Miss Clairol

Question 1:  How does the narrator describe the character of Arlene?  Is there a divide between how Arlene seems to perceive herself and how the narrator describes her?  If so, how can this dichotomy between self image and others’ views be seen in the context of the Chicano/a experience at large? 

Question 2:  What is the relationship between Arlene and her daughter, Champ?  Despite the fact that they haven’t discussed sex, can Champ truly be described as “innocent?”  Can Champ’s childhood be seen as reflective of the childhoods most lower-class Mexican-Americans face? 

Mundo sin fin, amén

Passage:  “Your eyes are beautiful, you said.  You said they were the darkest eyes you’d ever seen and kissed each one as if they were capable of miracles.  And after you left, I wanted to scoop them out with a spoon, place them on a plate under these blue blue skies, food the blackbirds.”

To briefly summarize, Sandra Cisneros’ short story “Never Marry a Mexican” is the tale of a Chicana by the name of Clemencia who, after a difficult childhood, finds herself torn between many worlds; she is seen as neither rich nor poor, neither truly Mexican nor American, and as a lover, but not as a companion. 

“Never Marry a Mexican” utilizes an interesting system of dialogue, one that in large part draws from its unorthodox yet clever syntax.  Though occasionally employing quotation marks to denote conversation, Cisneros chooses to go without more often than not.  This is demonstrated in this particular passage, as Drew’s proclamation of the beauty of Clemencia’s eyes is only separated from the speaker’s monologue by a comma.  Though I am by no means certain in my reading of this segment, I thought this particular style was used to create a sort of hazy, wistful tone to the passage, emphasizing the disconnect between the speaker’s happier past and rather dismal present.  I took it to mean that the speaker could have been paraphrasing something Drew said about her eyes, or that he could have mentioned her eyes’ beauty on several occasions during their tryst, with the author not willing to emphasize any one occurrence.  Cisneros’ rather cavalier, experimental attitude towards punctuation and grammar reminds me a bit of José Saramago stylistically, in that both authors are willing to disregard the rulebook when doing so furthers their artistic visions. 

Though I lack faith in any sort of divine being myself, I have always admired the Catholic religion’s penchant for inspiring art and poetic thought.  “Never Marry a Mexican” draws from this strong tradition, with Catholic imagery forming a motif that is present throughout.  In this bit of prose, it is displayed in the almost reverent manner in which Drew treats Clemencia’s eyes.  The simile between her eyes and religious artifacts is a strong one; one can imagine Drew treating her eyes with the same care a devout pilgrim might show the Shroud of Turin.  Cisneros’ aptitude for strong diction is showcased in the closing line of the passage.  The rather brutal image of Clemencia scooping her eyes out and leaving them for the blackbirds works on many levels.  The most obvious of these is that it shows a desire to rid herself of something that Drew loved, a display of spite and anguish in the face of rejection.  In juxtaposing the sacrifice of sight with the “blue blue skies,” a sight many judge to be amongst the most beautiful in the world, the image displays the extent of the speaker’s grief.

When taken on the whole, I thought this passage represented Clemencia’s real breaking point in the narrative.  She’s a dynamic character in that up to this point, she’s told the reader that she has no desire to marry or settle down and then moves on to her relationship with Drew, which seems too emotionally involved for her earlier claims to be entirely honest (this distrust of the narrator is a feature of the story’s first-person perspective).  After this passage, her obsession becomes clear, and (I apologize if this sounds callous, I do sympathize with Clemencia to a degree) she deals with her loss in a manner in which some might describe as “creepy.”  To give answer to a question the speaker poses near the end of her narration:  Yes, after the gummy bear incident, I am indeed convinced that you are “as crazy as a tulip or a taxi.”  Perhaps, if I may say so, a tulip-coloured taxi.  But that’s alright.  It makes for an interesting read.

Question:  Is there any hope for Clemencia?  The proverbial "light at the end of the tunnel?"  Or has her mental state degraded too far?

I Am Joaquin

“It is as dangerous for a writer to try a new language as it is for a believer to try a new religion: he can lose his soul.”  Replace “writer” with “individual” and “language” with “culture” and these words, inscribed in the back of a 1971 Caetano Veloso record, offer a salient commentary to the sentiments of Rodolfo Corky Gonzales’ epic poem “I Am Joaquin."

Arriving at a theme that universally describes the poem is something of a struggle, as the message seems to evolve throughout, moving from despondence to defiance.  Few lines in this poem illustrate its initial lost, dejected tone better than those that open it.  “Yo soy Joaquin/ perdido en un mundo de confusion/ I am Joaquin, lost in a world of confusion.”  In his repetition of this statement –once in English, once in Spanish- the speaker shows a growing dichotomy between his distinctly Mexican roots and the Anglo-American culture he sees himself becoming increasingly assimilated by.  He feels trapped; he must either abandon his roots and adopt the norms society is slowly moving toward or live as an impoverished pariah in his own ancestral home. 

A certain rage seems to envelop the speaker as he realizes that yes, this is HIS people’s home that is being forced to change by a stranger’s influence.  He envisages himself as all his forebears, ranging from Spaniards fighting off Moors to Pancho Villa, people he views as noble defenders of Mexican freedom and cultural sanctity.  Recalling his heroes, Joaquin turns disgusted with himself and the nature of his current hardships.  His history has become insignificant and his people have become complacent in inferiority.  The United States has supplanted Mexico, taking everything it found to be of some use and claiming credit for it.  The tone of anger with which the speaker relays this more recent history suggests that he has overcome his earlier confusion and is ready to fight for his culture with clarity and purpose.

Growing in passion, the speaker mockingly suggests that, in its ransacking of Mexican culture, the United States missed what was truly vital.  Nature, brotherhood, the art of Rivera and Sequeiros, music, tradition, unity; all these things survived unadulterated.  In spite of everything that has been taken from Mexico and its people, the most important pieces of its culture live on.  With this knowledge, Joachim declares his spirit strong, his faith unbreakable, his blood pure, and that he, if no one else, will not assimilate.

For someone like the speaker, heritage is identity.  Perhaps this is the theme that most permeates “I Am Joaquin.”  Complacently integrating into a culture that has, according to Joaquin, repeatedly proven its malicious intent towards your people is nothing short of treason of the soul.  The choice, in the end, is not between fitting in and living uncomfortably.  It is between giving up, condemning your culture to ignominy and death; and struggling on, ensuring that which is most important to you in this world is never forgotten.

In studying this poem, I found it rather difficult to understand how it was that someone could feel so strongly about his heritage.  What drives the speaker and those with similar views to accord this aspect of their lives such a high degree of importance?