Annotations for Subject-headings: Fiction

[Ranchera music transition] The Chicana writer, Ana Castillo, had an abuelita, a grandmother who signed her name with an X. Castillo's father dropped out of high school. Her mother only finished primary school. But all three had an indelible impact on Castillo as a writer. They told her stories, or cuentos, and in her latest novel, So Far From God, Ana Castillo brings these cuentos to life.

An account of the first astonishing occurrence in the lives of a woman named Sophia and her four fated daughters, and the equally astonishing return of her wayward husband. La Loca was only three years old when she died. Her mother Sophie woke at 12 midnight to the howling and neighing of the five dogs, six cats, and four horses, whose custom it was to go freely in and out of the house. Sophie got up and tiptoed out of her room.

So Far From God is based in New Mexico, where Castillo who grew up in Chicago, has been living for the past two years. The book has been called a telenovela, a Chicano soap opera. In fact, Castillo deals with some pretty heavy topics in her book, among them women's rights, environmental racism, sexuality, Catholicism, and the Gulf War, just to name a few. Thanks for joining us on Latino USA, Ana.

In your book, what's interesting, what caught my eye was that you have a lot of Spanish phrases with no translation at all. Is that one way in which you wanted to kind of deal with that schizophrenia of being bilingual and bi-cultural in just saying, "This is who we are," and it's not going to be translated?

Yeah, well of course, that is our reality. Lots of times when I would go to universities to read and I'd see the flyers, Ana Castillo, poet. I always say, "Chicana in search of her identity." I stopped before I did anything. I said, "I want people to know that I'm very aware of my identity. What I would like to do is assert that identity to the public." And so, part of our identity is not so much as schizophrenia. It's the denial from society that this is our language. So if this is an oral storyteller, she or he would say this, would talk this way, would not be inclined to translate.

In literature, once you see that in print, obviously it would be very redundant to say, “Callate. Shut up," he told me, or something like that. I work at what I had to do to compromise for everybody. It's a compromise because some Latinos do not read any Spanish, and some Chicanos won't understand this particular Spanish, is then you work it into the text. Sophie put the baseball bat that she had taken with her when checking the house back under the bed, just in case she encountered some tonto who had gotten ideas about the woman who lived alone with her four little girls by the ditch at the end of the road.

It was then that she noticed the baby-

After growing up Chicago as I did, which is not necessarily a very magical realist place, although it has its moments, was magical realism a part of your moving to the Southwest? [laughing] Because you talk about the Southwest and New Mexico as an integral part of this novel of yours.

Let's just kind of deconstruct this magical realism catch word I think that's associated with Latin American literature, but also with the Latino reality I think. That's why I laugh, because I think it's more like this, this is a reality and magical realism is what motivates us. I did not have that intention at all to do that in my literature, in this particular book. What happened was that I think I was possessed, and I was there immersed, baptism by fire in Nuevo Mexico. Much of what comes out in here is material that is based on faith, whether it's Catholic faith, it's Pueblo Indian mythology faith, or the creation story that is told here.

It's sort of diluting to simply say it's magic realism. I'm not saying there's a, "Now what can I do that's very extraordinary?" Well everything around me is very extraordinary. What's probably... I couldn't beat the reality here. I wouldn't call it magic realism. I would call it a book based on faith.

[Reading] Esperanza let out a shriek long and so high-pitched it started some dogs barking in the distance. Sophie had stopped crying to see what was causing the girl's hysteria, when suddenly the whole crowd began to scream and faint, and move away from the priest who finally stood alone next to the baby's coffin. The lid had pushed all the way open and the little girl inside sat up just as sweetly as if she had woken from a nap, rubbing her eyes and yawning, "Mami?" She called, looking around and squinting her eyes against the harsh light. Father Jerome got hold of himself and sprinkled holy water in the direction of the child, who for the moment was too stunned to utter so much as a word of prayer.

[Reading] Then as if all this was not amazing enough, as Father Jerome moved toward the child she lifted herself up into the air and landed on the church roof. "Don't touch me. Don't touch me," she warned. This was only the beginning of the child's long life's phobia of people.

Highlight--music--Violin

There's been a lot of attention given to this book, So Far From God. You've gotten a lot of press, you've been doing readings, you've been traveling starting at 500 in the morning and ending at 900 at night, reading in many, many different places. But this isn't your first novel. You've written other novels and other books of poetry before. So why now? Why do you think there's this interest now? Is it because there's all of sudden this general incredible interest in Chicana/Latina writers, or what? Or do you think it's just because hey, it just was the right historical moment? How are you interpreting it?

Since I've been writing and publishing now for almost 20 years, I had that vision that it would take that long as a Chicana. I don't know how I had it, but I did have it. Unfortunately, that was an analysis that I understood in terms of racism, sexism, and classism, which that is something that we can say most Chicanas, Latinas, do experience in this country. You are not Native American. You are not European. What you are is a drone that should just go and work, and don't worry. Nobody wants to hear what you have to say. When you're a writer, that's what it's about, is what you have to say.

And so, I worked for many years as a poet. People still see me primarily as a poet. Then I thought, how can I really get the word out? Well, not that many people read poetry, and that's when I started teaching myself how to write fiction. It took me a number of years before I did The Mixquiahuala Letters, which I thought I would die with it stuck between the mattress and the bedspring, and nobody would ever see it or want to see it. When it was accepted so quickly and so highly-acclaimed critically by the Chicano scholars, that literary audience, it really took me aback.

I guess, finally, what do you say to young Chicanos and Chicanas, but I guess primarily Chicanas, who are probably maybe even listening to this, who are sitting in their little casita who knows where, or in their dorm room if they're in a university and saying, "I don't have anything to say, and my voice is strange. No one understands me." How do you try to convince them to trust their voice as you have finally come to trust yours?

You have to have great tenacity about this, great personal conviction, that this is what you want to do, that you love to do. I would say, write, write, write, write, and read everything you can read, and brace yourself because we all get rejected. I still get rejected. Sandra Cisneros still gets rejections. You say, "Well in comparison the success or to acknowledge when who cares," but everybody at some point and continuously will get that when they're sticking by their convictions, and when you're trailblazing with a machete to try to make a little pathway there.

I would say to young Chicanos and Latinos who want to write, to read, read, read, write, and to believe in yourself. How can you go wrong when you're doing what you believe in?

Thank you for joining us on Latino USA. It's been a pleasure Ana, un placer. Ana Castillo's latest book, So Far From God, is published by Norton. Muchas gracias, Ana.

Thank you.

From acclaimed director, Alfonso Arau, a sensuous portrait of love and enchantment, change and revolution.

This year, the Mexican cinema is enjoying a revival with such films as el Danzón and "Como Agua para Chocolate," "Like Water for Chocolate."

Like Water for Chocolate is a saying, un dicho, meaning that something is near the boiling point. And in her film and the haunting narrative of her novel, screenwriter and author Laura Esquivel finds the boiling point in the kitchen and in relationships between men and women.

From Boulder, Colorado, Betto Arcos prepared this report.

Tal parecía que en un extraño fenómeno de alquimia su ser se había disuelto en la salsa de las rosas, en el cuerpo de las codornices, en el vino, y en cada unos de los…

It's the essence of love, femininity, and the affirmation of human nature that Laura Esquivel conveys through a novel which evolved when the author was cooking in her home in Mexico.

Bueno, me vino mientras cocinaba por que a mi me encanta cocinar…[transition to English dub] And it came to me when I was cooking my family's recipes. I would always go back to the past and clearly remember my grandmother's kitchen and the smells and the chats. And I always thought that it would be very interesting to adapt this natural, human mechanism to literature. And in the same way that one describes how to make a recipe, be able to narrate a love story…[transition to original audio] escribe como hacer una receta poder narrar una historia de amor...

Set in a border ranch during the Mexican Revolution, "Like Water for Chocolate" is the story of Tita, the youngest of three daughters born to Mamá Elena. It is a family tradition that the youngest daughter not marry, but stay at home to care for her mother. Soon, however, Tita falls in love. But her tyrannical mother makes no exception and arranges for Tita's older sister, Rosaura, to marry Tita's love, Pedro.

Tita's sister is played by actress Yareli Arizmendi.

"Creo que tenemos pendiente una conversación, no crees? Si. Y creo que fue desde que te casaste con mi novio, empecemos por ahí si quieres."

In this scene from the film "Like Water for Chocolate," the two sisters confront each other about the family tradition Tita refuses to uphold.

"Ya no hablemos del pasado. [unintelligible) Y no voy a permitir que ustedes dos se burlen de mi."

But most of the action in "Like Water for Chocolate" centers around the kitchen. After the family cook dies, Tita takes over the kitchen responsibilities, and in her hands, every meal and dessert becomes the agent of change. Anyone who eats her food is transformed by it and sometimes in very surprising ways, according to Laura Esquivel.

Yo tengo una teoría que, a través de la comida se invierte…[transition to English dub] I have a theory that through food, gender roles are interchanged, and the man becomes the passive one and the woman the active one…[transition to original audio] a traves de la comida penetra en el otro cuerpo.

What I drew my interest more in terms of this use of recipes and cooking and all of this, this presence of it, is really the issue that's been dealt with quite a bit by the feminists, which is female space.

Raymond Williams, Professor of Latin American Literature and Coordinator of the Novel of the America Symposia at the University of Colorado in Boulder, says that Like Water for Chocolate is a novel that goes against the traditional literary point of view.

Departing from the female space of a kitchen rather than departing from, say, the great Western adventure stories that were typically kind of the male stories of the traditional novel, and I think that female space is what really drew my attention in my first reading of the novel and my first viewing of the film.

The recipes in "Like Water for Chocolate," which range from turkey mole with almonds and sesame seeds to chiles in walnut sauce, are far removed from fast food and frozen dinners. They require a lot of dedication and can take days or weeks to prepare. And in the age of microwave ovens and technology, Esquivel says, people have moved away from that which is naturally human.

Para nosotros el elaborar la cocina el carácter de una ceremonia…[transition to English dub] For us, cooking is like a ceremony and has nothing to do with the commercial. It really is a ritual, a ritual in which the family participates, and by doing so, one heightens his human quality.

Last year, the film "Like Water for Chocolate" received over 10 international awards, including one for Best Actress at the Tokyo Film Festival and for Best Picture, Mexico's Ariel Award. The film is a collaboration between Esquivel and director Alfonso Arau, one of Mexico's leading filmmakers and Esquivel's husband. The novel has been published in English by Doubleday. The film is currently playing in major theaters across the country.

For "Latino USA," this is Betto Arcos in Boulder, Colorado.

[Mexican folk music] The Chicana writer, Ana Castillo, had an abuelita, a grandmother who signed her name with an X. Castillo's father dropped out of high school. Her mother only finished primary school, but all three had an indelible impact on Castillo as a writer. They told her stories or cuentos. And in her latest novel, So far From God, Ana Castillo brings these cuentos to life.

[Reading] An account of the first astonishing occurrence in the lives of a woman named Sofia and her four faded daughters, and the equally astonishing return of her wayward husband. La Loca was only three years old when she died. Her mother, Sofi, woke at 12 midnight to the howling of the five dogs, six cats, and four horses whose custom it was to go freely in and out of the house. Sofi got up and tiptoed out of her room.

So Far From God is based in New Mexico where Castillo, who grew up in Chicago, has been living for the past two years. The book has been called a telenovela, a Chicana soap opera.

[Reading] Sofi put the baseball bat that she had taken with her when checking the house back under the bed just in case she encountered some tonto who had gotten ideas about the woman who lived alone with her four little girls by the ditch at the end of the road. It was then that she noticed the baby...

After growing up in Chicago as I did, which is not necessarily a very magical realist place although it has its moments, right? [Laughter] Was magical realism a part of your moving to the Southwest and was that part of, I mean, or because you talk about the Southwest and New Mexico is part of an integral part of this novel of yours?

Well, let's just kind of deconstruct this magical realism catch word. I think that's associated with Latin American literature, but also with the Latino reality, I think, and that's why I laugh because I thought I think it's more like this. This is a reality. Magical realism is what motivates us, and I did not have that intention at all to do that in my literature in this particular book. What happened was that I think I was possessed and I was there immersed, baptism by fire in Nuevo Mexico, and much of what comes out in here is material that is based on faith, which whether it's Catholic faith, it's Pueblo Indian mythology faith, or the creation story that is told here and would be... So it's sort of a diluting to simply say it's magic realism. I'm not sitting there and saying, now what can I do that's very extraordinary? Well, everything around me is very extraordinary and what's probably, I couldn't beat the reality here. I wouldn't call it magic realism. I would call it a book based on faith.

[Mexican Folk music] [Reading] Esperanza let out a shriek, long and so high-pitched that started some dogs barking in the distance. Sofi had stopped crying to see what was causing the girls' hysteria. When suddenly the whole crowd began to scream and fainted and move away from the priest who finally stood alone next to the baby's coffin. The lid had pushed all the way open and the little girl inside sat up just as sweetly as if she had woken from a nap, rubbing her eyes and yawning, "Mami?" She called, looking around and squinting her eyes against a harsh light. Father Jerome got hold of himself and sprinkled holy water in the direction of the child, but for the moment, was too stunned to utter so much as a word of prayer. Then, as if all this was not amazing enough, as Father Jerome moved toward the child, she lifted herself up into the air and landed on the church roof. "Don't touch me, don't touch me." She warned. This was only the beginning of the child's long lives' phobia of people.

There's been a lot of attention given to this book, So Far From God. I mean, you've gotten a lot of press. You've been doing readings. You've been traveling starting at five in the morning, ending at nine o'clock at night, reading in many, many different places. But this isn't your first novel. I mean, you've written other novels and other books of poetry before. So why now? Why do you think there's this interest now? Is it because there's all of a sudden this general incredible interest in Chicana-Latina writers or what? Do you think it's just because, "Hey, it just was a right historical moment."? How are you interpreting it?

Well, since I've been writing and publishing now for almost 20 years, I had that vision that it would take that long as a Chicana and I don't know how I had it, but I did have it. And unfortunately, that was an analysis that I understood in terms of racism, sexism, and classism, which is really, that is something that we can say most Chicanas-Latinas do experience in this country. You are not Native American. You are not European. What you are as a drone that should just go and work and don't worry, nobody wants to hear what you have to say.

And when you're a writer, that's what it's about, is what you have to say. And so I worked for many years as a poet. People still see me primarily as a poet. And then I thought, how can I really get the word out? Not that many people read poetry. And that's when I started teaching myself how to write fiction. And it took me a number of years before I did The Mixquiahuala Letters, which I thought I would die with. It stuck between the mattress and the beds spring, and nobody would ever see it or want to see it. And when it was accepted so quickly and so highly acclaimed critically by the Chicano scholars and that literary audience. It really took me aback.

I guess finally, what do you say to young Chicanos and Chicanas, but I guess primarily Chicanas who are probably maybe even listening to this, who are sitting in their little casita who knows where or in their dorm room if they're in a university and saying, "I don't have anything to say and my voice is strange and no one understands me."? And I mean, how do you try to convince them to trust their voice as you have finally come to trust yours?

You have to have great tenacity about this great personal conviction that this is what you want to do, that you love to do. So I would say write, write, write, write and read everything you can read, and embrace yourself because we all get rejected. I still get rejected. Sandra Cisneros still gets rejections. I mean, you say, "Well, in comparison to the success or to acknowledgement, who cares?" But everybody, at some point and continuously, will get that when they're sticking by their convictions. And when you're breaking, when you're trailblazing with the machete, it makes to try to make a little pathway there. So I would say to young Chicanos and Latinos who want to write, to read, read, read, write, and to believe in yourself. If you do it out of the love for what you're doing, you can't go wrong. How can you go wrong when you're doing what you believe in?

Thank you for joining us on Latino USA. It's been a pleasure. Un placer. Ana Castillo's latest book, So Far From God, is published by Norton. Muchas gracias, Ana.

Thank you.

This year there's been an unprecedented interest on the part of East coast publishers in Latino themes and literature. St. Martin's Press, for instance, has come out with its first Chicano mystery novel, The Ballad of Rocky Ruiz by Manuel Ramos. The novel follows this story of a middle-aged Chicano lawyer unraveling the mystery of an old homeboy's death in the sixties. Juan Felipe Herrera has our review.

It is late night Denver. We have the booze thirst for one more soul search in a city packed with blue blood prosecutors and urban developers. We are after love too. In the brown buffoon stance of middle-aged Luis Montez, we follow the drowsy meditations of this ex legal age Chicano lawyer, an accidentally trip into an old homeboy's death, Rocky Ruiz. In the sparse language and short jabs of 21 chapters, we listened to Montez decipher Rocky's last days in Denver's Aztlan, the mythical land and moment of Chicano's 60s unity. Montez doesn't look back willingly. He seeks this home base by accident. In broken desks and hidden journals, he uncovers the old student walkout days, Chicano Power chance, and Red Beret rallies. Montez is more interested in finding his own life center at Lawley's Taco Shack over beans and bourbon, slouch and sport bars, or in his collapsing legal practice, he half digests the city machine.

He doles over his divorce, his abandoned kids, and Jesus, his fading father. Montez feels the grip of hooded men and the heat of racial slurs as he plays back Rocky's killing. Yet all Montez can do is whimper. He spills nostalgia and spits barrio desolation until he traces the sudden death of another companero, Tino Pacheco. Tino's death leads him to Rocky's last night and breaks open the trap door to Los Guerrilleros, a tight-knit Chicano homeboy crew of the 60s led by Rocky Ruiz. Finding Rocky requires fumbling through romance, sex, and the voices of wives and stark eye Chicanas. Montez meets Teresa Fuentes, a Chicana with multiple names and guises. By day, the only minority lawyer working for an upscale firm. By night, a silvery persona with a secret assignment in Denver that will unravel the mystery around Rocky's death. Montez is condemned to seek who killed Rocky Ruiz. Why is the crew of the old Movimiento Gang being quickly taken out in cold blood?

Montez finds the answers in shreds. The truer keys come from the private knowledge and power that Teresa and her mother, Margarita, possess. Although the figure of Rocky Ruiz at times appears utopian and forced, this is outweighed by the complex development of Teresa's and Margarita's voice. Manuel Ramos writes a ballad where we must discover the hero and the heroine, where we must rise through a post-modern turf of laws, cultural rupture, and reassess the meanings of a bygone social movement that only comes to us in memory fevers in two-fisted blows against the 21st century in the elegance of versions of women in male-centered networks. Who is this lawyer dude Montez? Maybe it is not Rocky. We are after. Maybe we are looking for the 90s hombre, alone now. No longer surrounded by his homeboy vatos. No longer insulated by his self-made narratives for justice and revolucion. Ramos asks us, "Who will search for him? Who and where is he now?"

Juan Felipe Herrera is a writer and professor in the Chicano and Latin American studies department at California State University in Fresno.

This poem was written for Elizabeth Ramos, who upon discovering that she was HIV positive, became very active in the fight against aids and who died November 6th, 1988. Death by Association for Elizabeth Ramos.

[Background--music--symphony] I never knew her when she was healthy, when she could run or walk in the sun or rain. I never knew her when she was able and willing to play with her children, feed them or cloth them. In fact, I never really knew her, never met her or even talked to her. But I heard her once in an interview and cheered her at a rally, listened to her dreams that she so clearly stated, "I want to buy a house. I want to go to Disney World and always in between the words I want to live and see my children grow." A long time ago, unbeknownst to her, she came across death by association and her world was never the same again. In the end, thanks to her, we come across life by association and in the end, our world will never be the same either.

Marta Valentin is a poet, musician, and radio producer living in Boston.