A Tribute to Marina Tristán- Part 2

Congratulations, Marina Tristán, on your retirement! This Friday, July 11th, marks the end of your work journey at Arte Público Press. I hope you’re ready to embrace this exciting new chapter of your life. After the first tribute, more authors and friends joined in, showering you with words of gratitude. Enjoy this second tribute. ¡Muchas felicidades, Marina Tristán!

 

 

*

 

Marina Tristan, un ser humano extraordinario.

 

I met Marina in Puerto Rico approximately 20 years ago.  We were introduced by Patricia Kelly, who is a dear friend to both of us.  

 

My story about Marina has absolutely nothing to do with books.  It has to do with who Marina is as a human being.  

 

Years ago, my cousin was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer and was to be treated at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas. She and her mother were flying to Houston, a place they’d never been to and where they knew no one.  I called Marina in a desperate attempt to help my family. 

 

The very next day Marina went to the airport to pick them up and never let them go.  Marina’s actions towards my family are a testament to her character and her love for people. My cousin is healthy now, thankfully.  Brenda, Carmen Rosa and Marina love one another very much.

 

Marina holds a special place in my family and has met most of them at ALA and TLA  conferences, in Puerto Rico, and most recently in Michigan, my home state.  

 

Marina is without question one of the most generous and loving people I know.  I am blessed to have her in my life and to call her amiga.  ¡Te amo, Marina!

 

Con cariño,

~Ruth Tobar

 

*

 

After Piñata Books published, The Runaway Piggy/ El cochinito fugitivo, I was invited to Houston to do a school reading and present at the Houston Children's Museum. While there, Marina took me to lunch and asked me the question every writer wants to hear from a publisher, "Do you have any other stories for us?"

 

Piggy was my first book, and I knew my chances of publishing another were not guaranteed. Though I had a few picture book manuscripts, I knew they didn't fit with Arte's mission. I don't know why, but an audacity sprung inside me, and I said, "I have a story about a mummy from the museum in Guanajuato."

 

"Tell me more," Marina said.

 

I gave her the synopsis of Flor finding the mummy Rafa in her backpack, of how Rafa wanted to see the United States. When Rafa finds out El día de los muertos is coming, he wants to go back and celebrate.

 

Marina nodded, listening carefully, then said, "Send it to us."

 

I broke all the "rules" of first time authors with my impudence by saying, "I already did. You rejected it."

 

She frowned, but let me continue. "The story is part of a series I have planned called The Custodian's Diary. The custodian writes down the school events and tells the story—."

 

"Stop," she said, holding up her hand. I stopped speaking. She held up her hand. "That's the problem." Then she explained, "You have an adult telling a kid's story. Rewrite it from the child's point of view and send it to me again."

 

Her words turned on a light in the dark room of my brash, ignorant mind. I was so stunned with her response because it was both helpful and inviting that I don't remember how I responded. I do recall that on the flight home, I began my revisions. It took three months to revise. With help and guidance from Marina and Gabi, A Mummy in Her Backpack/Una momia en su mochila was published a year later.

 

I retell this story when I explain revision to elementary school students, and it always grabs their attention. Marina helps them understand that our good writing can get better the same way she helps me.

 

Marina's words and support are with me every time I write. Her voice is the kind editor in my mind encouraging me to continue, to improve, to tell stories to, for and about our Latino kids.

 

Mil gracias y abrazos cada día, Marina.

 

-James Luna, author of Growing Up on the Playground / Nuestro patio de recreo.

 

 

*

 

Marina's friendliness and positive energy were the very first things I noticed when we spoke on the phone, long before we ever met in person. When we finally met, she radiated the same warmth and enthusiasm. 

Through her dedication and belief in my book, it went on to receive two awards, gain placement in library journals, and led to memorable panel presentations. This couldn't happen without Marina.

She has a rare gift for making authors feel seen and valued. She guided me with care and patience as my book made its debut, always answering questions and taking the time to get to know me. I’m so grateful for her support and kindness every step of the way.

I hope her retirement is filled with all the joy, adventure, and fulfillment she has so generously shared with others throughout her career.

-Mona Alvarado Frazier, author of A Bridge Home

 

*

Marina is a feisty, no-nonsense woman who cares deeply for and seeks the best for Art Público’s authors. I’m one of those authors. I became a published author almost two years ago. Since day one, she has guided and supported me. She answers my silly questions and leads me in the right direction. She’s totally reliable, and her super-sharp focus gets things done, and done the correct way. I had the fortunate opportunity to hang out with her at the American Library Association author and exhibition event, held at the Pennsylvania Convention Center. Her knowledge and dedication to Arte and its cause are admirable. I will miss her, and I am sure Arte will too, so with a bittersweet farewell, I bid Marina a joyful, healthy retirement. 

Adriana Camacho-Church, bilingual children's book author of Grandma, Where Will Your Love Go? and Grandma's Hair is Ankle Length.

 

*

 

I've known Marina for several years. I've been the recipient of her hard work and commitment to publishing strong, meaningful literature. She supported me when I doubted my writing. She encouraged me to write; she said positive things about my writing; and she never faltered in her duties to me as one of her writers. 

 

She was the face of Arte Público Press -- a face I consistently encountered at book fairs and festivals, at publishing meetings, at academic conferences. Marina was everywhere and I didn't question how it was so; and now, after June 20, she will be gone from the Press. Arte Público will carry on, of course. But for a few minutes today I choose to remember, fondly and with deep gratitude, Marina Tristán, Assistant Director, Arte Público Press.  Perhaps I imagine her explaining Arte Público Press to a visitor to the publisher's booth at a book conference a thousand miles from her home.   And she may have a copy of The Ballad of Rocky Ruiz in her hands.

 

Manuel Ramos, author of Blues for the Buffalo: A Luis Montez Mystery.

 

 

 

To read the first tribute to Marina Tristán click here, https://labloga.blogspot.com/2025/06/a-tribute-to-marina-tristan.html

 

 

 

 

Narco and Knuckleheads: Satire On La Frontera

Is Getting Kidnaped in Mexico Comedy?

Review: José Skinner. The Search Committee. Houston: Arte Publico Press, 2025.

Michael Sedano

José Skinner had me fooled. The opening pages of his first novel, The Search Committee, evoke pleasant memories of Richard Russo’s Straightman, and James Hynes’ Publish and Perish: Three Tales of Tenure and Terror. I thought The Search Committee would be like these, a delightful satire on academia and small minds. I was partially right.

The Search Committee is a satire on academia and small minds, but the darned plot doesn’t entirely delight. I had to slog through my impatience at the novel's small minds and the awful stupidities Skinner concocts to drive his plot from funny-peculiar to totally bizarre outlandishness.

In the end, it’s all in fun and a romp through serious issues treated without an ounce of seriousness.

And what fun. An ABD  out of University of New Mexico lands an interview at a backwater Texas school, Bravo U (like the Rio Bravo), once a JC now a fully-fledged University. Quigley, the junior member of the search committee, is charged with meeting Minerva, or Minnie, Mondragón, at the airport, ferry her to lunch, then scoot off to school for her interview.

Instead of a few tacos at a local joint, they drive the 8 miles to the bridge, cross into México, and Minnie gets kidnapped, setting off a comedy of errors that start with Quigley abandoning the candidate and fashioning a lie that mushrooms into fragile lies that could explode at any moment, but The Search Committee’s a comedy, not an exercise in keen logic and credulity.

Minnie escapes and gets recaptured and back in la sequestrada with other women. But kidnapping a Unitedstatesian breaks certain rules, and a squad of armed men busts up the sequestrada and Minnie is free of the original kidnappers but is now held by the son of a fearsome narco boss. Minerva and the boss’ son fall into bed. But the son gets word Minnie is a CIA or DEA spy.

She’s not, but there are spies at work and, ironically, that’s what gets the hostage sprung. Back in the USA, Minnie’s having none of the crap that seems to await her. The novel ends with Minnie turning the tables on Quigley, her dissertation adviser, Bravo, and Homeland Security. She'll take the money and run.

Bizarre outlandishness is fun. The slow parts aside, a reader will forgive the blatant flaws in The Search Committee plot, relax and give into a willing suspension of absolute incredulity and let Skinner take the reins, leading readers into a wild romp along la frontera. 

“Mujer colosal / Colossal Woman” por Xánath Caraza

“Mujer colosal / Colossal Woman” por Xánath Caraza

 

Para la cabeza colosal número 3 de San Lorenzo, Veracruz, México

 

Mujer colosal, tu piel de oscura

piedra para la eternidad.

 

El ceño aguerrido, fruncido,

muestra tu fiereza.

 

Tus pómulos delatan feminidad.

Sensuales labios negros sellados

con pétrea carne sin estrellas.

 

Mujer guerrera, rompes la tradición.

 

Jerarca jaguar, llevas la fuerza

del huracán en el mentón.

 

Tu ancha nariz absorbe el copal

blanco que guía al inframundo,

a la cueva del cocodrilo donde

corre la sagrada agua olmeca.

 

Tus ojos profundos se encadenan

con los míos, frente a ti estoy.

 

Te reconozco, espejo ancestral.

 

Oscuridad volcánica, naces

del vientre de la tierra. 

 

Mujer colosal, femenina

cabeza olmeca, hembra jaguar.

 

El cráneo cubierto con distintiva

protección, tu lugar has ganado

con valor, con sensualidad.

 

Las ciénagas olmecas florean para

dejarte ver el mundo una vez más.

 

 

Colossal Woman

 

For Colossal Head Number 3 from San Lorenzo, Veracruz, Mexico

 

Colossal woman, your skin of dark

stone for all eternity.

 

Your battle-hardened brow, furrowed,

uncovers your ferocity.

 

Your cheekbones reveal femininity.

Sensual black lips sealed

with stony flesh without stars.

 

Warrior woman, you break tradition.

 

Jaguar chief, you carry the strength

of the hurricane in your chin.

 

Your broad nose absorbs the white copal

that leads the way to the underworld,

to the crocodile cave where

sacred Olmec water runs.

 

Your deep eyes shackle themselves

to mine, I am before you.

 

I recognize you, ancestral mirror.

 

Volcanic darkness, you are born

from the bowels of the earth. 

 

Colossal woman, feminine

Olmec head, female jaguar.

 

Your skull covered with distinctive

protection, you have earned your place

with valor, with sensuality.

 

Olmec marshes blossom so

you can see the world once again.

 

Xanath Caraza

“Mujer colosal / Colossal Woman” está incluido en el poemario Labios de piedra / Lips of Stone (2021). Traducido al inglés por Sandra Kingery.

 

In 2023 Labios de Piedra / Lips of Stone won Honorable Mention for Best Children's & Youth Poetry Book for the International Latino Book Awards.

 

 

Preparing to Invade an American City

                                                                                     

Peaceful but Under Watchful Eyes  

                                                                                    
     I drove past the West Los Angeles Federal Building last week. I'd heard the president had deployed a Marine unit from Camp Pendleton to protect the building. Why? No one knew for sure. 

     It was a beautiful summer morning. Traffic moved slowly along Wilshire Boulevard and horns blared. Joggers dodged each other on the sidewalks as men and women headed to their jobs in the Westwood Village. Parents took their kids to a lush park located directly behind the Federal Building, as Marines in tactical gear, wearing dark shades, menacing weapons at the ready, stood guard at the entrances to the parking lot. I don't doubt some of these guys had seen action in the Middle East, from the Middle East to tony Westwood, what a transition.

     In downtown Los Angeles, according to LAPD and LASD, the protests against ICE immigration raids were under control. No killing, no snipers, no burning buildings, some reported looting, and three smoldering innocent Waymos the victims of people's ire. Local law enforcement was doing its job. 

     A man walked his dog past the stoic marines. I decided to park and take a stroll with my dog. I found a parking spot, pulled over, military jeeps and trucks parked along the curb on Veteran Avenue, a mile from the UCLA campus. I sensed tension on an otherwise normal California day. I knew what could happen if anyone made a mistake, or a miscalculation.

     My mind reeled to the past; April 4, 1968, James Earl Ray had assassinated Martin Luther King, and all hell had broken loose. We’d been relaxing in the Day Room, guys talking, playing cards, shooting pool, and watching the news, protests in D.C., a standoff against the police then the violence. People broke into stores and began looting. At some point, D.C. went up in flames, and the national guard pulled in to take control. The order came down confining us to our barracks. We were about an hour's flight from the nation's capital. A day later, blocks of the city were on fire and snipers started shooting at the Guard.

      Most of us had been to Vietnam and had hoped to finish our time in the military, peacefully, except we were paratroopers assigned to famed 82nd Airborne. Like our brothers in the 101st Airborne, still in Vietnam, the army referred to us as nomads, sending us at a minute’s notice wherever an enemy threatened U.S. national security. 

      A few months earlier, we'd also been confined to our barracks when North Vietnamese and Vietcong forces attacked nearly every major city in South Vietnam, on TET, the Chinese New Year. We received orders to pack up and prepare to fly out to Southeast Asia. The first sergeant came into the barracks and asked, “Which of you has already done a tour in Vietnam?” More than half of the guys raised their hands. “Alright, you can stay back, unless you volunteer. Think it over. I’ll be back in a minute. The rest of you get ready. You can write your folks when you arrive in Vietnam.” 

     We’d been trained like finely-honed weapons, playing war in North Carolna’s backwoods and making combat jumps out of cargo planes, jets, and helicopters. I could hear the guys around me talking it over. A weird energy filled the barracks, excitement from the adrenalin rush just thinking about combat, almost euphoric. 

     A few guys wanted to return, bored with stateside duty. I knew what they meant. I felt it, too, but it was more than boredom. War is an elixir. They couldn't articulate it, an urge for the exotic, Vietnam, an enigma, a magnet pulling us back into the mire, an unfaithful lover who would never change. We were playing the odds, ignoring the horror from the first time, young minds glossing over the ugliness and terror. We were addicts who needed one more fix. 

     Caught up in my buddies' gestalt, I was ready to volunteer, until an image of my mom came to me, her face sick with worry. My first tour had nearly broken her, emotionally. She’d aged when I returned, looked older and more tired than her forty-one-years. Right then, I decided to stay behind, for her, or maybe it was deeper, my subconscious reminding me of what I'd forgotten -- death. 

     A month later, they confined us to our barracks again. North Koreans had hijacked an American Naval vessel, the Pueblo. The U.S. threatened to invade. The call came. Get ready. I don’t recall how long we remained on alert, but it was serious, a ball-breaker, as some guys said. Luckily, nothing came of it except a year of negotiations to finally release the vessel and the sailors. 

     In Washington D.C., snipers targeted law enforcement and the National Guard, and dead bodies began to appear, we received orders to saddle up. We picked up our weapons at the armory and, within hours, we were flying into Andrews AFB, outside of D.C., but this time it was different. We were invading an American city. We weren’t law enforcement. We hadn’t been trained in crowd control. We were an attack force with all the weapons of war at our disposal, and we weren't afraid to use them. 

     The first time our unit, along with the 101st Airborne, had been used in an American city was in 1962, in the Battle of Oxford, Mississippi, when James Meredith attempted to enroll in classes at the University of Mississippi as authorized by the Supreme Court, to integrate the campus. 

     Meredith had received death threats. The governor refused to help. JFK sent in 500 federal marshals to accompany Meredith to his dorm. That night, an army of three-to-five-thousand white supremacists, armed with Molotov cocktails and firearms, attacked federal marshals in the center of campus. The marshals responded by shooting tear gas to disperse the mob. The people retaliated using small arms fire and pushing its way forward. The marshals feared they’d be overrun, James Meredith kidnapped, and lynched. 

     In downtown Oxford, rioters started burning and looting. The conflict was complicated because many in law and the state government supported the rioters who believed in segregation and were willing to die before seeing the sacred grounds of their university integrated. The national guard couldn't handle the masses. News travelled slowly. President Kennedy wasn't aware of the violence. When he finally received the news, he called in the 82nd and 101st Airborne, who came in a set up machine gun nests at key entry points into the city. In no time, they took back the streets. 

     When it was over, 160 federal marshals were wounded, 28 of them shot. Two men died, one a foreign journalist and the other a jukebox repairman, a curiosity seeker. 

      In ’67-’69, civil disturbances erupted in many major American cities, blocks of homes and businesses burned down, but only after the national guard hadn’t been able to quell the violence, did the military intervene. Dozens died in Detroit's racial riots. We knew it was serious as we flew into D.C. on C-130 cargo planes, but we had no idea what to expect. This was a different kind of jungle, and in some weird way, American citizens had become the enemy. 

     We didn't question the "whys" of it. "[Ours] was not to reason why. [Ours] was but to do and die," as Tennyson wrote it so poetically. There were reports of snipers on rooftops. We’d be patrolling the streets around Howard University, the seat of knowledge and enlightenment, among the poor and unemployed, our automatic rifles at the ready. 

     We’d survived Vietnam. Would we die in the streets of our nation’s capital, seen as defenders or invaders, making sure what some called the 'uppity" citizenry "remembered its place?" Some of the guys in our unit were African Americans, a few probably even from D.C. What were they feeling as they prepared to take up arms against their neighbors? 

     What if I had to fly into Los Angeles and invade my city, or some mad president decided to declare war on Mexico, my ancestors' land, would I be able to take up arms, to kill people who looked like me standing at the other end of my rifle. Naw, that could never happen.

She Persisted: Pura Belpré- Ella persistió: Pura Belpré

Written by Meg Medina.

Illustrated by Marilisa Jiménez García 

Publisher: ‎Philomel Books

Language: English

Print length: ‎96 pages

ISBN-10: ‎0593620615

ISBN-13: ‎978-0593620618

Item Weight: ‎3.56 ounces

Reading age: ‎6 - 9 years

Dimensions: ‎5.31 x 0.28 x 7.63 inches

Part of series: ‎She Persisted

Grade level: ‎1 - 4

Pura Belpré grew up in Puerto Rico surrounded by stories. When she moved to New York and was offered the chance to work at the New York Public Library, she was thrilled to be able to help share her stories with children—especially multicultural and multilingual children like her. She persisted in bringing Spanish and bilingual storytelling and books to libraries across the city and across the country, and she wrote books and stories of her own to bring even more of her culture to people everywhere. Pura gave Spanish speakers in New York and around the country the opportunity to read and find community in ways they never had before, and she changed the way libraries reach readers even to this day.

In this chapter book biography by bestselling and award-winning author Meg Medina, readers learn about the amazing life of Pura Belpré--and how she persisted. 

Complete with an introduction from Chelsea Clinton, black-and-white illustrations throughout, and a list of ways that readers can follow in Pura Belpré's footsteps and make a difference! A perfect choice for kids who love learning and teachers who want to bring inspiring women into their curriculum.

And don’t miss out on the rest of the books in the She Persisted series, featuring so many more women who persisted, including Sonia Sotomayor, Diana Taurasi, Malala Yousafzai, and more!

Inspired by the #1 New York Times bestseller She Persisted by Chelsea Clinton and Alexandra Boiger, a chapter book series about women who spoke up and rose up against the odds--including Pura Belpré!

Ella persistió: Pura Belpré

 

Pura Belpré se mudó de Puerto Rico a la ciudad de Nueva York y se hizo bibliotecaria en un momento en que las bibliotecas estaban llenas de sólo libros en inglés. Pero ella sabía que a las personas hispanohablantes también les encantaría poder ir a las bibliotecas, por lo que persistió en implementar programas y libros bilingües en las bibliotecas de toda la ciudad. Ella también escribía sus propias historias y tradujo cuentos puertorriqueños al inglés para que pudieran llegar a un público más amplio. Pura Belpré cambió la manera en que las bibliotecas se acercaban a los lectores y les dio a las comunidades hispanas de toda la ciudad, y del país, la oportunidad de acercarse a los libros y formar ahí un tipo de comunidad que nunca antes habían tenido.

 

En este libro biográfico escrito por la galardonada autora bestseller Meg Medina, los lectores aprenderán sobre la increíble vida de Pura Belpré y cómo ella persistió.

 

¡El libro incluye una introducción de Chelsea Clinton, ilustraciones en blanco y negro y una lista de maneras en que los lectores pueden seguir los pasos de Pura Belpré y así marcar la diferencia!

 

¡Y no te pierdas los demás libros de la serie She Persisted, con muchas otras mujeres que persistieron, como Coretta Scott King, Harriet Tubman, Sonia Sotomayor, Malala Yousafzai, Diana Taurasi y otras más!

Inspirada en el bestseller #1 del New York Times Ella persistió / She Persisted de Chelsea Clinton y Alexandra Boiger, llega esta serie en Chapter Books sobre mujeres que sobresalieron, lucharon y se levantaron contra viento y marea, como Pura Belpré.

Meg Medina (megmedina.com) is a New York Times bestselling and award-winning author who writes for children and teens. She has won numerous awards for her work, including the Ezra Jack Keats Writer Award as well as the Pura Belpré Award and Honor. She is the 2019 Newbery Medal winner for her novel Merci Suárez Changes Gears. When she is not writing, she works on community projects that support Latinx youth. She lives with her family in Richmond, Virginia. You can follow Meg on Twitter @meg_medina and on Instagram @megmedinabooks.

Marilisa Jiménez García is an associate professor of children's literature at Simmons University. She is the author of Side by Side: US Empire, Puerto Rico, and the Roots of Youth Literature and Culture. She researches the role of youth literature in education and racial justice struggles in the US. Jiménez García's writing has appeared in The Atlantic, Refinery 21, Children's Literature,and Latino Studies. You can follow her on Twitter @MarilisaJimenez.

 

Review of Blues for the Buffalo, Backyard Floricanto Returns to Casa Reyna, Jorge Martin qepd

 An Old Friend Through New Eyes

Review: Manuel Ramos. Blues for the Buffalo. Houston: Arte Público Press, 2025. ISBN: 979-8-89375-008-9

Michael Sedano

If you were reading detective fiction in 1994, you were excited by publication of a new Manuel Ramos novel, Blues for the Buffalo, featuring a Denver Chicano lawyer-detective malgre lui, Luis Montez. 

That was forty years ago, so it’s likely many readers are meeting Luis Montez for the first time, and today’s readers are excited by publication of the fourth in the Luis Montez series from Houston’s Arte Público Press. (link), Blues for the Buffalo. 

For gente who get a summer vacation, the four-volume Luis Montez series is perfect for summer binge reading. The series offers not simply four brown noir mysteries but more arrestingly, Ramos crafts a distinctive character in Luis Montez whose ethos occupies a central focus of Blues for the Buffalo.

Not that the novel lacks action and murder and clues and supporting characters. Ramos always fills his books with rich portions of all the above. Blues for the Buffalo, for all its insights into what makes Luis tick, has a fire-bombing murder, a gruesome hit-and-run, a shot in the dark, a bad guy getting it from Luis’ father.

Blues for the Buffalo introduces a California private detective character, Rad Valdez. Rad’s an ass-kicker and no Chicano but he’s got a semi-open mind about raza identity. Valdez is like a proxy for the modern reader who doesn’t “get” the title allusion to Oscar Zeta Acosta, the Brown Buffalo, and gives Ramos a platform to teach some history. This isn't dry stuff; it's like listening to oldies on remastered vinyl.

Oscar Acosta reads from his
Autobiography of a 
Brown Buffalo, 1973

There's no disclaimer like,“Any similarity to actual poets and Yo Soy Joaquin are strictly co-incidental,” but there could be. And there’s a sly smile behind that in the novel’s allusion to Denver poet and movimiento activist Rodolfo Corky Gonzales, who authored the movimiento anthemic ballad, Yo Soy Joaquin. That part’s not in the novel but what’s an allusion for if you have to spell out everything, que no?

Ramos isn’t raising pedo for its own sake. The book's fictive authorship is possibly a motive for murder and just desserts. The poetry subplot lets author Ramos riff on the literary life, flamboyant writers, and signing tables.

Manuel Ramos dedicates Blues for the Buffalo to Zeta, “For Zeta c/s”. Ramos is careful not to embellish or lionize the Los Angeles lawyer and writer in the novel's lengthy expositions about Chicano history and the place Oscar Acosta holds. 

The Brown Buffalo’s a kind of red herring--the book isn't really about Zeta, and the legendary activist is used as a fraud perpetrated upon a fragile woman by an evil half-brother. Evil is a word that dare not speak its name, in the story behind why the woman goes missing and the search leads to a Molotov cocktail and death of a good woman.

Readers who’ve seen Montez take too many risks and make dumb decisions that get him shot in the leg and have his legal practice come crashing down on him will find Buffalo’s Montez a breath of fresh air. Luis is earning a meagre living as a reinstated lawyer again. Slowed down by the leg, he’s introspective and sensitive. Ramos gives the character numerous ethos-fashioning soliloquies on urban change, the movimiento, conscientiousness, being a good son.

Like all the Luis Montez novels, Ramos juggles several plot threads whose characters pop in and out of chapters. As a favor to readers, halfway through Blues for the Buffalo, the author offers a thumbnail summary, “now it appeared that Rad’s presence in town had something to do with the fire that had claimed the life of Charlotte Garcia. And somewhere in all that, I had to sort out the killing of my client, Wilson López, and the unlikely linkage between the poet, Bobby Baca, and the small-time hood Chick Montero.”

All that gets sorted, raveled, and unraveled in good time, along with an untied loose thread about the missing woman and the ugly motive behind the woman’s disappearance and the chain of tragedies leading out of the search for a missing daughter, sister, family secret.

Summer is icumin in and that’s when gente who get vacation time like to kick back and read. Arte Publico’s making binge-reading the Luis Montez series an ideal way to do just that, kick back and read. You’ll enjoy the noir sensibility Manuel Ramos infuses into his novels, clever writing, plot twists you don’t see until they hit you in the gut, entertaining characters and despicable bad guys.

If you’re a working stiff who doesn’t get time off and have to sneak in a book only now and again, there’s nothing like a good mystery novel to distract from the crap and daily drudge. A Luis Montez mystery novel like Blues for the Buffalo brings just what you need to chase away your own blues and if you’re up on your movimiento history, it’ll bring smiles to your face. Y si no, here's a free lesson that anti-DEI tipos don't want you to have.

Backyard Floricanto Returns to Casa Reyna Poetry Garden

La Bloga has long championed the home-grown floricanto, a literary uprising in a living room or backyard. Festivales de Flor y Canto take place on big stages attracting whomever gets the word. Back in 2010, Michael Sedano organized a reunion floricanto of the first major floricanto at USC in 1973. Both festivals were three-day celebrations of Chicano Literature.

These were big deals but floricantos don’t have to be, and should not be, restricted to the big stage. Everyday gente can put together a guest list of poets, send out invitations, and get together in the living room or back yard to eat, drink, and share an open mic with fellow writers and invitadas invitados.

Poets and writers in the Altadena-Pasadena and neighboring communities enjoy the generosity and hospitality of Thelma Reyna, laureate emerita of Altadena, whose poetry garden makes a personal setting for an afternoon floricanto. This was the case last year, when Richard Vargas featured at Casa Reyna Poetry Garden. Link. 

This year, Reyna, with co-host Michael Sedano, welcomed the year’s first floricanto featuring Roy Kuchel and Karineh Mahdessian. 

A floricanto can be fully experienced only in public. This foto essay, however, captures moments of sublime joy wrought from sharing by the afternoon’s features and open mic readers. Iphone fotos by Michael Sedano, art directed/curated by Thelma T. Reyna.

Host, Thelma T. Reyna

It's not all poetry. Margaret García canta.

Alicia Viguer-Espert

Toti O'Brien reads then later sings a song.

John Martinez

Donald Berry

Jimmy Recinos

Mary Anee Berry moves the audience with a fire poem.
Casa Reyna is two blocks south of the Eaton Fire's reach.

G.T. Foster reads from his Vietnam-era memoir 

One of the day's feature poets, Karineh Mahdessian

Karineh Mahdessian makes her return to a poetry stage
in today's Floricanto

Leading the spotlighted readers, Roy Kuchel

Roy Kuchel made his poetry debut at one of last year's
Backyard Floricantos at Casa Reyna Poetry Garden

Remembering Jorge Martin

In 2018, Casa Sedano hosted author liz gonzalez in a book release Living Room Floricanto for her Dancing in the Santa Ana Winds (link). It was a joyous celebration with friends and familia for the San Bernardino native. Last week, liz gonzalez celebrated the life of her husband, scientist, musician, cancer patient Jorge Martin.

liz is surrounded by writer friends in the foto below. The display behind them tells Jorge's life story in a series of tee shirts. There is joy in sorrow, and the Jorge Martin Celebration of Life brought both in equal measure. Jorge's spirit lives on in memories of him held close to the hearts of Jorge's and liz' friends and familia. 

liz begins life after caregiving stops. La Bloga wishes liz the joy of finding the new life awaiting discovery.