Seeing the Invisible

One of my favorite works of literature is a comic book series called Y: The Last Man, which depicts a universe in which every male organism on earth has died, with the exception of one man named Yorick (as in “Alas, poor Yorick”) and his pet monkey. Yes, it’s strange and even somewhat goofy despite the severity of the situation – but it makes a very interesting point about how entire groups of people can be disregarded. In the case of Y, the plot is not so much about how much men are disregarded as it is a commentary on how much of the world men control or influence. After the “gendercide” takes place, the comic makes some sobering notes: worldwide, 85% of the world’s political representatives are gone, as are 99% of the world’s landowners, 99% of construction and electrical workers, and 100% of the Catholic priesthood, Muslim imams, and Orthodox Jewish rabbis. Interestingly, 51% of the world’s agricultural force is alive. One -  understandable – response to these statistics is to say “wow, we really need men to have a functioning, happy planet, ” but another important response is “wow, why aren’t women better represented in these areas?”

Similar thoughts went through my head as I watched A Day Without A Mexican, a 2004 film about what would happen everyone in California of Latino/a descent suddenly disappeared. The situation is somewhat comical at first, as people struggle to cope without the people who play a major part in the economic and social life of the state, but things become desperate fast. As with Y, there are two survivors – a woman named Lila Rodreguez and a young girl – and a list of sobering statistics: Latino/as make up 1/3 of the state’s population, contribute 100 billion dollars to the state’s economy, take only 3 billion in social services, make up 60% of the construction workers in the state, and half of the border patrol, among many other things.

The disappearance of the Latino/as raises many questions about where they went and how they got there, but it also raises awareness of their important role – and the inequality of the roles they fill in comparison to the non-Latino/as. Eventually, Californians learn their lesson: as they begin to treat the missing Latino/as as fully human by acknowledging their presence in ways they did not when Latino/as were physically present. Although this makes a pretty clear statement about how underappreciated Latino/as are, I think it also points out some inequities worth paying attention to. It is very important that the US population as a whole learns to appreciate and dignify the contributions being made by a group of people too often invisible – but it is also very important that we realize how segregated our society can be, and how much we need to note how we can work alongside others from all different groups in every level of society.

Bless Me, Ultima and Magical Realism

    Rudolfo Anaya's novel  Bless Me, Ultima belongs to one of my favorite genres: magical realism. Magic does not exist in reality, so tying realism to magic seems oxymoronic, but the genre manages to link the two aspects through detailed descriptions of life that just happens to involve the supernatural. For instance, in Bless Me, Ultima the characters view witchcraft as a reality that is never questioned, just taken in stride. Similarly, spirit animals, mythical creatures, and ancient gods are all accepted as real by the characters.

    Bless Me, Ultima tells the story of Antonio Márez, a young boy growing up in New Mexico during World War II. Magical realism is clear throughout the book as Antonio seeks to reconcile his Catholic faith with the mystical events he witnesses and the traditional magic that seems to accomplish what the Church cannot. Although the fantastical images in the novel are clearly part of the genre, I found it different in many ways from much of what I associate with magical realism. Magical realism seems to delight in epic stories that span many people and many generations. Ultima, however, is limited: Antonio is the sole narrator, the plot takes place over the course of a few years, and the action is confined to a few small towns.

     I did not expect this smaller scope, I think now that it serves particularly useful in adding to the book's ability to impact the reader. Antonio's daily routines – doing chores, helping the curandera (traditional healer) Ultima find plants for her medicines, going to school, playing with friends – build an image of a fully human and three-dimensional young boy. This in turn means that the conflicts in the book are more keenly felt. The trauma Antonio feels when he witnesses death, his internal struggle to define who he is, and his joy at discovering new things all become more important than the mystical elements involved. This, I think, means that Anaya does a very good job in conveying the emotions and experiences of Chicanos in the United States to a wider audience.

Overcoming Traditions of Silence

      The movie I, the Worst of All chronicles the life of Sor Juana Inézde la Cruz, a 17^th Century poet, scholar, and nun active in New Spain (colonial Mexico). A prodigy, Juana proved from a young age that she was adept in multiple languages, mathematics, science, music, and theology. Despite the recognition she gained for her ability, Juana was barred from entering university and instead entered a convent where she was free to exercise her able to study and create. Although her works were well-received in royal courts (she was popularly known as “the Tenth Muse”), her tendency to focus on “hard theology” and the importance of women's education meant that they were also considered borderline heretical. After being reprimanded by Church authorities in New Spain and facing further censure, Sor Juana ceased writing, sold her books for charity, and devoted herself to caring for her plague-stricken sisters before succumbing to the disease herself.

     Sor Juana's story seems unique – after all, it was no small feat for a woman to get published and achieve fame for her intellect in Inquisition-Era Spain – but despite this, it does not seem to be one that most people know (at least not in the US). Perhaps she is not well known because of how she was censured by the Church, or because her works are in Spanish and Spanish texts are not often studied in curriculum in English-speaking areas, but there is something to be said for the power of the “tradition of silence” and its affect on repressing women's works. The “tradition of silence” is a term used by Chicana author Gloria Anzaldúa in her book Borderlands/La frontera to refer to the assumption that being “respectable” or “good” is tied into how much you speak – at least, if you're a woman or a girl. This assumption, while undoubtedly changing, still exists in cultures all over the world. English has a lot of terms that refer to people who talk too much – gossip, flirt, yenta, busybody, etc. – and they often have female connotations. It's a subtle way that our own language reinforces what the ideals are associated with genders. The notion of an ideal woman throughout history is often associated with being polite or soft-spoken.

     One of the saddest things about “the tradition of silence” is that we aren't given to realize how often women have defied expectations of their day and gone on to speak of wonderful things. Sor Juana is one such woman, but she is not the only one. Another is Hildegard von Bingen, a respected German abbess and mystic who wrote about medicine, botany, theology, and composed poems and some of the most innovate liturgical music of the time – all in the 1100s. Catherine of Siena, the patron saint of Italy, is credited with convincing Pope Gregory XI to reinstate the Papacy in Rome, and who served as an adviser to his successor and multiple European regents, all while writing theological tracts. Shortly after her, in the late 1300s, the English Juliana of Norwich wrote theological texts about her visions of the Passion of Christ. Juliana met with another Englishwoman named Margery Kempe who wrote what is considered the first autobiography in the English language, which documented her religious experiences and many pilgrimages throughout Europe and Asia – and she was married with 14 children.

     It is worth noting that the church provided space for all these women to demonstrate their intelligence and opinions – as it is worth noting that they came from wealthy families and are all linked to Europe. But surely they are not the only women to have proven themselves despite the “tradition of silence” - and they certainly won't be the last. Now if only we could make that clearer to people today.

Multi-Monikered

     There's a saying that holds that “a child with many names is well loved.” Legally, I have one three-part name – Matilda Kramer Yoder – but in reality I have more than I have ever been able to count. Matilda and Tillie may be the most commonly used of my names, but Till, Tillzers, Tilster, Tili, Tilda, Tillita, Tillith, Matild, Matillie, Mattie, Matt, Matildita, Matildette, Waltzing Matilda, Matilda the Hun, and Hakuna Matilda also make a good showing. When I was around 5 or so, I went through a phrase where I insisted on being called Matilda, which felt more refined and therefore was more appealing. I'm glad to say this did not last long, and I have come to love all my many names.

     This is not to say that I don't have deeper connections to some names than others. I am named for my twice-maternal great-grandmother (who also went by Tillie for short). Although I never met her, I cherish my connection to her because by all accounts she was a pretty awesome woman. I also share the name with my mother's childhood pet gerbil, which I take as indicative of my mother's life-long love for her grandmother and the name rather than my resemblance to a rodent. Rodent or no, it's easy to see why Matilda takes precedence over Matilda the Hun or Tillie the Terrible.

     There are other aspects to the name Matilda that make be proud to be one. I view the name as solid, unique, and easily translatable across cultures. Its meaning - “mighty in battle” - seems ironic given my Mennonite commitment to pacifism, but there are many types of battle in this world, and I like having a name that reminds me to be strong in the face of those battles. I am the only Matilda I know in my age group, though I know a baby Matilde, and have heard that the name is making a resurgence.

     I also love Tillie, though the name has very different connotations than Matilda. If the books I have with Tillies in them are any indicator, most people view Tillies as old hicks, homeless women, elderly aunts, naive girls, men, or mice (there are several mice-Tillies out there, which makes me wonder about what it is about my names that lends itself to rodents). These Tillies are all well-meaning, and often very generous, inventive, or intelligent, but the odd stereotypes remain. I have come to embrace them: for me, Tillie has always been more informal anyway.

     Not many people equate Tillie with the name Matilda, either, so I often introduce myself with that name and then add that I am usually called Tillie (partly in the hope that they will realize how cool both names are). Then I give people permission to call me whatever they feel like, and people take me up on it - I have a lot of names now, and I keep getting more. I've noticed that the names I am given reflect the depth of my friendships and remind me just how loved I am. And who wouldn't appreciate that?

Introducción

      ¡Bienvenidos! I hope the title wasn't too misleading: my Spanish is awful and I'll attempt to restrict it to brief words and segments so I don't embarrass myself too much.

     

      However, introductions are indeed in order! I'm Matilda Yoder, and this is my blog that I created for the Latino/a Literature course I am taking at Goshen College in Indiana. It is my hope that this class will connect me to the growing Latino/a population here in the US so that I may better understand and appreciate the diverse people that make up the vibrant Latino/a culture(s). Nor will I complain if I get a bit of a refresher in Spanish! 

     And now, onwards to posts with actual meat in them!