, and when he smiles, his whole face lights up. He’s old, but he’s not slow. He walks every morning and even plays with us sometimes.

His Daily Life

Every day, my grandfather wakes up early. He likes to start his day with a cup of tea and the newspaper. He reads about what’s happening in the world and then goes for a walk. He says that walking keeps him healthy. After his walk, he spends time in the garden. He loves plants and knows how to make flowers grow big and bright.

My grandfather knows a lot. He tells me stories of when he was young. He has lived through times when there were no computers or smartphones. He has seen the world change. When I need advice, I go to him. He listens carefully and then gives me ideas that are simple but smart. He teaches me right from wrong and helps me understand difficult things in a simple way.

His Hobbies

He has many hobbies. He likes to paint, and his pictures are beautiful. He also likes to make things out of wood. He made me a small chair when I was little. He enjoys music and sometimes sings old songs. These songs tell stories of the past. I love to sit and listen to him because it feels like I’m traveling back in time.

Time With Family

Family is very important to my grandfather. He makes sure that we all eat at least one meal together. During dinner, he asks about our day and shares his own stories. On weekends, he takes us to the park or the museum. He says that spending time with family is the best thing in life.

His Love for Food

My grandfather loves to eat and he has a big sweet tooth. He enjoys cakes and cookies, but he also loves healthy food. He often eats fruits and vegetables from our garden. He says that good food can make you happy and healthy.

Lessons from Him

In conclusion, my grandfather is a special person. He’s wise, kind, and full of stories. He loves his family and takes care of his health. He enjoys his hobbies and teaches me important lessons. I love him very much and I feel lucky to have him in my life. He’s not just my grandfather; he’s my friend and my teacher too.

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Essay About The Best Story My Grandfather Told Me

Some of my favorite memories are sitting with Grandpa on his front porch after school, and listening to his colorful tales from times long ago. Whether true adventures or works of fiction, his stories fueled wonder and always left me smiling. Out of all the imaginative yarns shared, one, in particular, stands out as my absolute favorite that I’ll never forget. In this essay, I hope to vividly retell that special story for you.

Table of Contents

Short Paragraphs Essay On The Best Story My Grandfather Told Me

Introduction paragraph.

Grandpa began by explaining how late one moonless evening, he awoke to an eerie howl piercing the darkness outside. Peering through window shutters, movement caught his eye down by creek – a glowing pair of eyes peered back brightly! Curiosity fueling bravery despite the chilling unknown, Grandpa dressed warmly creeping towards the ominous glow for a closer look.

An Enchanted Encounter

Through forest shadows, eyes led straight as arrows alongside bubbling water. Emerging into the clearing, the sight awaiting blew young Grandpa’s socks clean off! For under the moon’s faint light pranced a family of shaggy, dog-sized creatures with fur aglow neon blue! At realizing the audience, magical mammals cocked their heads inquisitively unafraid. Our jaws dropped imagining a surreal meeting so prehistoric yet friendly as in storybooks!

A Lesson to Last Lifetimes

Rather than frightening Grandpa away, the glowing group let him observe peacefully for hours. Realizing his wonder, they offered bow-wagging tails laughing as if in human tongue before fading back into misty forest depths. Grandpa learned courage opens eyes to nature’s secrets and that not all unknowns need fear if greeted with an understanding heart. This lesson stuck truer than any textbook teaching bravery and empathy’s lifelong rewards.

A Spark for Future Dreams

Through this tall tale lovingly shared, Grandpa ignited the spark for natural mysteries yet uncovered even today. Wonder fuels fascination leading apprentice scientists to explore Earth’s secrets just as his story sparked ages past. I strive to follow curiosity wherever trails may lead with openness to surprises around the next lush forest bend. Grandpa’s bedtime magic lives on through kindred souls yet to be discovered!

Conclusion: Kindled Inspiration Lives On

And so in closing, while truth dwells unknown for enchanted woodland friends, effect tingles reality – this special story sparked my soul’s adventure. Grandpa’s gift of imaginings that know no age or end shall forever nourish exploring new horizons yet uncharted. I hope retelling kindles spark too for discovering enriching life’s beauty however small each day. Our futures shine brightest guided by past folktales refusing to let fanciful dreaming dim!

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Dealing With the Death of a Grandfather Essay

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When I was still a child, I only used to hear about deaths that had struck other families. I never paid much attention to such bad news because I assumed it was just a normal thing in life. My Sunday school teacher taught me that people went to heaven once they died.

My father was the last born in their family, and therefore, he was instructed by his siblings to accommodate our grandpa in our home. When grandpa moved into our house, I was only ten years old. Since grandpa spent most of his time at home, I was very close to him than anyone in our family.

The death of my grandpa happened several years ago, but it still haunts me because I have never come to accept his departure. His death came when I was in my mid-twenties, and it struck when our family least expected it. Grandpa did not suffer from any chronic diseases as most elderly people do; hence my family was caught unaware.

His death was an eye-opener to me because before his passing on, I thought death occurred only to certain people. It was during his burial that I realized that death is a must for all living things. In my mind, I never expected grandpa to depart from us, and when he finally did, I felt that God was so unfair to me because He should have left grandpa to see my children. I also felt like I was too young to deal with this situation.

My parents did not seem to grieve for longer than I did. From their conversations, I could tell they were celebrating grandpa’s life, but then there was nothing to celebrate for me because I had lost my closest companion and counselor. I was not content with the advice and wisdom I had earned from grandpa because I felt there was still room for more of his counsel.

What made me cry the most was the fact that grandpa went down with so much knowledge, and there was no way I could have retrieved this knowledge or otherwise stop his death. This grieving and mourning fell on me immediately after his funeral. Before his burial, there were so many people at our home, but when we laid him to rest, that’s when reality dawned on me.

I used to visit his grave quite often and expressed my feelings for him. I used to hear that the dead could communicate with the living through dreams; therefore, I expected grandpa to communicate with me when I was deep asleep. When this failed to happen, I was confused because I could not understand why grandpa could not do like the other dead people.

It took me a very long time to get used to life without grandpa. My family was very supportive because my mom and dad understood the bond that existed between grandpa and me. I still refer to grandpa’s teachings because they have molded me into whom I am. I have come to learn that experience is the best teacher of all times.

Today I’m in a better position to advise people who have experienced the same problem. It is said that unless one understands darkness, he can never appreciate the light. There are so many challenges that faced my family, but I have chosen to leave them out due to their complexity.

When grandpa was still living, no one thought he played a significant role, but when he was gone, he left a very big gap that nobody could ever fill. Philosophers argue that if you want people to recognize your efforts, you must stop for some time for people to realize your role in their lives. Grandpa served as the unifying factor in our family tree.

I still imagine there are other people in my family who were affected by grandpa’s death, but they still hold their emotions to themselves. I have heard other people say that one can never know what he has until he loses it. Grandpa’s death made me stay alert just in case we lost another family member. There was a grand reception at grandpa’s funeral, which left me wondering why such a feast was not held while he was still alive.

Sprenger (2003) suggests that parents should prepare their children for the departure of their grand parents because if I were prepared for grandpa’s departure, I would have moved on with my life sooner than later. It is also important to appreciate others while they still live. This can be achieved by giving them special gifts and also taking their photos. You should have seen how people were struggling to appear in grandpa’s photos at his funeral.

My uncles and cousins used to visit our home quite often to check on grandpa, but his death brought their visits to a halt. They hardly came to our house unless there was a very important family meeting, and that’s when our families split. These family meetings lasted until all of grandpa’s property was shared among his heirs. To me, these material things meant nothing, and I could not compare them to the relationship between grandpa and me.

I only wished grandpa would come back to life and see what his descendants were going through. Grandpa was wise enough to write down a will that commanded how his possessions would be shared. This event made me realize that there is only one life to be lived; hence I should enjoy it to its fullest.

I still remember how, during my free time, I would pop into grandpa’s house for a couple of stories. My grandpa was very talkative; hence our conversations were extended to the late hours of the night. I did not tire from listening to grandpa because every story presented a new lesson for me. Grandpa was such a religious person, so all his narratives were based on religion.

There is one crucial lesson that grandpa taught me back then, but it still rings in my mind like it was yesterday. Prior to the material day, our house had been raided by burglars, but nobody was hurt in the incident. Grandpa referred to that incidence to explain to me that according to Holy Scriptures, God is the giver of life, and nobody else has the capacity to do so.

He argued that God being the creator of man He is the only one who knows the beginning and the end to a person’s life. He encouraged me to be brave since he believed everything that happens to humans has a reason. Grandpa advised me to always consult God in everything that I wanted to do in the future because he felt the success of one’s plan depends on God.

Grandpa was a very active member of our local church. Catholic faithful used to meet in his house for fellowship prayers and bible study. During school holidays, grandpa would invite me to join him in those fellowship meetings that were normally held twice per week. He argued that these meetings were used to create awareness for Christians on how they can improve their relationship with God.

Grandpa’s death provided a window of opportunity for me to experience. Honey & Mumford (2006) argues that in real life, the experience is not earned through reading or lectures. In fact, people learn through experience regardless of whether they lose or gain something in exchange for the lesson. It is, therefore, certain that a lesson learned through experience can not be lost.

According to Revel (2005), people may lose what they hold dear for them to learn their lesson. Therefore, if they lose what they value most, they will never learn because if what they lose does not affect their lives, they will not consider avoiding the recurrence of the same incidence. In the biblical scriptures, death is mentioned as the punishment for one’s sins, but this punishment was lifted by the crucifixion of Jesus Christ on the cross.

Grandpa taught me that I should do to others what I expected them to do to me. He used to love his best example. He argued that if I wanted to be loved, I must first love others more because I love love.

He explained that whatever good or bad things that one does towards others, they will definitely come back to him or her. Actually, if people were keen to exercise this principle, there would be no jails or such things. I have found jealousy and selfness to be the major cause of all evils. To prevent bad things from coming back to me, I try my best to do good things for others because the same thing will be done to me.

Grandpa used to tell me that he was content with what he had acquired in his younger days. He taught me that the most important things in life are food and clothing because they are necessary for one’s survival. He said that a person could enjoy his sleep in the bush as long as his stomach is full.

He was also quick to mention that riches are blessings from God. He said that God’s blessings are always plenty for all humans, but when one refuses to share his blessings with others, he limits his blessings because there is no room for more blessings. With this in mind, I share whatever I have regardless of its quantity or volume because God avails just enough for all.

To illustrate this idea better, grandpa asked me to invite some of my friends into his house for a cup of tea. When my pals and I were done with tea, he brought a huge basket filled with loaves of bread. He asked me to hold as many as I could, but I only managed to hold five of them while the rest slipped from my hands. We repeated the same procedure, but this time, he asked me to pass over the loaves to my pals as soon as I held enough.

He explained that most people refuse to share what they have because they want it to be plenty, but in the final end, they have very little. This is because most of their possessions go to waste. On the contrary, those who share with others have plenty and can never lack anything.

He further explained that since human beings were brought into this world by God with nothing, there is no way a person can carry anything out of this world. This, in return, has made me consider helping others who lack what I have in plenty because I consider my life to be worthy if I live it for others.

This is true because, according to Christian teachings, humans are supposed to love each other unconditionally. Jesus, the Messiah, further explained this element to feature one’s enemies. I apply this element in life by accepting all people as the children of God regardless of their faith or culture. I have also learned to co-exist with my enemies because God is our Universal father.

Grandpa insisted that riches are not a result of hard work but God’s blessing. To support this point, he gave examples of people who used and still worked hard, and yet they were not rich while their counterparts who were considered lazy had lots of wealth. I have learned to let nature take its course when I can not change the direction of events in my life.

I have come to realize that God understands our efforts; He knows how much we have tried. By reading Holy Scriptures, I have learned that our worries are useless because they can not help us in times of need. Since God feeds the birds of the air, He is able to feed me too.

The above argument has made me change my attitude towards poor people and appreciate them for who they are. Many people think that the poor are to blame for their poverty because they don’t work as much as they should. Furthermore, Christianity states that God cares for the needy.

Grandpa told me to handle all people in the same manner regardless of their status in society or their profession because all humans are equal before God. He argued that some people would appreciate another person depending on his influence in society.

Christianity teaches that God humbles those who are proud and honors those who are humble because He is the creator of both evil and good people. Grandpa referred to the story of Zacchaeus in the bible, who was short in height and was hated by people because of the nature of his work, but he was honored by the Messiah. In my opinion, the social status of a person does not reflect his personality because a profession only provides the source of income.

Honey, P & Mumford, A. (2006). The learning styles questionnaire, 80 – item version. Maidenhead, UK, Peter Honey Publications.

Revel, P. (2005). Each to their own . UK: The Guardian.

Sprenger, M. (2003). Differentiation through learning styles and memory . Thousand Oaks, CA: Corvin Press.

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IvyPanda. (2020, December 29). Dealing With the Death of a Grandfather. https://ivypanda.com/essays/dealing-with-the-death-of-a-grandfather/

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This Is Not Your Typical Campus Novel

Karla Cornejo Villavicencio’s debut work of fiction captures the paradox of immigrant identity in the United States.

Outline of a woman in profile with a figure inside her head

In today’s United States, at least in liberal and leftist circles, certain aspects of identity are understood to be a matter of choice—as well as a battleground for freedom. I don’t live in America anymore, but over the course of the decade I spent there, I learned that a person’s decision to identify as Tejano, Chicano, or Latine, rather than as Texan, Mexican American, or Hispanic, has philosophical and political implications that reach far beyond semantics. What complicates the picture is that, in order to be who we are, we need others to recognize us—to see us as we see ourselves and accept us as such. Or, if you prefer memes to Hegel, you could say that the problem of identity is that we live in a society . And in most societies, if you belong to a marginalized group, those in power may make decisions that further diminish your standing.

This struggle for recognition is at the center of Karla Cornejo Villavicencio’s first work of fiction, Catalina , an often delightful and occasionally unsatisfying campus novel about a Latine senior at Harvard who thinks about books, boys, and clothes; worries about her working-class immigrant grandparents; has a complicated relationship with the country where her ancestors are buried; rolls her eyes at what she sees as white people’s endless capacity for foolishness; and dreams of becoming a writer. Everything about Catalina, in other words, is a product of the United States: Few things are more American than an overachieving immigrant striver.

narrative essay about grandfather

And yet, according to the United States and its laws, Catalina is not American. Born in Ecuador, she was sent to live with her grandparents in New York when she was very young, after she miraculously survived the car crash that killed her parents. The problem is that Catalina and her new guardians are undocumented residents. Cornejo Villavicencio’s novel, then, is a meditation on an aspect of identity that is not a question of choice: nationality. It doesn’t matter that Catalina identifies as American rather than Ecuadoran. She could change any number of things about herself, but she can do nothing to alter the fact that she was born outside the arbitrary boundaries of the country she calls home.

Read: There’s no such thing as a meaningful death

The only two exits from this predicament, Catalina soon learns, are equally treacherous. The immigration lawyer who gives her a pro bono consultation at Harvard’s behest tells her that her paths to changing her undocumented status are either “marriage or legislation.” This collision between love and the law distinguishes Catalina from other recent campus novels, many of which struggle to find depth in the banal incidents of a student’s coming of age. Assuming no imminent development in legislation, Catalina would have to get married to an American citizen. But when love becomes a vehicle for enfranchisement, it ceases to be just love. Catalina’s problem isn’t that the personal is political—it always is—but that, for many immigrants, the political is personal, even intimate.

This tension, however, plays out mostly in the background of the novel. Catalina is generally more concerned with the usual preoccupations of undergraduates: her complicated friendship with a fellow student, an invitation to join an “arts and letters secret society,” the outfit she’ll wear to the next party, and, above all, boys. There are many of them, she tells us, without a trace of shame. Her pickup line is at once ridiculous and a welcome rebuke to the commonplace notion that women like her are inevitably victims of their culture’s supposed repression of female sexuality: “I can be devastating in bed . ”

But Catalina is also self-aware enough to understand that the boys who interest her are, in truth, just an “audience” for the personality she’s trying out. And indeed, Cornejo Villavicencio’s fluid, digressive prose shines brightest when Catalina’s theatrical self-presentation takes center stage. Consider the scene in which she meets the boy who later becomes a main character in her life. Catalina has just run out of the campus museum where she works to let her grandmother know that she has won a writing prize. The boy in question, Nathaniel, who is white, is smoking nearby. While Catalina speaks animatedly in Spanish with her grandmother, the two lock eyes. When she hangs up, he approaches her:

“What did your mother say?” he said, putting out his cigarette under the toes of his Nikes. “What makes you think it was my mother?” “How you spoke to her just now, it had to be an older person and I don’t see you cursing out your grandma.”

Having spent my formative years in the U.S., I know something about the electric thrill of discovering that an American object of desire understands your mother tongue. But just when I thought I was about to watch Cornejo Villavicencio’s protagonist fall into the volatile tangle of erotic and linguistic misrecognition that shook me so much that I wound up writing a novel about it , Catalina turns out to be far shrewder than I was at her age:

I could tell he wanted me to be impressed. He wanted me to ask him how he knew Spanish, but I was not curious, because there were a finite number of explanations for a boy such as him at a place such as this, and I felt no interest in exploring the known world.

Catalina exchanges a few lines with Nathaniel about a class they took together freshman year. And then, out of nowhere, Cornejo Villavicencio delivers irrefutable proof that, when it comes to depicting courtship, she is a worthy student of Gabriel García Márquez:

“Could you tie my shoe?” I said suddenly, my voice breaking slightly. I cleared my throat. “I don’t think I can kneel in this dress. It’s too short” … Nathaniel widened his eyes but knelt anyway. “So you just say things, sometimes?” he asked, tying the laces on my white leather Oxfords, shoes my grandmother bought specifically so I could wear them to parties with boys. “Like, you say whatever you want? Because it amuses you?” His words were angry but his face was wild with happy things in it.

Catalina’s boldness has the unmistakable flavor of realism: This is what late-adolescent desire is like. The scene is specific and for that reason vivid, giving the reader a glimpse of what makes each character unique. On top of everything, the whole conversation is, well, kind of hot.

The specificity of the scene I just recounted, however, heightened the disappointment I felt each time Catalina falls prey to stereotypical characterizations of people she encounters. At one point, looking around at the other Latines in an anthropology class, she says that she “had forgotten what we looked like.” A few pages later, though, Catalina notes that her Puerto Rican friend Delphine’s widowed father “was Black. Not African American. Afro Latino.” By contrast, Delphine’s deceased mother, also Puerto Rican, had “pink skin, pink cheeks, green eyes, curly dark hair.” Latines, of course, look as different from one another as Delphine’s parents do from each other. At the risk of repeating the commonly expressed skepticism regarding the coherence of the very notion of latinidad, I have to ask: What do “we” look like?

Read: The fundamental paradox of latinidad

Then again, it could be that Catalina’s reliance on stereotypes is a symptom of her struggle with a world that lets those reductive perceptions, rather than people’s actual qualities, determine who they can be. Early on, Catalina says that she and Delphine “looked like two characters from the same cartoon animator.” Perhaps Cornejo Villavicencio is more astute than her protagonist. Perhaps this is a novel about a young woman so overwhelmed by American racism that she can’t help describing herself and her Latina friend as identical caricatures. Such is the paradox of identity in the contemporary United States: If marginalized people want to be seen—which is to say, recognized—they sometimes have to become stereotypical.

Cornejo Villavicencio first became known for her nonfiction debut, The Undocumented Americans , a collection of essays that blends personal narrative with reported profiles of some of the most vulnerable immigrant workers in the United States, and which was a finalist for the 2020 National Book Award. That book’s emphasis on the marginalized among the marginalized, she explained, was an attempt to shift the discussion about immigration away from so-called Dreamers—young and often accomplished undocumented people who were brought to the U.S. as children—and toward their parents. Day laborers and domestic workers, Cornejo Villavicencio argued, are just as deserving of social recognition and legal relief as are their photogenic offspring, including those who, like herself, beat the odds of America’s rigged meritocracy to earn admission to places such as Harvard.

Cornejo Villavicencio has said that she began writing The Undocumented Americans shortly after the election of Donald Trump. The book is indeed a faithful testimonio , as we would say in Latin America, of that moment of political despair. By then, chances of the DREAM Act—a proposed law that would have provided Dreamers with a path to citizenship—passing had all but dried up, and the notion that Congress would ever approve more comprehensive immigration reform seemed hopelessly naive. Even Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, an Obama-era policy that protected Dreamers from the immediate threat of deportation and allowed them to seek formal employment, was at risk. Cornejo Villavicencio’s prose from that period crackles with righteous anger at a country that was subjecting people like her parents and herself to a regime of terror, most notably by separating children from their families at the border, and then imprisoning those children in crowded chain-link cages in “detention centers.”

The presidency of Joe Biden has not been much kinder to migrants , but it does seem to have given Cornejo Villavicencio space to consider less urgent questions, such as the political dilemmas of those undocumented immigrants whose lives are, relatively speaking, less precarious. Catalina believes that “people who were politically neutral were cowards,” but she is also acutely aware of the dwindling prospects of the DREAM Act, an awareness that leads her to a kind of paralysis. Graduation is approaching, but what’s the point of writing a good thesis if her immigration status shuts her out of most desirable jobs? Her malaise is so intense that she can barely bring herself to join the organizing efforts of other Dreamers at Harvard.

But then, near the end of the book, her grandfather receives a deportation order. Desperate, Catalina does what Ivy Leaguers learn to do when they need help: She emails the most famous person she knows, Nathaniel’s father, Byron Wheeler, a celebrated filmmaker who makes artsy documentaries about Latin America. After he suggests, half-jokingly, that she should marry Nathaniel, Catalina and Byron come up with a plan: They will make a short film about Catalina’s graduation from Harvard to call attention to her grandfather’s case.

Catalina is less than thrilled about the prospect. “I don’t think I have it in me to be a poster child,” she tells Byron. “I want to sell out and work for a hedge fund like everyone else.” It’s not just her. When she shows footage from the documentary to Delphine, her friend replies that she’s “a little concerned it comes across as stereotypical.” But Catalina loves her grandfather enough to put aside her ambivalence. With this development, Cornejo Villavicencio seems to suggest that, in a country as obsessed with identity as the United States is, transforming into stereotypes allows the marginalized to not only become visible but also acquire agency. Perhaps one must subsume one’s uniqueness into the unspecified “we” that Catalina evokes when she finds herself surrounded by other Latines in the classroom—and give up individual identity for the sake of a political identity, one that offers a measure of power.

Could this discovery mark the culmination of our hero’s coming of age? Not quite. After a flurry of events that feels rushed, almost as if it were the outline of a longer book, the novel suddenly ends. The documentary never gets finished. The grandfather’s predicament comes to an unexpected conclusion that leaves his granddaughter feeling bitter. The DREAM Act fails to pass. Catalina and Nathaniel never get married. It’s unsatisfying, even disappointing. But perhaps this abruptness is intentional. I choose to believe that Cornejo Villavicencio wants to leave the reader hanging. Until the United States recognizes undocumented Americans, there will be no rest for the likes of Catalina—or for the readers of her story.

​When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.

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How My Grandfather's Disease Has Changed My Life

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