Week 4—With a Pistol in His Hand (part ii)

So as I proceed through Paredes’ With a Pistol in His Hand, two things come to mind. The first is the idea of various versions of an event as a manufactured reality and the second is the evolution of the English lexicon with words such as ‘booty’.

Manufactured Reality
What I mean by this is how various people can experience or witness an event or an occurrence and each of those people can relay their experience in a completely different way. We have the events of Gregorio Cortéz’ life, what he did, who he shot and when and the events of him being chased or pursued by the Rangers. Only Cortez and those who were present at the time of these occurrences know what happened. Without a doubt they shared this experience with people they thought may be interested and those people added some spice for intrigue, based on personal style, and then relayed it too a further audience. Lather, rinse, repeat and we end up with something like this ballad.

Does that make each version of the ballad invalid? Absolutely not. But I like what Paredes has done, lining them up in parallel so that they can each be analysed for what they are, who wrote them and from whose perspective we are being told the tale.

This makes me think again about the stories that circulate on the news these days, whether it’s that Orange Turd down south saying something ridiculous based on some version of the truth his henchmen have relayed to him, or perhaps it is some other far flung tale that makes us wonder. The media is in a unique position to take facts and manipulate them to create intrigue, which results in viewership and ultimately sponsorship from companies seeking advertising space. Perhaps one of the companies doesn’t like the spin put on a story a media outlet covers, so they are obligated to report through the eyes of those who pay them biweekly. In the end, where is our news coming from and at what point do we start thinking for ourselves?

Booty call
So I was reading along, minding my own business, when I came across the following line: “Indians descended on the whole Mexican frontier, armed and supplied by American traders who accepted their booty in exchange for arms, whiskey, and other articles” (133). At first, I just blindly read through it, and as I started the following sentence, my eyes wandered up a line for a moment and I thought I saw the word ‘booty’. I cleaned my glasses and replaced them on my face, to see that the word ‘booty’ was indeed part of the text. Well I’ll be. What does ‘booty’ mean? I only know it to mean one thing thanks to the superfluous nature of the Kardashians posteriors on TMZ and the Buzzfeed articles that appear on my Facebook feed.

So I looked ‘booty’ up on the Cambridge online dictionary, and this is what I found: “any valuable things or money stolen by an army at war or by thieves”. I chuckled a little, rereading the line in the text again and it made more sense. I’ve only ever heard ‘booty’ in reference to a bum or calls. So then I started thinking about words that are used today that used to mean something different (or more wholesome) in my parents or grandparents generations. Even you young whippersnappers in our class use words that I have no idea what they mean. I guess I did too when I was younger, I just don’t remember what they are. I wonder how María Ruiz de Burton or Américo Paredes interpret some of our euphemisms that are more recent. My mother still has an issue with calling milk ‘homo’. In light of this bodacious line in the text, here is a song that came to mind. It’s a rather clever cover done by the Postmodern Jukebox of Meghan Trainor’s “All About the Bass”.

Week 4—With a Pistol in His Hand (part i)

I’m really enjoying With a Pistol in his Hand. It reminds me of the dusty westerns that used to be on TV Sunday afternoons, the ones my grandfathers used to watch. They had this strange appeal to them, the thrill of the chase, good vs. bad, being wrongfully accused. They were all the same, lots of men riding on horses, walking around wearing frilly, suede chaps and boots that made clinking noises when they walked bow-legged into the saloon. And guns, lots of guns.

Who knew that some of this stuff was based on reality. I’ve been through the west. In Buffalo Wyoming, we saw the ‘genuine’ bullet holes in some pub that were put there by Billy The Kid. That seems to be the whole allure of western folklore…the legend based on a shred of truth. Some romantic spin on an otherwise mundane event.

I can’t imagine the things described by Paredes in the first section of the book. The list on page 16 of the half dozen points which summarize the Anglo Texan legend made my blood boil: the Mexican is cruel by nature…cowardly and treacherous, thievering and degenerate. As I read on and some of the variations of the legend of Gregorio Cortez were told, I couldn’t help but think that these are a more accurate way of describing the Rangers. It also makes me think of the extreme racism that exists in today’s society…like the viral videos of some white person screaming their head off at someone speaking Spanish…or the senseless killing of black people by ‘innocent’ white cops.

It makes me think about the legends that exist in the media…the legends that are told by outlets such as Fox news, or that Orange Turd that calls himself the president. It never matters what the truth actually is, as long as the story attracts attention. Someone always gets hurt, loses out, or worse—gets killed.

The reading also made me think of one of my all-time favourite songs, “Seven Spanish Angels” by Ray Charles and Willie Nelson. It’s a blend of Ray Charles’ soulful, rumbling piano, along with Willie Nelson’s storytelling and smattering of trumpets playing the mordent motif that has become a cliché of anything Mexican. So I listened to it (for the nine-hundredth time…), paying attention to the words. The gun fight, the riders, the feeling of being cornered and accused for some unfounded offence. The story of Gregorio Cortez may not be unique, but it seems to be a trope that fills books, tv screens and music. And despite predictable, it still captures interest.

Week 3—The Squatter and The Don (part ii)

I noticed that the edition of our current novel that was prescribed in class does not contain the subtitle that mine does. The title of the edition that I read includes a subtitle: The Squatter and The Don—A Novel Descriptive of Contemporary Occurrences in California. I find it interesting that subtitles maybe omitted from some editions and not others. I think the subtitle on the edition I read is well befitting of the novel itself. It is certainly one of the oddest novels I’ve ever read, structurally speaking. The author assigns a great deal of real estate (as it were) to the laws and treaties of the time in which the narrative takes place, exploring both sides of the implications of them. For the Alamar and Mechlin families, the laws have dire consequences rendering each family rather destitute. It is noteworthy, I think, that these families represent the goodness of society, the law-abiding, community conscious folks who care about others and not just their own gains. The other families, those of Roper and Gasbang (and a few more whose names I can’t offhandedly recall) benefit from the unfairness and corruption despite their moral turpitude. So back to why I find this novel odd…while there is a plot that unfolds, Ruiz de Burton provides it to the reader from multiple points of view. We see first hand how the Alamar and Mechlin families are affected by the events that unfold, but we also get to experience the point of view of Gasbang and his thugs, their attitudes and thoughts which drive their behaviour. So not only does Ruiz de Burton provide a one-sided perspective to the contemporary occurrences in California, she provides what she believes are the opposing points of view.

One of the main motifs in the novel that really stands out to me is “the least said, soonest mended”. My mother used to tell me this all the time as a kid. It never made sense to me, especially in this day and age when it is en vogue to talk about one’s emotions and feelings. This meaning of this ‘pearl of wisdom’ is that if you don’t talk about a problem, it will simply go away. Look how well that worked out for Don Mariano and Clarence. Look how much time was wasted for Clarence and Mercedes when Clarence decided not to defend himself after his father’s hissy fit. In the words of Freddie Mercury’s song, ‘time waits for no one’, so do what you have to do and make the most of time while you have it. For me, this is the most important take-away from Ruiz de Burton’s story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGjt291COa0

I found a few Spanishism in the second half, one in particular caught my eye. Again, the page reference may not apply to the edition prescribed for class, but on page 361 of the one I read, at the end of Chapter XXXII—A False Friend Sent to Deceive the Southerners, Mr. Mechlin states “[t]he earnings of the Central Pacific this last year were seventeen millions of dollars” while speaking with Governor Stanford and Mr. Perin. This is how it would be literally translated into English from the Spanish (something to the effect of: Los ingresos del Pacífico Central este año pasado fueron diecisiete millones de dólares). In English, million is not plural and the preposition ‘of’ is merely implied and not included; whereas in Spanish, millones is plural and the preposition de is required. Further, it is amusing to me, as someone keen on linguistics, to see Mr. Mechlin make this utterance and not Don Mariano. I could see Don Mariano making this type of Spanishism, but not so much Mr. Mechlin.

Week 2—The Squatter and The Don (part i)

So many things fill my cabeza upon reflection of this novel. The first thing I’ll mention is Amparo Ruiz de Burton (ARB)’s use of the word ‘unmolested’ on page 27 (in the edition I’m reading) or in Chapter III…when she mentions Darrell avoiding the travellers; that he is “think[ing] of home unmolested”. When I first read this, I chuckled thinking about when my husband and I arrived in Cuba the first time and he saw the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the hotel room door, finding it quite amusing to see the word ‘molestar’. Thinking back to what Jon mentioned in our first class, that there are examples in the writings that we’ll be looking at of Spanishisms brought to English and vice versa. Of course, ARB didn’t mean the English sense of ‘molest’ as we know it today; rather, the more antiquated definition to “pester or harass (someone) in an aggressive or persistent manner” https://www.lexico.com/definition/molest . If I didn’t have an awareness of Spanish, this would have been rather shocking appearance in the text, wondering where Darrell was that molestation (in the current sense) would be an issue.

My main thoughts are on the notion of liminality. I could go on for pages about this, but I will try to keep this as succinct as possible. ARB was a native Spanish speaker, writing in English. Yet there are some idiomatic expressions and syntactical structures used that demonstrate her Spanish knowledge as she applies her thoughts in an English context. Regardless of which language structures or thoughts originate, they culminate in this narrative as something we, the reader, can relate to—regardless of our experience with either language. That’s pretty amazing to be able to do that.

Liminality also comes into play about the ancestry/ nationalism of the setting of the novel. Don Mariano’s family has been on their land for some amount of time prior to the beginning of the story—when the land was part of Mexico. Then the Mexican–American War happened and suddenly the limits/ borders of each country changed. Even though Don Mariano’s property didn’t move, the national boundary did…so too did the governance, language, cultural and social norms, each of which have their own figurative limits. The landowners and residents had no say in this, yet it was their limits that were changing, at the will of someone else. And as we see, outsiders are now entering this space, without limit/ border/ boundary, and taking it as their own, because they can.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. I am most curious to see how liminality exists in our readings…limits re: identity, culture, beliefs, space. It seems to be a prevalent notion in Latin American literature.

 

 

Week 1—Introduction

Hello,

My name is Craig, I’m in my final term of my undergrad; my major is Spanish. Starting a degree late in life has been an interesting endeavour, never mind trying to learn a second language as a nearly-middle-aged adult. It has been filled with triumphs and tribulations to be certain, and I wouldn’t have done things differently. I am currently in the process of applying to grad school in Alberta where I hope to pursue a Masters degree in Spanish Linguistics.

If I’m being honest, I don’t really do much outside of school. I have a husband and two furbabies—Clarabell and Matilda—who make my world complete. I love to cook and watch TV (Coronation Street, Doc Martin, Call the Midwife, Schitt’s Creek, Midsomer Murders are some of my faves) when I am not working on or stressing about classes. Music is a huge part of my life. I used to play bassoon and tuba back in the day. These days I play piano when I get the chance but it isn’t that often. I mostly play the radio in my car while commuting from Guildford. My musical tastes vary greatly across the spectrum, from musicals and opera to rock-a-billy and blues to retro and indie punk and rock.

Oddly enough, reading is a new thing to me. For years, I was unable to retain what I read due to what I had been told was ADHD, but as it turns out this was merely a symptom of something else. Now that’s in tow, I do try to read regularly. My all-time favourites are the Tales of the City series by Armistead Maupin, A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry and The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Tolstoy. During the term, however, I read what is required and save the good stuff for after final exams.

I think what I am most looking forward to in this course is that Latino/ Chicano literature seems to be overlooked in the realm of academia. Certainly the notion of ‘Spanglish’ is poopooed by Spanish profs, but also the idea that Latin American literature must come from a defined space—that does not include the USA. The US has the second highest Spanish speaking population after Mexico, so I seems to me that Spanish literature from the US is an important portion of Spanish/ Latin American literature. Something else I find most intriguing is that literature written in the US seems to present a division between two languages, two cultures and two societies. Liminality became an interest to me in SPAN 495 last term, so I am interested in seeing how it plays out within the prescribed texts this term.