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4.34 AVERAGE
4.34 AVERAGE
"Borderlands" is a work that is hard define. It is part social-commentary, history, poetry, linguistic analysis, philosophy and more that cannot be easily summarized into a single genre. Using these different elements, Anzaldua explores the complex and multifaceted concept of 'identity.' She frames the work through her own lived experiences and language(s), which grounds her arguments in emotional authenticity.
While the content of “Borderlands” is academic in nature, Anzaldua’s decision to write the text in various languages including English, ‘standard’ Spanish, and Chicano Spanish is inherently defiant. Her local dialect is not something that is considered valid speak or eloquent syntax. There is something immensely satisfying about using an unacademic Spanglish to eloquently communicate nuanced social theory that is now taught in universities around the world. These deliberate language choices also enhance much of her poetry that appears in the second half of the book.
The use of multiple languages also allowed for further assessments of how words shape our ideas of identity and culture. For example, in the closing interview of the book a question is asked about post-colonial interactions, and Anzaldua introduces the term “nos-otras” (243). In Spanish, “nos” means “us,” and “otras” means “other,” but the overarching word “nosotras” means “us.” She uses the hyphen within the word to demonstrate that while there is an “us” and “them,” people cannot escape interactions without affecting one another, which ultimately creates a new, unintentional “us.” Moments like this made for both lyrical and insightful explorations of the human experience.
As she draws from her own life experience, Anzaldua examines the elements that make up her identity, including being American, Mexican, Spanish, Native American, and a lesbian. These different factions create friction and put parts of herself at odds with other internal components. She sums up the frustrations and realities of these internal contradictions quite well:
Though I’ll defend my race and culture when attacked by non-mexicanos, conozco el malestar
de mi cultura. I abhor some of my culture’s ways, how it cripples its women, como burras, our
strengths used against us, lowly burras bearing humility and dignity. The ability to serve, claim
the males, is our highest virtue. I abhor how my culture makes macho caricatures of its men. No,
I do not buy all the myths of the tribe into which I was born. I can understand why the more
tinged with Anglo blood, the more adamantly my colored and colorless sisters glorify their
colored culture’s values – to offset the extreme devaluation of it by the white culture. It’s a
legitimate reaction. But I will not glorify those aspects of my culture which have injured me and
which have injured me in the name of protecting me. (43-4)
While I am not Mexican or Chicana, this exclamation rang very true to my own experience as a queer Peruvian-Italian-American (so many hyphens). Growing up, there always seemed to be obvious double standards that were perpetuated by the discontent from imbalanced power dynamics stemming from class/racial/gender hierarchies. The fact that the norm was to accept this as reality was confusing and vexing. I do not think I was ever as angry as Anzaldua was when she wrote “Borderlands,” but her emotional honesty is pretty liberating, especially when she touches upon how these opposing factors can lead to internalized self-hate and devaluation.
Another argument Anzaldua makes is one against oversimplified dichotomies, especially the ones that are used to hurt women. She uses the virgin / puta dichotomy, which I was aware of from as far back as I can remember. The assumption still remains that if you are a “good” woman, you must maintain your chastity and purity. I don’t think anyone’s self-worth, regardless of gender, should be determined by carnal shame. Anzaldua goes further to explore how female sexuality was not always rejected by dominant culture, but rather was a byproduct of Spanish hegemony over Native social freedoms.
Finally, all of the arguments Anzaldua makes are rooted in emphasizing agency for those of us who exist within these borderlands. She emphasizes the power of her own choices, especially when drawing from different parts of the different cultures/traditions to make sense of herself. She makes her arguments for how different cultures have hurt other cultures, but she does not demonize anything other than the acts of oppression and subjugation. There is no superior identity or zeitgeist. Anzaldua wants her readers to make decisions for themselves, and that is pretty dope.
While the content of “Borderlands” is academic in nature, Anzaldua’s decision to write the text in various languages including English, ‘standard’ Spanish, and Chicano Spanish is inherently defiant. Her local dialect is not something that is considered valid speak or eloquent syntax. There is something immensely satisfying about using an unacademic Spanglish to eloquently communicate nuanced social theory that is now taught in universities around the world. These deliberate language choices also enhance much of her poetry that appears in the second half of the book.
The use of multiple languages also allowed for further assessments of how words shape our ideas of identity and culture. For example, in the closing interview of the book a question is asked about post-colonial interactions, and Anzaldua introduces the term “nos-otras” (243). In Spanish, “nos” means “us,” and “otras” means “other,” but the overarching word “nosotras” means “us.” She uses the hyphen within the word to demonstrate that while there is an “us” and “them,” people cannot escape interactions without affecting one another, which ultimately creates a new, unintentional “us.” Moments like this made for both lyrical and insightful explorations of the human experience.
As she draws from her own life experience, Anzaldua examines the elements that make up her identity, including being American, Mexican, Spanish, Native American, and a lesbian. These different factions create friction and put parts of herself at odds with other internal components. She sums up the frustrations and realities of these internal contradictions quite well:
Though I’ll defend my race and culture when attacked by non-mexicanos, conozco el malestar
de mi cultura. I abhor some of my culture’s ways, how it cripples its women, como burras, our
strengths used against us, lowly burras bearing humility and dignity. The ability to serve, claim
the males, is our highest virtue. I abhor how my culture makes macho caricatures of its men. No,
I do not buy all the myths of the tribe into which I was born. I can understand why the more
tinged with Anglo blood, the more adamantly my colored and colorless sisters glorify their
colored culture’s values – to offset the extreme devaluation of it by the white culture. It’s a
legitimate reaction. But I will not glorify those aspects of my culture which have injured me and
which have injured me in the name of protecting me. (43-4)
While I am not Mexican or Chicana, this exclamation rang very true to my own experience as a queer Peruvian-Italian-American (so many hyphens). Growing up, there always seemed to be obvious double standards that were perpetuated by the discontent from imbalanced power dynamics stemming from class/racial/gender hierarchies. The fact that the norm was to accept this as reality was confusing and vexing. I do not think I was ever as angry as Anzaldua was when she wrote “Borderlands,” but her emotional honesty is pretty liberating, especially when she touches upon how these opposing factors can lead to internalized self-hate and devaluation.
Another argument Anzaldua makes is one against oversimplified dichotomies, especially the ones that are used to hurt women. She uses the virgin / puta dichotomy, which I was aware of from as far back as I can remember. The assumption still remains that if you are a “good” woman, you must maintain your chastity and purity. I don’t think anyone’s self-worth, regardless of gender, should be determined by carnal shame. Anzaldua goes further to explore how female sexuality was not always rejected by dominant culture, but rather was a byproduct of Spanish hegemony over Native social freedoms.
Finally, all of the arguments Anzaldua makes are rooted in emphasizing agency for those of us who exist within these borderlands. She emphasizes the power of her own choices, especially when drawing from different parts of the different cultures/traditions to make sense of herself. She makes her arguments for how different cultures have hurt other cultures, but she does not demonize anything other than the acts of oppression and subjugation. There is no superior identity or zeitgeist. Anzaldua wants her readers to make decisions for themselves, and that is pretty dope.
Someone recommended a couple of good companion pieces that provide context for the indigenism in Chicanx literature of this time period: Lourdes Alberto “Nations, Nationalisms, and Indígenas: The ‘Indian’ in the Chicano Revolutionary Imaginary”
And for a specific critique to this text: Blood Lines: Myth, Indigenism, and Chicana/o Literature by Sheila M Contreras.
And for a specific critique to this text: Blood Lines: Myth, Indigenism, and Chicana/o Literature by Sheila M Contreras.
Have you ever read a book that you could feel dynamically changing you as you were taking in the very worlds you were reading? I knew this book would do this to me & thats probably why I took so much time with it. I would go ahead & say that this book is top 2 & its not #2 on the list of my favorite books of all time. To think of the types of things she was writing about & theorizing in the 1980s as a queer Chicana, is just, mind blowing. It seems almost unnecessary to review something this good, but if you’re anything like me & have ever felt “ni de aquí, ni de allá” como la India Maria (also please tell me you understand this reference), please please read this book - truly one of the most influential reads I’ve ever read.
challenging
emotional
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
So I actually read this because I felt guilty about citing it in an essay without having actually read it when I applied to grad school recently. I had read the final essay in a media studies class, and the idea of the Mestiza Consciousness and embracing inherent contradictions in identity was very formative to me. I was expecting this book to be more historical or academic, but it actually was very theoretical. The first half consists of seven essays about Mestiza identity, and a lot of ground is covered: from the history of the Virgen de Guadalupe and her cultural synchronicity with Coatlicue, to meditations on Anzaldúa‘s own life. I wish these were actually expanded on more, because coming away from this I’m not actually sure how much I learned and a lot was repeated. It was a lot more spiritual than I expected though, and so that was an interesting internal glimpse of a culture I am not part of.
The second half of this work, and to me the highlight, is a poetry collection entitled “Un Agitado Viento/Ehécatl, The Wind.” Poetry is a medium that can be so personal, but Anzaldúa easily takes on a myriad of voices in this collection, from a mother mourning her son to a border guard, from goddesses to cannibals. My favorite poem in this collection was called “Interface (for Frances Doughty),” which was about falling in love with a literal alien. This demonstrates her capacity for wit and humor while still meditating on the intersection between race and her lesbian identity. A lot of this poetry was in Spanish, or a mixture between Spanish and English, which although I don’t speak it I admire the commitment to writing something that’s for mestizas and how something as deceptively simple as language can be a barrier in itself.
reflective
slow-paced
Fascinating, motivating history and contemporary analysis of the mestizo identity in the United States. Anecdote and feeling seamlessly incorporated into fact, to the point where facts about identity consist in a blend of history and personal sentiment. Must read for anyone attempting to understand the current United States political landscape, from an intersectional perspective. Also a powerful analysis of the importance of language in personal and collective identity formation.
emotional
hopeful
informative
reflective
slow-paced
"As a lesbian I have no race, my own people disclaim me; but I am all races because there is the queer of me in all races."
"Borderlands" is a wonderful book about identity between - beyond - borders.
"Borderlands" is a wonderful book about identity between - beyond - borders.
Escrito en lenguaje tan bonito y vivido, las ideas de Anzaldúa son lo más profundas e importantes que he leído recientemente. Sus descripciones del estado coatlicue y neplanta, como su identidad, mezclan conceptos indígenas y herencia española y ideología feminista para poner palabras a la complejidad de ser una mujer de la frontera y la necesidad de ambigüedad.
“The U.S.-Mexican border es una herida abierta where the Third World against the first and bleeds. And before a scab forms it hemorrhages again [...] This is my home/ this thin edge of/ barbwire”.
“La gente Chicana tiene tres madres. All three are mediators: Guadalupe, the virgin mother who has not abandoned us, la Chingada (Malinche), the raped mother whom we have abandoned, and la Llorana, the mother who seeks her lost children [...] Guadalupe to make us docile and enduring, la Chingada to make us ashamed of our Indian side, and la Llorona to make us long-suffering people”.
“The U.S.-Mexican border es una herida abierta where the Third World against the first and bleeds. And before a scab forms it hemorrhages again [...] This is my home/ this thin edge of/ barbwire”.
“La gente Chicana tiene tres madres. All three are mediators: Guadalupe, the virgin mother who has not abandoned us, la Chingada (Malinche), the raped mother whom we have abandoned, and la Llorana, the mother who seeks her lost children [...] Guadalupe to make us docile and enduring, la Chingada to make us ashamed of our Indian side, and la Llorona to make us long-suffering people”.
Put words to my ambiguous torn experience as a Hispanic/Latinx woman. Not wholly Mexican, not wholly indigenous, not wholly Spanish. White enough for some, not enough for others. Present in a culture that suppresses and rejects aspects of my heritage, my upbringing, my ancestral languages. Robbed of a significant part that heritage before I was even born, stolen by a dominant culture that absorbed my mother's language in order to make her fluent in the world.
It's a psychic split, one I wasn't even conscious existed in my own identity. It wasn't harmonious or integrated, it was ignored. It's easier because whiteness is privilege and so I lived that.
But this collection was a shot to my chest. It's beautifully written and powerful in the author's authentic struggle to live on various borderlands of the human experience as one who straddles many borders. Geographic, cultural, and spiritual.
She explores her experience as an outsider in the dominant culture and within her own, as a lesbian and female. The heavy weight of contradictions that exist for many POC.
I would describe it as a weaving of poetry and critical theory essays. A lot of incredibly resonate imagery, language and history, both. It's unique because the author's voice is so present, immersive. I'm going to buy this book and keep it in my library.
It's a psychic split, one I wasn't even conscious existed in my own identity. It wasn't harmonious or integrated, it was ignored. It's easier because whiteness is privilege and so I lived that.
But this collection was a shot to my chest. It's beautifully written and powerful in the author's authentic struggle to live on various borderlands of the human experience as one who straddles many borders. Geographic, cultural, and spiritual.
She explores her experience as an outsider in the dominant culture and within her own, as a lesbian and female. The heavy weight of contradictions that exist for many POC.
I would describe it as a weaving of poetry and critical theory essays. A lot of incredibly resonate imagery, language and history, both. It's unique because the author's voice is so present, immersive. I'm going to buy this book and keep it in my library.