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.