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.'