Cries, Lies, and some Zapata Guy's Eyes

This compilation was difficult for me to relate to, because the majority of the stories conveyed more negative emotion and romantic sadness individually than I have experienced in the total emotional compilation of my life. As a result, I'm hesitant to even criticize the tales of these women when I have little experience of romantic abandonment or heartbreak. But I will attempt to nonetheless.

Eyes of Zapata begins with a description of woman doting over a man, confessing her intimate habits, both sexual and plainly affectionate, who somehow can remember every detail of a lover who she, in a way, barely knows. He clearly does not have respect for women, is disloyal; and as the story proceeds I stay completely confused as to what this relationship ever meant as she dwells further into a shroud of poetic abandonment. Does this reinforce the age-old theory that women fall for bad men? Or were the only men around at that time bad ones? This story does not arouse our sympathy in the way that Woman Hollering Creek indubitably does, as Inés was warned by her father to not get involved with the man. Alas, she rebels against her father's will and, like he promised, suffers as a result of her relationship with this man.

Cisnero's writing here is poetic, but whether or not it's intended to be romantic is unclear; romance usually attempts to balance a certain amount of positive energy with negative, and there's certainly none of that here. Ultimately the protagonist fancied herself different from other women (p.109) but suffered the same romantic death that so many did by the hands of this Zapata character, whose eyes are spread as sparsely as the heartbreak he's caused. Wistful, worn-out and withered, the narrator speaks with nostalgia and hopeless romance about someone who deserves probably to die or at least be forced into celibacy forever. An excellent warning for anyone who is prone to confuse unconditional love with conditional sexual encounters.

I find Cisnero's fragmented language and stream-of-consciousness writing style more enjoyable to read when the subjects are not so heavily wrought with emotion. "There was a Man, There was a Woman" utilizes her poetic style quite nicely, and much is left to the imagination, whereas "Eyes of Zapata" is probably the least concise thing I've ever read. I'm sorry to admit that I found it rather redundant in its endless reminiscence and mind-wandering. I'm also getting really hungry after all these mentions of tasty Mexican cuisine.

We get somewhat of an explanation for the infidelity of Mexican/Mexican-American men on pg 156 of "Bien Pretty" where Flavio states "Loving one person doesn't take away from loving another. It's that way with me with love. One has nothing to do with the other. In all seriousness and with all my heart I tell you this, Lupe." One could discern that men perhaps can love more than one person at once, while women are doomed to be stricken with "one-itis" or obsession of the idea of a significant other. This character of Flavio is the most human of the men in the book, and perhaps that's why the story ends with the woman's sense of optimism; not necessarily as a woman but as an individual, which is what the book should strive for, in my opinion. A nice break from the men destroying the individuality of women.

Too often in the book did we see women seeking revenge and growing disdain for the other women their men were sleeping with, when likely they were all sharing similar states of emotion. If there is one important lesson that should be learned from Cisnero's stories, that is to not depend on a man for happiness, and certainly not relinquish one's sense of self-fulfillment for an idealistic/futile form of love.

Woman Hollering Creek

This book is not so much a probe into identity as it is a reminiscence of Chicano/Chicana life before it can be necessarily be acknowledged as such. We experience the various memories, first-person narrative coming-of-age tales, and third person observations without knowing much back story or mythology about these seemingly endless protagonists. However, I'm going to try to be more specific in my musings than I tend to be...

This book, unlike the others, is modern in its revelations, new in its creation, and abundant in its pop culture references...I love the mention of Alarma! the gory Mexican tabloid magazine which is actually quite an entertaining read if you are able to desensitize yourself enough from violent pictures that you can read the rather comical articles...probably no worse than the video games we play here. It is a pretty disgusting rag, nonetheless I enjoyed the allusion.

I'm not sure if Cisneros intended to make all men look like insensitive misogynists that lack any sense of responsibility or humanity but she does a revolutionary job of portraying them as such...I guess it's pretty accurate. I don't take offense to be honest, it in many ways rings true...I just don't like how the female characters are ignorant to the fact that men are like this, how they are bloodthirsty dogs who want to copulate with them yet they romanticize the memory of them after they never make contact (p. 30).

I'm not trying to discredit Cisnero's personal experiences with men in her community, but other than a few mentions of boys experiencing discrimination because of their race I felt the novel was a never-ending well of female emotion being either drained or poisoned by men. There are brief descriptions of romance, passion, and then indelible consequences, eternal pain, of these men impregnating women, breaking hearts, deaf to the cries of their victims. These women describing their experiences are intelligent, are aware, but seem to blame rather than take control of the unfortunate situation bestowed upon them...I find it to be more demoralizing for women than it is empowering, as I read on page 100 of the details of a man charming and beautiful, impervious to guilt, and irresistible to all, yet never does a woman become wise to his irresponsible actions.

Still, the sense of togetherness in family is charming throughout, and unconditional love is a major theme in this opus...the imagination of Cisneros is so beautiful and limitless, dreaming up images, smells, both malodorous and pleasant, it brings to mind a photograph interactive in every way. She effectively combines nostalgia with conflict, and in many of these short stories she creates spirits unchained; dramatically pained in their existence but never stagnant.

La clase

I wrote the wrong blog on Sunday......

I've enjoyed most the various styles of writing employed by the writers. I'm a bit of a sucker for Barton's eloquence and her coy narratives in her book, which are reminiscent of a hipster music critic reviewing 19th century white society. As well, her characters are so poignantly created they linger in your mind for days after reading it, whether it be Hackwell idiosyncrasies and conniving speeches or Mrs. Norval's silly points of view. There are elements of humour which are strewn throughout it, so once you get over the fact that it's not an easy read you can enjoy the richness that bleeds over the pages.

Marti's observational stylings are quite sensational, though for someone whose Spanish skills need some crimping I couldn't grasp every one of his descriptions. He does open our eyes to the experience of New York as the bustling, almost supernatural metropolis that it remains as today. Having seen New York City it was interesting to read someone who shared the same awe as I did after visiting the city. It was also enjoyable that his views of America were taken from an objective way, and didn't let many of his own opinions barge in.

Rivera was a good read as well, though more emotional then it was eloquent, it certainly captures all the pains of the labouring Mexican-Americans in a surreal way in many ways incomparable to anything I've ever read.

All in all, it's interesting exploring different methods these authors comment on society and how it's experienced by Mexican-Americans, and I look forward to delving in further.

Rivera's style of writing this novel was, and I have to concede with many of my classmates, a rather intimate and unprecedented approach unlike that of anything I've read in the past. How does it affect the reader in ways similar and different than that of the other novel Who would have thought it? I'd begin with the context of both plots---in one, we have the character of Lola, an exceptionally intelligent young girl of Mexican descent who really has no idea of what Mexican culture means nor has any particular ties with Mexicans. She suffers somewhat, yet the book is largely one focused on class, and we can infer that she is not the only who faces discrimination, there also exists Mrs. Norvall bound to the ropes of her gender role. In And the Earth Did Not Swallow him, we experience exclusively the struggles, meanderings and injustices of Mexican-Americans. In terms of spirituality And the Earth Did Not Swallow him has heavier religious themes, yet no particular sect is mentioned unlike in Who Would Have Thought It? where predominately we enjoy the likes of WASPS and little else.

And the earth did not swallow him is rich with emotion not difficult to detect, I would say there is little ambivalence in the inherent pains this protagonist (or the multitude of them) suffers from. He does not get the education he deserves despite being just as intelligent as anyone else. He does not enjoy the occasional or even sole anglo-saxon companion to help him or at least wish him out of his turmoil, allowing for quite a depressing read if you were to read the novel as a character study or as a mere tale. However, it's not a character study, and I believe that it's important that one reads the book in not an objective way but, how shall I phrase it, a manner that's detached from your conventional method of analysis. What I mean by that is there is no omniscience to refer to, there is somewhat of a definitive protagonist, but his thoughts are few and far between with respect to lineage and development. That being said, we have to use Rivera's written emotion and let it meddle with your own to comprehend the messages this book is conveying, and even those are somewhat cryptic. Rivera does not seek to evoke just our sympathy, his story is an edification to the hardships experienced by classes we as readers may have been unaware even existed.

Note that Rivera ends the novel with intended ambiguity rather than a generic conclusion or an attempt to encompass the sruggles of Mexican-Americans. It would be easy to say that it ends with a feeling of hope, which on an elementary level it does, but I would say that it ends with a spiritual awakening, of an acceptance that life will never be perfect, at least in his lifetime. His cries for help may not be answered, but he can soothe them with his own growth.

...y no se lo trago la tierra

The book itself was considerably less scary than the cover, however it was no less emotional. The book was, if I dare say, realistically surreal, I in the sense that it was so reminiscent of youth I had a funny feeling of strange nostalgia I rarely experience as I read it. I found myself identifying with thoughts from the narrator that I previously had forgotten I had had when I was younger. The idea of demon or devil is common in the mind of many children regardless of religious upbringing, and Rivera is surprisinly in touch with that idea of childhood fear, of darkness, of being left alone for unknown periods of time, only to wake up in the daylight to face a whole different array of troubles.

I didn't have a childhood much like that of our protagonist, yet his thoughts and fears ring true regardless. Every child wants to please their parents, and in a way every child fears how their parents will receive them...the idea of disappointing the ideals of your parents exists within everyone, and Rivera's character is no exception. The book highlights social injustice and isolation as did "Who would have thought it?" and the first person narration made it more emotional than the former for me to read. When we read "I don't like Mexicans because they steal", it is very vivid...probably one of the more piercing racist remarks I've read in literature, despite its simplicity. While I felt "Who would have thought it?" was more composed in a more complex, eloquent manner, the shrill but simple dialogue of this piece worked to the author's advantage. The two books engage different parts of my sensitive persona.

What Rivera accomplishes is interpreting an unjust society through the eyes of someone too young to be sure of what that is. Rather than preaching to his readers, he edifies us in a manner both vivid and vicarious; using the symbolism of a child's imagination to express emotion on issues that do not begin in the middle of life, rather at the start.