The Circuit, a collection of autobiographical linked stories by Francisco Jiménez, follows the Jiménez family as they weather one big life change after another, starting with their move to California from Mexico in search of a better life. As itinerant farm laborers in California, young Francisco (the narrator) and his family are always on the move, going wherever they can find work. They feel the strain of this endless moving, since they are always unsettled and insecure. Indeed, the book suggests that this kind of constant change and insecurity is central to the immigrant experience and is a big part of what makes it so grueling. Dealing with change, Jiménez shows, is stressful, disappointing, and emotionally trying.
The biggest change that Francisco’s family makes—deciding to move to the United States from Mexico—is destined to be difficult, as all changes are. Before the family leaves Mexico, they hope that their lives in California will be easier and more prosperous. However, as farm laborers, the conditions they live in are often worse than they were in Mexico. As soon as they get to California, they live in a tent and eat wild greens and animals that Francisco’s father, Papá, hunts with a borrowed rifle. Furthermore, Francisco’s older brother, Roberto, tells Francisco that he isn’t even sure they’re in California, which shows how disappointed he is in the reality of the place he’d been dreaming about. Roberto’s initial reaction sets the tone for the family’s life as immigrants in California, which is often disappointing and hard.
The novel shows that, for its immigrant characters, change can be hard to navigate—even when it is supposedly positive or something they actively wanted. While this includes their big decision to move to the United States, it also includes smaller events in their daily lives. For instance, in the story titled “Soledad,” Francisco is too little to work in the fields, and he yearns to grow up quickly so he can work alongside his family. However, in a later story titled “Learning the Game,” Francisco is upset on the last day of school before summer vacation because he will have to work in the fields with his family all summer. The work is hard, and he is now old enough that his family expects him to contribute, too. While this is the change he longed for as a little boy—to grow up and work with his family—Francisco is disappointed by it when it comes to pass.
Since Francisco’s family are itinerant laborers, they must constantly move to new farms in search of work, and this begins to wear on them over the years. The novel’s title, The Circuit, describes the unceasing moving the family does, from the strawberry farm in the summer, vineyards in the fall, and cotton fields in the winter—and then all over again, the following year. They are exhausted by the new environments they have to constantly acclimate themselves to, but they do not have the option to stop—the nature of their work requires that they follow the demand for labor. By describing their lives as a “circuit,” Jiménez draws his reader’s attention to the winding, interminable nature of their constant moving. They are constantly wandering, on and on, in an endless loop—there’s no hope of ceasing, since this is seemingly the only way they can earn a living.
The only way for Francisco’s family to break out of “the circuit” seems to be for the children to get an education so they can find other jobs and work their way out of poverty. However, the constant moving disrupts their schooling, which dampens the chances for Francisco’s family to gain stability and security. In the short story titled “The Circuit,” readers can see the toll that this constant moving takes on Francisco’s sense of security and on his education. When he starts attending sixth grade at a school in Fresno, Francisco meets a teacher named Mr. Lema who helps him with his English during their lunch hour every day. Francisco grows very attached to him: he thinks of Mr. Lema as his “best friend at school.” However, just after a month at this school, Francisco’s family moves again in search of work. This is especially painful for Francisco, since he has to leave behind a favorite teacher who made a huge difference to his learning. This experience, Jiménez shows, is a common one for migrant children. Indeed, every time Francisco feels settled or hopeful in the novel, he is uprooted and has to start over in a new place. This isn’t just harmful for migrant children’s sense of stability—it also dooms the family to poverty with no hope of breaking out of it, since they do not have the luxury of a steady education. This makes their situation especially devastating.
Since this novel is autobiographical, Jiménez uses his personal experience of living through this constant instability to convey the pain of the immigrant experience to readers who might judge immigrants harshly and blame them for their poverty. Jiménez shows that despite his family’s work ethic and determination, their lives seemed doomed to instability and hardship. He has lived through the unsettling and emotionally tumultuous experience of being an immigrant, and he seems to be saying that as an immigrant, the grass is never really greener on the other side. Life is difficult and insecure no matter which side of the grass they land on.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Change and Instability ThemeTracker
Change and Instability Quotes in The Circuit
When the train stopped in Mexicali, Papa told us to get off. “We’re almost there,” he said, looking at me. We left the station. Papa carried our dark brown suitcase. We followed behind him until we reached a barbed wire fence. According to Papa, this was la frontera. He pointed out that across the
gray wire barricade was California, that famous place I had heard so much about. On both sides of the fence were armed guards dressed in green uniforms. Papa called them la migra, and explained that we had to cross the fence to the other side without being seen by them.
“I wonder where the train comes from,” I said. […]
“I think it comes from California.”
“California!” I exclaimed. “This is California!”
“I am not so sure,” he said. “Remember what…”
The familiar Noon Train whistle interrupted him. […] The conductor slowed the train to a crawl, waved, and gently dropped a large brown bag in front of us as he went by. We picked it up and looked inside. It was full of oranges, apples, and candy.
“See, it does come from California!” Roberto exclaimed.
As usual, they left me alone in the car to take care of Trampita, my little brother, who was six months old. I hated being left by myself with him while they went off to pick cotton. As they walked further into the field, I climbed
onto the roof of the car, stood on tiptoes, and watched them until I could no longer tell them apart from the other pickers. Once I lost sight of them, I felt pain in my chest, that same pain I always felt whenever they left Trampita and me alone. Sobbing, I climbed into the car and wrapped my arms around Trampita, who slept in the back seat.
But when I spoke to Arthur in Spanish and Miss Scalapino heard me, she said “NO!” with body and soul. Her head turned left and right a hundred times a second and her index finger moved from side to side as fast as a windshield wiper on a rainy day. “English, English,” she repeated. Arthur avoided me whenever she was around.
I went around to the side of the cabin and peeked through the window. The cabin was completely empty. My heart sank into my stomach. Slowly I walked home, feeling a lump in my throat. I heard Miguelito’s laugh in my head and thought about our game with the puddles. When I got home I stood by our window and stared at our neighbor’s goldfish for the longest time.
We were leaving only three weeks after I had enrolled in the fourth grade for the first time that year. As we drove by the school I saw some kids I knew on the playground. I imagined myself playing with them with the ball I would get for Christmas. I waved to them but they did not see me.
[Papa] had been in a terrible mood the last few days because he was not sure where we would work now that the grape season was almost over. Covering his ears with his hands, he bolted to the corner of the garage, grabbed the broom, and swung with all his might at my friend who was perched on the wire. Red, green, and yellow feathers scattered everywhere. El Perico hit the dirt floor like a wet rag. Instantly Roberto, Mama, and I started wailing. My
father shouted at all of us to stop.
As we drove home Papa did not say a word. With both hands on the wheel, he stared at the dirt road. My older brother, Roberto, was also silent. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. […]
Yes, it was that time of year. When I opened the front door to the shack, I stopped. Everything we owned was neatly packed in cardboard boxes. Suddenly I felt even more the weight of hours, days, weeks, and months of work. I sat down on a box.
It was Monday, the first week of November. The grape season was over and I could now go to school. I woke up early that morning and lay in bed, looking
at the stars and savoring the thought of not going to work and of starting sixth grade for the first time that year. […] I sat at the table across from Roberto, but I kept my head down. I did not want to look up and face him. I knew he was sad. He was not going to school today. He was not going tomorrow, or next week, or next month. He would not go until the cotton season was over, and that was sometime in February. I rubbed my hands together and watched the dry, acid stained skin fall to the floor in little rolls.
The rest of the month I spent my lunch hours working on English with Mr. Lema, my best friend at school.
One Friday during lunch hour Mr. Lema asked me to take a walk with him to the music room. “Do you like music?” he asked me as we entered the building. “Yes, I like corridos,” I answered. He then picked up a trumpet, blew on it, and handed it to me. The sound gave me goose bumps. […] I had heard it in many corridos. “How would you like to learn how to play it?” he asked. He must have read my face because before I could answer, he added: “I’ll teach you how to play it during our lunch hours.”
That day I could hardly wait to tell Papa and Mama the great news […] but when I opened the door to our shack, I saw that everything we owned was neatly packed in cardboard boxes.
[…] Carl said, “When can I come to your house and see your collection?” His question took me by surprise. I never thought he would want to visit me at our home. And after seeing his house, I was not sure I wanted him to see where I lived. […]
After thinking of possible excuses, I finally said, “I live too far. I’ll bring my collection to school.” […]
I never got the chance to show Carl my collection. That weekend we moved to Five Points, and I never saw my friend again.
I recalled the fire and placed my right hand over my shirt pocket. It was empty. Feeling a lump in my throat, I started thinking about Carl, my pennies, the house. Then, for a long time, I thought about my librito and what Mama said. I could see in my mind every word, every number, every rule, I had written in my note pad. I knew everything in it by heart. Mama was right. It was not all lost.
Every Thursday Mr. Milo gave us a math quiz, and the following day he arranged our desks according to how well we did on the test. The student with the highest score had the honor of sitting in the front seat, first row. Sharon Ito, the daughter of the Japanese sharecropper for whom we picked strawberries during the summer, and I alternated taking the first seat, although she sat in it more often than I did.
“Mr. Sims offered me the janitorial job at Main Street School,” [Roberto] answered, grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s a year-round job,” Mama said, looking at Papa.
Being careful with his back, Papa stood up slowly and hugged her gently. He then turned to Roberto and said, “Education pays off, mi’jo. I am proud of you. Too bad your Mama and I didn’t have the opportunity to go to school.”
“But you’ve taught us a lot, Papa,” I answered. I had not seen Papa that happy for weeks.
