Mango Says Goodbye Sometimes

                           "Only a house quiet as snow, 
                           a space for myself to go, 
                           clean as paper before the poem."
                           —Esperanza, The House on Mango Street

Yesterday in class, we finished The House on Mango Street. We circled back to our discussion about free will and fate. And it seems as though for most of the story, Esperanza is looking for different ways to secure her own free will, to not be bound by fate, to not be a victim of her ethnicity, gender or social class, to not be a red balloon tied an anchor. And I think in her quest for this empowerment, Esperanza realizes that it's not about escaping. She cannot escape her identity, as the Three Sisters tell her: "A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza. You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know." Do you feel agree with the sisters? Do you think we are products of our environments?

So, I think, for Esperanza, she realizes that escape isn't the safest place. After all, she's watched people all around her 'escape,' only to find new problems in the shape of old ones. I think what Esperanza finds or realizes is that she has to find empowerment because of who she is, not in spite of who she is.  She even notes at the end that Mango Street's 'arms' are not there to hold her back but to set her free. And so it goes— Mango says goodbye sometimes. But not all the time. And  the image we are left is one where she is leaving the neighborhood with both books and paper. In class, we talked about the significance of each and how they strike a balance, how they form a new paradigm for Esperanza to follow.

The books, we discussed, came to represent knowledge and experience. They are also other people's stories, things that are already written and perhaps unchangeable. It's all of the things that, in some ways, Esperanza has been trying to escape: her name, her ethnicity, her gender, her social class and neighborhood, her identity. Fate. But fate that she can learn from. The paper totally represents free will—the blank space for Esperanza to create and write her own story. It's her aunt telling her to keep writing. It's the empowerment she has been looking for. And it's the ability to transform and transcend the boundaries that Esperanza has felt trapped by. Can art can be this powerful of a force? Why or why not? Is Esperanza too naive here?

Do you feel Esperanza's search for identity formation has been successful? Do you think she is selling out? And what of this business concerning circles? Does life have a cyclical motion to it? Do you feel the certain things in life—maybe societal factors out of our control or decisions within our control—come back around again and again?

The House on Mango Street & Dystopic Landscapes

Over the past few vignettes in The House on Mango Street, we have watched Esperanza begin to develop her own identity. She's beginning to discover ways to empower herself, to create a life that doesn't rely on the confining and often abusive relationships with men. In the vignette "Beautiful & Cruel," Esperanza remarks: "I have decided not to grow up tame like the others who lay their necks on the threshold waiting for the ball and chain" (88). She is looking for power that is her own, power that she will not give away. And in doing so, Esperanza also realizes that maybe she cannot follow in the footsteps of her family. We see this break when Esperanza decides to stop traveling with her family into the suburbs to look at the nice houses on Sundays. 

Despite this break, Esperanza's new, emerging identity is also one that is mindful of her past--who she is and where she came from. It's a balancing act that many readers feel at which Esperanza fails. Many readers would view Esperanza's actions as 'selling out' or feel that she cannot be an authentic Latina if she climbs or assimilates entirely into the dominant, white culture. Do you think she is 'selling out?' What are the criteria for being 'real' or an authentic member of a group? And who gets to decide these criteria? I remember growing up, working in my dad's Polish meat market, wondering if, because I didn't speak Polish, I was somehow not a 'real' Pole. Or if someone's last name didn't sound ethnic enough, if that person was a 'real' member of their ethnic group. I think Esperanza will have to address some of these questions--to herself and to others--as she continues to form her identity. 

One thing she already touches on, whether she realizes it or not, is that perhaps the American Dream isn't as perfect as it might sound, that there may be some cracks running through it. We see this when she travels to suburbia. Throughout the story, Esperanza has mentioned time and time again that she can't wait for the day when she has a house of her own. But in "Bums in the Attic," she begins to doubt if that is the only key to authentic happiness. In class, we talked about the long history of property ownership in America, how it influenced The Declaration of Independence and ideas behind Manifest Destiny, how it gave justification to the taking of Native American lands, how it separated upper and lower classes (and later, race) not only at the bank, but at the ballot. Thus, property ownership has worked its way into the lexicon of the American Dream. 

Yet, Esperanza is astute to realize that perhaps home ownership or living in suburbia further separates and polarizes the dominant and the subordinate. She accuses the folks living in these big houses beneath the stars of not having empathy for people like herself. She feels they are not only cut off from the problems prevalent in American society, but also indifferent to them as well. Through the apparent utopia of suburbia runs a subtle dystopic current that Esepranza recognizes, dislikes and doesn't want any part of. In some ways, I bet Esperanza feels that this 'utopia' will offer and perpetuate some of the same confinements and restrictions she has trying to escape. Whether or not Esperanza's attempted climb out of the lower class and into the more dominant culture will be marked by the keeping of her word--not forgetting who she is or where she came from--we can assume that some people will see her as an honest Latina trying to make her way through America while others will see her as selling out. Again, we have to consider the 'rules' of being a minority in America as well as who makes the 'rules.'

Borderlands // Vitalogy

I write in red. Ink. Intimately knowing the smooth touch of paper, its speechlessness before I spill myself on the insides of trees.

—Gloria Anzuldúa Borderlands

One of the reasons I enjoy chapter 6 so much is because it investigates the roles of art in different communities. Anzuldúa contrasts that role of art in western culture with the role of art in tribal and indigenous cultures. Peter noted how her argument is perched on a rather slippery slope, considering art is rather objective in the first place. Mary made the connection between Western culture’s objectification of art with the objectification of women. In any case, I definitely enjoy the examination of art found in the first half of this chapter.

Anzuldúa then goes on to discuss the process of making art. For Anzuldúa, writing is a personal act that involves quite a range of emotions. She admits that the process of writing is often uncomfortable; it "produces anxiety" as she is "looking inside [herself] and [her] experience, looking at [her] conflicts" (94). One element of this anxiety involves boundaries, a concept woven in and out throughout the entire text. On one hand, the process of writing involves "a lot of squirming, coming up against all sorts of walls" (94). Or, as she continues, writing is the "opposite: nothing defined or definite, a boundless, floating state of limbo where I kick my heels, brood, percolate, hibernate and wait for something to happen" (94). So the act of writing itself becomes a metaphor for life in the border lands. It's "an endless cycle of making it worse, making it better, but always making meaning out of the experience, whatever it may be" (95).

And if writing is to truly be transformative, that is, if writing, if art, can have the power to change, enlighten and transform the soul, then, Anzuldúa says, it must arise from both the human body and the earth's body; "From only through the body, through the pulling of flesh, can the soul be transformed" (95). 

Art and Nature unified.

This pulling of flesh, however, is not without sacrifice from the author. It's as though Anzuldúa is tearing herself apart in the name of creation, an "Aztecan blood sacrifice" (97). And if what Anzuldúa is saying is somewhat true, if art can have the power to profoundly affect someone or a group of someones, a community, then the process not only involves the act of creating (by the artist) but also the process of receiving (by the audience). And that the act of receiving, then, must inherently involve some kind of work similar, some kind of sacrifice. I think this is what Anzuldúa meant earlier in the chapter when she talked about how non-western art "spins its energies between the gods and humans" as it aims to "validate humans" (89). When we, as audience members, experience the "pulling of flesh" from a piece of art, it surely must be validating us, our experiences.

For me, the pulling of flesh has been, the transformative power of art has been felt most in music. I wrote in thick black ink Vitalogy at the end of this chapter. Here is a blip I wrote about that record for a project I'm working on. Hopefully it will add some context as to why I feel that album was Pearl Jam's "Aztecan blood sacrifice."

Life is not a collection of greatest hits or radio friendly singles. It’s a single groove that winds through everything—“Corduroy” as well as “Pry, to.” I take the good with the bad. In the end, it’s the only way to truly appreciate life, or a musician, for that matter. So maybe some of my favorite songs are not that great without the context that makes them so special to me. Maybe “Corduroy” isn’t as good without “Pry, To” before it to pave the way and build suspense for its opening riff. Maybe ‘Bugs’ is worthless without knowing anything about the band’s feelings towards society. Maybe ‘Betterman’ is garbage (She loved him, she don’t want to leave this way. She feeds, him, that’s why she’ll be back again) without the plea of “Nothingman” 6 tracks earlier (She won’t feed him after he’s gone away). In so many other ways, the album works just like this. I have always said that, in some respects, this album was an aural Christ. The band had torn themselves apart, sacrifice, to make something for the rest of us to enjoy. Here I have found god. There is where the energy is spun, between this god I have found and the humanity down here, listening. There isn’t a way this band could have produced this album before or after. A confluence—events travelling for decades to arrive, collide and resolve in the space of 14 songs. Each song works with the other 13 to tell a story. Not all of the songs are perfect. But the album is. And it is because of its imperfections. The context of each song, the role that each song plays, makes the whole perfect.

A lot of Pearl Jam fans claim that Vitalogy is their least favorite album. They think it to be garbage hastily put together. They feel the band wasn’t good enough to make a complete album so they had to include these four ‘filler’ tracks to round out the record. They find it to be a desperate and failing attempt at making a record. But let’s get one thing clear: there is not a more authentic Pearl Jam album than this one. It is the most personal album of theirs. It certainly is desperate and in so many ways. Desperate to fulfill the demands of a record company. Desperate to address the successes of “Ten” and “Vs.” Desperate to recede from fame. Desperate to make sense of fallen contemporaries. Desperate to be heard and not misunderstood. Desperate to be innovative. There is a sense, a feeling, palpable and visceral, of desperation—sometimes angry, sometimes frustrated, sometimes resigned, but always genuine—on each track.

The lyrics, the music, they make this desperation very clear. The band hides nothing on this album. This is Pearl Jam at their most honest. From the ephemeral, self-immolating “Last Exit” to the last gasp of “Immortality,” Eddie sheds his skin, at last, over the course of 14 songs to tell a story of fear, anxiety, frustration, dread and desire behind a more mature lyric, the personal contents of which are balanced by a raw grit (musically and vocally) that conveys the urgency of not only 5 guys in a band, but an entire country drifting by the storm. And so it is that the filler tracks become very necessary. Vitalogy depends on them. There is no record without them. When I stand naked in front of a mirror, there are things I don’t like looking at. There’s an ugliness. But I am what I am: the good, the bad and the ugly. The album is similarly honest—a band standing naked in front of millions of people—fans and critics alike—with songs like “Corduroy” and “Not For You” alongside songs like “Bugs” and “Heyfoxymophandlemama, That’s Me.” It’s a twisted, mangled mess of emotion and middle fingers. But it’s honest. After all, the title means “study of life.” And what is life without its imperfect nuances? In so many ways, this album was Pearl Jam’s last exit; they would never be the same after. A swan song singing to anyone willing to listen.

As an audience I think we too often feel entitled to our expectations of perfection. I know I am guilty of just that. In many ways, I’ve waited for Pearl Jam to make a Vitalogy II. But, as I’ve stated (or will state), that album existed in its own time and place, a confluence of contexts various that, simply put, will never again be possible. And let’s face it, sequels are never very good anyway. But as a fan, I’ve always somewhat anticipated a sequel instead of appreciating whatever the band was focusing on and creating in the present. We have to break ourselves of these kinds of expectations; they are inhibitive. Musicians are people, yes, some of them more gifted (as far as music goes) than others. But they are still people, experimenting with ideas. And, at the end of the day, some of these ideas become more successful than others. But that doesn’t mean we can dismiss anything short of our expectations as a failure. Instead, we should embrace the creative process, the possibility of failure, and find ways to appreciate an entire body of work, not just the masterpieces. I’m not sure one is really able to exist without the other, anyway. Anything else, I feel, would be to close off potential opportunities that would have been impossible to foresee.

Burning Down the House

In today’s class, we had a chance to look at four different women in Esperanza’s community. There are several parallels that run through these four vignettes that link all of these women—Mamacita, Rafaela, Sally and Minerva—together as well as each with Esperanza. Each woman is isolated and trapped and the author uses the recurring image of the house as a place that confines with the only form of escape or freedom being windows. In Minerva’s case, the house is on fire. And although each of these women finds herself trapped in different ways and for different reasons, they all are left powerless over their respective situations. Esperanza remarks, “There is nothing I can do” (85). 

This kind of powerlessness would suggest that these women do not, in fact, have free will. Remember, free will involves a certain amount of personal autonomy, a certain amount of power to make decisions. Free will involves the power to choose. So, if these women are without power, then they couldn’t possibly make their own decisions. They couldn’t possibly be autonomous. Therefore, they are without free will. And if we go back to Esperanza’s encounter with Elenita, the fortuneteller, it’s almost as though these four women are possible outcomes for Esperanza. It’s like these vignettes are some kind of crystal ball. And though these four women are indeed different, they all suffer the same consequences of isolation and confinement. 

So, is there a way out for Esperanza? What about these other women? Is there anything that these women can do to gain a sense of power and control over their lives? And what about the role of beauty in society? Is it fair that beautiful girls like Sally, Marin and Rafaela are defined as slutty, sneaky, untrustworthy and weak? How does a girl break these stereotypes and free herself from what other people think? And is free will (whether you’re looking at gender or not) something that can coexist among peoples? In other words, if certain groups have free will, does that mean it will be denied to others? What happens when one person’s dreams come at the expense of another’s?

Fate, Free Will, The Matrix, Invictus & Esperanza

                           “I want to be

                           like the waves on the sea,

                           like the clouds in the wind,

                           but I’m me.

                           One day I’ll jump

                           out of my skin.

                           I’ll shake the sky

                           like a hundred violins.”

                           —Esperanza, The House on Mango Street

In yesterday’s class discussion, we looked at a few chapters from The House on Mango Street that examined the idea of free will versus fate. We talked about what each idea—free will and fate/destiny—meant and whether or not you believe in one or the other. Remember, free will says that an individual has control over their life—the choices one makes directly contribute to one’s life outcomes. Fate, on the other hand, puts less emphasis on individual control and more emphasis on the idea that our life outcomes are already determined. We talked about how the movies like Boyz n the Hood and The Matrix comment on the relationship between Free Will and Fate.

We also discussed some philosophies of Realist and Naturalist authors—ones that appropriated some of Charles Darwin’s ideas about evolution, natural selection and ‘survival of the fittest’ and applied them to society. Remember, Darwin said that in nature living things cannot control their environments, they can only adapt to it. Darwin says that because environmental factors are out of the control of living things, those that don’t adapt will die. In the early 20^th century, sociologists and authors began to examine human societies and communities in the same manner. They looked at our social environment the same way Darwin looked at natural environments, saying that our social environments have certain factors that are out of our control that determine our life outcomes—fate.

This idea really becomes obvious if you look at race in American history. African Americans, by virtue of their skin color (a factor out of anyone’s control), have historically been oppressed through slavery and Jim Crow in our society, creating an environment that seemingly predetermined the fate of many African Americans (and therefore whites, too). Authors in the early 20^th century looked at race and class in the United States and felt that the poor and people of color were ‘competing’ to survive on an unlevel playing field, that their environments were outside of their control and therefore they had no free will. A lot of these authors were at odds with the American dream.

I think some of these ideas unknowingly factor into Esperanza’s view of her own neighborhood. She is constantly telling stories of the people around her trying to break free through different means, all of them failing thus far. Esperanza even compares herself to a red balloon tied to an anchor, indicating that she also feels tied to a certain fate or destiny. Do you agree with Esperanza and some of the naturalist/realist authors? Are there things in our environments out of our control that determine our fate (race, wealth, education, family, etc.)? Or do we always have control of our fate? Or does fate and free will depend on where you are from? Compare Esperanza’s poem she wrote for her aunt (above) with the poem “Invictus” by William Henley:

                           Out of the night that covers me,


                           Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

                           I thank whatever gods may be

                           For my unconquerable soul.

                           In the fell clutch of circumstance

                           I have not winced nor cried aloud.

                           Under the bludgeonings of chance

                           My head is bloody, but unbowed.


                           Beyond this place of wrath and tears

                           Looms but the Horror of the shade,

                           And yet the menace of the years

                           Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.


                           It matters not how strait the gate,

                           How charged with punishments the scroll.

                           I am the master of my fate:

                           I am the captain of my soul.

Do you tend to agree with one poem more than the other? I think both are empowering in their own separate ways. And I also like the idea of Henley’s poem, the fact that we are captains of our souls. But I also acknowledge that sometimes it feels like our fate or destiny is out of our control, that there are other factors beyond our good intentions and choices that will determine our fate—things we cannot ‘captain.’ And for that, I see what Esperanza means when she says “but I’m me.” Her race, her education, her neighborhood, her family, her wealth, her gender are things that are Esperanza; they are the things she is referring to when she says “but I’m me.” They are also things out of her control that are ‘tying’ her down. 

So it would seem that Esperanza and people like her are without free will. And I think it's out of this feeling of powerlessness that many people in minority communities turn to apathy, violence and crime. After all, if the decisions we make don't truly make a difference, why bother? While I think this mindset is self-defeating and perpetuates problems and I while I hardly accept this 'excuse,' I can also understand it and realize that we have to do more to support all of our communities and show people that with perseverance, we can be the masters of our fates. People in power need to lead by example and with respect. And in many ways, I wonder if we haven't sold people like Esperanza short in that regard. It reminds of dialogue from the movie Se7en:

Somerset: I just don't think I can continue to 
live in a place that embraces and nurtures apathy as if it were a virtue.
Mills: You're no different. You're no better.
Somerset: I didn't say I was different or better. I'm not. Hell, I sympathize—I sympathize completely. Apathy is the solution. I mean, it's easier to lose yourself in drugs than it is to cope with life. It's easier to steal what you want than it is to earn it. It's easier to beat a child than it is to raise it. Hell, love costs. It takes work and effort.

I think Somerset's line here is incredibly apt; love costs and it takes work. Work and sacrifice not only from people like Esperanza, in the face unfavorable societal factors, and from the people whom society favors. Otherwise, I feel, we'll be having the same tired conversations for a long time.

Tough Guise, Male Gender Constructions & Eddie Vedder

In the documentary Tough Guise, Jackson Katz does a nice job of breaking down and analyzing the male gender constructions—what those constructions look like, where they come from and their consequences. He claims that masculinity is a projection, “a mask we often wear to shield our vulnerability and hide our humanity.” He calls the mask the ‘tough guise,’ a front that so many put up that emphasizes an extreme notion of masculinity. Some of the approaches Katz uses are similar to the discussions and investigations we have done in class already, especially the ‘box’ activity where we looked at the things that make men ‘manly’ and women ‘womanly.’ Here is a list of a few of Katz’s other claims found throughout part one of Tough Guise:

   » Media constructs violent masculinity as the cultural norm.

   » Definitions of manhood can be linked to dominance and control.

   » The ‘tough guise’ is a survival mechanism.

   » Dominant groups remain indivisible or unexamined, which allows male gender constructions to perpetuate without any kind of discussion.

   » Violence is gendered masculine. Therefore, when women are violent, they are talked about in the media a lot. But when men are violent, it’s ignored or perceived as ‘normal.’ Every day men are mutilating and harming women but it doesn’t make the news as much as the rare occasions when a woman does something.

   » Images of women have become less threatening over time as they have become more girlish, especially as women have threatened male dominance in the workplace, politics, etc.

   » Changing images of masculinity and ‘toughness’ reflect psyches of men—a response to challenges of masculinity, especially women’s civil rights movements.

   » Manhood assertion a response to ‘threatening’ social movements in 1960s and 1970s.

   » Anti-gay violence proves that many young men are insecure about their masculine identity.

   » Masculinity is a pose or a performance—culture tells boys you get respect through power and control.

For more on some of Katz's ideas, check out this link; it's a PDF of some of his ideas from the documentary in written form. You know, words.

Remember, one of you blog posts this week needs to connect back to Tough Guise.

The opening montage of Tough Guise is set to the song "Betterman" by Pearl Jam (a total coincidence, kind of). 

Eddie Vedder, the lead singer of Pearl Jam, has for a long time advocated for women's rights and gender equality. In fact, many of Pearl Jam's songs aim to empower women. Songs like "Betterman," "Elderly Woman Behind a Counter in a Small Town," "Daughter," "Rearviewmirror," "Dissident," and "Army Reserve," to name a few, tell the story of female characters fighting against some of these gender constructions that perpetuate male dominance and female subjugation, the real life struggles of women looking to empower themselves in the face of abuse, violence and gender expectations. In fact, in an MTV Unplugged session in 1992, Eddie Vedder, during the song "Porch" wrote the words 'pro choice' up his arm, voicing his opinion that women, not men, should have the choice and final say about their bodies, especially as it relates to abortion.

Women's Bodies & The House on Mango Street (plus homework)

We have talked quite about the different ways females aim to empower themselves despite feeling oppressed by social gender constructions and expectations. Remember Marin, the girl who stayed out all night as the boys passed by? And how she felt empowered by ‘turning the boys heads?’ When the girls—Esperanza, Nenny, Rachel and Lucy—go out in high heels, they learn that beauty can create power. At first they are very excited about the attention they receive. But it also creates a certain vulnerability, too. The girls, though they have the men’s attention, are now at risk. The Bum Man's advances underscore some of the potential pitfalls of using only beauty to achieve success. 


I also asked you about whether or not female prostitution was empowering for women or degrading. On one hand a woman utilizing her beauty and body in this way would seem to have control over men, which would seem to empower her. On the other hand, most people throughout the day felt, despite whatever gains a woman makes through prostitution, that such a lifestyle is degrading to all women, even if it is a personal choice. Then Owen in 7th period asked an incredible Level III question, one that I hadn't thought of. He wants to know if gender roles were different, or less definitive, would prostitution still be seen as degrading to women and looked down upon? It's certainly something to think about. What do you think?


Homework: finish the second reading packet by Monday.