Letters

Letters 08-31-2015

Inalienable Rights This is a response to the “No More State Theatre” in your August 24th edition. I think I will not be the only response to this pathetic and narrow-minded letter that seems rather out of place in the northern Michigan that I know. To think we will not be getting your 25 cents for the movie you refused to see, but more importantly we will be without your “two cents” on your thoughts of a marriage at the State Theatre...

Enthusiastically Democratic Since I was one of the approximately 160 people present at when Senator Debbie Stabenow spoke on August 14 in Charlevoix, I was surprised to read in a letter to Northern Express that there was a “rather muted” response to Debbie’s announcement that she has endorsed Hillary Clinton for president...

Not Hurting I surely think the State Theatre will survive not having the homophobic presence of Colleen Smith and her family attend any matinees. I think “Ms.” Smith might also want to make sure that any medical personnel, bank staff, grocery store staff, waiters and/or waitress, etc. are not homosexual before accepting any service or product from them...

Stay Home I did not know whether to laugh or cry when I read the letter of the extremely homophobic, “disgusted” writer. She now refuses to patronize the State Theatre because she evidently feels that its confines have been poisoned by the gay wedding ceremony held there...

Keep Away In response to Colleen Smith of Cadillac who refused to bring her family to the State Theatre because there was a gay wedding there: Keep your 25 cents and your family out of Traverse City...

Celebrating Moore And A Theatre I was 10 years old when I had the privilege to see my first film at the State Theatre. I will never forget that experience. The screen was almost the size of my bedroom I shared with my older sister. The bursting sounds made me believe I was part of the film...

Outdated Thinking This letter is in response to Colleen Smith. She made public her choice to no longer go to the State Theater due to the fact that “some homosexuals” got married there. I’m not outraged by her choice; we don’t need any more hateful, self-righteous bigots in our town. She can keep her 25 cents...

Mackinac Pipeline Must Be Shut Down Crude oil flowing through Enbridge’s 60-yearold pipeline beneath the Mackinac Straits and the largest collection of fresh water on the planet should be a serious concern for every resident of the USA and Canada. Enbridge has a very “accident” prone track record...

Your Rights To Colleen, who wrote about the State Theatre: Let me thank you for sharing your views; I think most of us are well in support of the first amendment, because as you know- it gives everyone the opportunity to express their opinions. I also wanted to thank Northern Express for not shutting down these types of letters right at the source but rather giving the community a platform for education...

No Role Model [Fascinating Person from last week’s issue] Jada quoted: “I want to be a role model for girls who are interested in being in the outdoors.” I enjoy being in the outdoors, but I don’t want to kill animals for trophy...

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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