The “spotlight”
was on Sarah Cortez October 22nd when La Bloga writer, Daniel Olivas
featured her new book, Walking Home: Growing Up Hispanic in Houston.
Today I am treating you, dear Bloga readers, to an interview with Sarah
on Walking Home.
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Sarah Cortez |
The design cover
of Walking Home: Growing Up
Hispanic in Houston is a stained glass Madonna and child. Most people are
familiar with stained glass: small pieces of glass arranged in colors creating
a pattern, a picture, encased in strips of lead. The Madonna, with stars and
celestial bodies behind her and the child, is serene here. Yet the term “stained” is interesting
because glass that was once transparent and clear is now contaminated with
color, sullied even, in order to create this beautiful and sacred image.
In this
mixed-genre memoir, each story begins unsullied—clear: the narrator describes life as society directs it should be with a happy marriage, a promise of many children, a good life. Cortez takes the “societal canvas”
(what women and men are told they must do, act, produce, etc.) and she then
layers the canvas with individual experiences (like bits of glass) which tell
very different stories: “an odd
dancing heart,” “unsaid goodbyes,” “never-delivered hellos.” These are vignettes told in narrative
form and poetry that individualize what it meant for one U.S. Latina to grow up
in Houston.
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Sarah Cortez reading from Walking Home: Growing Up Hispanic in Houston |
Sarah Cortez, a
member of the Texas Institute of Letters and fifth-generation Texan, has
numerous poems anthologized here and in Europe. Winner of the PEN Texas Literary Award in poetry, her debut
collection is entitled How to Undress a Cop.
An award-winning anthologist of five volumes, her most recent is You
Don’t Have a Clue: Latino Mystery
Stories for Teens which
was short-listed for the International Latino Book Awards. Her poem, “The Secret,” was
short-listed for the 2011 annual contest of Rattle.
|
--an International Latino Book Award finalist |
Today I include
an interview with Sarah Cortez. I
thank Sarah for taking the time to answer these questions for La Bloga:
Montes: At the beginning of Walking Home:
Growing Up Hispanic in Houston,
you invite the reader to “step up to the stained-glass window.” You write: “Here, trapped in the hues and slivers, are the unlived
dreams of my family—mother, father, me.”
What do you mean by ‘unlived’—it’s a very provocative word to use
because it then troubles whether this is memoir or creative non-fiction.
Cortez: As a reader and writer of memoir for
many years and as a teacher of memoir for over a decade, I have thought long and hard about the boundaries and
definitions surrounding memoir. There is the post-modernist's stance that
"everything is fiction"; there is the stance of certain
(now-disgraced) writers that says "I'll lie about whatever I choose to lie
about and then call it 'memoir.’” I don't agree with either of these
extreme positions.
Memoir
is a form of creative nonfiction called the personal essay. But it has
its own parameters that do not involve the unacknowledged creation of
fiction. In fiction, the contract between the writer and the reader says
that what is written on the page is only limited by the writer's
imagination. In memoir, the contract between the writer and reader
is that what is written on the page happened to the best recollection of the
writer, and if imaginative space (e.g. dreams, hopes, imaginings) is utilized,
then it is acknowledged.
|
Sarah Cortez |
What
I have tried to do in this book is claim the unlived dreams of myself and my
parents. However, I have been careful to keep the reader "in the
know."
Perhaps,
this is a good place to mention that all the details surrounding each dream --
especially in the maternal grandparents' household and hometown are
historically accurate.
Montes: You use first person, second person,
and you begin with third person. Why did you decide to avoid a
traditional narrator?
Cortez: I avoided a traditional first-person
narrator, as is common in memoir, because I wished to place the reader inside
the head of more than myself. I also wished to shrink the space between
the reader and other important characters, such as my mother and my
father. The only craft decision that would impart this crucial intimacy
with more than one character was multiple perspectives and multiple voices,
which I hoped would serve to connect the reader with the many facets of each of
several characters.
Montes: Section One is done so well in that you
give the reader a possible expectation first with naming this section
"white" (purity, innocence) and then the story
deftly defies such possible plots. Many of the sections are like this.
Tell us how you
crafted these pieces.
Cortez: I'm not quite sure what to say
here. I spent months, if not years, thinking about how to structure these
pieces. When I sat down to write them, the fruit of those years of
pondering led me to utilize colors, almost as frontispieces, for the
vignettes. In a way, the colors are the distillations of the prose
pieces.
Montes: Section one is narration and Section
two is poetry. Were these separate manuscripts at one point? How
did you decide to organize these sections and why place the narration
first and poetry second?
Cortez: I wrote the poetry section first but
realized that trying to sell a book of poetry of largely happy experiences
would be impossible. The literary world, for better or for worse, is in
love with high-level drama and unhappiness. I seached for what I could do
to write the complexity under the happiness. After all, most humans have
to make it through sorrow and tragedy many times in their lives. The
subtext of their happiness is the sorrow.
Montes: I see a theme in this book regarding
the "gaze." There are all kinds of "viewings" or
"seeing" throughout the book. In the beginning you
invite the reader to "look closely." Later, in the piece
"Cobalt Blue," the first person narrator says: "At the
funeral home I will not watch my youngest brother disintegrate" . . .
"I will not watch bent and sad friends" (11). Further on you
have a piece entitled "The Looking" and in Section Two the poem
"Delivery" describes the milkman "seeing" things which
prompts the narrator to feel "violated." How do you see
"the gaze" in your book?
Cortez: I haven't consciously thought about
this dynamic, although it is a fascinating observation that you are
making. What I did think about very consciously was how gazing through
stained glass distorts what is on the other side. I wanted the reader to
consider in a deep, deep way how those of us in my family made it through
difficulties and sadnesses to reach our peace and joy.
Montes: Who did you write this book for and how
did you come upon the title of your book?
Cortez: I'd like to think that I wrote this
book for everyone. After all, literature is one of the ways we can form
connections with people who are supposedly "unlike" us. There
is a beautiful anecdote related by Amy Tan about being in Mississippi and
having people so relate to her family members that they tell her how her family
is "just like my family." It's those human bonds that great
writing (and who knows if my memoir is that or not) can remind us of as we
read. In terms of the title, I was in love with the idea of "Walking
Home" probably because that is what I did every day after school growing
up, i.e. I walked home. It became a metaphor for what we yearn to do, but
can never really do, as the last poem in the volume says. By the way,
I've had people in the audience during readings burst into tears when I read
that last poem.
Montes: What writers do you feel are doing
similar types of books like this one. What are you doing
differently/similarly?
Cortez: I don't know any other memoir writers
who have even attempted what I am doing in this book. A few have tried
mixed-genre memoirs, but the only apparent dynamic that orders the pieces is
chronology of time sequencing. To me, this is unsophisticated and
ultimately unsatisfying to the reader.
Montes: What writers have influenced your work?
Cortez: I began my writing career as a literary
short story writer, then segued into literary poetry. I've since
developed a specialty in crime fiction and memoir. I've been published in
all these genres as well as in academic venues and journalistic venues.
All this is to say that the influences on my writing are varied. :) Some of my
favourite writers are John Donne, Shakepeare, Ovid, Sappho, Homer. A more
contemporary favourite is Megan Abbott, the reigning princess of noir
crime writing. She is an incredible craftswoman and plots with the best
of them. I adore every aspect of her writing. Her exquisite focus
and pacing. Tone and mood. Characterization.
Vocabulary. She's a heck of a writer. edgy yet sophisticated and
subtle.
Montes: Do you have a writing routine?
What is it like? How did your routine allow you to finish Walking
Home?
Cortez: I
don't have a specific writing routine. I teach so many classes and edit
manuscripts for clients all over the world. I fit in my own writing after
I take care of my clients!! (And I love working with other writers!)
Montes: Is there something you would like to
add?
Cortez: I would like to encourage every single
reader you have to believe in him/herself enough to do something creative that
is outside of their present daily routine. It could be gardening, or
playing a musical instrument, or sewing, or writing, or baking. If you
believe in yourself plus get some education (whether through reading,
workshops, seminars, etc.) in your creative pursuit, you will thrive in
spirit. This is very important and often people don't believe in
themselves enough to pursue a creative endeavor. I built my
writing/editing career over 26 years. During most of those years, I only
had 15 or 20 minutes a day (or less) to devote to writing or revising.
But I did it slowly, bit by bit. It has not been easy but it is
tremendously rewarding: I have three publishers and by this time next year I'll
have nine books out.
Muchisimas
gracias Sarah for taking the time to speak to La Bloga today! For more information, check out Sarah
Cortez’s website: CLICK HERE!
|
Sarah Cortez |
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