“She thinks stories are about beauty. Beauty that is there to be admired by anyone, like a herd of clouds grazing overhead. She thinks people who are busy working for a living deserve beautiful little stories, because they don’t have much time and are often tired. She has in mind a book that can be opened at any page and will still make sense to the reader who doesn’t know what came before or comes after..." –Introduction
This is how the author, Sandra Cisneros, designed
The House on Mango Street. To some ,
it may seem choppy, simply a book containing random short stories and poems,
lacking a sense of overall cohesiveness. However, although this style for the
book is not one that I would normally prefer, I can only find respect for
Cisneros’ vision and the beauty that she presented in each special story pertaining
to the coming-of-age of Esperanza. The first person perspective that she
utilized through the character of Esperanza provided the reader to feel like
they were in her head—hearing her thoughts, seeing through her eyes, feeling
her emotions, all on an intimate level that is sometimes rarely visible in
other novels. The choppiness and sometimes lack of connection between stories
were at first confusing; however, it helped to match the train of thought of a
young girl—not all issues will “stick”; a new day is a new day.
I must admit, though, this book did not enchant me during
the first read. When I read the book for the first time, I barely found any
enjoyment. Perhaps it was because I was extremely sick, but I felt disengaged
from the novel in the same fashion that the stories seem disengaged from one
another. Then, after my fever broke and I began to maintain a normal sense of
consciousness again, I attempted to read The
House on Mango Street once more. Somewhere in my discombobulated mind, I
knew I had missed something important during the first read through that the
author would have been utterly disappointed if she had known I had missed it.
Hence, round two began in my attempts to read this novel!
However, for this time, I approached the novel differently; rather than viewing
the style as disorganized and scattered, I viewed it as purposeful to the depth
and meaning of the novel. An author, I reminded myself, especially this author
as seen in the introduction, does not write to confuse readers or disengage
their attention, but rather provide a story that something meaningful is
obtainable at any given time, no matter what point you enter the story. With
this new mindset, I found myself unable to put the book down as I slowly
watched the deterioration of Esperanza’s innocence, as well as her new
discoveries and experiences leading to her darker perception of reality. To
some extent, it was heartbreaking to see her confusion, her hurt, her sadness.
At times, especially in the sections of “Papa Who Wakes Up Tired in the Dark”, “Sally”,
“Bums in the Attic”, “The Monkey Garden”, and “Red Clowns”, I wished I did not
feel so connected with the character. I wished that the intimate connection
established between reader and character were not there, because her pain
became real, and her screams and thoughts would echo in my mind, hauntingly.
“Sally, you lied. It wasn’t what you said at all. What he did. Where he touched me. I didn’t want it, Sally. The way they said it, the way it’s supposed to be, all the storybooks and movies, why did you lie to me?” –from “Red Clowns”
Even now, I hate that section of the book, not because it
was poorly written—quite the opposite, actually. It is so well written that I
cannot shake the crawling feeling from my skin, the feeling of discomfort,
disgust, whenever I read it.
Overall, The House on
Mango Street was an interesting reading experience for me. The first time
was a blur, mudded with a fever and constant sneezing, so it should not really
count. The second time, however, made such an impression that I cannot discount
the talent and craft of Cisneros in creating a “book that can be opened at any
page and will still make sense…”
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