Rivera

Well, obviously, this is quite a change of pace from Martí's work, and a welcome respite from the dictionary-heavy task of that reading. However, being written from a young boy's perspective by no means detracts from the depth of the ideas presented. Some of the stories he tells are absolutely heartbreaking. Tales of encountering racism and unfair treatment from the gringos (pg 11? tragic) as well as the experiences he describes while staying with don Laíto and Doña Bone are emotionally harrowing. Rivera is certainly talented at creating a bond between reader and protagonist, as I felt my heart bleeding for this little boy. 

A couple of the little anecdotes are quite revealing as well. I particularly like the one on page 51 where a young man foolishly wishes for time to pass just to see what happened to him, instead of actively taking part in the plot of his life, a less than subtle version of the old "youth is wasted on the young" adage. 

Rivera makes many astute comments on the follies of human society and our misconceptions towards everything from education to religion. Page 54 shows the innocently misguided young boy believing that admitting to as many sins as possible will absolve him of all guilt and prevent any possible sacrilege. The very idea of sin and atonement in the Catholic church is ludicrous enough (ahem, in my opinion), but to assume that you can buy your way out of future contrition by overshooting in your confession basically brings us back to the medieval practice of indulgences in the church. "Hey everybody, you can give money to the church and thereby purchase a ticket to heaven! Yes, it's just that simple, folks. Three easy installments of $29.99 gets you eternal peace and joy!" Wow, good thing I'm not catholic, or that would probably be considered blasphemy! A lot of latin americans are deeply religious, and Rivera is likely among them, but it's nice to see that he's not promoting blind faith and an attitude of irresponsibility for your own actions. Thumbs up! 

Who wouldn't have thought it?

My head is struggling to form and articulate an opinion at the moment. Overactive weekend cells require time to regroup. Well, let’s see how this goes….

Just closed the book. A tad dumbfounded by the final chapter, although, to be fair, see above. I can’t claim to have fully grasped the meaning of the Cackles’ closing discourse, but it did leave me thinking that Ruiz de Burton’s criticisms were aimed far more acutely at American class politics (and the various hypocrisies found therein) than at gender or even race issues. Needless to say, these concerns are not to be dismissed, but it would appear as though they are simply obvious dissatisfactions with society. They are easily mentioned in passing, but I feel as though she failed to demonstrate any passionate intent behind her disapproval. Is this an example of feminist literature? It certainly doesn’t strike me as being intentionally so. That Burton addresses matters of gender and race related inequalities only speaks to the fact that they were clearly present in her time and she was faced with their adversity in daily life. We write about what we know. Was she dissatisfied with the treatment she saw minority groups receiving? Of course, and it’s natural for her to expose them, but I don’t think that’s why she wrote this book. It’s easy to turn those injustices into a more dramatic read (not to trivialize their consequence), but I can’t help but feel that she was much more passionate about the dirty shit going on between rich, white men. She seems to race to tie up the loose ends of the story, while leaving the last word as an attack on the deceitful, manipulative and downright repulsive norms of "patriotic" politics. 

Anyways, I enjoyed the read. I found Ruiz de Burton’s novel to be fairly well written and informative, while captivating my interest in the drama of the characters’ lives. More time needed to fully digest. Gah. Brain. How I abuse you. 

Who would have thought it?

First of all, I read of few of the first responses, and I have to disagree with this book being classified as a tedious read. In fact, I've found it pretty easy to move though, due in no small part to the author's ability to acutely satirize the political and social norms of her time. She was clearly well educated in the classics and I find that those references add a lot of depth to the text (although I must say that I'm grateful for the notes, as many of them would have otherwise been lost on me). A perfect example of her wit and sarcasm is when she compares the blind and unwarranted praise and respect of his fellows (and President) that Julius Cackle inadvertently gained through cowardly actions to that of Tennyson's reverence of the genuine bravery of Britain's soldiers in The Charge of the Light Brigade. She also doesn't hesitate to expose the ignorance of characters like Mrs. Norval and Mrs. Cackle in the ways of politics, like when Cackle speaks of the Habeas Corpus(es) as a group of people. These, of course, were carefully planted, but she could not have known that reading the book 135 years later, the audience would enjoy silly things like mentioning “the ragged little town of Hampton”, which I understand has since become quite the hot spot.

Considering that the theme here is racism and sexism and general social injustice for those of non-American blood (that idea itself being ridiculous in the young country of immigrants), I find it kind of remarkable that Ruiz de Burton lived through this and was able to overcome it to write such a well-referenced and educated account, in light of her then assumed "shortcomings". If we can suppose that she encountered similar adversity to that of which she writes, I think this adds a very interesting level of comprehension to the book.

However, despite being well aware of both its historical and current manifestation in our society, I still find the blatant racism maddening to read. Of course it was rampant and pretty much accepted in this setting, but the hypocrisy of its supposed objectors is what gets to me (and is supposed to get me, I guess). Clearly, this is most obvious in Mrs. Norval’s character, and she is undoubtedly demonized for it, but even the good doctor and his shining son Julian cannot be free of blame. They are compassionate people, yes, but they would certainly not have showered such attention and love on the young Lola had she not so conveniently been of pure Spanish blood, strikingly beautiful and the benefactress of immense wealth. Too many hypocrisies to note. In any case, I find myself curious to see what will become of them all.

 

intro

Hello. My name is not Bill. But it is Bella. Kind of similar. So I'll respond to Bill if it's thrown at me. In fact, I might be starting to prefer Bill. It's a good, strong name. 

Moving on....I am slowly working my way through a Spanish major at UBC. That's it. No double major, no minor. I've been known to be a wee bit lazy (although I like to say that I'm just a hedonist. I enjoy taking life pretty easily). I do, however, genuinely love all things spanish and I hope to go on to translation after completing this degree. I lived in Spain for a year and my next move should take me to Chile. I've had a fair amount of first hand contact with some crazy chicanos (well, one in particular. Bad. Taste. Mouth.), but Mexico and Mexicans continue to hold a dear, dear spot in my heart. Haven't met many Central or South American immigrants. I reckon that's about all you need to know for now. Probably more than you needed to know, in actuality. 

Here we are.