Letters

Letters 02-08-2016

Less Ageism, Please The January 4 issue of this publication proved to me that there are some sensible voices of reason in our community regarding all things “inter-generational.” I offer a word of thanks to Elizabeth Myers. I too have worked hard for what I’ve earned throughout my years in the various positions I’ve held. While I too cannot speak for each millennial, brash generalizations about a lack of work ethic don’t sit well with me...Joe Connolly, Traverse City

Now That’s an Escalation I just read the letter from Greg and his defense of the AR15. The letter started with great information but then out of nowhere his opinion went off the rails. “The government wants total gun control and then confiscation; then the elimination of all Constitutional rights.” Wait... what?! To quote the great Ron Burgundy, “Well, that escalated quickly!”

Healthy Eating and Exercise for Children Healthy foods and exercise are important for children of all ages. It is important for children because it empowers them to do their best at school and be able to do their homework and study...

Mascots and Harsh Native American Truths The letter from the Choctaw lady deserves an answer. I have had a gutful of the whining about the fate of the American Indian. The American Indians were the losers in an imperial expansion; as such, they have, overall, fared much better than a lot of such losers throughout history. Everything the lady complains about in the way of what was done by the nasty, evil Whites was being done by Indians to other Indians long before Europeans arrived...

Snyder Must Go I believe it’s time. It’s time for Governor Snyder to go. The FBI, U.S. Postal Inspection Service and the EPA Criminal Investigation Division are now investigating the Flint water crisis that poisoned thousands of people. Governor Snyder signed the legislation that established the Emergency Manager law. Since its inception it has proven to be a dismal failure...

Erosion of Public Trust Let’s look at how we’ve been experiencing global warming. Between 1979 and 2013, increases in temperature and wind speeds along with more rain-free days have combined to stretch fire seasons worldwide by 20 percent. In the U.S., the fire seasons are 78 days longer than in the 1970s...

Home · Articles · News · Books · Caramelo - As Rich, Intriguing,...
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Caramelo - As Rich, Intriguing, and Delightful as it Sounds

Nancy Sundstrom - May 29th, 2003
“Tell me a story, even if it’s a lie,“ begins “Caramelo.“ To the great delight of the reader, what author Sandra Cisneros delivers is not the latter, because feels far too real for that, but the former, in spades.
“Caramelo“ is a lush, romantic saga, as rich and inviting as its name. The term also refers to the traditional, striped Mexican rebozo shawl, and much like that, weaves together a mix of fate, fantasy, fiesta, and food that could only come from the textured, colorful backdrop provided by the Mexican-American culture.
This is Cisneros’s long-awaited second novel since the acclaimed “The House on Mango Street“ in 1984. It deserves all the hype that surrounded its release. Big and vivid in every regard, it sings with the joy of life. It’s hard to imagine someone not enjoying “Caramelo,“ and the scope of its story and characters virtually guarantee appeal to a wide range of readers, from youth to seniors.
The narrator of “Caramelo“ is young Lala Reyes, who shares three generations of her family’s adventures, drawing comparisons to the rebozo because “the universe is a cloth and all humanity interwoven... one string and the whole thing comes undone.“ We learn early on that the Reyes clan, including their Awful Grandmother, make a yearly pilgrimage from Chicago across the border to Mexico City, which they see as the “Paris of the New World.“ Here, Cisneros sets the stage for the sharing of memories that will never fade:

“1. Verde, Blanco, y Colorado
Uncle Fat-Face’s brand-new used white Cadillac, Uncle Baby’s green Impala, Father’s red Chevrolet station wagon bought that summer on credit are racing to the Little Grandfather’s and Awful Grandmother’s house in Mexico City. Chicago, Route 66 -- Ogden Avenue past the giant Turtle Wax turtle -- all the way to Saint Louis, Missouri, which Father calls by its Spanish name, San Luis. San Luis to Tulsa, Oklahoma. Tulsa, Oklahoma, to Dallas. Dallas to San Antonio to Laredo on 81 till we are on the other side. Monterrey. Saltillo. Matehuala. San Luis Potosí. Querétaro. Mexico City.
Every time Uncle Fat-Face’s white Cadillac passes our red station wagon, the cousins -- Elvis, Aristotle, and Byron -- stick their tongues out at us and wave. -- Hurry, we tell Father. --Go faster!
When we pass the green Impala, Amor and Paz tug Uncle Baby’s shoulder. -- Daddy, please!
My brothers and I send them raspberries, we wag our tongues and make faces, we spit and point and laugh. The three cars -- green Impala, white Cadillac, red station wagon -- racing, passing each other sometimes on the shoulder of the road. Wives yelling, -- Slower! Children yelling, -- Faster!
What a disgrace when one of us gets carsick and we have to stop the car. The green Impala, the white Caddy whooshing past noisy and happy as a thousand flags. Uncle Fat-Face toot-tooting that horn like crazy.

2. Chillante
If we make it to Toluca, I’m walking to church on my knees.
Aunty Licha, Elvis, Aristotle, and Byron are hauling things out to the curb. Blenders. Transistor radios. Barbie dolls. Swiss Army Knives. Plastic crystal chandeliers. Model airplanes. Men’s button-down dress shirts. Lace push-up bras. Socks. Cut-glass necklaces with matching earrings. Hair clippers. Mirror sunglasses. Panty girdles. Ballpoint pens. Eye shadow kits. Scissors. Toasters. Acrylic pullovers. Satin quilted bedspreads. Towel sets. All this besides the boxes of used clothing.
Outside, roaring like the ocean, Chicago traffic from the Northwest and Congress Expressways. Inside, another roar; in Spanish from the kitchen radio, in English from TV cartoons, and in a mix of the two from her boys begging Uncle for Italian lemonade. But Aunty Licha doesn’t hear anything. Under her breath Aunty is bargaining... Uncle Fat-Face is fiddling with the luggage rack on top of the roof. It has taken him two days to get everything to fit inside the car. The white Cadillac’s trunk is filled to capacity. The tires sag. The back half of the car dips down low. There isn’t room for anything else except the passengers, and even so, the cousins have to sit on top of suitcases...To pay for the vacation, Uncle Fat-Face and Aunty Licha always bring along items to sell. After visiting the Little Grandfather and Awful Grandmother in the city, they take a side trip to Aunty Licha’s hometown of Toluca. All year their apartment looks like a store. A year’s worth of weekends spent at Maxwell Street flea market collecting merchandise for the trip south. Uncle says what sells is lo chillante, literally the screaming. The gaudier the better, says the Awful Grandmother.“

Lala is the only daughter of Inocencio (Grandmother’s beloved son) and Zoila, and just as she inherited the rebozo from her grandmother, she is made the keeper of the family’s tales. And what stories they are. Some are laugh-out-loud funny, some are heartbreaking, and some mere slices of life drenched with color and detail, but throughout, Cisneros provides page-turning material that almost always delights and surprises.
The riffs and tangents are many and constant, be they tortillas, Woolworth’s, the Roaring ‘20s, smoking, or family rituals and the necessary “heathy lies“ they create, to name just a few of the scores that surface. Still, Cisneros writes with such fluidity and confidence, that the narrative threads are often woven together while we’re looking the other way, dazzled by all the humor, hope, and heart.
This surely must be autobiographical in nature, but there is such universality in the themes of family that are presented that’s it’s not difficult to juxtapose one’s own extended clan onto the Reyes.
But none of this is to dismiss the sheer power of the writing here, which has rightfully earned a reputation as being one of those rare books that is equal parts literary classic and great summer beach read., not to mention its deft dancing across gender and culture lines. “Caramelo“ is a spirited kind of treasure, wise and curious and boisterous and intimate, all at once. Its greatest triumph, though, may be in the way it reaffirms the power of love and family, and does so in a manner that makes it seem new and wondrous. Something tells me it won’t be long before I find myself picking this one up again.

 
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