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A review by kitkatpanicattack
The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
I read The House on Mango Street for the first time in July of 2022. I was nineteen and working as a camp counselor for a Jesus camp sponsored by my church. I spent my days telling my participants about my aspirations to be an English teacher amongst our conversations about sports and movies and whatever else came to their teenaged minds. In the background of all these conversations is a boy I worked with who I saw as something special, something to not let go of. During my breaks in the afternoon, I would curl up on my dorm bed in Salt Lake City and read Cisneros's vignettes. And, above all, I dreamed about getting out of Utah County, the place that shaped me. I dreamed of leaving it behind and making a home for myself somewhere else, forging a path forward rather than staying stuck in a circle.
It is now July of 2024. I'm tewnty-one and just finished my third year working for a Jesus camp sponsored by my church as a session coordinator. I spent my days telling my employees, my assistant coordinators and counselors, about my upcoming first year as an English teacher amongst our conversations about sports and movies and whatever else came to our exhausted minds. In the background of these conversations is a different boy, one who is nothing like the one from 2022 other than the way he makes me stomach warm up and draws laughs from my lips like he was born to do it. During my breaks in the afternoon, I slept in my dorm beds across the country, feeling guilty that I wasn't reading Cisneros's vignettes in preparation for teaching them to my 10th graders. And, above all, I dreamed about my classroom in Utah County, the place I am in the process of shaping and creating. I dreamed of running towards it and making it a smaller home inside my home known as Utah County, making the circle my own rather than being a victim of it.
In "The Three Sisters," the one with the marble hands tells this to Esperanza: "When you leave you must come back for the others. A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza. You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know. You can't forget who you are." I know the sister with marble hands is talking to a fictional twelve year old Chicana girl, but I can't help to think she is talking to me, both the nineteen year old and the twenty-one year old. It's like she is telling me that it has always been my fate to teach those like me, the ones from religious communities with questions and passions and a desire to understand why the are the way they are outside of the things the old people tell them over church pulpits. Forging the path into a circle has always been my fate.
I am the same girl I was in 2022, and yet I am so different. I am angrier. I am wiser. I am less quick to trust. I am more willing to love. I struggle to cry. I weep a river when I do. But I am still Kathryn, the girl with curly hair and pronounced hips, the girl who devours books and dreams over teaching them, the girl who pines after boys that like to hike and dance. I am still Kathryn, the girl from Utah County, and I will always be her.
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OG Review from 7/22: womanhood--hips, friendships, ambitions--it's a gift and a curse.
It is now July of 2024. I'm tewnty-one and just finished my third year working for a Jesus camp sponsored by my church as a session coordinator. I spent my days telling my employees, my assistant coordinators and counselors, about my upcoming first year as an English teacher amongst our conversations about sports and movies and whatever else came to our exhausted minds. In the background of these conversations is a different boy, one who is nothing like the one from 2022 other than the way he makes me stomach warm up and draws laughs from my lips like he was born to do it. During my breaks in the afternoon, I slept in my dorm beds across the country, feeling guilty that I wasn't reading Cisneros's vignettes in preparation for teaching them to my 10th graders. And, above all, I dreamed about my classroom in Utah County, the place I am in the process of shaping and creating. I dreamed of running towards it and making it a smaller home inside my home known as Utah County, making the circle my own rather than being a victim of it.
In "The Three Sisters," the one with the marble hands tells this to Esperanza: "When you leave you must come back for the others. A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza. You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know. You can't forget who you are." I know the sister with marble hands is talking to a fictional twelve year old Chicana girl, but I can't help to think she is talking to me, both the nineteen year old and the twenty-one year old. It's like she is telling me that it has always been my fate to teach those like me, the ones from religious communities with questions and passions and a desire to understand why the are the way they are outside of the things the old people tell them over church pulpits. Forging the path into a circle has always been my fate.
I am the same girl I was in 2022, and yet I am so different. I am angrier. I am wiser. I am less quick to trust. I am more willing to love. I struggle to cry. I weep a river when I do. But I am still Kathryn, the girl with curly hair and pronounced hips, the girl who devours books and dreams over teaching them, the girl who pines after boys that like to hike and dance. I am still Kathryn, the girl from Utah County, and I will always be her.
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OG Review from 7/22: womanhood--hips, friendships, ambitions--it's a gift and a curse.