Daisy Hernández

In reading A Cup of Water Under My Bed I pictured Daisy Hernandez's childhood as a kind of tightrope dance. She learned to walk a straight and narrow line between varying beliefs and experiences concerning religion (Catholic versus Santeria), language (English versus Spanish), society (wealthy versus poverty), culture (American versus Cuban-Columbian), and even relationships (abuse versus love) and sex (straight, bisexual and lesbian). Navigating her coming of age through these conflicting show more influences, Hernandez emerges as compassionate and intelligent. She has the ability to articulate the difficulties of childhood (her father's alcoholism and abuse) as well as the innocence of childhood (stealing candies and eavesdropping on adult conversations). When she has to hide her sexuality from her aunt in order to have a relationship with her it breaks my heart. As it was they stopped speaking for seven years when her tia heard Hernandez has kissed a girl. Of course there is more to the story than this. Just go read it. Again. show less

Rating: 4* of five

The Publisher Says: A provocative, personal, blazingly intelligent examination of one of the most vexing questions facing the United States today—who is, and should be, a citizen?

“How did ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free’ turn upside down to where we are today? Everyone needs to read this book, citizens and non-citizens alike. Brilliant!”—Sandra Cisneros

"The most comprehensive book on citizenship/immigration I've ever show more read. A must-read!"—Javier Zamora

In this one-of-a-kind book, Daisy Hernández fiercely interrogates one of the most complicated subjects of contemporary life and citizenship. Braiding memoir, history, and cultural criticism, she exposes the truths and lies of how we define ourselves as a country and a people. Turning to her own family's stories—her mother arrived from Colombia, her father a political refugee from Castro's Cuba—Hernández shows how the very idea of citizenship is a myth and part of the stories we tell ourselves about the American soul and psyche.

Reframing our understanding of what it means to be an American, Notes on Citizenship is an urgent and necessary account of the laws, customs, and language we use to include and exclude, especially those who come from Latin America. With her scholar's mind and memoirist's gift for narrative, Hernández weaves a story both personal and national, while reckoning with our country's ongoing debate about who belongs and providing fresh ways of thinking about citizenship. At once bracing, fearless, and tender, Notes on Citizenship is a powerful portrait of one family's experiences in the borderlands of citizenship and an honest illumination of the country in which we live.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: The Supreme Court has heard oral arguments on the deeply contentious topic of ending the age-old concept of "birthright citizenship," very much in the current regime's sights for elimination. Based on the Justice's tenor of questioning the Justice Department's counsel, I don't feel the regime can count on the ruling being in their favor.

This collection of essays has as its core a desire to think through how citizenship has changed in practice. The US Constitution defines citizenship in the Fourteenth Amendment, and it's pretty unambiguous about it. (That same amendment gifted us with the legal horror of corporate personhood.) It's been a longstanding desire of racist, fascist scum to make the idea of citizenship into a conditional grant...which, if anyone though about it for a single minute, would mean there's no citizenship for anyone at all.

Author Daisy thinks through the various ramifications of this terrible idea. Once a right is "granted" it can be taken away. That is why every time a law is passed that limits a right, like birthright citizenship, you...you personally...are at risk of losing whatever right it is. If this kakistocracy has not taught you the lesson that believing "they wouldn't/can't do that" is a dangerous illusion, read Author Daisy's essays. They can, and they will, and even court orders will not force the scum to cease and desist from illegal, immoral behavior. Look how many losses in court have been dealt the regime; yet no sign of meaningful compliance, compliance with the *intent* of the orders and laws, exists. This is, in other words, a coup against the form of government we take for granted.

Read these essays, even though the collection feels thematically scattered, because each essay is very clearly argued, and makes excellent points. It is a slowly unfolding disaster but it is unfolding...it's time to pull your socks up and do the work of citizenship.

Follow Author Daisy's example. show less

This has been sitting around for awhile; I'm sure glad I picked it up out of the "to be read" pile.

Although labeled a "memoir", it's really a collection of essays, most of which have been published elsewhere. As a result, Hernández' story is not told in a chronological way, but rather in themes. It works.

Her parents were both immigrants to New York, her father from Cuba, her mother from Colombia. So Hernández grew up in multiple cultures, and these essays describe how she navigated divides show more of language, class, gender, sexuality, and came to appreciate and admire her family even as she moved into a life very different from theirs, a transition so common to first-generation Americans.

She has a real ear for language, particularly descriptive language. Her contrasting descriptions of two santeras, for instance: "La Viejita María is a woman who looks like dried corn. Her face is a light yellow, the skin dry and wrinkled; her white hair like a husk, with silk threads pulled back and running wild around her head" annd "Yvette is a woman who looks like a church bell. Her copper body curves with purpose, angles on a chair as if from a tower overlooking a village by the sea." Language for her is music: "The women in my family insist that I translated in those years, that I was the song between Tía Dora and the nurse . . . danced from English to Spanish and Spanglish and back again, following the music of questions . . ." show less

This is a wonderful memoir about a child trying to make sense of multiple cultures and her own emerging identity. Daisy's upbringing was far from ideal and full of confusing and contradictory concepts. Her Catholic, Columbian-born mother instilled a love of storytelling in Daisy while her abusive, alcoholic father relies on Santeria to improve their family's future. Daisy's family mixes Spanish and English frequently and she uses this Spanglish in her memoir to try to explain her upbringing show more and the intersection of cultures colliding in their lives. As Daisy grows up and comes out as a bisexual woman, her family's view of sexuality interferes in her relationships, particularly with an aunt who refuses to talk to her for seven years. I enjoyed the book more as Daisy grew up and able to leave her abusive father for college and a career in journalism. Her grit to pursue her destiny, while maintaining and learning more about her cultural roots through her research, was particularly interesting to me. In all, a well-written and fascinating cross-cultural, coming of age story. show less