A Note from the Author

The Mexican-American War has been cal ed the war that the US cannot remember and Mexico cannot forget. Like most children attending school in the US, I was never taught about this war. Not until I took a Mexican history class as an undergraduate at the University of California, Santa Cruz, did I learn about it. I was in my twenties by then. How I wish I had known earlier that the state I cal ed home, California, had once been a part of Mexico, and that my native tongue, Spanish, was spoken here long before English. Knowing that might have lessened the trauma of growing up Mexican in a country that made me feel I didn’t belong, that told me in subtle and not-so-subtle ways that I should go back to where I came from.

I wrote A Ballad of Love and Glory to learn more about this war—or invasion, as it is cal ed in Mexico—a con ict that led to my native country losing half its territory and that helped the US ful l its dream of Manifest Destiny. I wanted to probe deeper into the complex relationship that exists between the two countries, and to gain further insight into the US–Mexican border, the

“herida abierta [open wound] where the third world grates against the rst and bleeds,” as Chicana scholar Gloria Anzaldúa described it. Most important, it is my dream that A Ballad of Love and Glory wil help readers understand our history by bringing to the forefront a de ning moment that in the United States is relegated to a mere footnote. I hope that the more we know about this history, the more we can remember that Mexicans are native to these lands, that we belong in this country, that we aren’t “foreigners” or “outsiders.”

I have written about immigration throughout my career, mostly about my own experience as an immigrant. But writing and researching this novel gave me the opportunity to explore another migration experience. At a book reading in 2013, someone asked if I had heard of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion, an artil ery

unit composed of mostly Irish soldiers who’d deserted the US Army and fought on the Mexican side. I had never heard of them. “You should write their story,”

this person suggested to me.

Out of curiosity, I googled the Saint Patrick’s Battalion and learned about its leader, John Riley. As I read books by historians Peter Stevens ( The Rogue’s March), Robert Mil er ( Shamrock and Sword), and Michael Hogan ( The Irish Soldiers of Mexico), my fascination grew. I learned that almost half of the US

Army ghting the war was composed of foreign-born soldiers, mostly Irish, German, and Italian immigrants. Due to the racism and religious rancor they encountered in the army, many of these foreign soldiers swam across the Rio Grande, risking their lives to nd something better on the other side. On April 12, 1846, Private John Riley deserted the US Army and joined the Mexican ranks as a rst lieutenant. Later that year, Mexican General Antonio López de Santa Anna created the Saint Patrick’s Battalion, with Riley as its leader.

Interestingly, the US denied the battalion’s existence for several decades.

Perhaps to downplay the high number of desertions during the war, especial y of the immigrants in its ranks who were mistreated by nativist o cers. Perhaps to avoid drawing attention to the largest mass hanging in US history, which took place in September 1847 in Mexico City.

Not much of Riley’s personal story is known since parish records in Ireland were destroyed in a re. What is known is that he left a son behind in Ireland, and perhaps a wife. And that he sent money home. This story was familiar to me. My own father had immigrated to the US, leaving his wife and three children behind in Mexico. He came to this country for the same reasons I imagined Riley had—to nd a way to help his family escape grinding poverty and give them a better life. In the 1840s, the Irish were the least desirable group of immigrants, dehumanized and reviled—much as Latino immigrants are today. I realized I did have a personal connection to Riley, even if we came from di erent cultures and historical eras. So, one day, I wrote a scene from Riley’s point of view. Then I wrote another. To capture his voice and honor his cultural roots, I did extensive research, read nineteenth-century Irish literature and diaries, consulted with Irish historians, and visited Riley’s hometown of Clifden in County Galway.

Researching the war, I came upon John Greenleaf Whittier’s poem, “The Angels of Buena Vista,” about a Mexican woman named Ximena who tends the wounded from both sides on the battle eld. I was intrigued by this woman.

Who was she? How did she end up on that battle eld? Who and what did she lose in the war? Through Ximena, I wanted to honor the Mexican

“soldaderas”—wives, mothers, daughters—who fol owed their men into battle to serve as cooks, laundresses, and nurses, and, when the need arose, even took up arms alongside their men. That Ximena becomes a soldadera herself was my way of acknowledging the contributions and sacri ces these courageous women made on behalf of Mexico. Because I had very little to go on, Ximena proved to be the most chal enging character to render, and yet, her voice became the most important in the novel. It was through her experiences that I felt, in every ber of my being, the gravity of the moment: the loss, the struggle to survive, the desire to defend home and country against invaders, the erce determination to save Mexico’s Irish heroes from the gal ows, especial y the man she loves.

In the US, the soldiers of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion were viewed as traitors and renegades, but in Mexico, they are heroes and martyrs. This novel is a song of love and mourning dedicated to these brave sons of Erin, and to Mexico, a country devoured.

Thank you for reading A Ballad of Love and Glory, for joining Ximena, John Riley, and the Saint Patrick’s Battalion in their ght for freedom, honor, and love.