Metztli Edición bilingüe by Xánath Caraza (Capitulo Siete; Coacalco de Berriozábal, Estado de
México, 2018)
Translation
by Sandra Kingery and Kaitlyn Hipple
Review
by Donna Snyder
In Aztec mythology,
“Metztli” is a god or goddess of the moon. Gender is fluid. In some traditions,
Metztli fears the Sun’s fire, in others, they wed. Today the Nahuatl word is
primarily used as a feminine name. Make a crazy leap from Nahuatl, a living
language originating with the pre-Columbian Mexica people of Central America,
to the Urban Dictionary. Here, Metztli is identified as a moon goddess, but
also as an energetic and artistic girl who is romantic and sensuous, yet
innocent. Curiously, I did not research the meaning of the word until after I
had already read Metztli, Xánath
Caraza’s recent bilingual collection of stories. Knowing makes all the
difference in seeing.
Caraza wrote Metztli in Spanish then worked with
Sandra Kingery and Kaitlyn Hipple to translate each story into English with the
support of a grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation and funding from the
Lycoming College Student-Faculty Research Program. Kingery has collaborated
with Caraza before, and she and Hipple appear to have developed a clear
understanding of how Caraza’s poetic mind works.
As noted in my previous
review of Lo que trae la marea/What the
Tide Brings, an earlier fiction collection, Caraza often appears in her own narratives, as a character with a
fictional name or as an unnamed author referenced in stories. In Metztli, one of Caraza’s narrators falls
in love with a character in a book being written within the same story. The
writer enters the book and interacts with the other characters while the story
shifts to the story within the story. As described by a narrator in one of the
pieces in Lo que trae la marea/What
the Tide Brings, Caraza’s characters possess the power to “dissolve from
this dimension to reappear on the printed page.”
In “Thursday,”
midway through Metztli, the main
character, a writer, could be describing Caraza’s book.
My
book is laden with sorrow.
I
tried to convince the publishers that it was a book about traveling, a book of
metafiction. But I knew it was actually laden with sorrow, with losses I
collected over the years, sometimes as their protagonist, others as mere
spectator, all of it persisting through time. Sorrow that I safeguarded within
the lines, that remained in the design of the letters, that I exorcized as I
wrote each of them on paper.
In my review of Lo
que trae la marea/What the Tide
Brings, I noted that Caraza’s stories are imbued with Federico García
Lorca’s aesthetics of duende, “a fascination with both death and great erotic
desire…precipitating a momentary experience of the sublime.” García Lorca tells
us that the duende is found when “Through the empty archway a wind of the
spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new
landscapes and unknown accents….” As an immigrant and a traveler, Caraza has
internalized a multiplicity of identities as well as the constant pulse of loss
and departure.
In “Citizenship,” two brothers left behind their
widowed mother to attend university, not seeing her for several years until
they unexpectedly appear to witness her swearing in as a United States citizen
after working as a dishwasher for most of 20 years. The story reveals a
kaleidoscope of memories and emotions: the complexity of grief following the
death of an abusive husband, the longing for her sons, the struggle with
learning a new language and culture, the decision to become a naturalized
citizen. The repeated ruptures in connection mirror the lives of real immigrant
workers and asylum seekers, already sorrowful to be forced to leave home, only
to have their families ripped apart at the U.S. border. Here in the borderlands
of Mexico and the U.S.A., these separations are real, wrenching, and daily.
Metztli’s characters parallel the author’s
migrations. They leave their homelands only to feel years later an anguished
longing for the details of daily life. Originally from Xalapa in the state of
Veracruz on the Gulf of Mexico, she has lived many years in the U.S.A., while
frequently travelling throughout the Americas, Europe, and Asia. In
“Lemongrass,” a woman receives a box of gifts from what could be Caraza’s own homeland:
[A]
dress with colorful flowers embroidered on the chest, canned mangoes in syrup,
epazote for frijoles, acuyo leaves to wrap tamales rancheros, dried beans, and
a peasant blouse with embroidery on the cuff. [She finds that her] departure
from Mexico has helped her remember. She’s spent her first year far from the
smell of fresh tortillas….
The mammoth sense
of loss felt when a lover leaves is broached several times in the collection.
In “Prelude,” college students revel in an unconsummated desire born of a mutual
devotion to Bach, Scarlatti, and Nietzsche. Their world is filled with near
magical sensory details such as a room inexplicably filled with green lightning
bugs. The girl is devastated when the boy disappears, only to bepied with another girl weeks later. In another story,
“Thursday,” the narrator reveals the extent of her pain after being left.
I
cried in the car. In the office. At home. Before walking into a meeting.
Between classes. I cried while showering, while cooking. I cried until the
table where I was writing these lines flooded, and the sound of my tears
mingled with the sound of the rain…The night is neon-blue cold. Metallic rain
continues to fall….
The growing
friendshipetween women who are grieving the
loss of their lovers is beautifully described in “Gentle Breeze.” “Without realizing it, without making an
effort, little by little, they stopped saying those names.” Caraza’s format reminds us that time is an
artificial construct. Perhaps we experience loss in this reality, yet
physicists tell us that we may continue to exist in another universe. In the
other universe, we may not suffer that grief.
The fire of first
love is always unique but can hint of banality when viewed from outside.
Consequently, the last story in the book, “Voices in the Sea,” was a small
disappointment in an otherwise stimulating and pleasurable collection. Taken as
a whole, however, Metztli dazzles the
reader with the interconnectivity of its stories and intrigues us when the
fiction is juxtaposed with its writer’s own life. In the title story, the
narrator is a Mexican who has lived abroad many years.
She
had traveled in Morocco for five years, dancing in different cities. . . .
Before dancing, she would prepare her iridescent feathers, seashells, jade necklaces,
and turquoise rings. She made sure that the pre-Hispanic instruments she used
in her show, like the huehuetl drum, were ready to vibrate like a living heart.
She carefully inspected the clay pots that she filled with varying amounts of
water to turn them into percussion instruments, and she confirmed the depth of
sound of the teponaztli drum. As time went by, while she danced, she began to
feel Morocco flow through her veins. Two rhythms began to beat within her,
perhaps three now, indigenous, Moroccan, and Spanish.
In addition to
writing poetry and fiction, Caraza teaches at the University of Missouri-Kansas
City and writes for various scholarly publications related to Latinos/Latinas
and their shared, yet disparate, cultures. Caraza has won honors in Central
America, Europe, and the U.S.A, such as receiving the 2014 Beca Nebrija para
Creadores, from the Universidad de Alcalá de Henares in Spain. She has been
translated into English, Italian, and Greek; and partially translated into
Nahuatl, Portuguese, Hindi, Turkish, and Romanian.
Caraza was a
finalist in the Multicultural Fiction category of the 2013 International Book
Awards. Also in 2013, her book Conjuro
won multiple international awards. Lo que
trae la marea/What the Tide Brings won several international awards. Her
book of poetry, Sílabas de
viento/Syllables of Wind, received the 2015 International Book Award for
Poetry, as well as other prizes. In the 2018 International Latino Book Awards,
Caraza’s Lagrima roja won First Place
for Best Book of Poetry in Spanish by One Author and First Place for Sin preámbulos/Without Preamble for Best
Book of Bilingual Poetry by One Author. The book at hand, Metztli, won second place in the 2019 International Latino Book
Awards for Best Short Story Collection.
While the names of
characters change, the stories in Metztli
are interwoven, with repeated motifs such as winged insects, birds of portent,
and references to the keen pleasure of drinking a cup of tea and reading. Most
importantly, each main character presents another face of the same moon.
“I usually think
in colors, feel colors, smell colors, see images. . .” says the narrator in
“Thursday.” Both Metztli and Lo que trae la
marea/What the Tide Brings describe this anomaly known as synesthesia, the
triggering of one sort of sense impression when a different sense is
stimulated. Both books are saturated with color and sensuality. In Metztli, Caraza’s subject is sorrow, yet
she catches readers in a storm of eroticism, emphasizing that the sadness of
life can be redeemed by art and the pleasures of the physical world. The senses
counterbalance life’s inherent sorrow, and only through embracing the duende is
there hope to encounter the sublime.
 |
| Donna Snyder |
Donna Snyder founded the Tumblewords Project in 1995
and continues to organize its free weekly workshop series and other events in
the borderlands of El Paso, Texas. Her poetry collections include Poemas ante el Catafalco: Grief and Renewal from Chimbarazu Press, I
Am South from Virgogray Press, and
The Tongue Has its Secrets from NeoPoiesis Press. She previously
practiced law representing indigenous people, people with disabilities, and
immigrant workers.
