The Del Pino Family in Dreaming in Cuban, Or, What the Relationships Tell about the Characters

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The relationships between the members of the family Del Pino are central in the novel Dreaming in Cuban by Cristina Garcia. The family seems to be split because of the political views, the religious beliefs, or the actual physical distance of its various members. Their interactions, their feelings, their actions and their memories reveal these dysfunctions. Celia, the matriarch of the family, will use the image of the ocean to put words on this separation she’s feeling growing between herself and the rest of her family: “[The sea] exists now so we can call and wave from opposite shores”(Garcia, 240). The main characters of the stories being women, it is mostly their relationships between each other that will be discussed. However, it seemed important to highlight the relationship that started it all.

This first relationship is the one between Jorge and Celia. From the beginning, it is clear that Celia’s heart was not completely ready for Jorge when he first started to court her. She feels betrayed when he leaves her at his mother’s home knowing how his family would treat her. She will finally learn to love him in her own way, but it will never be the passion she felt for her Spanish lover. Jorge is aware of Celia’s first lover and will make her pay that all his life. Jorge will say to his daughter: “I wanted to kill [Celia]” (Garcia, 195). This could be understood as his desire to dominate his wife in all ways possible. However, Celia lost her virginity to someone else and is not as “available for discovery, possession and conquest” as would a virgin girl be (Edwards, 97). The first relationship of the family being this bad does not give mush hope for the others coming.

Celia’s relationship with her first-born is the most strained of the novel. Their fate was sealed from the beginning, when Celia handed the baby to her husband, holding her by one leg and saying: “I will not remember her name” (Garcia, 43). Celia resents her daughter for being a girl, because had she been a boy, she would have “[left] Jorge and [sailed] for Spain, to Granada” (Garcia, 42). Instead, she feels trapped with this baby and her always-absent husband. Once Lourdes becomes an adult, the two women will disagree on everything: Lourdes believes in the capitalist system that allowed her to make a lot of money and believes that communism is all “lies, poisonous […] lies” (Garcia, 132), whereas Celia supports completely El Lider and the Revolution and “consigns her body to the sugar-cane” (Garcia, 44). Lourdes is catholic, and sends her daughter to a catholic school (Garcia, 58), whereas Celia is an atheist, since she was sent to her Tia Alicia (Garcia, 93). Lourdes fled Cuba with her husband and daughter yet Celia will always stay on her isle. Despite all these differences Celia kept her promise to “train her [daughter] to read the columns of blood and numbers in men’s eyes, to understand the morphology of survival” (Garcia, 42), and Lourdes certainly is not scared of men. She never hesitated to put herself between her husband and the armed soldier (Garcia, 70) and is the first to react and protect her daughter’s painting from an ill-intended man with a knife (Garcia, 144). But daughter and mother are two strangers to each other. Lourdes cannot deliver her father’s apologies to her mother (Garcia, 238), and Celia will never forgive Lourdes for taking her grandchildren away from her.

This mother-daughter relationship is explored further with Celia’s second child. Felicia turns to the Santeria religion in time of great need (Garcia, 12 and 185), which infuriates her mother. If Felicia does not seem against the Revolution, she does not particularly care either. She obeys her mother when Celia tells her to go to a guerrillas’ camp (Garcia, 105), but the younger woman does not have any change of heart concerning the Revolution. There still is a connection between Felicia and her mother as Celia feels it when Felicia tries to kill herself and her son and saves their lives (Garcia, 95). Their conflicts are not as clear as Lourdes and Celia’s, and Celia will “not refuse her daughter’s last request” concerning her burial as a Santeria (Garcia, 214).

Celia and Pilar have a more surprising relationship. Indeed, at first Pilar seems to be incredibly close to her grandmother and will keep talking to her at night (Garcia, 29), even when she moves to New York with her parents. But as Pilar grows up, her connection with Celia will weaken (Garcia, 137). Towards the end of the novel, Pilar will start to understand that even if she feels like a part of her is missing when she is in the United States, there is nothing for her in Cuba. She will finally lie to her Abuela when they go to try a take Ivanito back from the airport, telling her that “[She] couldn’t find him” (Garcia, 242).

Lourdes and Pilar’s relationship is very explosive. As said before, Pilar does not understand how she could be her mother’s daughter. They are always fighting each other for everything. Pilar will say that her mother’s views are “strictly black-and-white” (Garcia, 26) which she doesn’t understand. The only time the girl feels love for her mother (and expresses it), is when Lourdes blocks the attack against her daughter’s painting (Garcia, 144). At the time when she is not eating anymore, Lourdes describes her daughter has being “irresponsible, self-centered, a bad seed” (Garcia, 168). When Pilar was just a teenager, she admitted of having thought about killing her mother (Garcia, 29). The two women do not have the same interests or dreams. If Pilar wants to understand who she is, Lourdes wants to start a new life and has no desire on dwelling on the past. Rufino Puente, their husband and father, usually tempers their conflicts.

The women in Dreaming in Cuban all have very strong personalities and their conflicts are a very important part of the story. Celia’s comparison of their distanced family with the sea is quite melancholic. She says that the sea was a necessity for her and her health, but that it opened new horizons for her children, new possibilities they became conscious of. She only has Lourdes left, as Felicia died and Javier has disappeared in the mountains and is presumed dead, who actually lives away from her childhood house, and from her mother.

Bibliography:

  1. Garcia, Cristina. Dreaming in Cuban. New York: Ballantine Books, 1993.
  2. Edwards, Justin. Postcolonial literature. Chapter 9 “Gender”. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008.

Luz Villaverde in Dreaming in Cuban The Rift Between Felicia and her Daughters

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Extract pp.120-121, “Luckily Milagro and I have each other” to “He is her gullible ragdoll”

In Dreaming in Cuban, Cristina Garcia explores the theme of mother-daughter relationships among other things. In a part of the chapter “The Meaning of Shells”, Luz Villaverde temporarily takes over the narration. Close reading this passage allows an understanding of the difficult relationship between Felicia and her daughters through Luz’s eyes. It is the first time Felicia’s older children feelings toward their mother are expressed. It exposes how the girls live with her and her madness. This relationship is unique in the book, because the girls consciously ignore their mother and work together to erase her from their lives.

The excerpt starts with “Luckily, Milagro and I have each other” (Garcia, 120) which illustrates how the sisters handle the situation with their mother: together. Luz is conscious of their luck: they are going through the same situation and can help each other. This sentence summarises their whole relationship with each other and with their family. Indeed, if they “have each other” in such away, it is because they do not have anyone else. The use of the metaphor “We’re a double helix” (Garcia, 120) is a clever way to express the closeness of the sisters. Indeed as twins, they share the same DNA, represented by a double helix. It is then an extrapolation of a scientific truth used to give an idea of how the girls work together so that “Mamá can’t penetrate [them]” (Garcia, 120).

Luz then reports words from her mother. By quoting Felicia she wants to show her mother’s state of mind and thus brings more substance to her argument. The question: “Do you know the meaning of shells?” seems strange coming from a grown up. Indeed, it is usually young children who ask questions like this one. Felicia’s answer, though very poetic, only reinforces the absurdity of the conversation: “They’re the jewels of the goddess of the sea” (Garcia, 120). The comparisons that Felicia then makes are difficult to comprehend: “You’re my little jewel, Milagro. You, Luz, you’re the light in the night that guides our dreams” (Garcia, 120-121). If they were only a way for her to express her love to her daughters it obviously does not work in her favour but they would be understandable in a poetic way. However, if they are supposed to be interpretations of the girls’ names it does not work completely. Indeed, Luz does mean light, but as Milagro means miracle the comparison to jewels is surprising.

That part is followed by a sarcastic comment from Luz and lets the true disappointment both girls experience appear. It starts with the shortest sentence of the passage: “Pretty words” (Garcia, 121), which summarises Felicia perfectly for Luz: she is made of poetic words that her daughters do not understand, and that only her son listens to. The sentence “Meaningless words that didn’t nourish us, that didn’t comfort us, that kept us prisoners in her alphabet world” (Garcia, 121) enumerates all the reasons why the girls despise their mother. The girls will never forgive Felicia for not being a mother to them, and making them feel locked up in her madness, with no way out.

Luz then shows once again the twins’ closeness by revealing their way of distancing themselves from Felicia’s behaviour: they call her “not-Máma” (Garcia, 121). Luz chooses three examples in which they use this nickname. The first is related to everyday life in a household, highlighting their mother’s incapability of cooking a chicken without burning it and cursing. The second relates to their everyday life, when their mother dances by herself in the dark. The third starts with an apostrophe used as a warning addressed at the second sister to “watch out” for Felicia’s behaviour (Garcia, 121). The twins use this nickname “not-Máma” when Felicia’s actions are not ones of a mother, according to them.

Luz reveals that neither her nor Milagro is able to tell their mother they love her even if Felicia wants them to. Felicia’s reaction is to “[look] right past [the twins]” and Luz believes her mother is looking for another pair of daughters who could say what she wants to hear (Garcia, 121). For Luz and Milagro, not answering to their mother’s expectations is a way to stand up for themselves and show Felicia that she does not deserve their love if she cannot take care of them in the ways a mother is supposed to.

The passage concludes with the mention of Ivanito and his relationship with his mother and his sisters. The boy thinks the twins are “cruel to Mamá” (Garcia, 121), but Luz responds by stating that “[Ivanito] never saw what we saw, he never heard what we heard” (Garcia, 121). This shows the differences between the children. The older ones have known their father, who they respect more than Felicia, ready to forgive him anything and accusing their mother of having driven him away. But Hugo left before Ivanito was born and the boy only knows him through his mother’s eyes. The girls have no pity for the situation their mother was in when Hugo was around. They just do not understand why their mother chased their father away. They only see their mother’s illness and do not find it in themselves to try to understand what happened. Luz says they want to “protect” their brother from their mother’s influence and reveals “he doesn’t want to be protected” (Garcia, 121). This explains why the sisters only count on each other and why they have built a wall between themselves and the other members of their household. Luz nails the coffin of their relationship with their brother with the last sentence of the passage: “He is her gullible rag doll” (Garcia, 121), showing little mercy to either their little brother reduced to a puppet or their mother embodying the puppeteer and dismissing them for the time being.

This extract illustrates for the first time the point of view from one of Felicia’s daughter, and shows how they react to her madness, how they do not have the patience to excuse their mother’s behaviour. Garcia’s theme of mother-daughter relationship is once again explored in depth, this time by an unforgiving daughter whose only solace is found in her twin sister who is the only one who can understand everything she lives.

Memory: A Way of Expressing its own Personal Identity

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Memory: A Way of Expressing its own Personal Identity

The Different Characters’ Perceptions of Recollection in Cristina García’s Dreaming in Cuban

 

In Cristina García’s Dreaming in Cuban as well as in the chapter “Memory” in Edwards’ Postcolonial Literature textbook, the theme of memory is at the centre of attention and is addressed from different points of view. On the one hand, Edwards approaches the theme in a broader view, introducing different works from authors with different issues about memory. On the other hand, García’s novel presents an opposition between characters concerning the perception of memory. However, keywords such as truth and identity are linked to memory in both authors especially in the novel Anil’s Ghost in Edwards and related to Lourdes, Celia and Pilar in Dreaming in Cuban. Thus, in comparison to Anil’s Ghost, this is throughout the different perceptions of memory on the one side of Lourdes and Celia and on the other side of Pilar, that the women recollect past events in order to express or forge their identity.

The perception of Celia that recollection lies in the beauty of a creative memory, is linked to the freedom of expressing a personal identity. At the beginning of the novel, while Celia is cooking for her grandchildren and looking at the sea, she “realizes” (García 1992: 47) that a restricted memory is atrocious and lets no personal recollection “Memory cannot be confined, Celia realizes, looking out the kitchen window to the sea. It’s slate gray, the color of undeveloped film. Capturing images suddenly seems to her an act of cruelty.” (García 1992: 47-48). The ambiguity in the second sentence of whether the sea or the memory is “slate gray” (García 1992: 47) is open to interpretation. One possible interpretation is that even though the sea could have seemed gray, “the color of undeveloped film” (García 1992: 47-48) mainly refers to a photograph so to “confined” (García 1992: 47) memory. In this way, it is related to Celia’s viewpoint that beauty is found in the apperception and reconstruction of the authentic experience and not in captured “images” (García 1992: 48). What is more, Celia not only “realizes” that “memory cannot be confined” (García 1992: 47) but “capturing” pictures also “suddenly” appear to her as “an act of cruelty” (García 1992: 48). To some extent, these words demonstrate Celia’s rapid awareness that unforgettable and unchangeable memories are terrifying. In this way, in order to exaggerate her profound disagreement about limited memory, Celia uses the hyperbole “act of cruelty” (García 1992: 48). Thus, this liberty to recollect the events as she wants to remember can be linked to the expression of a personal identity as she is free to perceive the world as she wishes. Relatively in his Postcolonial Literature textbook, Justin D. Edwards puts in relation the recollection with personal identity as it appears in the novel Anil’s Ghost “In this narrative of recollection, we witness not an identity that is fixed and given, but improvised, constructed, negotiated in the conditions of danger and trauma.” (Edwards 2008: 137). To some extent, though Anil’s Ghost and Dreaming in Cuban are narratives about memories and the characters have the liberty to remember the events as they want, Celia does not have to confront “danger” and “trauma” (Edwards 2008: 137). In Anil’s Ghost, the protagonist Anil faces traumatic memory recovering “Sri Lanka’s national crimes and murders” (Edwards 2008: 136) in order to discover a part of her identity. In Dreaming in Cuban Celia forged her identity during the independence time in Cuba so at a time where major advances have been made in the country and living conditions were favourable. Hence, whether for Anil or Celia the identity is constructed through living memories and not an imposed recollection of the past.

Along the same lines Lourdes agrees with the perception of Celia regarding creative memory but opposes her daughter Pilar who needs the truth from the past to find her identity. Lourdes evaluates the lives of others from her point of view, which is claimed by Pilar “Mom filters other people’s lives through her distorting lens. Maybe it’s that wandering eye of hers. It makes her see only what she wants to see instead of what’s really there.” (García 1992: 176). In this saying, the vision of Lourdes that she sees and interprets the world in her own manner contrasts with Pilar’s conception of memory and past events. This latter wants to know the events as they happened so “what’s really there” and not how her mother “wants to see” them (García 1992: 176). However, each character, even Pilar, has over the years a “distorting lens” as memory selects instants it wants to keep and those it wants to forget. Thus, it increases the difficulty of recounting memories without interpretation nor a particular point of view. Following the same idea, as Felicia says to her son, retelling events or truth from the past depends on how the mind transform the facts and give them sense “Imagination, like memory, can transform lies to truths” (García 1992: 88). In other words, what is relevant is not the event itself or what happened in the past but how the characters decide to link them. In the case of Pilar who is searching her identity, having events told from a constantly changing memory of her family is insufficient. Even if she “remember[s] everything that’s happened to [her] since [she] was a baby, even word-for-word conversations” (García 1992: 26), she was only two when “[she] left Cuba” (García 1992: 26) for America. Thus, she needs original and reliable information about her grandmother and events that happened before her birth in Cuba to discover where she belongs. In this way, Dreaming in Cuban is similar to the novel Anil’s Ghost because as Edwards points out: “Anil’s Ghost is a fiction that uses memory as a subject to explore the complexities of truth.” (Edwards 2008: 137). While Anil uses her own memory to get to the truth and recovers her own history, Pilar deals with the intricacies of truth through the memory of her relatives to have her questions answered and find her identity.

To conclude, while Lourdes and Celia perceive the beauty of memory in the interpretation and rearrangement of remembrances, Pilar relies on the truth of the events. The fact that memories change throughout the years and depend on how the characters want to rally them does not concord with Pilar’s perception of memory. In this way, Lourdes and Celia express their personal identity across recollection as they are free to have their own conception of the world. On the contrary, Pilar as Anil in the novel Anil’s Ghost, focuses on the reality of what happened in Cuba or the past of her grandmother with the aim of determining her identity.

 

 

Bibliography

  • Edwards, Justin D. “Chapter Twelve: Memory.” Postcolonial Literature. New York:

Palgrave Macmillan. (2008): 129-138.

  • García, Cristina. Dreaming in Cuban. New York: Ballantine Books. 1992.

 

 

 

The Inner Conflict of Pilar: From Cuba to Brooklyn in Search of an Identity in Cristina García’s Dreaming in Cuban

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Dreaming in Cuban, written in 1992, is the first novel of author Cristina García, a Cuban-born American journalist and novelist. The novel takes place both in Cuba and the United States displaying three generations of a family. In this essay, the focus will be on two of the main characters namely Lourdes, one of Celia’s daughter, and Pilar, the daughter of Lourdes. The passage focuses on the analysis starting on page 137 “Most days […]” and finishing on page 138 “[…] a cut on my tongue that never healed” presents Pilar’s desire to return to Cuba and her determination to find answers concerning her native country and her mother. This is throughout the verbs choice and tense as well as figures of speech that Pilar searches her own identity in order to discover where she belongs.

Firstly, although Pilar is rebelling against the Cuban regime, she still considers herself as a Cuban and wants to return to her native country. All along the story Pilar appears as a rebellious and strong-willed teenager and in this passage she is anew intemperate saying “I resent the hell out of the politicians and the generals who force events on us that structure our lives, that dictate the memories we’ll have when we’re old” (p.138). Not only is this saying exaggerated through the hyperbole “I resent the hell out”, but also the verbs that describe how the politicians and generals act are significant: “they force events”, “structure [people’s] lives” and “dictate the memories” (p.138). To some extent, these verbs are representing the precept of the communism which is the control of the country by the state letting no liberty and choices for the citizens. Thus, on the one hand Pilar’s youth and character lead her to amplify her saying but on the other hand she is mindful of what happens in Cuba under the communist regime. Though Pilar does not agree with the whole Cuban regime and lives in the United States for a long time, she still considers herself as a Cuban speaking in the first person plural: “who force events on us”, “structure our lives” and “the memories we’ll have […] we’re old” (p.138). To some extent, Pilar shows her belonging to Cuba through the we-pronoun. In addition to, she expresses a wish to return to her native country claiming: “Every day Cuba fades a little more inside me, my grandmother fades a little more inside me.” (p.138). The repetition underlines Pilar’s desire to visit Cuba and her grandmother in order to strengthen the decreasing relations with her roots. Then, before her return to Cuba and the answers to questions that have remained open for years, Pilar can only imagine “where [her] history should be.” (p.138). Relatively, because of her life in Brooklyn and the refusal of her mother to talk about Abuela Celia and Cuba, this is through her imagination that Pilar maintains her links to Cuba.

At this point, Pilar not only wants to return to Cuba to see her grandmother and to visit the country but also because she is searching her identity. Through the verbs choice and tense used by Pilar, she questions herself and her relatives about her roots. Most of the verbs used by Pilar are in the present tense signifying that she speaks at the same time the plot takes place. All along the passage, the verbs either describe her thoughts and feelings “I resent” and “I think” twice, her determination “I can” and “I want” or her questioning “I ask” and “I’m prying” (p.138). Concerning Pilar’s thinking “I think he stays in his workshop” and “I think we should have moved to a ranch” (p.138), the situation is hypothetical because that is only what Pilar believes about her father but nothing is confirmed. Then, Pilar shows once more that she is perseverant and self-confident using two modal verbs “I can do not to hijack a plane to Havana” and “I really want to know, why mum hardly speaks to Abuela” (p.138). The context in which she uses “can” shows that it is not a question of physical capacity but of permission. Pilar cannot “hijack a plane to Havana” (p.138) because it is an illegal act which is punishable by law.  Moreover, when Pilar asks her father about her mother and Cuba this is because she “really want[s]” explanations of why her mother “keeps her riding crops from Cuba” (p.138). While she has a strong wish which is accentuated with the adverb “really” placed before “want” (p.138), the phrase “keeps her riding crops from Cuba” bears a deep meaning. Pilar makes a connection with what happened to Lourdes in Cuba such as the rejection of her mother (p.48), the loss of her child (p.70), and the violent rape by a soldier (p.71) without knowing these facts. Finally, Pilar “ask[s]” her mother about Abuela Celia and has the feeling of “prying” into secret information. These two verbs imply the desire to have answers which is what Pilar aims for. Thus, even though Pilar has a strong desire to learn about her roots and grandmother and is aware that Lourdes has bad memories concerning Cuba, she is determinate to find where she belongs.

Following this, Pilar’s lack of knowledge about the exact events that happened to her mother in Cuba makes her feeling resentful towards Lourdes and this adds to the recurrent mother-daughter conflicts. Pilar wants to learn about her grandmother Celia, nonetheless each time she asks her mother about it “she gets annoyed” and “shuts [her] up quickly, like [she’s] prying into top secret information” (p.138). The irony of Pilar in the phrase “top secret information” shows her ignorance concerning the reason why her mother is distant with Celia. What is more, Pilar’s father accentuates the contrast between Lourdes and Pilar when this latter questions him “why [her] Mom hardly speaks to Abuela or why she still keeps her riding crops from Cuba.” (P.138). Most of the time he answers “refeering the fights” (p.138) between Lourdes and Pilar instead of the question. Consequently, due to the paucity of information about the past of her mother as well as their constant conflicts about the revolution and Cuba, Pilar has to face at a time a mother-daughter conflict and an inner-conflict linked to the search of her identity.

To conclude, the omnipresence of Pilar’s search of identity is seen through a desire to return to the country and her perseverance to obtain information from her relatives. Additionally, the verbs used by Pilar are meaningful and affirm her determination and her importance of where she belongs. However, the contrast with her mother’s view as well as the lack of information about her life leave Pilar in an inner conflict of discovering if she is a Cuban, American or hybrid girl.

Christian Imperialism and Santería as a Form of Resistance in Cristina García’s Dreaming in Cuban

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Syncretic religions are an important and often neglected aspect of the Latin American culture. They are the result of centuries of colonization that brought together people from various continents, cultures and religions. In Cuba, while Catholicism was the official religion of the colonizers, Santería emerged from the confluence of Catholicism and Yoruba as the religion of the colonized (slaves). In Cristina García’s Dreaming in Cuban, this dichotomy between metropolis and colony concerning religion is manifested in the Del Pino family, through the characters’ religious and political beliefs.

Catholicism is represented in Lourdes and Jorge del Pino characters, the only two of the family who, “during high mass, recited the Lord’s Prayer with loud precision” (76). In the story, most of the Christian universe turns around these characters: Lourde’s daughter, Pilar, studied in Martyrs and Saints, a school administrated by nuns (58); Jorge stayed in the Sisters of Charity Hospital, administrated by nuns who thought he was “a saint” (19) when he died; and in a moment of great despair, “Lourdes imagines white azaleas and an altar set for high mass on an April Sunday” (197), revealing that what brings her comfort is indeed her religion. Likewise, Jorge’s faith is putted in evidence when he blames Felicia’s troubles in adult life on the fact that she didn’t have her confirmation (77).

The relation between Christianity and imperialism is unbreakable in the context of the European colonization, and this connection is somehow explored in the book by the fact that the Catholic characters inhabit in the United States. Over the twentieth century, the United States became the symbol of imperialism and capitalism by excellence, representing everything that was fought in the Cuban revolution. Celia and Felicia, supporters of the revolution, are not Catholics and live in Cuba, while “Lourdes and her father […] denounce the Communist threat to America” (171). Jorge, and especially Lourdes, incarnate the ideals of both European and American imperialisms: triumph of Christianity and of capitalism (or communism’s defeat). Lourdes is not only against communism, but she believes in the “American Dream”, “she envisioned a chain of Yankee Doodle bakeries stretching across America” (171), a dream which would be impossible under communist regime.

This connection between imperialism and Christianity is important to understand how a hybrid religion such as Santería can be linked to the characters that represent the fight against imperialism. Justin D. Edwards, in his book Postcolonial Literature (2008), affirms “hybridity has also been invoked as an expression of resistance to colonial discourse” (140), since it was a way for the slaves to overcome the prohibition of the practice of their religion. On one hand, Lourdes and Jorge, Catholics, embrace (to a different degree) the colonial, imperialist and capitalist discourse. On the other hand, Celia and Felicia, that practice the Santería to different extents, embrace the postcolonial and communist discourse (also to different extents).

Celia is an atheist but she is “wary of powers she [don’t] understand” (76), she is superstitious and she even calls a santera in a moment of desperation (159). Nonetheless, when Felicia is dying in the house on Palma Street, Celia destroys all the objects related to Santería and accuses it followers of “witch doctors” (190). This ambiguity can be explained by the fact that Celia “dabbles in santería’s harmless superstitions, but she cannot bring herself to trust the clandestine rites of African Magic” (90-91), perhaps as a reflex of the communist point of view on religion (“religion is the opium of the people”, Karl Marx). She discourages Felicia’s “devotion to the gods” because she “[reveres] el Líder and [wants] Felicia to give herself entirely to the revolution” (186).

Santería is mainly represented in the character of Felicia, who “refused to be confirmed at all” (77) because she couldn’t choose Sebastian as a confirmation name – the nuns preferred María, like Lourdes had chosen. Felicia is introduced to this syncretic religion by Herminia, her childhood friend whose father was a santero. In fact, Herminia is a central character in the discussion around hybridity and post colonialist discourse because, as Edwards states in Postcolonial Literature (2008), “new identities [hybrid identities], Gilroy asserts, arise out of black diasporas, and these hybridized cultures must be analysed in complex ways” (147). Herminia descends from slaves that were brought to America in the black diaspora, and she and her family are the ones that originally represent the religious hybridity “as an expression of resistance to colonial discourse” (Edwards 140). Nevertheless, Felicia expresses her “resistance to colonial discourse” by not being racist (García 184), by staying in Cuba instead of going to the United States, by joining the guerilla training (105) and by being initiated and becoming a santera.

Pilar’s character is the one that makes the connection between all of these members of the Del Pino family. At first she is Catholic, then at third grade she stops praying (60), eventually she stops to believe in God (175), like her grandmother, and in the end of the story she is identified as daughter of Changó (200). She starts in a religious school in the United States and she finishes taking nine baths with special oils and travelling to Cuba to see her grandmother and to try to find herself. Indeed, her hybrid character, that questions and contests authority (her mother, the nuns, God, politicians), is also a big part of the discourse against colonialism.

The Del Pino family represents two opposite points of view concerning religion and politics. On the one hand, Lourdes and Jorge, Catholics, live in the country that is emblem of imperialism and capitalism. And on the other hand, Celia, Felicia, Pilar and Herminia (even though she does not belong to the family) are not Christians, believe in a hybrid religion and live in Cuba, country that personifies communism in the figure of El Líder. The family becomes then the portrait of the dichotomy between metropolis and colony, capitalism and communism, authentic and hybrid, through the characters’ beliefs and actions.

 

Reference

GARCIA, Cristina. Dreaming in Cuban. New York: Ballantine Books, 1993

Secondary source

EDWARDS, Justin D.. “Hybridity”. Postcolonial Literature. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. 139-149

Supernatural Figures and Haunting as a Form of Healing in Cristina García’s “Dreaming in Cuban”

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The occult is a central theme in Cristina García’s novel, “Dreaming in Cuban”. For instance, at the very beginning of the story, Jorge del Pino’s ghost appears to say goodbye to his wife, Celia, then frequently visits his daughter Lourdes. In addition, Felicia’s passion for the occult is clear as she devotes herself entirely to Santería, and even Pilar turns to the mystical cult when in doubt. As Justin Edwards points out, haunting is a recurrent trope in postcolonial literature, where “narratives deal with history in the forms of phantoms, revenants and ghosts that return from the past to haunt the present” (Edwards, 124). However, in “Dreaming in Cuban”, by using Jorge’s ghost and numerous references to the Santería cult, García gives her characters a means of dealing with and recovering from a painful past.

Felicia’s character is the most strikingly linked to the occult. Amanda Easton argues that “emotional and physical traumas […] compel Felicia to seek out a curative relief, a means of release” and that “Santeria proves to be that source of holistic healing” (Easton, 8). Truly, we can agree that Felicia appears as a mentally troubled character, but seems completely at peace with herself, or “holistically healed” shortly before her death. Although her fascination for this religion is present throughout the novel, Felicia’s troubled mind finally finds solace when she bestows herself fully to Santeria, as Herminia explains on page 186:

At night, Felicia attended our ceremonies. She didn’t miss a single one. For her, they were a kind of poetry that connected her to larger worlds, worlds alive and infinite. Our rituals healed her, made her believe again. My father used to say that there are forces in the universe that can transform our lives if only we’d surrender ourselves. Felicia surrendered, and found her fulfilment (García, 186).

In this extract, the form of the text conveys the idea of yielding to supernatural entities, and the resulting plenitude. Indeed, we may notice that Felicia is mostly in a passive mode, as she allows the paranormal to “connect her to larger worlds” (186), “heal her” (186) and “make her believe again” (186), thereby perfectly illustrating the idea of surrendering. Additionally, the fact that the “worlds” (186) are described with lively and hyperbolic “infinite” (186) attributes supposes a superior force, thus giving the superhuman dimension to the text. As a result, Felicia’s experienced fulfilment can be literally translated into a plenitude induced by letting herself become “filled” with these spirits’ energies. We can therefore agree with Easton’s claim, and affirm that Felicia finds her inner peace and healing from her physical and mental sufferings by surrendering to the mysteries of Santería.

Although she does not share Felicia’s fervent beliefs, the hybrid character of Pilar also happens to turn to Santería, in search for answers she is unable to find anywhere else. Easton once again asserts that “Pilar, like Felicia, seeks out Santeria as a means of healing and an alternative system of negotiating the world around her” (Easton, 5). This statement can be illustrated as Pilar returns from the botánica shop, and heads the old man’s counsel, by bathing in an herbal mix for nine nights. As she prepares herself to bathe in the last paragraph of page 202, Pilar perceives the world in a very confusing way: “In the library, nothing makes sense. The fluorescent lights transmit conversations from passing cars on Broadway” (García, 202). In this last sentence, there is an impossible connection between light and sound, as conversations seem conveyed by light. This paradox only reflects the state of confusion in which Pilar finds herself, as it is followed by several short phrases: “Someone’s ordering a bucket of chicken wings on 103rd Street. The chairman of the linguistics department is fucking a graduate student named Betsy. Gandhi was a carnivore […] Maybe this is the truth” (García, 202). These sentences hardly have any link with one another, and reflect the noises and conversations Pilar hears in the library around her. By compressing so much arbitrary information in several short sentences, with very little to no transition between the different elements, García gives the text an overloaded feeling, thus translating Pilar’s own uncertainty and confusion. Further, as Pilar enters her bath, her senses are again stimulated, however contrasting with the sensual overload of the first paragraph, in a more orderly fashion, as each perception comes one at a time, in a continuity: she sees the “clear green” (203) of the bath, smells its “sharp scent” (203), and feels “cold dry ice, then a soporific heat” (203). Finally, the solution is presented with an unshakable clarity: “On the ninth day of my baths, I call my mother and tell her we’re going to Cuba” (203). Hence, we can conclude from this passage that Santería appeals to Pilar as a solution resonant of clarity, or what Easton calls “an alternative system of negotiating the world” (Easton, 5), in response to uncertainties of her surroundings she is otherwise unable to unveil.

Finally, the most present haunting figure of the novel is Jorge’s ghost. Edwards shows different uses of haunting in postcolonial literature, among which he suggests its representing of “the wounds of the past and the healing of the future” (Edwards, 120). Indeed, through his apparitions to Lourdes, Jorge seems to want to repair the wounds he has left his family. This is made clear in Lourdes’ last encounter with her father’s phantom. Before leaving for good, he tells his daughter secrets about his early life with Celia, before admonishing Lourdes to return to Cuba. Jorge for instance mentions how he tried to control his wife, then his daughter: “I tried to kill her, Lourdes. I wanted to kill her […] I wanted to break her, may God forgive me.[…] I told the doctors to make her forget […] I took you from her while you were still a part of her. I wanted to own you for myself” (García, 196). In his speech, Jorge seldom mentions Celia’s actions, he rather speaks in the first person, giving his monologue a tone of confession. However, this speach is not only meant for Jorge to leave with a clean conscience, his purpose in telling his daughter about the past is rather to heal her and his family of the pain he has caused them. We feel the soothing intention in his words as he tells Lourdes: “Your mother loved you” (196), as Lourdes has never felt motherly love from Celia. Finally, in a similar way to Pilar’s bath ritual, Jorge provides the clear instruction: “Please return and tell your mother everything, tell her I’m sorry” (197). Consequently, we can conclude from this passage that Jorge returns to his daughter in an attempt to make amends for the past, and is yet another supernatural figure García uses to guide her characters.

As a conclusion, we can therefore assert that in “Dreaming in Cuban”, García displays supernatural and haunting figures as a means of healing for her characters’ different forms of suffering. Felicia turns to Santería to find inner peace, as for Pilar, the mystic practice helps her make sense of a world she is at times unable to read and find her hybrid identity. Finally, Jorge’s ghost transmits a desire of exposing the past in hopes of helping his beloved daughter and family to recover from it.

 

Works cited:

Easton, Amanda. “A Space for Resistance and Possibility: Confronting Borders through

Narrative and Santería in Cristina García’s Dreaming in Cuban”. Label me Latina/o, Fall 2013 Volume 3.

Edwards, Justin. “Haunting”. Postcolonial Literature. Tredell Nicolas.  London: Macmillan, 2008. 117-128.

García, Cristina. Dreaming in Cuban : a novel. New York: Ballantine Books, 1993.

 

The Reunion of Felicia and Hugo or the Birth of a Deadly Union in Cristina García’s Dreaming in Cuban

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In García’s “Dreaming in Cuban”, we learn about the destructive union between Felicia, one of the main female protagonists, and Hugo Villaverde. The reader knows that the relationship is going to turn out badly, since the history of the couple is told as a flashback of Felicia, recalling her earlier life. However, in the extract recounting the lovers’ reunion after Hugo’s absence and their marriage shortly after, the text and stylistic devices give sufficient indication that this union is doomed to ruin.  Indeed, in the passage going from “When they met again late in hurricane season […]” (p. 80) to “His twin daughters were born without him on Christmas Eve” (p. 81), García’s use of tropes, figures of sound and a lexical field closely related to death creates a lugubrious atmosphere, which foreshadows the tragic outcome of both characters’ future.

Primarily, by examining the global structure of the extract beginning with the reunion of Hugo and Felicia “late in hurricane season” (p.80), and ending with the birth of Luz and Milagro “on Christmas Eve” (p.81), we notice that the text is made up essentially of brief sentences. The most striking example of this minimalist style is the description of the marriage ceremony, which is recapitulated in 3 short sentences: “Hugo married Felicia at city hall the week of the Cuban missile crisis. Herminia brought a bottle of champagne from Spain but no one remembered to open it. Jorge del Pino refused to attend” (p.81). These phrases share the most basic grammatical structure: the subject comes first (Hugo / Herminia / Jorge del Pino / no one), which is directly connected to an active verb (married / brought / remembered / refused) followed by a direct object (Felicia / a bottle of champagne from Spain / to open it / to attend [the ceremony]), with additional time and space indications in the first sentence exclusively (at city hall the week of the Cuban missile crisis). The use of short and nearly identically structured clauses creates a form of repetition and gives the passage a jolting rhythm. Additionally, by conveying no emotion and rendering only hard facts, the text creates a cold, somewhat austere atmosphere, which might be more fitting for a funeral description. We can thus affirm that the minimalist form of the extract and more specifically the very formal description of the wedding ceremony create a cold and negative atmosphere, which makes the reader anticipate the gloomy series of events.

Although the passage mostly contains brief sentences, García still provides a few descriptions. For instance, in the last paragraph of page 80, the butcher shop where Felicia works as a cashier is thoroughly described with the help of several metaphors and similes linked to the lexical field of butchery. First of all, the setting is full of animal flesh; there are “bleeding carcasses” (p. 80) hanging all over the butcher shop, and even a dead “hog’s head” (p. 80) sitting “like a trophy” (p. 80). The use of vocabulary related to butchery undoubtedly contributes to the glacial ambiance of the passage, as the presence of flesh and blood echoes death. Even humans are given features of animal meat: Felicia has difficulties distinguishing the butchers from the “marbled slabs of beef at their elbows” (p. 80), and also sees porcine traits in her customers, as Compañera Sordo’s “bristly jowls and upturned nose” (p. 80) and Compañero Llorente’s “pink eyes and jerking chin” (p. 80). Interestingly, Felicia herself is metaphorically depicted with those animal-like features, as “her cheeks are threaded with a web of fine veins” (p. 80), and she even ends up calling herself “red meat” (p.81). The fact that individuals are described with words normally associated to animals and meat dehumanizes them, thereby accentuating the cold, emotionless feel of the text. Therefore, we can argue that by using a butcherly lexical field to depict the shop, and metaphorically describing human characters with this same vocabulary, the author produces a dark ambiance, to some extent deprived of human warmth, auguring Felicia and Hugo’s future.

As we have observed the effects of structure and vocabulary on the atmosphere of the text, we may now focus on the characters’ speech. The only dialogue found in this passage is the very short exchange of Felicia and Hugo, immediately after their marriage on page 81. Felicia breaks the silence by telling her husband: “If you want, I can tie you up the way you like” (p. 81). In response, he answers: “If you come near me, I’ll kill you […]” (p. 81). In this brief conversation, we can highlight the parallelism in the grammatical structure of both sentences. This figure of style emphasizes the contrast between each character’s saying, since the only thing both sentences have in common is structure. Effectively, Felicia offers to do what she knows will please her husband, whereas he responds in the complete opposite manner, threatening to kill her. This exchange illustrates the dysfunctionality in the couple’s relationship, and predicts the union’s tragic fate. Hence, the use of parallelism in the only dialogue of the text contrasts Felicia’s intentions with Hugo’s, making us understand that the marriage is destined to destruction.

Although figures of speech are of crucial importance to grasp the meaning of the passage, figures of sound are not to be neglected. The poetic dimension of “Dreaming in Cuban” relies partly on the sounds chosen by García to express emotions. Notably, there is an explicit use of alliteration when the text speaks about Hugo’s actions. For example, we read in the following sentences: “Hugo settled into the sofa and stared straight ahead, saying nothing […] Hugo slept on the sofa and left for sea the next day” (p.81). The sibilant alliteration in these two sentences is striking, and seems to be attached to Hugo’s character, as if it were an attribute. The effect of these /s/ sounds is, in this case, to create an atmosphere of sinister. Effectively, as we picture Hugo on the sofa, either staring into space and remaining silent, either sleeping on it alone, we definitely do not imagine a joyful scene, but a rather gloomy image. Consequently, we may affirm that the systematic use of sibilant alliteration when referring to Hugo’s actions has a sinister effect on the text’s mood, and prefigures the couple’s equally menacing future.

As a conclusion, we can therefore assert, based on textual evidence, that the reunion of Felicia and Hugo and their following marriage is only the beginning of their own destruction. As a matter of fact, Garcia skillfully uses repetition in grammatical structure, metaphorical language, selected vocabulary and alliteration to create a glacial, lugubrious atmosphere, thereby foretelling her characters’ dark prospect. Hence, these stylistic elements give us a basis to affirm that the couple is inevitably bound to a tragic ending.

 

 

 

Losing Coherence: The Development of Celia’s Mental State Through her Letters

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Selected passage: pp. 49-51, five letters – “April 11, 1935 […] December 11, 1936 […] stuffed with anchovies. Thank you. C.”

In Cristina García’s Dreaming in Cuban, the narrative is constructed through several points of view that shift from an omniscient third-person narrator to a first-person narrator, giving the voice to different characters. While the third generation of the Del Pino family is contemplated with a direct first-person narration (Pilar, Luz, Ivanito), the story of the two first generations is told in the third-person (Celia, Lourdes, Felicia). However, Celia’s letters to Gustavo are a form of first-person narration and they constitute an important mechanism, which allows the reader to fully understand central elements of the story. In the selected sequence of letters, the difference of tone and register, expressed through metaphors, vocabulary and textual coherence, reflects Celia’s feelings towards other characters and the alterations in her state of mind.

The letter of April 11, 1935 (p. 49), written by Celia during her honeymoon, starts with a list of mundane facts about the location and the weather, and changes into a poetic love letter, with metaphors concerning her relationships with Jorge and with Gustavo. Even though there is an abrupt change in the subject, from “It hasn’t rained a single day since we’ve been here” to “Jorge makes love to me as if he were afraid I might shatter” (p. 49), the textual coherence is still present due to the fact that both sentences correspond to the same general topic, the honeymoon (and love). The letter finishes like many of the letters, namely, with a love note such as “I am still yours, Celia”, or “I love you, Celia” (p. 50).

Such love note is not found in the end of the letter of January 11, 1936 (p. 50), the most succinct and objective letter among all the ones Celia wrote to Gustavo. The lack of adjective in the greeting and the lack of any kind of complement in the only sentence, “Gustavo, I am pregnant” (p. 50), can be seen as a reflex of Celia’s perspective towards her pregnancy. Concerning the greeting and the salutation, the absence of adjectives and of words that express emotion can be interpreted as a sign that Celia wants the focus to be on the message, on the main phrase, because that is what is important, urgent. On the other hand, in the main sentence, the absence of adjectives and details can be interpreted as a sign of absence of care and love (for the child). Indeed, as the following letter (August 11) reveals, Celia does not desire this child at all.

The general tone of disdain present in the letter of August 11, 1936 (p. 50), is expressed by means of a negative vocabulary related to the baby. The opening metaphor used to describe the fact that she is pregnant, “a fat wax grows inside me”, portrays the baby as an inanimate being and contrasts with the sentence in the next paragraph, “the baby lives in venom” (p. 50), in which the baby is portrayed as a creature that lives, therefore is alive. The disparity and lack of coherence found in these affirmations can also be observed throughout the letter, especially if compared with the letter from April 11 (p. 49). In this letter of April, there are no linking words between the sentences and the subject changes abruptly, but the sentences all fit in the same general theme and this gives coherence to the text. However, in the letter of August 11 (p. 50), the coherence is less evident, it is necessary to follow Celia’s thoughts to find the connection between the subjects. Twice, on the first and on the second paragraphs, the narration goes from one subject to another completely different, “it’s looting my veins […] from the heat” and “the baby lives on venom. Jorge has been in Oriente […]” (p. 50), announcing a change in Celia’s metal health and reasoning.

The extended metaphor present in the letter of September 11, 1936 (p. 50), starts with “the baby is porous” and evolves into the idea of porosity, of letting things through or absorbing them. The image of the porous baby consuming its own shadow, followed by its lack of shadow, can be associated with the figure of the devil or with the supernatural (in western culture), as it is the capacity of reading thoughts, what gives a tone of anguish and fear to the letter. The extended metaphor finishes with “she reads my thoughts, Gustavo. They are transparent”. The vocative “Gustavo” in the end of the sentence works as a way of calling for attention, maybe calling for help, and reinforces the feeling of concern and anxiety generated in Celia by the baby.

The letter of December 11, 1936 (p. 50-51), is the one that puts in evidence the gravity of Celia’s mental health. Through the use of the pronoun they – “they’ve hung gold stars in the hallways” (p. 50) – it is possible to assume that Celia is being taken care in some kind of sanatorium (as it becomes clear throughout the book). Furthermore, the letter starts with a description of the Christmas decoration in the hospital and it suddenly switches to a list of facts and events that do not have a real connection, or follow a real logical sequence. The letter presents then little coherence in both textual and phrasal levels: “they flay my skin and hang it to dry. I see it whipping on the line. The food is inedible” (p. 51). The lack of lexical and semantical coherence observed in these sentences is indicative of Celia’s mental state, that is the one of a person that is in an asylum.

The change in the style and tone of the letters, combined with the different enchainment of subjects and sentences, follow the development of the story and of Celia’s personal transformation: as her mental health declines, so does the coherence in her letters. These letters cover a critical moment in Celia’s life, that starts in her honeymoon and finishes with the birth of Lourdes and her confinement in the asylum, which means that all of her hopes to one day live with Gustavo – “I’ll sail to Spain, to Granada, to your kiss, Gustavo” (p. 50) – are over. Moreover, the letters are an important part of the story and of the plot, revealing the character through her own words and thoughts.

 

Reference:

GARCIA, Cristina. Dreaming in Cuban. New York: Ballantine Books, 1993

 

The truth behind memories

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The novel Dreaming in Cuban written by Cristina García, often addresses the theme of memory, which can be either personal or cultural, and which brings on various other sub-themes such as identity, legacy, and distortion. It is through the analysis of these sub-themes and with the help of the author’s interview as well as Justin D. Edwards’s chapter on Posctolonial Literature, that the reader will be able to determine how important memory is to the construction of the main characters’s truth.

In the book’s reader’s guide, Cristina García explains how memory comes as a “need [for her characters] to reinvent themselves and invest themselves in narratives of their own devising” (García 255). Pilar does feel this need as she devotes herself to “[record] everything down” (García 7) in a diary, making sure that no details of her life are left behind. In fact, she later adds that she made sure to “remember[s] everything that’s happened to [her] since [she] was a baby, even word-for-word conversations” (García 26). According to the Cambridge Dictionary, the verb “to remember” means “to keep a piece of information in your memory,”1 however in this quote Pilar affirms that she has a memory of every single event that has happened in her life. Indeed, this precision can be seen in her use of the pronoun “everything,” the use of the adverb “even” and the expression “word-to-word.” Although this could be read as being hyperbolic, it shows how important memory is for her, especially since she does not allow any detail of her life to be forgotten. To get a true sense of her identity however, Pilar needs to understand where she comes from and her memory alone is not enough as she says that “[e]veryday Cuba fades a little more inside [her]” (García 138). Since she lived most of her life in the United States and did not really experience the Revolution, Pilar has a lack of knowledge regarding her native country and its past. Indeed, she “do[es] not have [any] personal memories of the hardships, exploitation, cruelty and torture” her ancestors have endured, thus she needs stories which, as Edwards writes in his chapter, “fill in [the] past-narratives [to] help [one] remember where [one] come[s] from” (Edwards 129). These stories can come from people she has talked to as well as books she has read.

When trying to fill the gaps between her own memory and the history of Cuba, Pilar is soon faced with disappointment after she finds out no one has covered subjects she would have been interested in, like the hailstorm in Congo (García 28) for example. History books are thus incomplete, as she realizes that “there’s only my imagination where our history should be” (García 138). The use of the verb “shall” expresses that her expectations have not been met and the adjective “only” emphasizes the fact that imagination is not enough since it is not reliable. In this respect, the author of the novel states in the reader’s guide, that memory is “a product of both necessity and imagination” (García 255). Pilar has the urge to know her cuban history and believes it is the duty of her ancestors to share their history and not hers to create one. At one point, Pilar asks the rhetorical question: “Who chooses what we should know or what’s important?” (García 28) which she later replies to by stating that it is “the politicians and the generals” who she “resent[s] the hell out [and] who force events on [them] [to] rupture [their] lives, that dictate the memories [they]’ll have when [they]’re old.” (García 137-8). The use of the words “resent” and “hell” show how outraged Pilar is, while the use of the verbs “to force” and “to dictate” highlights how powerless she feels before the politicians and the generals. She also feels disgusted “that men who had nothing to do with [her] had the power to rupture [her] dreams” (García 199-200). In parallel, Herminia also feels angry and powerless in front of those who get to decide what is important, as her black ancestors are “only [considered] a footnote in [these] historybooks” (García 185) which is merely nothing. In this regard, Edwards states that “colonial narratives often try to influence collective memory and stories of the past by white-washing the history of conflict, violence and trauma” (Edwards 130). With the term “white-washing,” Edwards means that history is often told by the colonizers’s point of view, while the colonized’s perspective is not taken into account or deliberately forgotten. In Edwards’s chapter, Kincaid claims that “[w]ithout responsibility, there can be no apology, reparation or forgiveness” (Edwards 131). Since the colonizers do not take responsibility for their past actions against african and caribbean people, it is impossible for either Pilar or Herminia to forgive them. Having a collective memory is thus very important since it “plays a significant part in the symbolic relationship between the mother country (the imperial power) and the infantilized nation (the colony)” (Edwards 131). This symbolic relationship is what both Herminia and Pilar strive for, as it would help them find a proper balance in their hybridity, as well as finally find their own true identity. Yet, the informations they get in these history books are only one sided, which means that one part of their identity is totally disregarded. This is the reason why Herminia also questions how she can “trust anything [she] read[s]?” (García 185) which she then answers to herself by stating that she can “[only] trust what [she] see[s]” and “what [she] know[s]” and “nothing more” (García 185). Because of the biased perspective and selective memory of historical books, Herminia feels as if she has no choice left but to trust her own memory exclusively.

According to Celia, “memory cannot be confined” (García 47), which she explains with the example of selling cameras. She believes, in fact, that it is an “act of cruelty” and “atrocity” to sell those as they “imprison emotions on squares of glossy paper” (García 48). She is personally all about writing down her own memories since the act of writing is a “solitary act” (Edwards 43) that lacks the immediacy of photography. Indeed, writing allows her to explore her emotions with all the time she needs as well as to rearrange her memories the way she likes, which is not possible with photography. The last time Celia writes to Gustavo is actually the day Pilar is born. Indeed, she tells Gustavo: “I will no longer write to you, mi amor. [Pilar] will remember everything” (García 245). The fact that Celia no longer needs to write to her Spanish lover is because she finally has someone she can bequeath her memories to. Indeed, Gustavo only represents an idea, since she does not actually send her letters to him. The author of the novel herself, explains that “the letters provide a window into her inner life and yearnings” (García 252). Furthermore, Celia states that “only [her] granddaughter can save [her]” and “guard [her] knowledge like the first fire” (García 222). For Celia, being saved means that someone is going to protect what she values the most, which is her “knowledge.” Cristina García declares in her interview that each of her characters “needs to be a heroine, to believe [they] [are] doing the right thing, choosing the only path to a kind of personal redemption,” she also adds that “[t]hey need their memories in this sense to survive” (García 255). The fact that Celia shares a “box of letters she wrote to her onetime lover in Spain” (García 235) with her granddaughter, is actually the only path for her to attain “a personal redemption” (García 255). By sharing these letters, Celia actually “offers a sense of collective identity” to her granddaughter, which is very important as Edwards himself states that it “links the past with the present” (Edwards 129): the past being Abuela Celia and the present being Pilar. The latter, starts to feel differently after receiving her grandmother’s legacy. Indeed, shortly after she “feel[s] [her] grandmother’s life passing to [her],” she feels “a steady electricity, humming and true” (García 222). She also starts to have dreams in Spanish, which she insists “has never happened before” (García 235). These changes happen because she finally knows where she belongs. Indeed, the lack of information she had about her cuban ancestors is now filled in with her grandmother’s legacy of her memory.

One may argue, indeed, that Celia’s letters are based on her own perception of reality. In this respect, Edwards states that “memory is not always perfect; it can distort or change information” (Edwards 41). Felicia also believes that, as she tells her son Ivanito that: “[i]magination, like memory, can transform lies to truths” (García 88). Indeed, memory is very powerful in the way that it can change someone’s opinion on a memory or on the opposite, make someone keep their opinion. Both cases can be seen many times in the book, as a shared event is told various times by different characters. This causes each character to have their own sense of what is true and what is not. For example, Lourdes and her parents each believe the veracity of their own memory of a shared event. Lourdes has always believed that her mother had intentionally abandoned her but it appears that she was missing an essential piece of the puzzle. Indeed, her father later confessed to her that he was the one that “tried to kill” and “to break” her mother until the point where “[s]he held [Lourdes] out to [him] by one leg and told [him] she would not remember her [daughter’s] name” (García 195). Although Jorge shared his truth, Lourdes decides not to believe it and holds on to her own truth:
She knows that she cannot keep her promise to her father, to tell her mother that he was sorry, sorry for sending her away, sorry for her silent hands. The words refuse to form in her mouth. Instead, like a brutal punishment, Lourdes feels the grip of her mother’s hand, hears her mother’s words before she left for the asylum: “I will not remember her name.” (García 238)
In a way, Lourdes both punishes herself as well as her parents by deciding to keep her own truth and neglecting theirs. A shared memory can thus be extremely distorted, since one person can perceive a truth as a lie, and vice-versa.

In conclusion, it is important to note how memory is closely connected to each character’s sense of self. While some characters are eager to receive another person’s memory in order to complete the missing bits of theirs, others prefer to stay completely in their own truth and avoid other’s perspectives.

Bibliography:

  • Edwards, D. Justin. Postcolonial Literature. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008.

  • García, Cristina. Dreaming in Cuban : a novel. New York: Ballantine Books, 1993.

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1http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/remember

Felicia’s madness explained through senses

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In the novel Dreaming in Cuban, written by Cristina García, each character has an unique way of expressing and dealing with its own emotions. The passage starting with “Felicia del Pino doesn’t know what brings on her delusions” (75) and ending with “[s]he never knows the time” (76) particularly addresses how the character Felicia del Pino deals with her mental illness. It is through the imagery of sound and sight, as well as the use of other figures of speech, that Felicia is able to communicate the pain behind her loneliness and inability to fit in.

The opening sentence of the chosen passage introduces Felicia’s awareness of her own mental illness as well as her inability, or perhaps reluctance, to understand what causes it as the third-person narrator mentions that Felicia “doesn’t know what brings on her delusions” (75). Her madness is further highlited at the ending sentence of the chosen passage, as she is said to “never [know] time” (76) which proves that there is a break from reality. Furthermore, the emphasis on the adverb “never” makes her condition an unending problem, as there is no hope of it changing anytime soon. It is as if the narrator wants the reader to feel Felicia’s despair dragging her down. To express her inner suffering, she has developed a deep sense of hearing as the narrator states that “she can hear things” (75). This statement is later rectified as “ she can hear everything” (75) and as the passage progresses, the vocabulary is more and more assertive. Indeed, the uncertainty that comes with the modal verb “can” is later erased with the affirmation: “She hears [the people] talking but cannot understand what they say” (75-76).

The sense of sound is a a key element in the understanding of Felicia’s madness. The first paragraph of chapter six is full of words of the lexical field of sound such as: “hear,” “every sneeze and creak and breath” (75) which shows how Felicia’s painful sense of hearing mirrors the pain she feels in her life. The emphasis on “every” and the way she compares those sounds to “[t]he scratching a beetle on a porch” and “[t]he shifting of the floorboards in the night” (75) foregrounds the uneasiness and unpleasantness that comes with hearing everyone and everything’s noises constantly. The only way to “lessen the din” is to loudly play “the Beny Moré records […] warped as they are” (75) whose voice comes to replace the others and to stand for her own. The only way for her to have a break from these sounds is to play a music even louder than her own thoughts. Also, the fact that the records are bent mirrors the distorted view she has of reality as well. Although she is aware of the sounds surrounding her, the problem seems to lay in her inability to understand “what [people] say” (76) and her inability to speak the same language.

In the Reader’s Guide at the end of the book (247-58), Cristina García mentions how her first intention was to make Dreaming in Cuban a poem. Although she later changed her mind and wrote a novel, the particularities of poetry remained. For example, each sentence in the quote: “The scratching of a beetle on the porch. The shifting of the floorboards in the night” (75) has ten syllables. This iambic pentameter pattern is typical in the poetic genre. The repetition of the determinant “the” appears four times and the rhymes in “-ing” all contribute to the lyrical tone of the novel. As for the alliteration of the vowel sound “ee,” is also reiterated many times. The fact that these sounds appear constantly in the text, parallels the sound Felicia hears in her head. The use of rhymes makes certain words stand out and induces the reader to make connections between them. The second sentence of the chosen passage, for example, uses rhymes finishing in “-ly” such as: “only,” “suddenly,” and “vividly” (75) which emphasize the way Felicia has a very detailed sense of hearing. The rhyming words “luminosity” and “enemy” (75) can also be linked together and give us an idea that Felicia sees light as a very hostile thing. Not only do all these repeated sounds give the text a sort of musicality but they also give fundamental information about the character.

After the sense of sound, comes the sense of sight, which appears mostly in the second paragraph of the chosen passage. Felicia’s mood is decreasing due to the unstoppable sounds inside her head and this can also be sensed with the disappearance of colors one by one, moving her out of brightness and into darkness. Each color has a symbolic value and each moves away from Felicia, thus showing how her mood influences her surroundings and vice-versa. Symbolically perceived as the color of passion and love, the color red is personified as it “floats above the carnations” (75). Then, the color blue, which is said to stimulate the sense of calm “ rise[s] from the chipped tiles” (75) leaving Felicia in her own anxiety. Her favorite color green “flees the trees” (75) which can signify that there is not even hope left. The emphasis on “even the greens” (75) conveys a sense of fatality since she is left with black and white. Felicia enters thus a monotone and monochromatic stage. The white, with its overpowering intensity, erases all of the colors around. Felicia even goes as far as to feel “assault[ed]” and “threaten[ed]” (75) by its luminosity. She is so scared that she “tightens the shutters” (75) of her windows, not allowing any ray of sun to come. In a way, the whiteness symbolizes the outside and real world which she feels attacked by and the darkness, her inside world as she physically closes herself from emotions or even from people that she does not understand.

Her isolation is established by the fact that she secludes herself at home, rarely “dar[ing] [to] look outside” (75). When she does so, she compares people to paintings who are “outlined in black, their faces crushed and squarish” (75). She describes people as being two-dimensional, flat and oddly shaped which highlights how distant and different she feels they are to her. In a way, she fears their judgement as the third person narrator states that “their white shining eyes” are what makes her feel “threaten[ed]” (75). The human characteristics that she removes from people, Felicia gives to objects. In fact, this inversion can be seen with the use of prosopopeias, as she gives a human action to the concept of color: “The colors too, escape their objects” (75) which she herself is unable to do.

In conclusion, it is through the metaphor of the senses that the reader gets to understand how Felicia’s break from both reality and human contact has clearly contributed to her madness. It also shows how Felicia expresses her emotions since what she is unable to articulate with words, Felicia communicates with sounds and colors, which is a language on its own.