Wednesday, December 23, 2009

So Why Did She Write This?

Upon reading Sandra Cisneros's The House on Mango Street, one question I asked myself was, "Why would you write about this?" The book contains several short vignettes in the life of a young tween living in poverty named Esperanza. Every episode has a random little snippet from Esperanza's life, some of which are only in her mind, others of which are actual events. Many of the events are either autobiographical or inspired from Cisneros's own childhood. Although there are a couple vignettes that are interesting, the large part of them are just plain boring.

Take "Hairs," for example. In this vignette, Esperanza compares the hair of each of her family members, likening them to oil or bread. This story is nothing more than a drab monologue over hair.

We continue to read "A Rice Sandwich." Though this may be the best story in the book, it too is pretty pathetic. Esperanza wants to eat in the school cafeteria, but her mother wants her to come home for lunch every day. Esperanza's mother finally gives in, but the nuns will not let Esperanza eat there until she cries. Not interesting at all.

How about "Rafaela Who Drinks Coconut & Papaya Juice on Tuesdays"? Rafaela is married to a very oppressive husband who locks her at home on Tuesday nights while he plays poker so that she will not escape. She throws a dollar bill out her window so that Esperanza and her friends can buy her coconut or papaya juice. Though this does show Esperanza how not to live her life, is it trying to prove to young girls that you can never find happiness?

Much of the book concerns Esperanza's search of a home, and her insecurity concerning a lack of a sense of belonging fuels many of her emotions throughout the book. She always strives to be in a better place, and dreams about running away from Mango Street, the neighborhood she lives in, to her own happily ever after. This may be the sole redeeming quality for the novel: the message to young people in oppressive environments that they can someday be happy.

The House on Mango Street is not a good book. It is not interesting, and many of the vignettes concern menial events in life. Though it is not as bad as the horrendous Living Up the Street, also an autobiography about growing up in the barrio, it is drab and unappealing. I still cannot figure out why she wrote about the stories she did.

Grade: 4

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