Although I was named after Isabel Allende, and grew up loving to read, I somehow had never gotten around to actually diving into one of her novels. This first dive did not disappoint. Allende has written a hauntingly tragic story, yet she managed to instil it with hope and kindness.

The story spans multiple continents and generations. It centres around three characters who have all lived through atrocities at a young age: Nazi violence in Austria, the El Mozote massacre in El Salvador and Trump’s ‘zero tolerance’ policy at the US border with Mexico. We follow Samual Adler, Leticia Cordero and Anita Díaz as they survive these horrible events and try to move on. Along the way, we meet other key characters, such as social worker Selena Durán and lawyer Frank Angileri, who shed light on what it is like to work to improve the conditions of children such as Anita – seven years old, separated from her mother and left alone in an orphanage. Allende weaves their lives together to convey her message: this is what we have been and are – still– doing to each other, and this is how it affects the lives of children.

The way in which Allende draws parallels between what has happened, in Nazi Austria and El Mozote, and what is still happening, at the US- Mexico border, is admirable. In an interview with Alicia Menendez the author states that when she first learned of the travesties at the border, her mind immediately went to a play she had seen decades ago about the ‘Kindertransport.’ This transport was a last, desperate attempt of Austrian Jewish families to get their children to safety. 10,000 children were put on a transport to England, where families had agreed to take them in. This was not entirely as successful as hoped, which Allende shows the reader through Samual, who ends up in an orphanage and suffers from pneumonia before finding a family that treats him well. Allende saw the parallel, history repeating itself. However, she also acknowledges that these are not the only instances of forced family separations:

Think of slavery, when they could just take a child from its mother and sell it to someone else, or indigenous children that were separated from their family and placed in horrible Christian boarding schools, or the Irish mothers who had their children taken away and put up for adoption just because they were not married.

Deeply rooted in this novel is a call to action, an attempt to open our eyes to this ongoing tragedy. Does it work? Well, Allende got me to put down her book and googling what I could do to help (there are various charities you can donate to, one of which was founded by Allende herself – to which I donated). The part where she reveals that families who try to cross the border illegally are put into so-called ‘ice boxes’ and are left there for three days particularly affected me. Imagine your seven-year-old self, left in a freezing room with your mother or father, and then imagine what it would feel like if armed men came in and took your parent away without telling you anything.

Overall, Allende did an irritatingly excellent job of conveying a feeling of hopelessness. The passages about the Nazi violence and the El Mozote massacre elicit similar sentiments, but since these are events that have already happened, the hopelessness of those past events bring the horrors of what is still happening today even sharper into focus.

The use of multiple points of view gives us, the readers, a deeper insight into the various different characters’ backgrounds. Allende likes to share their histories of immigration – particularly how Selena Durán and Frank Angileri ancestors came to the USA. It seems fitting considering the subject of the novel and enriches the overarching plot, which slowly brings these first, second or third generation immigrants together in search of Anita’s mother.

The only thing the novel lacks is showing. Much of Allende’s novel is very descriptive, which is not a problem in and of itself, but it does result in it reading more like a piece arguing against certain politics than the characters’ own authentic story. For example, the first few pages of the novel introduce us to Samual Adlers’ parents and their struggles living under Nazi rule. But instead of leaving clues for readers to pick up, Allende gives us a full account of the Adlers’ characters, thoughts and concerns: “His worries had begun a few years prior and only worsened as Nazi power was consolidated.” Consequently, it sometimes feels like Allende is using her characters to push an agenda instead of sincerely telling their stories and leaving the readers to draw their own conclusions.

It can be argued that knowing the details of the Adlers’ lives and the Nazi presence adds to the sense of impending doom. Still, the not knowing and the putting together of the pieces that comes with showing would have given this narrative an edge. It would have added a certain level of emotion – both good and bad – that would have made the book, the characters and their stories come even more alive.

Beyond that, the novel is captivating. The chapters in which Anita talks about her guardian angel and a place called Azabahar are particularly engaging. According to the seven-year-old, Azabahar “is a star where the people and the animals all live happily, and it’s even better than heaven, because you don’t have to die to go there.” It is a magical place that Anita visits with her younger sister Claudia (who has passed on) and there, they are reunited with their mother, grandmother and other people that are important to Anita. Most importantly, there are no mean or bad guys there, and “no one is ever afraid”. Anita’s guardian angel, as she tells her sister “won’t go away forever, Claudia, don’t be silly. Guardian angels have to stay with their kid.”

At first glance, it seems Allende’s way of illustrating how Anita was trying to cope with her trauma. Yet, Allende is known for incorporating magical realism into her novels… so what else could Allende have meant to tell us by creating Anita’s fantasy realm? Something Anita tells her little sister struck me. “No, we’re not lost. The wind knows my name. And yours too.” She is reassuring herself and her sister – using the title of the novel – that they will never be alone. Then, at the very end of the novel, Samual says, after he joined Anita in Azabahar: “It’s the mysterious realm of imagination, a place you can only see with the heart.”

The guardian angel who will never leave her, the place where she can visit her loved ones whenever she likes… It seems Allende is trying to tell us that you should never experience grief alone. Anita stays connected with the world around her, even after her trauma, whereas Samual withdraws from it and into himself: “From a young age, he had been plunged into a harsh reality and never thought to create a better, imaginary world.”

Azabahar and the personal angel ensure that Anita never feels truly alone, and it helps her to keep functioning through this difficult period. The last line would then indicate that Samual – with Anita’s help – has finally realised this as well. This makes for a wonderful full-circle parallel in the novel. It also left me feeling a longing – the good kind – for a magical place like Abazahar.

As a first-time reader of Allende, I’m now convinced her other novels are worth reading as well. Allende’s novel is meant to make readers reflect on the current horrors going on in the world, and it did exactly that. Readers hearts go out to Allende’s well-written characters, and she does an excellent job of making you hope that Anita finds her mother again. If one can only see this place through the heart, it will look different to each of us. What does your Abazahar look like?