Corporal memory

I might have to go out there and just say it: Carmen Rodríguez’ work has been my favourite of the course selections. It kept my attention easily riveted and provided much insight into a country’s political struggle of which I was largely ignorant. More importantly than this, I found her style of writing very conducive to emotional connection with the pain felt by her characters. Interestingly, what a lot of other students expressed as frustrating or confusing aspects of the book, were part of what intrigued me so. I wasn’t bothered by the apparent overlaps in the accounts or of the characters, and didn’t try to cling to a linear storyline, nor attempt to guess how much of the narrative was her own. Simply knowing (or feeling) that the events described happened to someone, somewhere, was more than enough to captivate, shock, and at times repel but ultimately attract me to the stories.

Of course, the identity of a political activist in Chile exiled to Vancouver, is a fairly unique experience, and the details are what make it so striking, but as I mentioned in class, I don’t think that too much import should be placed on setting. As far as I’m concerned, one of the great things about the book is that it does allow many different people from many different origins to relate to the basic human struggle of going through political turmoil at home and then having to face emotional estrangement in a new environment amid a new language. The detailed account of “her” story is a great vehicle for the message, and will certainly educate many a reader on the situation in Chile, but I think her work goes far beyond the boundaries of a Chilean woman living in Vancouver.

Anyone who has been forced to leave their home, and even some of us who have done so willingly, understands the anguish of inescapable memories. Some you hold on to for dear life, some you would much rather leave behind, but ultimately, the sum of your personal experience rests inside you forever. Whether you actively recall history or not, it will never cease to exist, and whether through your mind or your body, it will manifest itself in your actions and personality for as long as you live.

 

Los García

Although I don’t find her writing style quite as richly nuanced as Cisneros’, I do appreciate the story being told in this book, and the read has been flying by so far. I realize how fortunate I am to have been raised by hippies in a mostly open-minded society, but even still, it’s always helpful to be reminded of just how much intolerance and backwardness continue to haunt the world. It’s truly disturbing to see how inequality and closed-mindedness have been ingrained into a culture’s communal behaviour and thought processes. Now I wouldn’t be so naïve (or racist) as to believe that every Latin-American family out there goes through this, nor would I think for a minute that there aren’t millions of Americans (white and otherwise, and let’s not forget the rest of the world’s lovely inhabitants) who foment an equally disgusting attitude towards women and any incarnation of “the other”. For the purpose of this blog, however, I shall attempt to remain on task (always a challenge for me, as I just can’t help but tend towards idealism, as pretentious and annoying as I know it is. Sorry.).

In fact, although the father figure here is undoubtedly stuck in the past (somewhat hypocritically, since it was he who originally brought the family to America and wanted the girls to fit in), along with “the mother”, the family core is loving and compassionate, which is a lot more than can be said for most of the scenarios presented in Woman Hollering Creek. I am no proponent of religious zealotry (or extremism of any kind, for that matter), because its main purpose and result is to keep people’s minds glued to petty details and blind to the bigger issues, thus leaving a gaping hole for the higher-ups and what-have-you’s to do as they will. Gah, blasted ramblings again. Anyway, my point was that despite all this, I cannot deny the fact that tradition and moral stability can instil in a few good souls a beautiful and unwavering love. This is where I place the mother. And in spite of all their understandable moaning, it would appear thus far that the girls are going to come out on the other side pretty much unscathed and well adjusted, due to their strong character and the abundance of genuine affection in their lives. In the meantime, however, I am enjoying identifying with their struggles to strike a balance between old and new, Dominican and American, good and bad(ass). 

Woman Hollering Creek

Sandra Cisneros knows about love. About the innocence and totality of the love found in a childhood friendship. About the loss of this innocence and the sting of your first betrayal. About the incapability to deny love once it has set itself in a young heart. About unrequited love. About forcing yourself to endure a love that is superficial and injurious. About letting go of counterfeit love. About never letting go of genuine love. About the unending depths of family love. About public love. About private love. About jealous love. About vindictive love. About misplaced and projected love. About wanting love. About needing love. About giving love.

 

And goddamn, the woman knows how to write. Reading this, I felt as though I was being guided through the inner workings of the tender heart of each of the characters, as they were either awestruck or utterly disappointed by love.

 

I must also say that although this book can clearly be identified as feminist literature, and Mexican or Chicano literature, I really feel that Cisneros’ writing surpasses all of that. These are universal tales of the human condition, and it is a pleasure to read such a truthful account of what we all go through. 

 

“I want to come undone, like a gold thread, like a tent full of birds”.                              

 

Second installation of thoughts on Rivera

The overwhelming sentiment running through the individual tales of this book is tragic. The second half chronicles a betrayed love-induced suicide, a burning truck of Mexican workers, a house-ridden mother who suffers extreme anxiety and encounters blatant racism when she finally gathers the courage to venture into white America, and a sheisty businessman who tricks his own people not only out of money, but of beloved personal memories as well. This unforgiving view of the Mexican and Chicano experience on the northern side of the border is what gives the book its appeal as a genuine account.

 

However, Rivera takes a turn towards the hopeful in the last chapters of the novel. By entering into the minds of various passengers aboard a stopped truck, we are privy to a broader perspective, and I think the sense of community that Rivera wants to portray becomes much more obvious. Personal suffering is transformed into public compassion and acceptance. The end of chapter “morals” that the author provided us with throughout the book often had a negative note, but the final one we are given is undoubtedly positive. It speaks of a traveling Mexican poet who incorporates specific people from his community into his work and reads it to them aloud, creating not only a sense of interconnectedness, but of love and hope as well.

 

Of course, the final entry solidifies this idea, as we realize that, indeed, all of the events retold in the book were interrelated and contained within a fairly small group of families. The narrator, although remembering some harrowing stories, comes to a point of inner peace and joyfulness at the simple thought of being part of a community, and his only desire is to join all of these people in a massive embrace. He realizes that the key to a happy existence is inclusion, not segregation, an important message for Americans (and people in general) of all backgrounds.

Wow, so it would appear based on my last two entries that I am starting to see the world in a somewhat cheesy new light. Hahahaha. Sorry, I just watched Zeitgeist: Addendum and I really can't help it. Also, I think I actually believe it. 

Martí...por fin

Sincerest apologies for my tardiness, I know everyone is long over this, but alas, it must be done. Sooo, what to say about José Martí? His writing is exquisitely detailed? Done and done.

 

Well, let’s see, to elaborate slightly, I have to say that I did find this style, although beautifully eloquent and conducive to sparking the imagination, a little over the top in the article on the Brooklyn Bridge. I appreciate the desire to stress the grandiosity of the New World, and its ever-growing tentacles of imperial power, but I found the excessive description almost off-putting to the reader. And I can’t imagine that his audience at the time was comprised purely of Spanish speaking scholars, so I fear that it may have been lost on more than a couple people back in the day as well. Nonetheless, if tackled with the right state of mind, it certainly does offer a wealth of richly stylized literature and more importantly, keen insight into the ways of the new American people and where they might be heading.

 

On that note, I found the essay on Coney Island to be the most enjoyable in its shrewd criticisms of the glutinous society it portrayed. To return to the passage that we discussed in class, I came across an interesting (and I believe unintentional) similarity between the Hispanic and Anglo cultures being compared. Naturally, Martí feels as though the tendencies and aspirations of his people are superior to those of the Americans, which may in many ways be a just opinion, but I think that while singing the praises of the Latin-American spirit, and its constant search for betterment, he touches upon a universal truth that applies to the society under attack as well.

 

On the top of page 126, he says that the Latin soul is in a never-ending quest for a higher level of love and idealism, which, once attained, seems insufficient and an even more glorious goal takes their fancy. This is all well and good, and I am not one to argue that on the whole, America seems to be lacking in spiritual truth and goodness, but he is describing the exact same process that he criticizes in the “other”. You strive for something with all your heart, be it moral or physical, but once you have it in your grasp, it loses your interest and you need something else to fill the gap. This is the very course that has lead to overindulgence and mass consumption of products and entertainment in the United States. You can think it more noble to be in pursuit of moral and spiritual enlightenment, but I believe that the cycle itself is the same, and is destructive and pointless in any circumstance and with any goal. Desire and avarice only lead to emptiness and insatiable longing.

 

Ok, sorry to get all philosophical on your asses, but I think it would do everyone good to remember that we are all essentially the same and that we all struggle with the same demons. Oh, and the other stories were alright too. 

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.