Not a children's book after all!

When I was standing in the tediously long UBC Bookstore line waiting to (at last) purchase my last book, I became bored flipping through the pages of magazines and looking at the grotesquely large price tags of the “UBC brand” merchandise. Subsequently, I decided to get a head start and look into the book, “…y no se lo tragó la tierra”, I was going to spend my money on. The first thing that struck me was “what kind of class did I sign up for where we are reading books about dragons? Is this some sort of Lord of the Rings and Dora the Explorer hybrid?”

Needless to say, I have enjoyed what I have read of Rivera’s book so far. Usually, I have the attention span of a six year old child when it comes to reading, and that attention span devolves into one of a four year old child when reading in a foreign language. However, I was rather captivated by Rivera’s work. It was easy to digest. Sure, at times it was difficult to follow who the narrator was (if there seemed to be one at all), and that the short stories seemed to be mixed quite a bit chronologically, I nonetheless enjoyed this book immensely. Perhaps Rivera keeps his main characters anonymous because their experiences could be those of anyone?

Something I found interesting about the book was the importance of religion. Perhaps it stood out for me personally because I feel that Latin-American cultures are more active in their religious beliefs that those of us in Canada or in the US. My family is one of those “twice a year” Catholic families that goes to church, well, twice a year. Once at Christmas, and once at Easter. This being said, the passage “Un Rezo” really struck me, and the apparent importance of religion really stood out. Also, the vocabulary words used seemed to be strongly religious at times, speaking about Satan and the Virgin Mary. To me, this religious dedication (er, rather recognition) is almost foreign. I was placed into a uniform wearing- nun-holding-ruler type of Catholic school, as were the generations before me, and still, I feel as if the only time my family prays is if we really want something or is something went really wrong. Sort of a “Catholic when it is convenient” type of deal.

Anyways, sorry I went off on that tangent. My main point is that I enjoyed the short-story like format of this book and I am really contrasting what importance religion plays in my life vs. the importance religion plays in the lives of the characters in Rivera’s book.

Lost in a Crowd

When I started reading this seven-dollar booklet with Martí’s readings, I felt lost in a “muchedumbre”. There were so many foreign phrases, new vocabulary words, and colloquialisms that I was well, frankly, lost through quite a large portion of the booklet. I was convinced after the first three pages that reading this booklet would be like trying to board the 99-B line at rush hour in the morning…impossible without pushing through( however, I do appreciate though that these were short stories, unlike “Who Would Have Thought It?”).

I actually ended up quite enjoying these somewhat simple and civilian stories. I’m a big sucker for description, and Martí really hit the spot. His observations of the society encircling him at the time tell me he didn’t really have to have inspiration hit him like a bolt of lightening. Instead, he could find beauty and become inspired just (literally) going to work or looking out his front window. We encounter this for the first time two pages into the booklet, when Martí describes his neighbouring “neoyorquinos”:

“…Se apiñan hoy como entre tajos vecinos del tope a lo hondo en el corazón de una montaña, hebreos de perfil agudo y ojos ávidos, irlandeses joviales, alemanes carnosos y recios, escoceses son rosados y fornidos, hungaros bellos, negros lojosos, rusos,---de ojos que queman, noruegos de pelo rojo, japoneses elegantes, enjutos e indiferentes chinos” (Marti, “El Puente De Brooklyn”: 424).

I love that Martí’s readings really encapsulate the “immigrant” experience of being in a new place and having to work and come together as a community of different backgrounds to build something as astonishing s the Brooklyn Bridge. I really do feel this work could have been translated into any language and distributed to anywhere in the world during Marti’s life span, and it would have been interesting and inspiring for all.

I believe strongly that building a bridge, at least in Marti’s experience, was more than just a physical accomplishment…it was something that bridged all the neoyorquinos together.

A Different Type of Fairy Godmother

Maybe there were no glass slippers or a robust matronly “fairy godmother” singing about bibbity-bobbity-boo in a pumpkin carriage, but as I progressed farther through Ruiz de Burton’s Who Would Have Thought It? , I started drawing more and more parallels between this lovely pink novel and the beloved tale of Cinderella.

Mrs. Norval is, for myself personally, Cinderella’s stepmother, who as seen throughout the novel, becomes progressively vile after her husband mysteriously disappears, leaving their “adopted” daughter Lola to a constantly chaperoned life, void of all the treasures she and her “father” acquired. Norval orders Lola around, sends her to a convent, and disapproves of Lola’s relationship with the prince (Julian), who seems to be, in Mrs. Norval’s eyes, of a better social standing and breeding than Lola.

Ruth and Maddie, Mrs. Norval’s biological daughters are the stepsisters. Just as in our favourite Disney movie, they are spoiled, fashionable, and will do anything for their mother or for a step up the social ladder. I wouldn’t go so far as saying Ruth and Maddie are “evil stepsisters”, but more that they were raised in an environment where social standing and making impressions upon the high-class society of New England were important. Even in the beginning of the novel we can see them moaning and groaning about how they have to wear the same dress all the time and only have one item of jewellery, ect, ect. There are actions and words of these Sisters I disagree with (for example when one of the sisters stated that she hated poor people), but generally speaking, I think these girls were more ignorant and, well stupid, than actually vicious. I have the feeling they never had the intention to hurt or offend, just to impress others and tell them what they wanted to hear. I feel these “stepsisters” Ruth and Maddie were more victims of their society than victimizers.

There was no person I could peg as the “fairy godmother” in Who Would Have Thought It? , but the concept of race could have been a replacement for this role. When thinking of Cinderella, I think of a transformation from a dirty, hardworking housemaid to a humble, envied, and beautiful maiden, who becomes the belle of the ball. The fairy godmother in the well known version of Cinderella basically wipes the ashes off poor Cindy’s face and gives her a new dress and thus, an opportunity to go to the ball and be respected. The fairy godmother in Ruiz de Burton’s novel is again the changing of race, wiping the coal (in this case dye) off Lola’s face, and transforming her into a white girl who is now able to “go to the ball” or into a New Englander’s society and be treated with more respect---thus giving Lola/Cinderella the opportunities usually only her sisters received. I find it peculiar that in both versions, the ingénue stays pure and modest, and that in both versions, the Prince/Julian love Cinderella/Lola regardless of what they were “transformed into.”

The underlying theme of Cinderella is oppression without a valid or logical reason, as is, I concur, the theme of this novel.

Some things never change...

Some things never change. It has been over one-hundred years since this book was written, yet some of the social constructs and problems I observed in Ruiz de Burton’s Who Would Have Thought It still linger.

Throughout the novel thus far, it seems as if Lola’s prospects of marriage have been scare because she is not Caucasian and not from New England. On page 100, Lola speaks on the racial prejudices acted upon her by the Norval family and her community, stating “I saw that your mother detested me, and Ruth had a sort of repugnance for me…I was an object of aversion because my skin was black.” Furthermore, Mrs. Norval mentions the then 10 year old Lola and her prospect of marriage on the first night they met. When informed that Lola was of a Spanish (not an Indian or African) heritage, Mrs. Norval starkly replied, “I am glad she is not,because…if she be of decent people, then…a decent man would marry her” (27).

Interracial relationships can still be seen as looked down in some societies or by some people today. Take my parents, for example. My father is Caucasian, and was raised in a rural, Catholic area of Washington State. My mother is a Chinese-Indonesian, meaning her family has been in Indonesia for Generations, but is of a predominately Chinese heritage. She grew up in a rural and Muslim village in Indonesia.

When my mother’s family discovered the relationship between my parents was becoming more serious, they were, well, according to my mother, ecstatic. The Chinese in Indonesia are discriminated against because they are a large and mostly rich community. However, my mom, being Chinese, was discriminated against by her Indonesian classmates as a child. So, she told me, when she was “silly and sixteen” she decided she, “wanted to marry a non-Chinese Indonesian or a foreigner”. In my dad, she found both, and also of course, love. In a way, this accidental meeting between my parents was a “step-up” according to many of the villagers.

However, on the other side of the Pacific, the reactions from my father’s side of the family were different. They grilled him, asking him things such as, “Why do you want to date a foreigner? And an Asian at that! From that Turbulent country we have never heard of? What was wrong with the girls back home? Why couldn’t he just date that nice blonde girl from your calculus class etc., etc”. I guess in that generation and in that time, interracial dating was very foreign (no pun intended) experience for the staunch Catholics of my father’s family.

Everything worked out in the end with both families accepting each other, but there were definitely some rough times. For me, it is just hard to grasp that over a hundred years later, people still thought that interracial relationships were still taboo.

And part of me believes that they still are a bit…my boyfriend is from Germany. When I told my parents about him, they said, “Deanna, why did you decide to date a foreigner? And one that is five years older than you at that!”. This statement was ironic to me, seeing as my parents are from two different countries, and 11 years apart. Oh well. I guess some things never change.

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Hey, I'm Deanna.

I can't think of anything too thrilling right now, but two weeks ago I returned from a month long trip in Germany. I'm pretty sure I ate more pork and drank more beer in that month than I have in my entire life. I mean, sure, I knew that Germany was famous for its beer, but I had no idea that the monks in some villages made beer that was 17% alcohol (which sounds good, but tastes like liquid bread).

See you soon.