The Republic of East L.A.: Stories

Rating:
Summary: Outstanding book
Review: It's rare to find new literature about Chicanos in Los Angeles. Most I've found is set in the years from 1920 to 1970. This was a breath of fresh air.

I must admit that I hadn't heard of Luis J. Rodriguez before I read the books. What first attracted me to the book was the pretty girl on the cover. While the stories were compelling to me as a Chicano, I think the true beauty of the author's work is a truth that transcends racial and socio-economic background and most importantly, age.

Highly recommended.

Rating:
Summary: Our Republic
Review: Luis J. Rodriguez once again has painted a vibrant and complex picture of those who work, live, love and die in "The Republic of East L.A." Rodriguez's prose is straight-forward yet poetic as he tells us about the varied struggles of cholos/as, a budding journalist, a limousine driver, immigrants, working people, all sorts of gente. My favorite story is "Sometimes You Dance with a Watermelon," where forty-year-old Rosalba (an immigrant living in poverty and already a grandmother) needs to escape her crowded home to get a momentary bit of joy. She rouses her favorite granddaughter, Chila, and they drive to Grand Central Market where they buy a watermelon. Rosalba balances it on her head and starts to walk swaying "back and forth to a salsa beat thundering out of an appliance store." She and Chila get caught up in this joyous dance:

"Rosalba had not looked that happy in a long time as she danced along the bustling streets of the central city in her loose-fitting skirt and sandals. She danced in the shadow of a multi-storied Victorian -- dancing for one contemptuous husband and for another who was dead. She danced for a daughter who didn't love herself enough to truly have the love of another man. She danced for her grandchildren, especially that fireball Chila. She danced for her people, wherever they were scattered, and for this country she would never quite comprehend. She danced, her hair matted with sweat, while remembering a simpler life on an even simpler rancho in Nayarit."

This is a powerful, beautiful collection.

Rating:
Summary: Our Republic
Review: Luis J. Rodriguez once again has painted a vibrant and complex picture of those who work, live, love and die in "The Republic of East L.A." Rodriguez's prose is straight-forward yet poetic as he tells us about the varied struggles of cholos/as, a budding journalist, a limousine driver, immigrants, working people, all sorts of gente. My favorite story is "Sometimes You Dance with a Watermelon," where forty-year-old Rosalba (an immigrant living in poverty and already a grandmother) needs to escape her crowded home to get a momentary bit of joy. She rouses her favorite granddaughter, Chila, and they drive to Grand Central Market where they buy a watermelon. Rosalba balances it on her head and starts to walk swaying "back and forth to a salsa beat thundering out of an appliance store." She and Chila get caught up in this joyous dance:

"Rosalba had not looked that happy in a long time as she danced along the bustling streets of the central city in her loose-fitting skirt and sandals. She danced in the shadow of a multi-storied Victorian -- dancing for one contemptuous husband and for another who was dead. She danced for a daughter who didn't love herself enough to truly have the love of another man. She danced for her grandchildren, especially that fireball Chila. She danced for her people, wherever they were scattered, and for this country she would never quite comprehend. She danced, her hair matted with sweat, while remembering a simpler life on an even simpler rancho in Nayarit."

This is a powerful, beautiful collection.

NOTE: This review refers to the paperback edition.

Rating:
Summary: A Ride Through East L.A.
Review: The Republic of East L.A. is collection of stories set in a part of Los Angeles that even natives have not seen, do not know. Rodriguez has an eye for his culture and a sometimes imperfect way of telling a story that only adds credibility to the subjects he writes about.

That these stories have a rough edge, that they are not always perfectly told, is not important because they are poignantly told. Mostly they cross the barrio barrier for all to enjoy. Occasionally they don't. If you are interested in culture, speak Spanish or are familiar with Hispanic/American way of life, you will have no trouble. If you aren't, you will still find some of these stories worth a bit of a struggle. Especially "Pigeons." This tale about new Mexican immigrant prejudices against second generation Mexicans and vice versa is worth the entire ride through "East L.A."

Carolyn Howard-Johnson, author of "This is the Place"

Rating:
Summary: An Atlas of Human Hearts
Review: With The Republic of East L.A., Luis Rodriguez slyly suggests our largest barrio might be a separate country. The critically praised author of Always Running: La Vida Loca, Gang Days in L.A., Rodriguez writes less about geography in the City of Angels and more about an atlas of human hearts.

Twelve stories, twelve voices, The Republic of East L.A. surpasses the typical story collection with a unity of geography, culture, and artistic compassion. What Rodriguez achieves--if at a more modest level--invites comparison with James Joyce's Dubliners. Both have a felt history of community and honest portraits of characters caught in moral struggle.

Rodriguez's protagonists are satisfyingly complex. In the lead story, "My Ride, My Revolution," Cruz Blancarte, twenty-something (but closing in on thirty) plays in a rap-and-rock garage band. He inherits a yearning for political revolution from his chicana activist mom. He hustles a girlfriend, Bernarda, two inches taller than his five-six. And he drives a limo for a living, shuttling the chasms between the barrio and tonier sections of L.A. No Hispanic stereotyping here.

With a journalist's eye, Rodriguez enriches his stories with historical texture that reaches across decades and generations. Does that short-pants cholo beside the lowrider Chevy not echo the tattooed grandfather who had a pachuco past in the 1950s? Why did James A. Garfield High School lose its accreditation in the 1970s and then rocket to Stand and Deliver fame in the 1980s? Have we forgotten that in 1970 armed L.A. County Sheriff deputies in East L.A. attacked a crowd protesting the Vietnam War, leaving several dead, including Chicano journalist Ruben Salazar?

But story by story, Rodriguez's narrative focus is tighter than barrio history. Character struggle often plays out against the frame of la familia. "Shadows" is possibly the grimmest portrait. Rudy spirals downward into alcoholism, metaphorically melting into the sidewalk as a "shadow" person--so often did he pass out there. Rudy's suffering is not his alone. It's shared by la familia too: an abandoned wife, an abandoned child, and a father who stops caring about his son. Despite individual setbacks, la familia emerges in these stories as the common engine of survival, driven by an unstoppable work ethic.

"La Operacion" is an ambitious narrative of two parallel stories about the dream compelling so many Mexicans to cross our southern border. Working immigrant populations in the United States invariably send money back home to family and relatives. Thus, one story is set in East L.A.; one story is set in a small beneficiary village in the scenic Copper Canyon country of Mexico. After the glimpse of everyone winning in the "parallel economies" of both barrio and village, tragedy strikes in both places. La Migra, not unexpectedly, literally bulldozes the dream of the immigrants in East L.A. But surprisingly, the villagers' dream collapses too: The heavy hand of tourist development reaches out, destroying culture, a lifeway, and whatever else the dollars from up north had secured.

All twelve stories deserve comment, but the final story demands comment. "Sometimes You Dance With a Watermelon," is that rare event: pure storyteller magic. Told with economy and deft strokes, we get to know Rosalba, a grandmother who's still living a difficult life in her fortieth year. We see the arc of her life from leaving an obscure Mexican village to questioning now whether the sacrifices to be in Estados Unidos were worth it. Someday, some way, she wants to go back to her village. And yet as the matriarch of her own familia, she has few choices. Like Camus's Sisyphus, she can only keep moving.

Rosalba and her nine-year-old granddaughter Chila walk down to Grand Central Market in the heart of L.A. There Rosalba buys a watermelon, which Chila can't carry. Then Rodriguez kicks the story up another level, for something akin to Joycean epiphany. Rosalba balances the watermelon on her head as she learned in the village, and festive music in the air, she dances. To not spoil this literary treat for you, no more should be said. Read the story. Better yet, read all of The Republic of East L.A.