i take it all back. i read further, rodriguez is brilliant. wow.

black hole?

At the moment, I’m somewhat torn as to my opinion of Carmen Rodriguez. Possibly, because I’m such a huge Alvarez fan that no one really stands a chance in my books…. possibly because I just don’t find the emotions evoked by the work of authors such as Cisneros and Alvarez as prominent in that of Rodriguez. I definitely felt for the mother in “Black Hole” but not in the heart-wrenching, tear-your-guts-out kind of way I felt throughout Woman Hollering Creek. There’s seems to be something missing for me and I am at a loss to figure out what it is. I’m hoping that as I read on my feelings will change. What is interesting, however, is that like Leanna, I read the introduction beforehand and feel as though it may have ruined it for me. I feel like there was a lot of buildup... a lot of talk, and not enough follow through. Rodriguez sounds as though she is a little too pleased with her work, whereas it is fairly typical of authors to feel as though they’ll never quite perfect their work; that there’s always room for improvement. I wasn’t 100% on board with the whole “black whole” metaphor and found the ending unsatisfactory. I definitely wanted to know whether they moved back to Chile or not. I’m going to attempt to keep reading with an open mind. I’m sure my opinion will change! I’m looking forward to meeting Rodriguez in person. On second thought, I hope no one shows her these blogs!

Las Garcías

I would have to say my favourite story in the latter half of How the García Girls Lost Their Accents was "The Drum". I felt Alvarez's use of the kitten as a metaphor for the García girls quite wonderful. As scholar William Luis has put it "like the kitten, Yolanda was also uprooted from her nest, her childhood (perhaps seven years too early) in the Dominican Republic. And the drum beats meant to disguise the meows of the kitten represent a natural language and an imposed one, which in the years to come would cover her accent" (Luis 847). I thought it was very significant that Alvarez chose to end with this story, as it painted such a perfect picture of the pain and trauma of being uprooted from everything one has ever known and flung into a confusing and foreign environment.

The change in narrative voice near the end of the novel from third person to first person is a significant stylistic technique. There is a definite distance between narrator and reader in the instance of third person narration. First person narration, however, is a much more personal and intimate representation of events and thus the transition allows for the reader to feel a much stronger connection with the girls. The sentiments expressed are therefore much more effectively communicated to the reader and the sense of pain and bewilderment is emphasized stylistcally.

That Garcia Girl

How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents is most definitely a novel that I would read of my own accord. I thoroughly enjoyed reading every page and got to really take my time with it, as I began reading weeks ago. Alvarez has a brilliant way with words that is not the least bit pedantic. She has an ability to create countless similes and metaphors that fit perfectly with the feeling she aims to evoke in the reader. This is evident in the story where Rudy Elmenhurst’s parents approve of his relationship with Yolanda because they felt it “should be interesting for him to find out about people from other cultures. It bothered [Yo] that they should treat [her] like a geography lesson for their son” (Alvarez 97). Alvarez' style is so wonderfully modern, casual and comfortable that the reader can not help but b captivated. It is truly comforting to read, in that I found the characters to be exceedingly relatable. It is interesting that although I have never experienced anything close to the hardships of immigration, I felt such a strong connection with these girls whilst reading, particularly with Yolanda. Perhaps it is the incredibly strict and overprotective Catholic parents we have in common, but on several occasions during Yo’s stories I felt as though I was reading the story of my own life.

Although I loved every story, I believe the two that struck me to the core were “Joe” and “The Rudy Elmenhurst Story.” The former for its brilliant metaphorical use of language and the latter because I have encountered men exactly like Rudy Elmenhurst, way back when I was almost as sheltered and naïve as Yolanda. I really loved the manner in which Alvarez remarks that as John handed her the irises “she could not make out his words. They were clean, bright sounds, but they meant nothing to her” (Alvarez 76). Yolanda goes on to reduce their verbal communication to the word “babble” and only then does she believe that they can attempt a fresh start: “maybe now they could start over, in silence” (Alvarez 77). This ironic presentation of language as something that complicates communication to the point of no return was, I thought, a fantastic insight. So often we rely on language, words created by others that can never completely and truly express the intricate specificity of the feelings we intend to convey. I believe that in “Joe,” Alvarez intends to express the futility and insufficiency of borrowed words to mend the personal issues that stem from places much deeper than the surface upon with language floats.

Eyes of Zapata

I am thoroughly enjoying Sandra Cisneros' ability to demonstrate such a dynamic progression of narrative voice throughout the course of Woman Hollering Creek. I don't even feel as though I'm reading the same author in the latter half of the book. The first half possesses such a beautifully sweet and descriptive tone, while the latter tends to evoke much darker, complicated emotions within me. As the stories progress, I find that I have more and more difficulty grappling with the questionable morality of the accepted social norms. I am genuinely struggling to accept the manner in which these women, particularly the narrator of Eyes of Zapata, are willing to settle for small fractions of their own husbands' hearts. It is utterly infuriating that the narrator does not demand more devotion, more respect, more integrity from the supposedly heroic Zapata.

We have encountered many incidences in which oppressed Chicana and Latina women turn a blind eye to the occasional dalliances of their husbands, but to be fully aware that one's own husband is also husband and father to several other women and children in other towns is an extreme to which I can not come to terms. What makes the situation even worse, if possible, is that Zapata feels no obligation whatsoever to conceal the existence of his multiple marriages.

I also had particular difficulty with the manner in which the former lovers of the narrator's mother conspire to execute her malicious, barbaric murder. Once more Cisneros quite competently portrays the appalling double standard granted to men in Chicano society. The men are free to philander about, free from responsibility, impregnating whomever they please. On the rare occasion that a woman decides to express her sexuality freely, however, committing no worse offence than the men who surround her, she is brutally and savagely murdered. To compound the injustice, this remarkable woman is not only betrayed and murdered, but she is left in the field as an example "braids undone, a man's sombrero tipped on her head, a cigar in her mouth, as if to say, this is what we do to women who try to act like men" (pg 111). The bitter emotions evoked within me at such extreme injustice are almost too much to bear. Cisneros is thus exceptionally successful in executing her literary purpose. She is capable of connecting with her audience on such a deeply personal level. I have experienced nothing close to any of the situations discussed in Eyes of Zapata, and yet I feel personally wronged by the injustice perpetuated in the backward societies of which she speaks. I think perhaps her tendency to convey the most deeply internal, personal thoughts of her characters -- the most secret opinions and truths which are rarely voiced -- that is the element of her writing style that enables Cisneros to have such a dramatic effect on her readers.

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On an entirely separate note, I also really loved the genuine nature of the individual prayers expressed in Little Miracles, Kept Promises. Cisneros' skill for assuming different narrative voices is once again brought to the reader's attention. These prayers of desire and gratitude were so beautiful, so personal, so honest. I felt as though there was such a wide range of perspectives being expressed. This short story was, in my opinion, a truly wonderful literary achievement.

La Gritona

I have a heard a lot of talk about Sandra Cisneros and now that I finally experienced her work for myself I find that I have mixed feelings about her. I definitely enjoy her uniqueness and I have genuinely enjoyed reading several of her stories. Cisneros has a particular talent for evoking strong emotions from the reader. “My Lucy Friend Who Smells Like Corn” was such a lovely, sweet, innocent story. I felt sincerely nostalgic for my youth as a simple, appreciative, little girl, even though I share none of these experiences with the little girls. Only the memory of childlike wonderment and awe for the simple pleasures is shared among us. “Eleven,” however, evoked exactly the opposite emotions in me, as I struggled not to cry while reading. I still can’t quite figure out why the words of Cisneros were able to touch me so deeply while none of the other texts have been able to affect me in such a way. There’s something about her exceptionally convincing ability to narrate from a child’s perspective that causes the reader to actually feel as though this heartbreaking story is being told by the bullied young birthday girl. And what adds to her sophistication as a writer is that Cisneros can do such a wonderful job of conveying that she is writing from the perspective of a young child without ever needing to directly inform the reader of the speaker’s age. Thus I was quite fond of the first few short stories.

As I read further into the text, however, I found that I began to notice a high frequency of incidents inserted purely for shock value. These did not so much detract from the literary merit of the text as they did from my personal enjoyment of it. As I read further and further into the book, I also found the stories became more and more difficult for me to comprehend. I’m still not sure as to whether I gained a proper understanding of what was going on in “Remember the Alamo,” with Cisneros’ erratic insertion of names before every new paragraph and constant repetition of “Say you want me…” (Cisneros, 67). Neither do I quite understand the significance of the narrator sleeping with her former lover’s son in “Never Marry a Mexican” other than the obvious shock value provided. I feel as though I could read some of these passages several times and still not fully understand exactly what Cisneros was trying to convey. Nevertheless she is an incredibly gifted writer and her writing has been a fresh breath of air. I definitely respect her. I’m just not so sure whether I truly enjoy reading her work as much as I do the work of Julia Alvarez, for example. We shall see how I feel after reading the second half of the book...........

North of the Rio Grande Thus Far…

I too wrote the wrong blog on Sunday… Sorry Jon!


I am definitely beginning to feel as though Jon has purposefully organized the order of the class texts from least to most interesting. I have enjoyed everything we’ve read thus far in class, but every time I think I’ve found my favourite text I end up loving the next one even more.

For me, reading Ruiz de Burton was an absolute treat. I loved the overwhelmingly sarcastic nature of Who Would Have Thought It?. Every point she made was so wonderfully satirical and oozing with contempt for the pretentious upper class New Englanders who bore the brunt of her mockery. Even their names were ridiculous… “Hammerhard”… “Hackwell”… Perhaps the reason she got away with such a harshly critical novel in 1872 was that she made fun of everyone and everything. The literature of Maria Amparo Ruiz de Burton is so heavily laden with cleverly disguised social criticisms that it is possible authorities were oblivious to the true meaning of her literature.

Marti, however, was another story. While I heartily appreciated the beautifully descriptive style employed by this poetic Cubano, I can not honestly say my Spanish is at a level where I can properly appreciate his poetic brilliance. Having to stop every two seconds to look up a word is what robbed me of the authentic Marti experience. Rivera was more my style. I think that if need be, I could sit down and read Rivera without a Spanish-English dictionary and still know what was going on. With Marti? Not a chance. Many of the words I looked up weren’t even listed in any of my dictionaries. The first few stories, however, which I took enormous amounts of time to translate entirely, were extremely beautiful. Jose Marti clearly has almost as great a love for magnificent architectural structures as for intricate language. His ability to make the dingy, overcrowded Brooklyn Bridge dazzle with splendour and the gaudy, corroding Statue of Liberty radiate magnificence is incredible. Jose Marti’s way with words is truly impressive.

What struck me to the core about Tomas Rivera’s writing was his uniquely intricate style and the subtle manner in which he used it to perpetuate the illusion of a collective Chicano voice. The slightly confusing and disjointed manner in which y no se lo trago la tierra is written, if anything, adds to the reader’s understanding of the Chicano situation. This element of confusion layered within the text is metaphorical for the feelings of the young protagonist as he attempts to make sense of the unjust, bewildering world around him. The young boy is caught in a whirlwind of discrimination and spiritual doubt as he struggles with even his own identity during exceedingly difficult years. Although it may take a little getting used to, Rivera’s style is a brilliant addition to his insightful explorations of complex Chicano emotions and issues.

I also thought the movie, Salt of the Earth was crucial to a proper understanding of the full spectrum of issues faced by the Chicano people. While the novels we have read portray the larger, more collectively troubling issues of racial oppression, Salt of the Earth takes it one step further by illuminating an entirely uncharted instance of oppression: the oppression of Chicano women by their own husbands. Many authors have spent so much time dwelling on the racial discrimination of the Chicanos as a whole, the additional gender oppression dealt with by Chicano women has taken a back seat and hidden in the shadow of this more widespread issue. The movie is thus extremely important to a full understanding of the Chicano situation, as it addresses all issues central to their struggle.

And the Earth Did Not Swallow Him

If you have not seen the movie, go and see the movie. Koerner Reserve section. And the Earth Did Not Swallow Him (1995).

As one of many class members who struggled a bit with the fact that this already obscure and abstract text was written in another language, I benefited greatly from seeing the movie. It really helped to tie things up for me and assured me I was on the right track... that I understood the novel properly. The movie remains fairly faithful to the novel, as much as is possible anyway, due to the abstract and disjointed nature of the text. The vignettes are more chronological in order and the story is slightly more focused on the perspective of Marcos, the young boy, than the Mexican American workers on the whole. The feeling you get from watching the movie, however, and the general expressive purpose are both very true to those intended by Rivera in the novel. The plight of the oppressed Chicano is very well presented and the injustice and hypocrisy of the entire situation are brought to the forefront.

One of the moments that struck me the most, in both the book and movie, was when the young boy points out in frustration that the Mexican Americans are always saying "when we arrive... when we arrive... " (104) and yet they never really arrive. They are a displaced peoples. They have no true home, no true identity, no place to which they ever feel they properly belong. Their lives are a constant struggle, a constant frustration as they live on the oppressive terms of others.

I feel as though the young boy, called Marcos in the movie, is so very insightful for a child. And I think it definitely has to do with the hardships he has endured at such a young age. The discrimination he has faced and the injustice he has encountered have made him old before his time. The child has seen so much and suffered so intensely that terrifying entities such as God and the devil don’t incite the same kind of daunting, immobilizing fear in him as they do in the average child. He has the nerve to call the devil and to declare that there is no God to his devout Catholic mother. The child is truly remarkable and his harrowing life experiences have shaped him to be the introspective, inquisitive young soul that he is by the end of the novel.

Rivera, I'm Liking Your Style

As I read further and further towards the heart of …y no se lo tragó la tierra, the feelings of pity and disgust that the novel has evoked within me seem only to intensify. The heart-wrenching story told by a young immigrant boy appears to worsen consistently with no hope of eventual improvement in sight. The injustice experienced by the young boy and the Chicano migrant workers around him is infuriating. The fact that he is condemned for defending himself when physically attacked in the bathroom is beyond maddening. Although I am often angered by the injustice brought forth in the novel, I am thoroughly enjoying Rivera’s writing. The disjointed style that seems to have confused and frustrated so many classmates is in fact what I am enjoying most. Throughout the novel, Rivera continually jumps around from one narrative voice to the next, expressing at various intervals the perspectives of intolerant young bullies, heartbroken mothers, indignant young victims of racial discrimination, and so on. The multitude of voices Rivera brings to the page via his fragmented vignette style of writing give the Chicano struggle a universal quality. If the story were told in one fluid motion from beginning to end, through the perspective of the young boy, the reader would sympathize with his plight and receive a limited concept of what life was like for the Chicano immigrant. Rivera’s style, however, is much more conducive to a proper concept of the hardships, the discrimination, the displacement experienced in Chicano life. The manner in which Rivera interjects at sporadic intervals with the disembodied voices of unexpected, unintroduced Chicanos is therefore crucial to the reader’s understanding of the widespread nature of this oppression. I love that Rivera has not only found a purpose significant enough to write about, but a style that enables him to multiply exponentially the impact he achieves over his readers.

...y no se lo tragó la tierra

I’m having a much better time with Rivera than I had with Marti. Both I believe to be good writers, yet I much prefer Rivera’s writing style. His small short-story-ish vignettes are so simple, yet beautiful (and great for us those of us with extremely ADD reading habits). He is succinct and to the point, which makes sense as it is largely written from the perspective of a child.

The passion with which Rivera writes is contagious. I particularly enjoyed “Un Rezo.” A parent’s love is so sweet and pure. It saddened me how desperately the speaker wanted to see their son again. That they would offer up their own heart in exchange for their son’s. Some of the subject matter is quite sad but I’m enjoying the occasional humorous bits. I’ve also enjoyed the odd occasion on which Rivera makes subtle social criticisms that reminded me of Ruiz de Burton’s writing. Rivera draws the reader’s attention to the idealistic vision the Latino immigrants have of the United States in a somewhat heartbreaking manner, as it is from the perspective of an innocent, young boy.

I noticed that many classmates seem to be finding it confusing, but I think you just need to be patient when reading this style of literature. I have faith it will all come together soon. Overall, quite a good read. I’m thoroughly enjoying it. Well done, Rivera.

El Puente De Brooklyn

Although I found the Martí readings very challenging to get through, I thoroughly enjoyed his beautifully descriptive writing style. The vocabulary used to create the vivid imagery found throughout his works is extremely aesthetically pleasing. Although the Brooklyn Bridge is certainly an impressive work of architecture, it is really just great big hunks of steel and stone. I was rather impressed at Martí’s ability to produce such a poetic and inspirational piece of literature. A passage I particularly enjoyed involved the personification of the statue of Liberty:

“imagínase ver sentada en mitad del cielo, con la cabeza radiante entrándose por su cumbre, y con las manos blancas, grandes como águilas, abiertas en signo de paz sobre la tierra,—a la Libertad, que en esta ciudad ha dado tal hija. La Libertad es la madre del mundo nuevo,—que alborea” (423).

The passage speaks of Liberty herself, seated on high, overseeing the teeming, bustling Brooklyn Bridge with approval (423). With images such as this, Martí has succeeded in making me, as the reader, feel as though this bridge truly does represent much more than its physical form would suggest. I have never given much thought to the bridge myself. To me, it has always just been an ugly, old, dirty structure that is basically just there, in the background of New York. After reading this passage, however, I see it in a new light. The Brooklyn Bridge is a symbol of unity, forging connections between brave, hopeful immigrants who have struggled through oppression to reclaim the right to be free citizens of the new world. Yes, it is all overly idealistic and patriotic, but it is beautiful. There is no harm in that.

Who Would Have Thought It?... A Feminist Novel?

I have been trying to make up my mind as to whether or not Who Would Have Thought It? is a feminist novel since last class. One must admit, it is most certainly a debatable topic. As was pointed out in class, it would be nearly impossible for one to write a novel set in 1872 that did not contain enough instances of gender inequality to make any feminist's blood boil. Is the presentation of gender issues inherent to nineteenth century male-dominated society, however, sufficient cause for one to label Ruiz de Burton's writing as feminist? I have given considerable thought to the issue and I feel that while the issue of gender inequality is inextricably bound with many of the controversial themes addressed in the novel, it is not intentionally central to Ruiz de Burton's purpose. Maria Amparo Ruiz de Burton is clearly a very intelligent and persuasive woman. Her knack for subjective portrayals of the issues she feels passionately about is evident within the first few pages of the novel. Every minute detail of the story she presents is conveniently sculpted to express her personal opinion as the author. It is for this very reason that I believe if Ruiz de Burton's primary agenda were to produce a feminist discourse, the reader would surely know it. It interesting to note that for central female characters in the novel we are given Mrs. Norval, a cruel, cold, racist, greedy woman and her shallow daughters, Ruth and Mattie, who care about nothing more than fashion, wealth and appearances. These women are clearly antagonists and yet even the good women in the novel are no pillars of strength or virtue. Although Lavinia is cast in a somewhat charitable light for her selfless dedication to her patients, she is also pointedly presented as foolish for allowing herself to be seduced by both Hackwell and Hammerhard, with no proper assurance of marriage. Even Lola, arguably the most righteous of female characters in the novel, although she does no wrong, hardly does right either. She does not really do anything. Although central to the plot, Lola is barely involved in the story of her own pitiful life. In light of Ruiz de Burton's selection of weak and foolish female characters, I therefore think it can be safely argued that although gender issues play a role in the novel, it is not outwardly feminist in nature. If feminism were the driving force behind Who Would Have Thought It?, Ruiz de Burton would certainly have fabricated far more virtuous, intelligent women of substance as her female protagonists.

ruiz de burton... what a woman!

I find it very interesting that so many class members have found Who Would Have Thought It? to be such a tedious and frustrating read. I have loved every minute of it! This woman has got spunk! I have found myself laughing out loud at frequent intervals throughout the novel, mostly out of appreciation for Ruiz de Burton's unrelenting boldness. Her tone is so blatantly bitter and cynical, and yet some of her criticisms are so subtle that she manages to achieve a certain harmony within the text. I have read certain chapters multiple times and from each additional reading, I take something different away. The fact that she dared to write something so politically inflammatory and outwardly critical of her society in 1872 warrants a great deal of respect. For a woman to write a novel as opinionated and socially critical as Who Would Have Thought It? would be a bold move today. For her to have proclaimed such a strong message at a time of such widespread narrow-mindedness, therefore, was no less than courageous.

I find it ironic that Rosaura Sànchez and Beatrice Pita's introduction mentions Ruiz de Burton's concern that readers would "find fault with her text" (vii). Not only does she raise a multitude of insightful points, but she expresses them in a very eloquent manner. I particularly enjoy the use of Greek mythological characters for the names of her own characters. I love the melodramatic characters, I love the sarcasm and I love the extent to which the novel condemns the horrendously racist viewpoints of the late ninteenth century. So far I say well done, Ruiz de Burton, and I look forward to the rest of the novel!

beth 101

My name is Beth and I am a fourth year UBC Arts student. English Literature is my major and Spanish Language is my minor. Once I finish my BA degree, I plan to take the twelve-month Teacher Education Program at UBC in order to become a secondary school English teacher. After teaching high school for a few years, it's quite possible that I'll go back to school, get my Masters and Ph.D. and become a professor. I'm from a small town in the Okanagan Valley called Penticton, surrounded by beautiful beaches and mountains. My passions are music, languages, photography, writing and travel. In January, I am taking a semester away from university to travel Southeast Asia and Europe for six months with my best friend. I enjoy talking to real people, cooking good food, singing anything and everything, and being active in the great outdoors.
Cheers,
Beth