We’re in the midst of Hispanic Heritage Month, which runs from Sept. 15 to Oct. 15 and celebrates that community’s rich and vibrant culture.
This month’s Words on the Street is here to shine a light on Hispanic authors and the literature they’ve produced. This list of books features a variety of genres, from historical fiction to poetry to horror. It also contains spooky mansions and even scarier family members, food that evokes emotions that may bring you to tears and characters who are resilient and will stop at nothing to get what they want. And that is just the tip of the iceberg.
This list has something for every reader to add to their to-read pile. There are enough selections here to reinforce that we should celebrate Hispanic authors at any and every time of the year, not just during September and October.
‘My Name is Emilia del Valle’ by Isabel Allende
In 1866, we meet Emilia del Valle, the child of a nun who was seduced, impregnated then abandoned by a wealthy Chilean man. We watch Emilia grow into a steadfast and motivated woman determined to chase her dreams. Her biggest goal is to be a writer, and she publishes fiction under a male pen name since, at the time, it was not acceptable for women to be published. When fiction starts to dissatisfy her, she turns to journalism and becomes the first female reporter at San Francisco’s The Daily Examiner. Emilia later travels to Chile for the Examiner to cover what will become the Chilean Civil War.
Isabel Allende’s novel beautifully describes the setting and Emilia as a character. While Emilia’s journey gives us a peek into life during Chile’s brewing civil unrest, we also see her reunite with her birth father and his side of the family, a lifelong desire of both her and her mother. Emilia also pushes back against the restrictions women faced during the late 19th century, including by putting herself in the middle of the war despite orders from her editor not to do so. She is a strong-willed and fearless character who is hard to forget.
Suggested Reading
‘Like Water for Chocolate’ by Laura Esquivel
This classic Latin-American novel follows the all-female De La Garza family, which lives in northern Mexico during the Mexican Revolution of 1910 to 1920. Tita, the youngest child, is destined to take care of her mother, the widowed matriarch Mama Elena, until the older woman’s death. That means that, while Mama Elena is alive, Tita cannot get married. Despite this strict rule that’s been enforced in her family for generations, Tita falls in love. To distract herself from her inability to wed the man she loves, she throws herself into her cooking. Tita is shocked when she learns that people can taste the emotions she feels as she cooks.
One of the most intriguing parts of this book by Laura Esquivel is its use of magical realism, or fantastical elements that are woven into everyday life, a writing style that was pioneered by Latin-American authors. Tita’s experience making her older sister’s wedding cake is a memorable instance of magical realism at work — Tita feels such despair when she makes the cake that when guests eat it, they feel waves of profound sadness and several begin to sob uncontrollably. Beyond its magical elements, food is a central part of this book. Esquivel’s writing reinforces the importance it holds within Mexican culture; it’s a symbol of gathering and family as many recipes are passed down from generation to generation.
‘Mexican Gothic’ by Silvia Moreno-Garcia
When Noemí Taboada’s cousin Catalina sends a concerning letter shortly after her wedding, Noemí’s father pulls her from her glamorous world of parties and socializing to respond to Catalina’s call for help. The letter is almost unintelligible and implies that Catalina is being killed by someone, or something, in her in-laws’ mansion in El Triunfo, a village tucked into the Sierra de la Laguna mountains. Despite Noemí’s selfish and boisterous nature making her seemingly the last person anyone should send on a mission like this, her father commands Noemí to go to her cousin and ensure her safety.
What makes this novel by Silvia Moreno-Garcia so uniquely horrific is the way that High Place, the isolated mansion where Catalina lives alongside her malevolent in-laws, comes to life and feels like its own character. The house has mold and mildew on the walls, and Moreno-Garcia often describes it as if the walls are breathing. There is also a constant fog surrounding the house that often works against Noemí, barring her escape from the estate. The characterization adds to the overall claustrophobic, almost desperate feel of the book as we watch Noemí attempt to save her cousin by any means necessary.
‘Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe’ by Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Aristotle “Ari” Mendoza and Dante Quintana, two 15-year-old Mexican-American boys growing up in 1980s El Paso, Texas, couldn’t be more opposite. Ari, our narrator, is pensive and troubled by the cloudiness of his family’s history. That includes his older brother, who was arrested when Ari was 4 and went to prison for a violent crime that his parents won’t tell him about. Dante, on the other hand, is confident, vibrant and feels no shame expressing himself. After bonding over their unusual names, Dante offers to teach Ari how to swim at their local pool and the two form an unlikely friendship that will change both of them forever.
This young adult book by Benjamin Alire Sáenz, which is perfect for ages 13+, follows the pair as they navigate life and growing up. No longer loners, each faces obstacles that test their bond. This includes a big move that separates them, targeted violence and questions about whether their relationship is more than just a friendship. Both characters are easy to relate to and to love. Dante’s bright and open nature lights up the book and fills readers with warmth. At the same time, Ari’s experience feeling like an outcast feels true to growing up not knowing exactly who he is or how to express himself.
‘Solito’ by Javier Zamora
This memoir tells the story of Javier Zamora’s journey from La Herradura, a small town in El Salvador, to California as a 9-year-old in 1999. He traveled to meet his parents, who fled to the United States years earlier and whom he hadn’t seen since he was 5. Zamora’s journey was over 3,000 miles and took two months, though it was only expected to take two weeks. It was also one Zamora mostly completed without the supervision of family members.
After he and his grandfather arrived at the border of El Salvador and Guatemala, his grandfather left Zamora with a coyote, or someone who transports undocumented immigrants into the U.S., and four other migrants. Zamora faced many dangers, like crossing the hot Sonoran Desert. He also worried that border patrol’s use of helicopters and infrared cameras would keep him from completing the journey, or mean he would be detained once he reached the U.S. border. It’s only through the kindness of the people he traveled with that he managed the harsh conditions.
Zamora tells this story from the perspective of his 9-year-old self, nicknamed Chepito by his family. This results in Zamora explaining the dangers he faced in a matter-of-fact tone. Scenes in which Zamora expresses loneliness as he watches one of the migrants tuck her daughter in and wishes he had someone to do the same for him underline the power of recounting the story in a child’s voice. Zamora’s raw feelings would be much harder to capture if told from an adult perspective. Zamora is also incredibly descriptive, detailing the dreams he had of reuniting with his parents before the journey and the ways he had to adapt once it began.
‘Promises of Gold’ by José Olivarez
When we think of love, our minds often automatically go to romantic love. But love is multifaceted, and this collection of poems reminds us that it includes familial, brotherly and cultural love. José Olivarez writes in his author’s note that this book is one he wrote “for the homies,” and this expansive definition of love is reinforced throughout the collection, like in “Ojalá: Me & My Guys,” where he writes about the memories and interests he and his friends share.
Olivarez also reminds us that love is complicated and messy. He invokes this by discussing his experience as the son of Mexican immigrants and the racism and bigotry he and his family faced. By writing about it, he hopes his family and others can heal. In this way, Olivarez shows another form of love in poems like “Ode to Tortillas” by confronting painful things head on, like the narrow expectations readers and writers have of him as a Mexican writer. By bringing these issues to the surface, he shows readers who have faced these same obstacles that love can be found in community.
The most unique aspect of this collection is that the poems in it are written in both English and Spanish. Once you finish reading the acknowledgements at the end of the collection in English, you can flip the book over for the poems to be read a second time, in Spanish. They were translated by poet David Ruano González. The decision to make the book bilingual was inspired by a workshop Olivarez taught in English and Spanish where the parents of the participants thanked him and said they wished they could read the poems alongside their kids. Translating his poems made them more accessible to a wider audience and allowed both languages to hold the same amount of power. Thematically, the layout also speaks to Olivarez’s experience as a child of immigrants and how he must juggle both languages in his day-to-day life.
