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.