This essay examines turn-of-the-21st-century responses to the foundational 19th-century novel by Villaverde, Cecilia Valdés, pointing to the ambivalence toward textual authority and migration as key elements in Cubans’ relationship to historical memory. The analysis of two plays, a puppet show, a novel, and works of visual and performance art, all of which have a textual element and were produced between 1994 and 2006, demonstrates the ongoing use of the Cecilia story to question key elements of Cuban historical memory. While contesting the legacy of the colonial and nation-building era, these contemporary works open a dialogue regarding narratives about Cuban migration, from the 19th century into the present. They unpack the established narratives about Cuba’s colonial period—slavery, race, socioeconomic class, and sexuality, and also contribute to new narratives about migration. The relationship between movement, authority, and textuality in these responses to Villaverde’s novel points to how 19th-century historical memory, and intertwined with that migration, are central to the ongoing renegotiation of Cuban identity. By re-working Villaverde’s novel—figuratively or literally manipulating the pages of Cecilia Valdés—Cuban writers and artists participate in a ritual of resignification that redefines lo cubano.
{"title":"The Pliable Page: Turn-of-the-21st-Century Reworkings of Villaverde’s Cecilia Valdés","authors":"Christina Civantos","doi":"10.26824/lalr.334","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.26824/lalr.334","url":null,"abstract":"This essay examines turn-of-the-21st-century responses to the foundational 19th-century novel by Villaverde, Cecilia Valdés, pointing to the ambivalence toward textual authority and migration as key elements in Cubans’ relationship to historical memory. The analysis of two plays, a puppet show, a novel, and works of visual and performance art, all of which have a textual element and were produced between 1994 and 2006, demonstrates the ongoing use of the Cecilia story to question key elements of Cuban historical memory. While contesting the legacy of the colonial and nation-building era, these contemporary works open a dialogue regarding narratives about Cuban migration, from the 19th century into the present. They unpack the established narratives about Cuba’s colonial period—slavery, race, socioeconomic class, and sexuality, and also contribute to new narratives about migration. The relationship between movement, authority, and textuality in these responses to Villaverde’s novel points to how 19th-century historical memory, and intertwined with that migration, are central to the ongoing renegotiation of Cuban identity. By re-working Villaverde’s novel—figuratively or literally manipulating the pages of Cecilia Valdés—Cuban writers and artists participate in a ritual of resignification that redefines lo cubano.","PeriodicalId":333470,"journal":{"name":"Latin American Literary Review","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2022-09-09","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"133438136","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
In this article, I examine how Dominican American author Angie Cruz’s novel Dominicana (2019) uses the bildungsroman genre to point to cross-cultural solidarity, or different communities working in tandem, to contest hegemonic discourse. Cruz’s take on a bildungsroman has an interesting inflection that juxtaposes learning and unlearning in two different societies (Dominican and American) where lessons do not inform each other. Because Cruz's main protagonist Ana’s sense of Self develops alongside her civic engagement, I argue that it is useful to think of Dominicana as a feminist bildungsroman. Along with her brother-in-law César, Ana searches for change through relationality and intercultural empathy as vehicles toward larger community engagement that shares a common plight. Due to her peripheral positionality as an undocumented, non-English-speaking Person of Color in 1960s New York, she finds a location of identity within an alternative community of African American and white protestors, whose intersection is of class and political beliefs. My goal is not to overlook or minimize differences between groups, differences that have, at times, been contentious, but rather to emphasize that Cruz’s sense of belonging is guided by increased engagement in alternative communities that share in her alienation. Utilizing a theoretical lens grounded in the works of Jill Toliver Richardson, Rita Felski, and Amy Cummins and Myra Infante-Sheridan, I conclude that for Cruz, intercultural empathy and alternative communities are viable paths toward resisting the American national community that presents itself as an unattainable model of assimilation.
{"title":"“Together We’re Strong:” Cross-Cultural Solidarity in Angie Cruz’s Dominicana","authors":"Daniel Arbino","doi":"10.26824/lalr.250","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.26824/lalr.250","url":null,"abstract":"In this article, I examine how Dominican American author Angie Cruz’s novel Dominicana (2019) uses the bildungsroman genre to point to cross-cultural solidarity, or different communities working in tandem, to contest hegemonic discourse. Cruz’s take on a bildungsroman has an interesting inflection that juxtaposes learning and unlearning in two different societies (Dominican and American) where lessons do not inform each other. Because Cruz's main protagonist Ana’s sense of Self develops alongside her civic engagement, I argue that it is useful to think of Dominicana as a feminist bildungsroman. Along with her brother-in-law César, Ana searches for change through relationality and intercultural empathy as vehicles toward larger community engagement that shares a common plight. Due to her peripheral positionality as an undocumented, non-English-speaking Person of Color in 1960s New York, she finds a location of identity within an alternative community of African American and white protestors, whose intersection is of class and political beliefs. My goal is not to overlook or minimize differences between groups, differences that have, at times, been contentious, but rather to emphasize that Cruz’s sense of belonging is guided by increased engagement in alternative communities that share in her alienation. Utilizing a theoretical lens grounded in the works of Jill Toliver Richardson, Rita Felski, and Amy Cummins and Myra Infante-Sheridan, I conclude that for Cruz, intercultural empathy and alternative communities are viable paths toward resisting the American national community that presents itself as an unattainable model of assimilation.","PeriodicalId":333470,"journal":{"name":"Latin American Literary Review","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2022-09-09","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"114507610","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
A woman who works as a museum curator and is organizing a new exhibition, starts crying blue and goes to an eye doctor's clinic hoping to find a cure for her ailment.
{"title":"Blues","authors":"Lucia Orellana Damacela","doi":"10.26824/lalr.305","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.26824/lalr.305","url":null,"abstract":"A woman who works as a museum curator and is organizing a new exhibition, starts crying blue and goes to an eye doctor's clinic hoping to find a cure for her ailment.","PeriodicalId":333470,"journal":{"name":"Latin American Literary Review","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2022-09-09","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"121231742","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Francisco Goldman’s 1992 novel, The Long Night of White Chickens, explores themes of personal and political instability through characters who move between Guatemala and the United States during the 1970s and 1980s, some of the most violent years of Guatemala’s Civil War. This essay combines an analysis of literary form and content to explore the unease that characters experience as they traverse a range of national, ethnic, and racialized markers (such as, Latina/o, Guatemalan, Jewish, and indigenous), while they migrate between Guatemala and the US. I explore Roger’s (the narrator) unreliable methods of storytelling alongside characters’ conceptions of their own and each other’s multiple positionalities. I focus on the metaphorical presence of ghosts, doubles, and disabled bodies to examine the connections that the novel forges between identity, transnationality, and storytelling. Specifically, I argue that the use of ghostliness and disability as metaphor serves to explore—at times, problematically—characters’ embodied differences by rendering their otherness literal. My analysis seeks to demonstrate how the narrator’s use of storytelling evolves throughout the novel. While storytelling initially serves Roger as a deflection of his own ontological concerns, it ultimately becomes his outlet for self-reflection, reckoning, and healing. As Roger confronts the haunting presence of the recently deceased Flor–his surrogate sister, object of desire, and anchor to his existence–he begins to use storytelling to grapple with the seeming chaos and open-endedness of his transnational life.
弗朗西斯科·戈德曼(Francisco Goldman) 1992年的小说《白鸡的长夜》(The Long Night of White Chickens)通过人物在20世纪70年代和80年代——危地马拉内战中最暴力的几年——在危地马拉和美国之间穿梭，探讨了个人和政治不稳定的主题。这篇文章结合了对文学形式和内容的分析，探讨了人物在危地马拉和美国之间迁徙时，穿越一系列国家、民族和种族标记(如拉丁裔/非拉丁裔、危地马拉人、犹太人和土著)时所经历的不安。我探索了罗杰(叙述者)不可靠的讲故事方法，以及人物对自己和彼此多重地位的看法。我把重点放在鬼魂、替身和残疾身体的隐喻性存在上，以检验小说在身份、跨国和讲故事之间建立的联系。具体来说，我认为使用幽灵和残疾作为隐喻是为了探索——有时是有问题的——人物通过将他们的他者性呈现在字面上而体现出的差异。我的分析旨在证明叙述者是如何在整部小说中运用讲故事的手法的。虽然讲故事最初是Roger对自己本体论关注的一种转移，但它最终成为他自我反思、清算和治愈的出口。当罗杰面对最近去世的弗洛——他的代理妹妹，他的欲望对象，以及他存在的锚——时，他开始用讲故事的方式来解决他跨国生活中看似混乱和开放的问题。
{"title":"The Ghost and the Double: Identity, Migration, and Storytelling in Francisco Goldman’s The Long Night of White Chickens","authors":"Cynthia M. Martinez","doi":"10.26824/lalr.338","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.26824/lalr.338","url":null,"abstract":"Francisco Goldman’s 1992 novel, The Long Night of White Chickens, explores themes of personal and political instability through characters who move between Guatemala and the United States during the 1970s and 1980s, some of the most violent years of Guatemala’s Civil War. This essay combines an analysis of literary form and content to explore the unease that characters experience as they traverse a range of national, ethnic, and racialized markers (such as, Latina/o, Guatemalan, Jewish, and indigenous), while they migrate between Guatemala and the US. I explore Roger’s (the narrator) unreliable methods of storytelling alongside characters’ conceptions of their own and each other’s multiple positionalities. I focus on the metaphorical presence of ghosts, doubles, and disabled bodies to examine the connections that the novel forges between identity, transnationality, and storytelling. Specifically, I argue that the use of ghostliness and disability as metaphor serves to explore—at times, problematically—characters’ embodied differences by rendering their otherness literal. My analysis seeks to demonstrate how the narrator’s use of storytelling evolves throughout the novel. While storytelling initially serves Roger as a deflection of his own ontological concerns, it ultimately becomes his outlet for self-reflection, reckoning, and healing. As Roger confronts the haunting presence of the recently deceased Flor–his surrogate sister, object of desire, and anchor to his existence–he begins to use storytelling to grapple with the seeming chaos and open-endedness of his transnational life.","PeriodicalId":333470,"journal":{"name":"Latin American Literary Review","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2022-09-09","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"125843064","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Como un cañón divide una cordillera en dos, mi infancia también tiene dos partes. Mejor dicho, hay dos maneras de verla. Una manera —la primera— es borrosa pero alegre. La otra es clara pero perturbadora. No sé cuál prefiero. Ambas oscurecen la verdad, pero a su modo. Sin duda, yo era un niño consentido, y lo sabía. Vivía con mi familia en una mansión de dos pisos estilo colonial, con un techo de tejas rojas, anchas paredes de adobe y una alberca en el patio de atrás. El piso era cerámico —de azulejos de Talavera— y mantenía fresca la casa durante los veranos calurosos. Extraño los ventanales ojivales y aún puedo sentir con el yelmo de mis dedos la textura de las cortinas de terciopelo oscuro.
{"title":"El Cautiverio","authors":"Elliott Turner","doi":"10.26824/lalr.248","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.26824/lalr.248","url":null,"abstract":"Como un cañón divide una cordillera en dos, mi infancia también tiene dos partes. Mejor dicho, hay dos maneras de verla. Una manera —la primera— es borrosa pero alegre. La otra es clara pero perturbadora. No sé cuál prefiero. Ambas oscurecen la verdad, pero a su modo. Sin duda, yo era un niño consentido, y lo sabía. Vivía con mi familia en una mansión de dos pisos estilo colonial, con un techo de tejas rojas, anchas paredes de adobe y una alberca en el patio de atrás. El piso era cerámico —de azulejos de Talavera— y mantenía fresca la casa durante los veranos calurosos. Extraño los ventanales ojivales y aún puedo sentir con el yelmo de mis dedos la textura de las cortinas de terciopelo oscuro.","PeriodicalId":333470,"journal":{"name":"Latin American Literary Review","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2022-09-09","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"126191286","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
The story of a young man hardly suited for what is expected of him.
一个年轻人的故事几乎不符合人们对他的期望。
{"title":"Listen, Auriliano","authors":"Michael McGuire","doi":"10.26824/lalr.243","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.26824/lalr.243","url":null,"abstract":"The story of a young man hardly suited for what is expected of him.","PeriodicalId":333470,"journal":{"name":"Latin American Literary Review","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2022-04-03","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"126498827","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
El presente ensayo examina el discurso del narrador en el cuento “El niño proletario” de Osvaldo Lamborghini como una reflexión ideológica sobre la complicidad entre literatura y violencia. Mediante la inspección del estilo lingüístico del narrador asesino, este trabajo propone que el cuento de Lamborghini presenta la escritura como una forma de expresión vinculada a la violencia y acusa a la tradición literaria hispanoamericana, específicamente al naturalismo y al modernismo, de participar en la violencia social que el relato denuncia. De esta manera, el sustrato ideológico del cuento de Lamborghini va más allá del desmonte de la tradicional dicotomía civilización-barbarie, al presentar un comentario acerca del rol de la literatura y el letrado en la violencia social. Con ello, “El niño proletario” se inscribe dentro de una tradición de ‘grafofobia’ en la narrativa latinoamericana moderna que, como explica Aníbal González, ve con recelo el poder de la palabra escrita y de la cultura letrada.
{"title":"“Mi estilo lo confirma letra por letra”: la literatura criminal en “El niño proletario” de Osvaldo Lamborghini.","authors":"A. Mutis","doi":"10.26824/lalr.299","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.26824/lalr.299","url":null,"abstract":"El presente ensayo examina el discurso del narrador en el cuento “El niño proletario” de Osvaldo Lamborghini como una reflexión ideológica sobre la complicidad entre literatura y violencia. Mediante la inspección del estilo lingüístico del narrador asesino, este trabajo propone que el cuento de Lamborghini presenta la escritura como una forma de expresión vinculada a la violencia y acusa a la tradición literaria hispanoamericana, específicamente al naturalismo y al modernismo, de participar en la violencia social que el relato denuncia. De esta manera, el sustrato ideológico del cuento de Lamborghini va más allá del desmonte de la tradicional dicotomía civilización-barbarie, al presentar un comentario acerca del rol de la literatura y el letrado en la violencia social. Con ello, “El niño proletario” se inscribe dentro de una tradición de ‘grafofobia’ en la narrativa latinoamericana moderna que, como explica Aníbal González, ve con recelo el poder de la palabra escrita y de la cultura letrada.","PeriodicalId":333470,"journal":{"name":"Latin American Literary Review","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2022-04-03","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"130859021","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
El personaje de esta historia visita una exhibición de fotos de Nacho López en la embajada de México en Madrid y en el transcurso de su visita se pregunta por qué lo hace, si ha mirado las fotos de López o si su visita resulta en un comentario abstracto o una "reseña" de sí mismo basada en esa y otras experiencias.
{"title":"Mirando a Nacho López","authors":"Jose Edgardo Cruz Figueroa","doi":"10.26824/lalr.272","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.26824/lalr.272","url":null,"abstract":"El personaje de esta historia visita una exhibición de fotos de Nacho López en la embajada de México en Madrid y en el transcurso de su visita se pregunta por qué lo hace, si ha mirado las fotos de López o si su visita resulta en un comentario abstracto o una \"reseña\" de sí mismo basada en esa y otras experiencias.","PeriodicalId":333470,"journal":{"name":"Latin American Literary Review","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2022-04-03","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"128353433","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
In this essay, the importance of translation as a means of subversion is studied through the bilingual literary magazine El Corno emplumado / The plumed horn. It was published in Mexico City in 1962 and ran for seven and a half years, until 1969. The editors and poets, Sergio Mondragón and Margaret Randall, founded, wrote, translated, and edited 31 volumes in total. It was a bilingual trimester publication —spanish/english—, of art and literature. Some of the many objectives that the editors had were to create a cultural exchange between the Spanish speaking countries and the English ones; to spread the pacifist ideas of the time, which came from a marked social conscience; and to translate other not yet translated poets from the continent in order to inform readers of the realities that oppressed nations by dictatorial governments, where going through. It is the case of “America” by beat poet Allen Ginsberg and “México: XIXth Olympiad” by the Nobel prize winner Octavio Paz, also analyzed in the text.
本文通过双语文学杂志El Corno emplumado (the plumed horn)来研究翻译作为颠覆手段的重要性。它于1962年在墨西哥城出版，出版了七年半，直到1969年。编辑和诗人塞尔吉奥Mondragón和玛格丽特兰德尔(Margaret Randall)创立、撰写、翻译和编辑了总共31卷。这是一本以西班牙语/英语出版的艺术和文学三期双语刊物。编辑们的许多目标之一是在说西班牙语的国家和说英语的国家之间建立文化交流;传播当时的和平主义思想，这种思想来自一种明显的社会良知;并翻译来自欧洲大陆的其他尚未被翻译的诗人，以便让读者了解独裁政府压迫民族的现实。文章中还分析了著名诗人艾伦·金斯伯格的《美国》和诺贝尔奖得主奥克塔维奥·帕斯的《第19届奥林匹克运动会》。
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