As a Mexican-American, I found this book ridiculous and insulting. If I could give it negative stars or a bomb, I would. From beginning to end, the content, dialog and references were way off for Mexican culture and history as I experienced it. Just Google quinceañera images and tell me how in the world THAT would work for a backyard barbecue. So every time Cummins mentions it or a spatula or lists out the names of ALL that attended, I rolled my eyes. Trying to imagine a cartel kingpin in studious glasses waxing and waning poetry and philosophy, I rolled my eyes. When a middle class business woman is forced by plot ploys to follow the migrant trail of those at the lowest economic levels, I rolled my eyes. When the good Mexicans and migrants constantly crossed themselves, said a rosary or said gracias a Dios, and the bad Mexicans constantly raped and murdered, I rolled my eyes. When an 8 year old is accepted as a Mexican national, not because he provides paperwork, but because he can spout out all the geographical detail of his home state, I rolled my eyes. When cell phones don’t work in the desert (as is expected) for tension and drama, but not only work but allow FaceTime when the plot requires it, I rolled my eyes. When the worst our protagonists suffer in a cross thru the brutal desert is sweat and a single blister remedied by a bandaid, I rolled my eyes.

And it goes on and on and on...

While I understand the desire to better understand the struggles and tragedies of those living on the border and those struggling to migrate across the Americas, I strongly recommend you use your money to buy Luis Alberto Urrea’s books instead: The House of Broken Angels for living on the northern side of the border, The Devils Highway for the brutality of crossing the border, and By the Lake of Sleeping Children (where Cummins hijacked Urrea's real life experiences in the Tijuana dump) for life on the southern side of the border.