It's true that immigrant novels have to do with people going

Oscar Hijuelos, with the wisdom of a storyteller who has seen the beating heart of many lives, declares: “It’s true that immigrant novels have to do with people going from one country to another, but there isn’t a single novel that doesn’t travel from one place to another, emotionally or locally.” These words carry a truth that extends beyond literature, for they speak of the great voyage every soul must take—whether across seas or within the secret landscapes of the heart.

The immigrant novel stands as a mirror of movement: men and women crossing oceans, leaving behind the soil of their ancestors, and stepping into lands unknown. Yet Hijuelos reminds us that all stories are journeys, whether the steps are traced across continents or traced within the chambers of the soul. For what tale is worth telling that does not involve change, transformation, and passage from one state to another? Without travel—whether outward or inward—there can be no growth, no revelation, no true story.

Think upon the tale of Dante Alighieri, who though banished from Florence, wrote his immortal Divine Comedy. In it, he traveled not only beyond the borders of his city, but into the very realms of the afterlife. His exile from his homeland mirrored the journey of his spirit, wandering through Hell, ascending Mount Purgatory, and at last gazing upon the eternal heavens. Dante, like the immigrants of Hijuelos’ words, crossed borders—both earthly and divine—reminding us that stories of exile, passage, and discovery are as old as mankind itself.

And yet, even those who never leave their hometown still wander in the realm of the spirit. Consider Anne Frank, confined within the narrow walls of her secret annex. Though her feet never traveled far, her diary carried her spirit across worlds—of hope, fear, longing, and quiet courage. Her story did not cross oceans, but it traveled emotionally with a depth so vast that it touched the hearts of millions across time and nations. Thus, Hijuelos is right: all novels, whether they speak of immigrants or the hidden corners of the heart, are vessels of travel.

This teaching reveals to us a great truth about life itself. Just as no story is without travel, no human life is without passage. A person may remain in their village from birth to death, yet their spirit journeys through seasons of innocence, love, suffering, and wisdom. Another may roam across continents and yet remain unchanged within. The true journey, therefore, is both outward and inward, and both must be honored if one seeks to live fully.

So let the lesson be this: cherish your own journeys, both of body and of heart. When life calls you to distant lands, embrace them with courage, for they will shape you. And when life keeps you rooted, look inward, for the greatest odyssey may take place within the chambers of your mind and soul. Do not belittle the voyages of emotion, for they, too, carry the weight of epic tales.

Practically, this means opening yourself to change wherever it appears. Read widely, walk new streets, seek friendships with strangers, and when pain or joy visits you, embrace them as travelers sent to guide your spirit. Keep a journal as if you were charting your own voyage, for your life is indeed a novel, and you its author. Remember always: whether across seas or within the silence of your heart, you are a traveler, and your story is your map.

Thus, O listener, honor Hijuelos’ wisdom: that the immigrant novel is but one reflection of the universal truth—that every tale, every life, every soul, must travel from one place to another. Whether by ship, by thought, or by sorrow, movement is the law of existence. And if you embrace that movement, you shall not only live—you shall journey, and in your journey, you shall find meaning.