Bookworm, Issue 6

The Book: Solito by Javier Zamora

In his memoir Solito Javier Zamora chronicles his migration, as a 9-year-old child, from El Salvador to the United States, surviving the unsurvivable, and in those nine weeks leaving childhood behind forever. His parents, who live in California, pay a coyote to bring him across the border; but he only arrives safely in “La USA” with help from three kind strangers who become his “second” family. As Zamora’s story unfolds, readers will find themselves in awe – again and again – of the human capacity to endure unthinkable hardship and to persevere in the face of trauma.

Zamora’s memoir is filled with sensory anecdotes that illustrate how his childhood self, “Javiercito,” tries to understand the adult world he’s forced to now navigate on his own. Our sense of smell is strongly linked to memory, and while reading I was curious about this connection. (Smell is the most important sense when tasting wine.) What role might smell play when writing a memoir? Can aromas help a writer better describe a scene for readers?

As you taste the California red blend I’ve paired with this book, try to think in general about smell and memory, and specifically about the aromas in your glass and what internal images or memories they might evoke for you.

When Zamora leaves his grandparents’ home, excited to be reunited with his parents, he believes that the “trip” will be an “adventure.” He is a child, his favorite possessions are superhero toys and a remote control T. Rex dinosaur, and he fully expects to return, maybe for Christmas. His grandfather accompanies him to the Guatemalan border with Mexico, but from there he’s on his own with “The Six” other migrants, including a young man named Chino and a mother and daughter, Patricia and Carla.

By writing from a child’s perspective, Zamora conjures the fear and uncertainty that he (and all migrating people) experienced. For example, after getting pulled off a bus by Mexican soldiers, Zamora and his traveling companions are forced at gunpoint to lie facedown in the dirt. He spots a lizard “close to my face, tan like me, blending in perfectly with the ground…She’s small. I name her Paula.” As the soldiers search them for money, Zamora hears Paula say, “Everything is going to be okay, fine, just fine.” And on a crowded boat in the Pacific Ocean, he images himself and the other migrants as a group of ants. “We’re so close to each other. Shoulder to shoulder. Knee to knee…we carry backpacks, we carry water, we carry food…We left alone, then found a coyote, then a group, and now we’re an even bigger group. A nest. A colony.”

Zamora is only a boy, thrust into an adult world, and it costs him his childhood. During the Sonoran Desert border crossing he nicknames the new things he encounters based on their appearances – the cacti are “Lonelies” and “Spikeys,” border agents are “Short Brown Hair” and “Brown Gringo,” the migrants walking single-file are a “centipede.” He’s curious and observant, still full of wonder, but shouldering an adult burden. His imagination helps him to cope, and it fills the void left by all the adults who have abandoned him.

Eventually “The Six” become “The Four” as Zamora makes multiple attempts to cross “La Línea” with his new family, including his “parents” Patricia and Chino and his “sister” Carla.  He is so brave and tries so hard to be grown up, to not cry. Patricia steps in to ensure that he eats and sleeps, bathes and brushes his teeth. Chino helps him tie his shoes. These small kindnesses mark the beginning of deeper commitment: “the four of us cuddle together like bananas. I love it. Patricia is the big banana, then Carla is wrapped around me, my face to Chino’s back. It keeps us warm at night.” Eventually “The Four” belong to one another, which is all young Zamora truly craves.

In a National Public Radio interview in 2022, Zamora says he wouldn’t be alive without Chino, Patricia and Carla and that Solito is “the biggest thank-you note” to them. For 20 years, he said, he didn’t want to think about their migration, but for three years while writing this memoir he thought about them every day.  When “The Four” eventually reach Tucson, Arizona, and go their separate ways, Zamora describes the final moments they have together before he falls asleep waiting for his parents: “I love them. I really love them. A pond, a lake in my eyes. I don’t want to let go. None of us wants to let go. A river.”

Despite countless steps through the desert, hunger, thirst, the heat and the cold, guns and cages, desperation and deception, it’s the strength and beauty of Zamora’s relationship with Chino, Patricia and Carla that will stick with readers. While “The Four” were powerless in so many ways, they did have each other and together they survived.

The Wine: Stolpman Vineyards “La Cuadrilla,” Ballard Canyon, 2021, $24

The wine is medium ruby, with just a hint of purple. It has medium (+) intensity on the nose with fruity aromas of black plum, blueberry, ripe strawberry and red cherry. There’s a distinct minty herbal aroma, as well as notes of sweet baking spice, black pepper, anise, vanilla and chocolate.

On the palate, the wine is dry with medium (+) acidity, medium body, medium tannins and high alcohol at 14% ABV. The palate mirrors the nose and is fruity – plum and cherry – and minty with a medium (+) intensity and finish. This wine is balanced and complex and is an exceptional value for the price.

It’s delicious served slightly chilled, about 55 degrees F, and is a perfect red wine to transition from summer into the cooler autumn months.

La Cuadrilla is 75% Syrah, 15% Grenache, 10% Sangiovese.

This wine is another excellent bottle that I purchased from my friend Horacio @sommnow. He curates specialty wines from small and interesting producers all around the world and arranges for them to be delivered right to your front door. Check him out on Instagram!

Why the pairing works:

Many California vineyard workers are Mexican migrants, and I chose La Cuadrilla as a perfect pair for Solito because profits from its sales are given back to the people who care for the grape vines. This unusual model was developed by vineyard manager Ruben Solorzano, himself a migrant to the United States from Mexico, in conjunction with vineyard owner Tom Stolpman. La Cuadrilla means “the crew,” and the program provides training and profit sharing so that the workers feel invested in the vines and the wine. The intention is to improve their lives, and the lives of their families, which is the hope of so many immigrants who come to the United States.

Visit https://www.stolpmanvineyards.com/product/La-Cuadrilla-2021 to learn more.

When drinking this red blend, smell it with intention and consider the powerful link between smell and memory. Aromas elicit our strongest memories, and Zamora’s sensory prose, particularly about the things he smells, infuses his memoir with authenticity. He remembers his mom and her breath like “freshly cut cucumbers.” Cigarettes smell of “crushed mango leaves mixed with smoke.”

After a treacherous boat ride, he writes, “We smell like the ocean. Like salt. Like gasoline. Like vomit. There’s no wind. No fan to hide the smell.” And when he’s locked in a small apartment with “The Six” for over a week, he copes with endless hours of boredom and television, saying, “These past few days I’ve sniffed around this apartamento pretending I’m a dog.”

While I don’t have special insight into Zamora’s writing process, I can imagine how the smells he describes in Solito might bring him right back to that time in his life, just as he has done for readers by sharing this powerful story of survival.