Never Trip When Traveling
Book review
Those who believe leaders are born did not mature into adulthood in an urban setting.
Because cities require orderly movement of inhabitants, they are often compared to the human circulatory system; roads and rail are the arteries and veins needed to move people, the lifeblood, to and from.
Set in 1979 among Chicago’s infamous train cars, The El is a semi-autobiographical account of life in America’s most segregated big city. It features Teddy, the spiritually superstitious de facto leader of a street gang sect, and it moves as quickly as an engine whipping around concave curves.
Short in stature, an avid reader, and a weed smoker, Teddy is the product of a broken home. Although he lives with a father responsible enough to meet Maslow’s minimum, defining the same man as accountable to anyone not featured on a liquor label is a stretch.
The eldest of three, he is a bit of a looker, but his mother’s cold nature has Teddy convinced that women are not yet worth the effort. Studious enough to willingly return to school after dropping out, he is often mistaken for a migrant despite being an Indigenous American and native to the city.
A deep thinker struggling with being placed in the seat of authority, he is further troubled by being tasked with safely escorting the mixed-race group into and through rival territories for a mandatory city-wide unification summit.
Filled with vivid descriptions of Chicago’s collection of neighborhoods, its commentary on the paradox of being one of the most diverse, yet racially segregated, is spot on. Gritty, immersive, and accurate, astute readers will not miss the symbolic representations of how minorities are affected by the rate, rhythm, and modulation of seemingly disconnected urban journeys.
Authentic in its representation of how everyone, especially those with starched collars, is, by default, gang-affiliated, this work challenges readers to reconsider the constraints and systemic factors that influence choice and identity. Because of its realistic portrayal of urbanized Indigenous Americans, readers should not expect a narrative filled with historical context or syllogisms about life on the plains.
This work explores the need to form conventional sub-communities to navigate invisible and visible threats. It blends dialogue and action with introspective snatches into opposing views on institutionalized challenges resulting from socialized neglect. Filled with vivid glimpses into the prevalence and fluidity of discriminatory poverty, conservative readers will be uncomfortably confronted by portrayals of hooligans with racial ethnicities representative of the mainstream majority.
Written by Theodore C. Van Alst, Jr., an enrolled member of the Mackinac Bands of Chippewa and Ottawa Indians, it’s a refreshingly overdue portrayal of strength in diversity. If the reality of culture shock is allegedly limited to immigrants and minorities, readers are cautioned to consider that Malian Moors sailed the oceans 180 years before, and Indigenous Americans existed when the Black Nino brothers, Juan, Juan Moreno/Juan Prieto, and Columbus landed in 1492.
Infused with references to a non-race-based hand-to-mouth existence, readers with a strong appreciation for immersive experiences prevalent in cities will appreciate the accurate representations of humanized hardship. Others may reconsider the additional factors that make it easy to label one behavior criminal, yet when exhibited by those less “othered,” designating it as resilience.
Rating: ★★★★★
