Chicanonautica: 2025: A Road Odyssey: Impressions of NorCal

by Ernest Hogan

In the Quality Inn in Tulane, California, I woke up from a dream where a secret society gave me an award for Cortez on Jupiter. Wondering what it meant, I made my way to the breakfast room that was full of Indigenous-looking, Spanish-speaking construction workers. Is California being reconstructed, too?

After a while a few Euro tourists showed up. Maybe they were Scandinavian. I couldn’t understand a word they said.

Being a born in East L.A., a SoCal guy, NorCal has always been strange. The cooler weather and different cultural mix throw me.

A cluster of Tikis that seem to want to become totem poles in this climate,

a dead pizza joint waiting to be studied by the archeologists of the future,

painted metal monsters—the farm business being hijacked by whimsy.

Then, a true enchanted forest gem, Kaweah Coffee Roasters! The art had a raven theme—kaweah meaning crow or raven cry. They have a great selection of eye-catching T-shirts and the coffee is good.

Sequoia National Park—was also “free” due to the government shutdown.

After the park, high in the mountains. Near an ice-cold river, we were all so dazzled that we hadn't noticed that the Prius had almost run out of gas, and the electricity was almost out. And gas stations and towns were sparse. Luckily, the gal working at Borden Cavern took mercy, and when her shift ended, went off and came back with a can of gas!

There are heroes out there.

Next morning, there was live international polo in the Tulare Quality Inn’s breakfast room.

Back in our room MSNBC explained that bailing out South America is preventing China from taking over South America.

Then we took off northwards across the Central Valley farm/ranch country and were soon in Coalinga.

First there were all these banners with a cartoon horned (yeah, I know that most people say “horny”) toad, high school’s mascot. They also have annual horned toad races.

An antediluvian gas station was being refurbished.

After getting out to take a lot of pictures we discovered that it was part of the R.C. Baker Museum.

It takes up several blocks.

One of those places that’s almost as good as having a time machine.

We’ll probably go back some day.

Checked out thrift shops in Carmel and other towns.

The ghost of Philip José Farmer left a copy of his novel Flesh in a place that was a combination thrift store and shrine to Koringa, La Femme Fakir, who not only hypnotized reptiles, but fought in the Resistance against the Nazis in World War Two–I imagine her having Mandrake the Magician-type adventures.

I also found a copy of Elena Zelayeta’s Elena’s Favorite Foods California Style, and some other treasures . . .

Next morning we went north on Highway 1 into the fog,  stumbling into what Em calls “fabulosity.”

Fantastic murals and art in Pacifica and Santa Cruz:

a giant octopus,

mutant mermaids,

ceramic fish.

Emly said, “It feels good to be in Liberal Land.”

Skeletons ran wild in Pacific Grove for Halloween and Día de los Muertos, and Phil Farmer’s ghosts left a copy of Finnegan’s Wake. (His “Riders of the Purple Wage” was inspired by Wake.)

Later Emily said, “The tech bros like Trump because they think he’ll let them make their murder robots.”

“They also think he’s promised them Mars,” I replied.

This triggered visions of Mars crowded with murder robots. Maybe that could be worked into the Cornelius/Duke/Theremin story . . .

It was overcast all day. No need for sunglasses. Not at all like Arizona. Like Venus in a 1930s science fiction, as Farmer once described.

There are lots of Priuses in NorCal.

And no cell service zones. All those hilly coastal regions.

The first two rooms they gave us at the Oceanside Motel in Ft. Bragg weren’t cleaned, and there was no working heat or air-conditioning. They said the cleaning woman had walked out.

Then through a wet, misty forest to the 101.

They had great huevos rancheros and a lot of murals of cows.

Ferndale, “A Victorian Town,” had a colonial downtown, and lots of skeletons, and a theater doing The Rocky Horror Show.

Eureka had lots of murals, and more dispensaries than liquor stores, but then they are pretty close to Oregon, and Sasquatchlandia.

Fall of the Fireflies- El otoño de las luciérnagas

Written by Guadalupe García McCall

Publisher: Lee & Low Books

Edition: Standard Edition

Print length: 352 pages

ISBN-10: 1643796992

ISBN-13: 978-1643796994

From Pura Belpré Award–winning author Guadalupe García McCall comes the first in the Seasons of Sisterhood trilogy: a reimagining of Sophocles’ Antigone set in the world of her bestselling Summer of the Mariposas.

As fifteen-year-old twins Delia and Velia plan the launch of their Magic-Twin Tour with their father’s Tejano band, a sudden supernatural attack on their father derails the family. Papá is delirious with a susto, a fright so awful that it allows a mysterious supernatural being to begin slowly sucking the life out of him.

As the twins hunt down his attacker, a wider world of borderland monsters opens up to them. Each twin has her own decision to make, with her own guide from the Aztec pantheon–Quetzalcoatl guiding Velia, and Xolotl advising Delia. Soon the girls must choose: Should they follow a divine mandate to become monster hunters for the goddess of death?

Can the sisters obey the will of the gods while saving their father’s life? Anything can happen within the magical realm of the borderlands.

El otoño de las luciérnagas 

De la autora ganadora del premio Pura Belpré Guadalupe García McCall llega la primera entrega de la trilogía Las estaciones de la sororidad: una reinvención de Antígona de Sófocles ambientada en el mundo de su best seller El verano de las mariposas.

Mientras las gemelas Velia y Delia, de dieciséis años, planean el lanzamiento de su gira Gemelas-Magicas con la banda tejana de su padre, un repentino ataque sobrenatural contra su padre descarrila a la familia. Papá delira con un susto, un susto tan terrible que permite que un misterioso sobrenatural comience a succionarle lentamente la vida.

Mientras las gemelas persiguen al atacante de su padre, se les abre un mundo más amplio de monstruos fronterizos. Pronto las chicas deberán elegir: ¿deberían seguir un mandato divino para convertirse en cazadoras de monstruos para la diosa de la muerte? Cada gemela tiene que tomar su propia decisión, con su propio guía del panteón azteca: Quetzalcóatl guiando a Velia y Xólotl aconsejando a Delia.

¿Podrán las hermanas obedecer la voluntad de los dioses mientras salvan la vida de su padre? Cualquier cosa puede suceder dentro del reino mágico de las tierras fronterizas.

Review

"This story inspired by Sophocles' Antigone seamlessly blends coming-of-age themes with folklore. McCall respectfully integrates well-researched Nahuatl vocabulary and Aztec mythology as she explores sisterhood, cultural identity, and blended family dynamics.... A rich, mythic story about selfhood and soul-deep family ties." -- Kirkus Reviews, starred review

"Mesmerizing.... Via the girls' propulsive, distinctly rendered alternating POVs, McCall presents an Aztec-influenced world teeming with magical creatures and powerful deities." -- Publishers Weekly, starred review

"Readers will relate to the twins' struggle to balance the head-and-heart decisions they make to find justice for their father and save Eagle Pass from a haunting, cruel landowner who wants to come back from the dead. This -Mexican American twist on Antigone draws on -compelling multideity legends to flesh out the first of three coming-of-age novels.... A must-purchase." -- School Library Journal, starred review

"The emphasis on familial ties and culture is impactful, and the incorporation of Mexican folklore, practices, and Aztec deities is a necessary addition in the world of YA fantasy. Recommended for fans of mythology and folklore, and those in need of a quest." -- Booklist

Guadalupe García McCall is the best-selling author of Summer of the Mariposas and won the Pura Belpré Award for her first novel, Under the Mesquite. She is a full-time author and abuelita and lives with her husband in South Texas. Find her online at ggmccall.com.

Look Back: La Bloga's First Book Review

Note: November 28 marks the 21st anniversary of the first La Bloga column. To observe this notable event in the history of Chicana Chicano Literature--La Bloga is the Universe's oldest continuously published literary y más blog--La Bloga-Tuesday re-runs a pair of Penelope-themed book reviews. (2006, Atwood; 2013 Villanueva)

With these two-reviews-in-one celebration, La Bloga launches a series reviewing classic and other highly-regarded works.

Review: Margaret Atwood. The Penelopiad. NY: Canongate, 2005. ISBN 1-84195-717-8.

Michael Sedano

Devotees of the great writers of American literature may find it unseemly to say someone "stumbled across" a Margaret Atwood title, but that's what I did recently when I picked up the north-of-the-border novelist's The Penelopiad. 

Atwood nearly always leaves me reeling in delight, as she did in The Handmaid's Tale and The Robber Bride. But because I had not much enjoyed Oryx and Crake–found it obscure and a small deviation from the writer's usual quality–I wasn't looking for another title of hers when my eyes caught the thin (198 pages) spine's almost illegible title, then noted the writer's name. 

What a grand idea, telling Penelope's story! For thousands of years, people have celebrated Odysseus. The Iliad's nine years fighting the Trojan war, then the trickster's own story of the long sail home, only to find his household in thrall to treasure-seekers. 

Penelope's is the backstory. Crafty Odysseus' equally crafty spouse spinning a cloak during the day, then unravelling it during the night as a strategem to hold off the greedy suitors' demands.

Atwood will have none of this backstory stuff, starting the tale with the 15 year old girl on her wedding day wondering which of the contestants would win her, then fleshing out the story of a lonely girl in a foreign city, an uncaring suegra, a bossy handmaiden and a chorus of the hanged. Homer's story winds to a close with Odysseus and Telemachus wreaking revenge on the suitors. 

After the slaughter, twelve slave girls, identified as collaborators, are assigned to clean up the blood and gore, then taken outside and hanged. But the story of the hanged slaves intrigues Atwood, and she builds the tale around them. As the writer observes in her foreward: "the maids form a chanting and singing Chorus which focuses on two questions that must pose themselves after any close reading of The Odyssey: what led to the hanging of the maids, and what was Penelope really up to? The story as told in The Odyssey doesn't hold water: there are too many inconsistencies. I've always been haunted by the hanged maids; and, in The Penelopiad, so is Penelope herself." (xv) 

The heuristic of building a novel from a cherished myth is the idea behind the publisher's myth series. In addition to Atwood's work, Canongate recruited Chinua Achebe, AS Byatt, and others to delve into old stories in new ways. Atwood relishes the retelling. There's Penelope in Hades, remembering various heroes trekking in search of answers, blooding a beast into a trench, then, "Once the right number of words had been handed over to the hero we'd all be allowed to drink from the trench, and I can't say much in praise of the table manners on such occasions." 

Pity the reader devoid the classics, they'll miss so much fun: "Odysseus had been in a fight with a giant one-eyed Cyclops, said some; no, it was only a one-eyed tavern keeper, said another, and the fight was over non-payment of the bill." The story of the twelve--thirteen, actually, according to Atwood--hanged slavegirls, along with Penelope's satisfaction hearing that Helen looked old during a visit by Telemachus to Meneleus' court, shows the fun a writer can enjoy when imagination runs freely through classic texts, plots, and characters.

Finding a Voice for Penelope 

Review: Tino Villanueva. So Spoke Penelope. Cambridge MA: Grolier Poetry Press, 2013. ISBN: 9781891592027 1891592025 

The woman approached me in the hall, outside the seminar at the New York Sheraton, book in hand. Now I’m generally not open to hallway sales pitches, but the law of Zeus Xenia requires fairness to strangers, so I let her engage me. It is the best hallway conversation I can remember. 

The woman had brought along a single copy of Hay Otra Voz Poems by Tino Villanueva. 

No, I admitted, I was not familiar with the poetry nor the poet. I flipped through the artisan-crafted pages that just covered the palm of my hand, scanning a line or two. Yes. Yes, wow. Spanish, English, mezcla. Then I read one at random, “Aquellos Vatos.” An instant classic, I had to own this volume. 

That was 1972 or maybe 1973.

Today, Villanueva comes forth with another instant classic of chicano literature, So Spoke Penelope. Published in a limited edition of only 800 copies, the slim volume of 60 pages presents 36 one- and two-page meditations Odysseus’ wife consoles herself with over the 20 years her husband went missing in the Trojan War.

Calculating Penelope’s age to be nineteen when her husband sails off to war, the woman ages across the poems until, at the eve of her fortieth year, her story reunites with Odysseus’ in a bloodbath that isn’t mentioned in Penelope’s rapture and falling into bed with her long-absent lover. 

Readers will enjoy the sweep of years that creates a poetic plot in Penelope’s biography. Villanueva picks moments of thought at 5 years, then six, ten, eighteen, twenty years, to illustrate Penelope’s determination to wait out the painful absence.

Homer didn’t know Puccini, but Villanueva certainly does. When certain images recall un bel di, it comes as an irony that the smoke Butterfly seeks on the horizon will bring only tragedy, while the sails Penelope longs to see will fulfill the three motives that Villanueva has invested her with, seething passion, desperate patience, and good wife faithfulness.

It’s curious that “home” is a rarely-visited thought throughout the collection. Penelope wants Odysseus back, wants to be wrapped in his passionate arms, wants him in bed, in Ithaca, wants to see his sails on the horizon. All that wanting, longing and absence, yet Penelope’s vocabulary rarely mentions “home.” Only in the sixth year of wanting does the word enter Penelope’s vocabulary.

“Home” implies permanence and resolution, qualities Penelope cannot grasp because she’s stuck in a world of ever-shifting never-satisfied wants and hopes, seemingly at the mercy of gods and goddesses that have already mucked up her world. So she weaves.

Villanueva writes for readers familiar with the Odyssey, rewards their knowledge with a rich tapestry of allusions, and dramatic ironies pointing to the larger context of world literature. Penelope wonders if Odysseus has taken up with another woman, not knowing how Kirke seduced her husband on the other side of this story. Penelope wonders if Odysseus has been captured, and the reader thinks how crafty polytropos used a word game to blind the one-eyed Cyclops and escape captivity.

At their most elemental level, So Spoke Penelope speaks love poetry. Richly textured from classical literature, each piece nonetheless stands on its own. Each poem deserves to be taken for itself, read one at a time, in any order. They stay with one, these poems, long after closing the book.

So Spoke Penelope is under translation now for Spanish and French readers, and possibly Hangul. From Margaret Atwood's Penelopiad now to Tino Villanueva’s romantic exploration, after 2500 years or so, it’s good seeing Penelope coming into her own. Visit the Grolier on-line bookshop to order your copies.

“Desde la ventana” por Xánath Caraza

“Desde la ventana” por Xánath Caraza

 

Silba, muerte desde mi ventana

quien escucha canta al unísono

ya no hay color en las desnudas ramas

las hojas crujen bajo los pies.

 

Vuela, vibración de antaño

encuentra la mano que escribe.

Soñamos que vivimos y sentimos

aromas en la más secreta memoria.

 

Tenaces ojos de obsidiana

se clavan en los míos

vacía sensación

silencioso frío.

 

Habla, muerte desde

la ventana roja y traspasa

el cristal con la enigmática voz.

Baila y gira muerte violeta.

 

Muévete como papel picado

vibra al unísono conmigo

haz de mi corazón el tuyo.

Escríbeme una canción.

 

Xanath Caraza

From My Window

 

Whistle, death from my window

those who listen sing in unison

color gone from naked branches

leaves rustle underfoot.

 

Arise, vibration of old

encounter the hand that writes.

We dream of living and we sense

aromas in our most secret memory.

 

Steadfast obsidian eyes

fixed upon mine

empty sensation

silent cold.

 

Speak, death from

the red window and pierce

the glass with your enigmatic voice.

Dance and spin violet death.

 

Move like papel picado

vibrate in unison with me

make my heart yours.

Write me a song.

 

Xanath Caraza

“Desde la ventana / From My Window” are part of the collection Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble (2017). “Sin preámbulos” was originally written in Spanish by Xánath Caraza and translated into the English by Sandra Kingery. In 2018 for the International Latino Book Awards Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble received First Place for “Best Book of Bilingual Poetry”. 

Xanath Caraza

In 2019 Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble / Fără preambul was translated into the Romanian by Tudor Serbănescu and Silvia Tugui.