I didn't know of any Latina writers growing up. Of the Latino writers I knew of, I knew their long pieces of work, their novels. Novels is what real writers did. Short pieces come from poets. If you want to write short pieces, you should be a poet. This is what I had learned when I was a child.
When I learned about The House on Mango, I wasn't taught about the book nor about the writer, but I saved her name: Sandra Cisneros, a published writer, a published Latina writer. When I finally has the chance to get the book, I flipped through it and was immediately heartbroken--It wasn't a novel. I was still under the impression that great writers are novelists and instead of seeing the praise given to the book as a sign of great writing, I took it as a mockery. I took it as if the literary world was mocking the ability of Latina writers, as if short stories were the only thing we could do.
It's complicated now for me to talk about what I felt because in truth it had nothing to do with The House on Mango Street or with Sandra Cisneros. It had all to do with patriarchy, colonialism, and my own choice to close myself off. Well, I just finished my summer Advanced Fiction Writing workshop on Wednesday and for the past three months have pushed hard to write down my story, a story that become (most likely due to the time constraint) emotionally taxing. As I wrote my story I kept thinking about The House on Mango Street, about the teenage me feeling so disillusioned, so lost. Today, the day after class has ended, I picked up The House on Mango Street. I am giving it the respect it deserves and reading it completely, and in turn am healing myself.
When I learned about The House on Mango, I wasn't taught about the book nor about the writer, but I saved her name: Sandra Cisneros, a published writer, a published Latina writer. When I finally has the chance to get the book, I flipped through it and was immediately heartbroken--It wasn't a novel. I was still under the impression that great writers are novelists and instead of seeing the praise given to the book as a sign of great writing, I took it as a mockery. I took it as if the literary world was mocking the ability of Latina writers, as if short stories were the only thing we could do.
It's complicated now for me to talk about what I felt because in truth it had nothing to do with The House on Mango Street or with Sandra Cisneros. It had all to do with patriarchy, colonialism, and my own choice to close myself off. Well, I just finished my summer Advanced Fiction Writing workshop on Wednesday and for the past three months have pushed hard to write down my story, a story that become (most likely due to the time constraint) emotionally taxing. As I wrote my story I kept thinking about The House on Mango Street, about the teenage me feeling so disillusioned, so lost. Today, the day after class has ended, I picked up The House on Mango Street. I am giving it the respect it deserves and reading it completely, and in turn am healing myself.
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