So I’m a week or so away from re-starting work on Inventing Vazquez, and beginning what I hope will be the last round of edits before launching an all-out search for a literary agent. I hope to be done within two or three months, after which I’ll start on my new writing project in earnest. What is that project? Great question…
The idea was to start work on my next post-apocalyptic novel, The Mourning Syndrome. But alas, after reading Sister Chicas and grappling with the question of where I want my writing career to go, here I am, contemplating a completely different direction. More specifically, I’m giving very serious thought to forgoing The Mourning Syndrome and starting on…the follow-up to Inventing Vazquez. Not only because I think there are more stories to be told with that group of characters, but because of the timing. See, Inventing Vazquez is a comedic satire about Latino/a representations in Hollywood. But in light of all the things I’ve seen and read and heard over the course of this electoral year, the idea surfaced: why not do a political satire next? And so, I’ve laid out some ideas on a sequel to Inventing Vazquez, which would address the issue of Latino/as and Asian-Americans within the political landscape.
Like I said, the timing might be the deciding factor here. I figure, by the time I finish writing the sequel and getting it published, it might be around the next electoral year, and so it’d be relevant.
Which leads me back to my dilemma about what I want to write. For the longest time, I envisioned myself as a sci-fi/horror writer, which explains Solstice ^_^ Sci-fi and horror are what made me want to write in the first place. But after having written Inventing Vazquez, and realizing I wanted to write more stuff like it, I’m facing the prospects of having to pick one or the other because I don’t have time to pursue both. Dang it, I need more hours in my day… Regardless, I’ll keep writing. No sense in not writing anything just because I can’t decide what to write next.
Speaking of writing, I’m about to create a new way for readers to purchase copies of Solstice directly from my publishing house. One of the things I’ve heard from numerous people is that they didn’t feel comfortable purchasing the book directly from my site because, well, it’s not exactly amazon.com ^_^ So I’m going to put my book on sale at ebay soon, to give you that added bit of consumer protection. I’m not sure yet if I’ll use my existing ebay account with the 100% positive feedback, or create a new one for the TMP name alone. Regardless, I’ll post it on this blog and on my site. What’s more, because I’m really hoping to generate more sales, I’m going to start selling Solstice at a reduced price. So if you’re contemplating buying a copy of Solstice, stay tuned, because I should have this up and running by this weekend. Why buy direct? Well, you’d get an autographed copy, free shipping, and the assurance that you’re helping out the little guy ^__^
Because I don’t already have enough things going on in my life (you know, working full-time, editing a novel, starting a new one, writing for Quiet Earth, promoting Solstice, playing/killing my drum set, getting ready to record a death metal album with my friend James, and, oh, planning on cleaning my gutters), it looks like I’m going to start writing for Urban Molecule. By the looks of it, I’ll have a monthly column on the fifth of each month, so hopefully you’ll stop by and read. I’m really excited about this, because, needless to say, I’ve never had a monthly column ^__^ What am I going to write about? Um………..yes.
Oh, one final note. I wanted to say congratulations to the five winners of the free Solstice copies in the contest I recently held. Congratulations to Amir, Robert, Oliver, Graham, and Jessica on their winning responses. Thank you for taking part in my first ever contest! Hopefully there will be another one at a later date.
Thanks for reading!
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Win a free copy of Solstice!
Okay, so I finally launched my long-delayed contest. If you’d like to win one of five free autographed copies of my novel, Solstice, just visit my site! All you need to do is answer five easy questions!
Hurry! At this price (free), quantities (five) won’t last! ^_^
Hurry! At this price (free), quantities (five) won’t last! ^_^
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Feminism, Distribution, Contests, and a Book Review of Sister Chicas
Try saying that three times fast…
Anyway, this promises to be a long blog entry, so if you need a snack, now might be a good time to get one.
So what’s going on? Well, some good news: At long last, I finished my new draft of Inventing Vazquez! ^_^ And what’s the best way of making an 850 page novel better? Push it closer to 900 pages! Eep… And while it’ll still need another rewrite before its ready, I do think it’s a lot stronger. I’m hoping my two new test readers will agree. So now that I’m done with that, I’m taking the next two weeks off from working on it, to clear my mind, and get through my long list of to-do’s. And one of the first things on that list was…update my blog ^^
So something interesting materialized in the world of Solstice. A reader over on goodreads.com gave Solstice a good review, but had some very interesting things to say about the book’s feminist take. For example, she wrote: “I appreciate the rage that animates the book's central character, Itztli Okami, but the manner in which her anger is made manifest troubled me. Io's rage is born from structural violence and intense personal tragedies, but the novel introduces her rage through the trope of rape. Must a woman of color come into focus through violation?” (Quoted with permission.)
This was something I hadn’t considered during the writing process. I’ve always considered myself a feminist (part of the reason why all my main characters have, so far, been strong women), and yet, here was a reader pointing out that the book’s opening rape scene in a sense disempowers Io’s anger. I’d intended the opening to represent an inversion of the rape scenario—really, it’s Io who is out to bait and master her would-be rapists. But in expressing her rage by simply inverting the moment of violation, is Io grounded within the context of victimhood, albeit an inverted one? Is victimhood the only way I was able to define Io? It’s a troubling idea, for sure.
This is one of the things I love about writing. When someone takes the time to write a thoughtful critique of your work, and when you get the chance to discuss it with them (as I’ve been fortunate enough to do so with this reader), you really learn some things, even things you thought you already knew. In this case, I thought the book was fairly feminist, but in discussing the matter with this reader, I realized I have a ways to go. As a guy writing feminist texts, I think it’s hard for me to sometimes fully understand things from a woman’s perspective. Things that I think are empowering to a female character might not seem to an actual woman. And considering Inventing Vazquez is a first-person narration as told by a woman, I’m guessing it’s a problem that will re-appear ^^;; So I’m glad this reader took the time to spell this out, because it’s forced me, once again, to try and be a better writer and think my ideas through more carefully.
Speaking of feminism in Solstice, right on the heels of this reader’s review, I found out that Solstice was nominated by a couple of people at the Feminist SF blog for one of the top 10 obscure feminist SF novels ^_^ Wow… Well, at very least, I can say the book was nominated for something like that before it was nominated for, say, top 10 worst novels of all time. But it’s still such a thrill and very humbling to think that some people thought the book was good enough, both as a story and a feminist text, to nominate.
Okay, so what else has been going on? Well, I nearly lost my mind this past week with my distributor. Ever since my old distributor got bought out by my current distributor, it has been a nightmare. The thing is, the acquisition couldn’t have come at a worse time, because this was when the returns were scheduled to start coming in, and boy, did they start coming in -_-; So now, my old distributor was receiving the returns, and holding on to a good chunk of money that was meant to refund these returns…but my new distributor was apparently paying off these refunds themselves…and charging them directly to me. It’s taken weeks of e-mails, non-returned phone calls, and general frustration over the utter lack of communication between parties for this matter to (apparently) be resolved. And I say that hesitantly, because I assumed the matter was resolved last month when my old distributor assured me that a check had been cut to cover my outstanding balance with the new one. And, come June, I get a note that I’m 60 days past due on my $1,000+ debt, and I’m basically, WTF? So if, after all this, I get another past due notice in July, I’m just going to scream. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if the people hounding me for this money would at least have the courtesy of calling me directly, as I’ve asked them to do. Alas, no one seems to know what a phone is anymore these days. Anyway, that’s my rant about the current distribution drama. This whole problem is one more reason why, for Inventing Vazquez, I better find an agent and forgo self-publishing.
Okay, next item: a contest! One of my to-do items for the next week is updating my web site. I want to create a small contest through my web site and Quiet Earth, so please make sure to keep an eye on both sites. What’s the contest? Not sure yet, but probably some silly quiz on frivolous things, like zombies ^^; What’s the prize? I’m going to give out five free autographed copies of Solstice! So if you’re in the market for a copy of the book, but don’t want to shell out the cash for it (which you should, by the way, cos, you know…um…it’s what Frodo would have wanted), stop by either my web site or Quiet Earth to learn more. I should have that up and running by the end of the weekend.
And finally, because this blog entry isn’t long enough, I thought I’d include a book review. ^_^ One of my main to-do’s was finishing Sister Chicas, a novel written by my friend Lisa Alvarado, Ann Hagman Cardinal, and Jane Alberdeston Coralin. Well, I finally finished it, and loved it. And I decided to write a review of it. Which may or may not be a good thing, considering how I’m still kind of learning to do reviews over at Quiet Earth. But the short of it is, if you’re looking for a good read, and a wonderfully inspired glimpse into the life of young Latinas, give Sister Chicas a look. Anyway, without further ado…
My humble review of Sister Chicas
There’s a moment early in Sister Chicas where Graciela, the oldest of three closely knit Latinas calling themselves the Sister Chicas, has just been invited to a prestigious writing retreat. Always the responsible one—the one who juggles college classes, a part-time job at a Pilsen bookstore, tutoring, and being the model daughter for her loving parents—Graciela reacts to the invite with a mixture of surprise, joy, and guilt. Mostly guilt. Because in her mind, writing is a pastime, a divertido (an enjoyment). It’s not something a hard-working Latina intent on helping her people should waste her time with.
This moment had a lot of resonance for me, as a writer and as a Latino. Partly because I think most writers, at one point or another, ponder and brood over the social relevance of their chosen profession. But mostly because Graciela’s brief crisis of faith goes to the very heart of what it means to be a writer, especially a writer of color. Like her friend Don Ramiro helps her realize, writing isn’t just an enjoyment, because writing results in books. “Books that challenge and inspire, books that stir hearts and minds,” Graciela reflects. And such it is with Sister Chicas, an inspiring and insightful novel written by Lisa Alvarado, Ann Hagman Cardinal, and Jane Alberdeston Coralin.
Sister Chicas centers around an upcoming quienceañera (the Latin-American Sweet 16, a coming of age party for girls reaching their 15th birthday). The 15-year-old-to-be is Taina, a shy Puerto Rican girl being raised by her somewhat demanding single mom. Fortunately for Taina, she has two sisters—her non-biological Sister Chicas. There’s Graciela, the aforementioned no-nonsense Chicana and unofficial mother figure of the group. And there’s Leni, the ‘middle child’ among them, a half Puerto Rican girl who parades in full punk regalia, including orange/green/burgundy colored spiked hair. The three call themselves the Sister Chicas because of their strong sister-like bond, cemented every week over a warm café con leche at a little café called El Rinconcito de Sabor.
Good thing they’re close, too. Because the mousy Taina doesn’t even want a quienceañera, and needs her sisters to confront and get through that whole coming-of-age thing. And, as it turns out, she’s not the only one needing help in facing a daunting life change. Graciela, whose tireless dedication to her community borders on self-martyrdom, has to overcome her guilt and embrace the possibility that being a good writer and being a good Chicana aren’t mutually exclusive. Leni, partially alienated from her Puerto Rican roots, faces the challenge of reconnecting with them, no small feat given her full immersion in American punk counter-culture. Add to all of this their respective struggles with finding love—or more precisely, admitting that they’ve found love with their respective others, Yusef, Jack, and Carlos—and, well, these girls certainly have their work cut out for them.
And so, the novel takes on these many challenges through three separate but interwoven first-person narratives. Taina, Graciela, and Leni take turns telling their parts of the story, and each of their voices proves appropriately distinct. Taina, the mousy 14-year-old poet, speaks with the insecurity and wonder of a girl who has yet to find her own voice, especially when it comes to contradicting her mother (which she typically doesn’t). Graciela, the 19-year-old aspiring writer, maintains a façade of big-sister control even as she struggles with her own internal conflicts, and her introspective writing reflects this. And Leni, the 17-year-old punk girl, is the most in-your-face and funniest of the three narrators, and certainly the most cynical and least forgiving, even with herself.
These three distinct but similar girls are the Sister Chicas, and their story of mutual support on their way to the quienceañera is compelling and heart-warming. Considering the collaborative nature of this novel, I think Alvarado, Cardinal, and Coralin did an amazing job of creating a cohesive narrative out of three separate perspectives. Each part of the story flows into the next seamlessly, reflecting just how strongly interwoven the lives of these three characters really are. And the affection the girls share with one another seems well-conceived, sincere, and inviting. To the point where I find myself wanting the three authors to craft a prequel and share the story of how these three girls became the Sister Chicas over weekly coffee at El Rinconcito.
The segmented nature of the narrative did expose it to one problem. Each girl faces a crisis—both a coming-of-age crisis, and a love crisis. And while Taina’s crises seem the most consistent and central to the book, some of the other crises—including Graciela and Leni’s struggles to admit their feelings regarding their significant others—seem less so. Indeed, there’s almost a sense that a few of these later crises are added in to balance things out and give each girl their requisite suffering. And if the novel had been longer and been able to dedicate more time to each, this wouldn’t have been an issue. But the tense drama surrounding many of their challenges—Taina’s confrontation with her mom, Graciela’s confrontation with her dad, and Leni’s confrontation with her own sense of cultural displacement—seem to find quick, rushed resolution. More than once, as I reached the big moment of resolution expecting a drawn-out scene, the characters reached agreement quickly, almost painlessly. To the point where you almost want to tell these girls, “See? All that worrying, and your mom/dad/culture didn’t even put up that much of a fuss!”
And then there’s the liberal sprinkling of Spanish throughout the text. Now, granted, I’m a native Spanish speaker, and so the numerous interjections of Spanish phrases and words in the middle of English sentences didn’t slow me down. But I have to imagine what reading this book would seem like to a non-Spanish speaker. I think the repeated mixing of Spanish and English can be very demanding to someone who doesn’t understand Spanish, even with the help of the glossary of terms generously provided at the end. And as such, I think it makes the book less accessible to non-Spanish speaking readers.
Which is a pity, because Sister Chicas is a book that should speak to everyone, not just Latino/as. As a slice of the Latino/a experience in the United States (or Chicago, where the book takes place), Sister Chicas doesn’t speak with the didactic authority of a text claiming a uniquely authentic cultural insight (i.e., ‘This is what we Latinas are really like!’). Rather, it speaks softly but stirringly from the heart, engaging us with its touching story about three close friends with the earnest simplicity of a casual chat over at El Rinconcito. It presents an interwoven anecdote about three separate lives converging at a critical moment, and gives us poignant glimpses along the way of things from a Latino/a perspective. And so, the novel allows moments such as this: Leni at the quienceañera, feeling as if the whole thing is one big reality TV show, “Survivor Quienceañera! Three girls, three pairs of dyed-to-match high-heeled shoes, and eight dozen gawking relatives…at the end, who will be left standing?” Clever moments like this, where mainstream imagery is re-invented from a Latino/a perspective, demonstrate how the authors have effectively navigated the treacherous path between two very different but convergent worlds.
For Latino/a readers, Sister Chicas should resonate wonderfully. Because the things and people we have experienced are present in this book in one way or another. At least, I found myself nodding and laughing throughout, recalling instances in my life that rang eerily similar to some in the book, recalling people that seemed straight out of its pages. The portrayals aren’t necessarily representative (indeed, what is representative of an entire group of people as diverse as Latinos/as?), but they are real, and they speak to the vastness and diversity of our shared experience. And so, we meet versions of Latino/as that we haven’t seen too much elsewhere: the timid poet; the aspiring writer; the spiky-haired punk; the rock guitarist.
Which brings me back to Graciela’s insight about books being challenging, inspiring, stirring both hearts and minds. Sister Chicas may not be perfect (what book is?), but it is a wonderful, and necessary, addition to the literary canon, and certainly required reading for any children I might some day have. Because it paints an inspired portrait of the Latino/a experience without being preachy about it. It portrays our strengths, our struggles, and our flaws. And it answers its own questions about the validity of writing, not just as a divertido, but as an inspiration. Because we all have stories to tell, even if we’re not all writers. And it’s time we started telling them.
Anyway, this promises to be a long blog entry, so if you need a snack, now might be a good time to get one.
So what’s going on? Well, some good news: At long last, I finished my new draft of Inventing Vazquez! ^_^ And what’s the best way of making an 850 page novel better? Push it closer to 900 pages! Eep… And while it’ll still need another rewrite before its ready, I do think it’s a lot stronger. I’m hoping my two new test readers will agree. So now that I’m done with that, I’m taking the next two weeks off from working on it, to clear my mind, and get through my long list of to-do’s. And one of the first things on that list was…update my blog ^^
So something interesting materialized in the world of Solstice. A reader over on goodreads.com gave Solstice a good review, but had some very interesting things to say about the book’s feminist take. For example, she wrote: “I appreciate the rage that animates the book's central character, Itztli Okami, but the manner in which her anger is made manifest troubled me. Io's rage is born from structural violence and intense personal tragedies, but the novel introduces her rage through the trope of rape. Must a woman of color come into focus through violation?” (Quoted with permission.)
This was something I hadn’t considered during the writing process. I’ve always considered myself a feminist (part of the reason why all my main characters have, so far, been strong women), and yet, here was a reader pointing out that the book’s opening rape scene in a sense disempowers Io’s anger. I’d intended the opening to represent an inversion of the rape scenario—really, it’s Io who is out to bait and master her would-be rapists. But in expressing her rage by simply inverting the moment of violation, is Io grounded within the context of victimhood, albeit an inverted one? Is victimhood the only way I was able to define Io? It’s a troubling idea, for sure.
This is one of the things I love about writing. When someone takes the time to write a thoughtful critique of your work, and when you get the chance to discuss it with them (as I’ve been fortunate enough to do so with this reader), you really learn some things, even things you thought you already knew. In this case, I thought the book was fairly feminist, but in discussing the matter with this reader, I realized I have a ways to go. As a guy writing feminist texts, I think it’s hard for me to sometimes fully understand things from a woman’s perspective. Things that I think are empowering to a female character might not seem to an actual woman. And considering Inventing Vazquez is a first-person narration as told by a woman, I’m guessing it’s a problem that will re-appear ^^;; So I’m glad this reader took the time to spell this out, because it’s forced me, once again, to try and be a better writer and think my ideas through more carefully.
Speaking of feminism in Solstice, right on the heels of this reader’s review, I found out that Solstice was nominated by a couple of people at the Feminist SF blog for one of the top 10 obscure feminist SF novels ^_^ Wow… Well, at very least, I can say the book was nominated for something like that before it was nominated for, say, top 10 worst novels of all time. But it’s still such a thrill and very humbling to think that some people thought the book was good enough, both as a story and a feminist text, to nominate.
Okay, so what else has been going on? Well, I nearly lost my mind this past week with my distributor. Ever since my old distributor got bought out by my current distributor, it has been a nightmare. The thing is, the acquisition couldn’t have come at a worse time, because this was when the returns were scheduled to start coming in, and boy, did they start coming in -_-; So now, my old distributor was receiving the returns, and holding on to a good chunk of money that was meant to refund these returns…but my new distributor was apparently paying off these refunds themselves…and charging them directly to me. It’s taken weeks of e-mails, non-returned phone calls, and general frustration over the utter lack of communication between parties for this matter to (apparently) be resolved. And I say that hesitantly, because I assumed the matter was resolved last month when my old distributor assured me that a check had been cut to cover my outstanding balance with the new one. And, come June, I get a note that I’m 60 days past due on my $1,000+ debt, and I’m basically, WTF? So if, after all this, I get another past due notice in July, I’m just going to scream. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if the people hounding me for this money would at least have the courtesy of calling me directly, as I’ve asked them to do. Alas, no one seems to know what a phone is anymore these days. Anyway, that’s my rant about the current distribution drama. This whole problem is one more reason why, for Inventing Vazquez, I better find an agent and forgo self-publishing.
Okay, next item: a contest! One of my to-do items for the next week is updating my web site. I want to create a small contest through my web site and Quiet Earth, so please make sure to keep an eye on both sites. What’s the contest? Not sure yet, but probably some silly quiz on frivolous things, like zombies ^^; What’s the prize? I’m going to give out five free autographed copies of Solstice! So if you’re in the market for a copy of the book, but don’t want to shell out the cash for it (which you should, by the way, cos, you know…um…it’s what Frodo would have wanted), stop by either my web site or Quiet Earth to learn more. I should have that up and running by the end of the weekend.
And finally, because this blog entry isn’t long enough, I thought I’d include a book review. ^_^ One of my main to-do’s was finishing Sister Chicas, a novel written by my friend Lisa Alvarado, Ann Hagman Cardinal, and Jane Alberdeston Coralin. Well, I finally finished it, and loved it. And I decided to write a review of it. Which may or may not be a good thing, considering how I’m still kind of learning to do reviews over at Quiet Earth. But the short of it is, if you’re looking for a good read, and a wonderfully inspired glimpse into the life of young Latinas, give Sister Chicas a look. Anyway, without further ado…
My humble review of Sister Chicas
There’s a moment early in Sister Chicas where Graciela, the oldest of three closely knit Latinas calling themselves the Sister Chicas, has just been invited to a prestigious writing retreat. Always the responsible one—the one who juggles college classes, a part-time job at a Pilsen bookstore, tutoring, and being the model daughter for her loving parents—Graciela reacts to the invite with a mixture of surprise, joy, and guilt. Mostly guilt. Because in her mind, writing is a pastime, a divertido (an enjoyment). It’s not something a hard-working Latina intent on helping her people should waste her time with.
This moment had a lot of resonance for me, as a writer and as a Latino. Partly because I think most writers, at one point or another, ponder and brood over the social relevance of their chosen profession. But mostly because Graciela’s brief crisis of faith goes to the very heart of what it means to be a writer, especially a writer of color. Like her friend Don Ramiro helps her realize, writing isn’t just an enjoyment, because writing results in books. “Books that challenge and inspire, books that stir hearts and minds,” Graciela reflects. And such it is with Sister Chicas, an inspiring and insightful novel written by Lisa Alvarado, Ann Hagman Cardinal, and Jane Alberdeston Coralin.
Sister Chicas centers around an upcoming quienceañera (the Latin-American Sweet 16, a coming of age party for girls reaching their 15th birthday). The 15-year-old-to-be is Taina, a shy Puerto Rican girl being raised by her somewhat demanding single mom. Fortunately for Taina, she has two sisters—her non-biological Sister Chicas. There’s Graciela, the aforementioned no-nonsense Chicana and unofficial mother figure of the group. And there’s Leni, the ‘middle child’ among them, a half Puerto Rican girl who parades in full punk regalia, including orange/green/burgundy colored spiked hair. The three call themselves the Sister Chicas because of their strong sister-like bond, cemented every week over a warm café con leche at a little café called El Rinconcito de Sabor.
Good thing they’re close, too. Because the mousy Taina doesn’t even want a quienceañera, and needs her sisters to confront and get through that whole coming-of-age thing. And, as it turns out, she’s not the only one needing help in facing a daunting life change. Graciela, whose tireless dedication to her community borders on self-martyrdom, has to overcome her guilt and embrace the possibility that being a good writer and being a good Chicana aren’t mutually exclusive. Leni, partially alienated from her Puerto Rican roots, faces the challenge of reconnecting with them, no small feat given her full immersion in American punk counter-culture. Add to all of this their respective struggles with finding love—or more precisely, admitting that they’ve found love with their respective others, Yusef, Jack, and Carlos—and, well, these girls certainly have their work cut out for them.
And so, the novel takes on these many challenges through three separate but interwoven first-person narratives. Taina, Graciela, and Leni take turns telling their parts of the story, and each of their voices proves appropriately distinct. Taina, the mousy 14-year-old poet, speaks with the insecurity and wonder of a girl who has yet to find her own voice, especially when it comes to contradicting her mother (which she typically doesn’t). Graciela, the 19-year-old aspiring writer, maintains a façade of big-sister control even as she struggles with her own internal conflicts, and her introspective writing reflects this. And Leni, the 17-year-old punk girl, is the most in-your-face and funniest of the three narrators, and certainly the most cynical and least forgiving, even with herself.
These three distinct but similar girls are the Sister Chicas, and their story of mutual support on their way to the quienceañera is compelling and heart-warming. Considering the collaborative nature of this novel, I think Alvarado, Cardinal, and Coralin did an amazing job of creating a cohesive narrative out of three separate perspectives. Each part of the story flows into the next seamlessly, reflecting just how strongly interwoven the lives of these three characters really are. And the affection the girls share with one another seems well-conceived, sincere, and inviting. To the point where I find myself wanting the three authors to craft a prequel and share the story of how these three girls became the Sister Chicas over weekly coffee at El Rinconcito.
The segmented nature of the narrative did expose it to one problem. Each girl faces a crisis—both a coming-of-age crisis, and a love crisis. And while Taina’s crises seem the most consistent and central to the book, some of the other crises—including Graciela and Leni’s struggles to admit their feelings regarding their significant others—seem less so. Indeed, there’s almost a sense that a few of these later crises are added in to balance things out and give each girl their requisite suffering. And if the novel had been longer and been able to dedicate more time to each, this wouldn’t have been an issue. But the tense drama surrounding many of their challenges—Taina’s confrontation with her mom, Graciela’s confrontation with her dad, and Leni’s confrontation with her own sense of cultural displacement—seem to find quick, rushed resolution. More than once, as I reached the big moment of resolution expecting a drawn-out scene, the characters reached agreement quickly, almost painlessly. To the point where you almost want to tell these girls, “See? All that worrying, and your mom/dad/culture didn’t even put up that much of a fuss!”
And then there’s the liberal sprinkling of Spanish throughout the text. Now, granted, I’m a native Spanish speaker, and so the numerous interjections of Spanish phrases and words in the middle of English sentences didn’t slow me down. But I have to imagine what reading this book would seem like to a non-Spanish speaker. I think the repeated mixing of Spanish and English can be very demanding to someone who doesn’t understand Spanish, even with the help of the glossary of terms generously provided at the end. And as such, I think it makes the book less accessible to non-Spanish speaking readers.
Which is a pity, because Sister Chicas is a book that should speak to everyone, not just Latino/as. As a slice of the Latino/a experience in the United States (or Chicago, where the book takes place), Sister Chicas doesn’t speak with the didactic authority of a text claiming a uniquely authentic cultural insight (i.e., ‘This is what we Latinas are really like!’). Rather, it speaks softly but stirringly from the heart, engaging us with its touching story about three close friends with the earnest simplicity of a casual chat over at El Rinconcito. It presents an interwoven anecdote about three separate lives converging at a critical moment, and gives us poignant glimpses along the way of things from a Latino/a perspective. And so, the novel allows moments such as this: Leni at the quienceañera, feeling as if the whole thing is one big reality TV show, “Survivor Quienceañera! Three girls, three pairs of dyed-to-match high-heeled shoes, and eight dozen gawking relatives…at the end, who will be left standing?” Clever moments like this, where mainstream imagery is re-invented from a Latino/a perspective, demonstrate how the authors have effectively navigated the treacherous path between two very different but convergent worlds.
For Latino/a readers, Sister Chicas should resonate wonderfully. Because the things and people we have experienced are present in this book in one way or another. At least, I found myself nodding and laughing throughout, recalling instances in my life that rang eerily similar to some in the book, recalling people that seemed straight out of its pages. The portrayals aren’t necessarily representative (indeed, what is representative of an entire group of people as diverse as Latinos/as?), but they are real, and they speak to the vastness and diversity of our shared experience. And so, we meet versions of Latino/as that we haven’t seen too much elsewhere: the timid poet; the aspiring writer; the spiky-haired punk; the rock guitarist.
Which brings me back to Graciela’s insight about books being challenging, inspiring, stirring both hearts and minds. Sister Chicas may not be perfect (what book is?), but it is a wonderful, and necessary, addition to the literary canon, and certainly required reading for any children I might some day have. Because it paints an inspired portrait of the Latino/a experience without being preachy about it. It portrays our strengths, our struggles, and our flaws. And it answers its own questions about the validity of writing, not just as a divertido, but as an inspiration. Because we all have stories to tell, even if we’re not all writers. And it’s time we started telling them.
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