Beautifully Flawed

Not one of the books we have read in this Latino Literature course thus far has failed to have some sort of strong female character, and Christina Garcia’s novel Dreaming in Cuban is no exception. While each woman in each book has a particular role and thus cannot really be compared to the others, the women of Dreaming in Cuban seem particularly unique. Because the book is narrated almost entirely by women, the women themselves (three generations worth) come across as much more three-dimensional. In earlier books there are distinctly strong female characters, but in Dreaming in Cuban there are women who are strong and wise, but also traumatized, lost, angry, and mentally ill – in short, they are each wonderful and flawed like any other human being.

I love that Garcia reveals all her characters’ quirks and flaws right from the very beginning, as she does with the matriarch Celia in the novel’s first sentence:

Celia del Pino, equipped with binoculars and wearing her best housedress and pearl drop earrings, sits in her wicker swing guarding the north coast of Cuba. (3)

Brilliant! The image of an old woman scouring the night sky for potential attacks whist dressed to the nines is comical and endearing, but also demonstrates Celia’s somewhat blind commitment to the Revolution. Her daughters and granddaughters also demonstrate a host of mixed qualities. Lourdes is ambitious and wounded, but still somewhat paranoid. Felicia is sweet to her son but murderously unstable. The artistic Pilar is bewitching (in a creepy way) as a baby, but defiant and passionate when she gets older. The twins Luz and Milagro are cynical but surprisingly self-sufficient. These women are not infallible pillars of faith or wisdom, they are not particularly good mothers, and they have not made major contributions to the world. They are flawed, sometimes deeply so.

            I suppose what I mean when I say that I like it that the characters have flaws is that I like it that these characters are so well fleshed out and real, for all the book’s magical realist elements. Furthermore, their flaws, while visibly present and concerning, do not define who they are as people. Their better qualities, hidden or lost as they might be at times, are always present. I noticed their better aspects through their names. Lourdes, for instance, is named for a place in France where the Virgin Mary appeared to a young girl, which hints at how she is visited by the ghost of her father. Luz and Milagro stand for light and miracles, respectively, and represent some of the hope for future generations. Felicia (“felicity”) means “happiness” and shows how her character clings to moments of joy. Celia comes from a Latin root for “sky” or “heaven,” which in some ways suggests her airy daydreams and spiritual connection to others. Finally, Pilar means what it sounds like: pillar. As apparently fickle as Pilar is, she nevertheless acts as a unifier in the family and continues to keep some sort of connection with her grandmother and Cuba as well as with her home in New York. All these things demonstrate how there are multiple sides to the del Pino women.