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The Tijuana Book of the Dead

The Tijuana Book of the Dead

by Luis Alberto Urrea
The Tijuana Book of the Dead

The Tijuana Book of the Dead

by Luis Alberto Urrea



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From the author of Pulitzer-nominated The Devil’s Highway and national bestseller The Hummingbird’s Daughter comes an exquisitely composed collection of poetry on life at the border. Weaving English and Spanish languages as fluidly as he blends cultures of the southwest, Luis Urrea offers a tour of Tijuana, spanning from Skid Row, to the suburbs of East Los Angeles, to the stunning yet deadly Mojave Desert, to Mexico and the border fence itself. Mixing lyricism and colloquial voices, mysticism and the daily grind, Urrea explores duality and the concept of blurring borders in a melting pot society.

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781619025158
Publisher: Catapult
Publication date: 01/01/2015
Sold by: Penguin Random House Publisher Services
Format: eBook
Pages: 208
File size: 439 KB

About the Author

Luis Alberto Urrea, 2005 Pulitzer Prize finalist for nonfiction and member of the Latino Literature Hall of Fame, is a prolific and acclaimed writer who uses his dual-culture life experiences to explore greater themes of love, loss, and triumph. Born in Tijuana, Mexico to a Mexican father and an American mother, Urrea has published extensively in all the major genres. The critically acclaimed and best-selling author of 13 books, he has won numerous awards for his poetry, fiction and essays, and his work has been featured in The Best American Poetry series. Urrea lives with his family in Naperville, IL, where he teaches creative writing at the University of Illinois-Chicago.

Read an Excerpt

"Siege Communiqué"

In Tijuana
they said Juárez
was the pueblo where old
whores went to die, where
25 cents bought flesh

by the river, no
body loved you, Sister—
so close to Texas
so far from

Today, they say
you are the cementerio
of hope: the only crop
in your garden of Río
Grande mud is bullets,

is machetes, is
acid baths for bones,
choruses of prayers
from those in torture church.
Hermanita of Perpetual

Sorrow, what flowers
do we hand you—we
who die now too.
We who dangle nude
and burned from bridges,

we who hoped
to see our daughters
run through sunlight, only
chased by waves
not bleeding

but laughing.

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