Caramelo

To write is to ask questions. It doesn't matter if the answers are true or puro cuento.

Sandra Cisneros explores themes of identity, family, memory, perception, nationality, ethnicity, immigration, and gender issues through the eyes of Celaya Reyes (“Lala”), a young Mexican American girl growing up in the post-World War II era. Lala's father was born in Mexico. Lala and her brother were born in the U.S., but spend their summers with her father's parents in Mexico City. No matter where she is – Mexico, Chicago, or San Antonio - Lala is conscious of her status as an outsider. She doesn't even have a place at home. In Chicago, she sleeps on a recliner in the living room, while in Mexico, she sleeps in her parents' room. When her show more father tells people he has seven “hijos”, Lala hears him claiming seven “sons”. She knows she is her father's favorite child, yet she still feels like daughters don't count in his worldview.

There are layers of story within the novel. Even the names of characters and places tell a story. Self-absorbed Narciso and his lonely wife Soledad make their home on Destiny Street. Narciso and Soledad are distant cousins and share the name Reyes (“King”). Lala's father, a Reyes, marries a Reyna (“Queen”).

In the middle portion of the book, Lala tells her grandmother's story. She interprets Mexican history through experiences in the lives of members of her family. In some ways, it reminds me of what Rushdie does with the history of India and Pakistan in Midnight's Children.

Cisneros uses endnotes as a device in many of the chapters, and some of the notes are quite lengthy. I don't think the format would easily translate into an e-book, and that probably explains why it doesn't seem to be available in that format.

Caramelo is a book to savor, and one I won't soon forget. show less

Things I liked: The storyline of Lala and her immigrant family living in Chicago, then San Antonio.
Some of the prose was beautiful. What I didn't like: Fragmented Vignettes. Did not flow. The Spanish made it feel interrupted because I had to either skip over parts or constantly look up a phrase. I did not like all the footnotes and also cameos of famous people that did not advance the story. I would not recommend this work of Cisneros to anyone who was not already a fan of her writing.

"Tell me a story, even if it's a lie." So begins Sandra Cisneros's delightful second novel. The Reyes clan piles into three cars to make a trip to the "other side" (Mexico City) to visit the Awful Grandmother and the Little Grandfather. Celaya (Lala) Reyes is the youthful observer of her family's vida loca. Cisneros has written a poetic, fictionalized family saga made memorable by a raucous collection of characters. They slip in and out of time, weaving truth and "healthy lies" into the family's history. The story overflows with music, food, fantasy, and fiesta. Narrating the tale herself, Cisneros is most successful in her interpretation of the young Lala. Her reading lends charm and authenticity to this witty gem of a novel.

I'd be hard pressed to find a writer with as relevant and evocative similes as Cisneros in this longer work. She's also the queen of lists-- detailed and ridiculous lists of products, foods, smells, decorations, and clothing. The overall story is rather episodic and doesn't generate too much drama, especially the second part's section about the era of the Awful Grandmother's youth. I don't care about what becomes of the characters. However, I just eat up the language. Oh, and the lady on the cover looks just like me without my glasses!

This is the story of four generations of Reyes family, told by the youngest member - Lala. She recounts tales of her parents, grandparents and great grandparents, mixing the timeing and sequence just as they might be revealed over the years at multiple family gatherings. Her descriptions are priceless - a man who cut his own hair looks like "his head had been chewed by coyotes."

I first read the book in Nov 2003 on my own because I'd been a fan of Sandra Cisneros for some time. At the time I didn't recommend it to either of my two book clubs because of the amount of Spanish used (both groups had complained about similar "difficulties" with other books).

In 2008 my Hispanic book club chose this book so I read it a second time. I'm less show more enthralled than at first. Her writing is poetic, but the middle section of this novel is disjointed. show less

Wrapped Up in Caramelo
Caramelo was a novel of epic proportions (eighty plus chapters) written by well-known author Sandra Cisneros (The House on Mango Street). The book was published in 2002 by Harper Collins. The audio book is read by author Sandra Cisneros. I both listened to and read Caramelo.

This book seemed semi-autobiographical to me. Like the narrator, Lala Reyes, Cisneros was born into a large family and she was born in Chicago in the 1950s. Also, both are the only daughters born into the family. Each is of Mexican descent and, of course, each woman can really spin a thread. Nonetheless, the novel is prefaced with, perhaps, a caveat saying that not one bit is true. In fact, Cisneros disclaims, "If, in the course of my inventing, show more I have inadvertently stumbled on the truth, perdónenme." Caramelo came in a Spanish edition as well. The English version which I experienced is liberally sprinkled with authentic Spanish phrases.

A few things about Caramelo caught my attention before I decided to read the book. The mention of the rebozo of San Luis Potosi, Mexico reminded me of mission trips I went on to SLP and my own search for a rebozo. Also, I read the back and saw that part of the book takes place in San Antonio, each Texan's second home town. Then, there was the curiosity about Cisneros's writing style. So, I gave Caramelo a chance.

With Caramelo, the reader is given a chance to learn or brush up on Mexican history, immerse him/herself in the Mexican-American experience as well as learn the stories and, sometimes, the Reyes family history. The young narrator, Celaya "Lala" Reyes provides her audience a window into her heritage, weaving in strands to create a rich, poignant caramelo rebozo of a tale.

Lala's paternal grandmother, Soledad Reyes, comes from a family of the legendary, Mexican shawl of San Luis Potosi. The book begins with an annual summer pilgrimage from Lala's native Chicago to visit the grandparents, the Awful Grandmother and the Little Grandfather, in Mexico City.

Caramelo begins with one such summer when Lala was a little girl. Here, the Awful Grandmother rules the roost. The Awful Grandmother dotes on her favorite child, Lala's father, Inocencio, to the irritation of Lala's mother, Zoila, and to the exclusion of the rest of the Awful Grandmother's children. When Zoila reaches her breaking point with the Awful Grandmother, the story takes the reader on a journey to the time the Awful Grandmother was a sad, lonely little girl called Soledad Reyes.

The reader finds the little Soledad being sent with her late mother's caramelo rebozo, a shawl of boasting the colors of toffee, licorice, and vanilla, (Cisneros 94) to Mexico City from San Luis Potosi and into a fateful introduction to Narciso Reyes (the Little Grandfather). In the midst of the Mexican Revolution (1911 - 1920), Narciso and Soledad come together, marry, and start of family. Inocencio, the first child and the favorite of Soledad, was born. As a young man, Inocencio moves to United States and works his way to Chicago, and meets Mexican-American Zoila.

The Awful Grandmother moves in with the Chicago Reyeses after the death of the Little Grandfather. At first, they all live in Chicago. Then, they all move to San Antonio where the Awful Grandmother dies. Teenage granddaughter Lala is left with numerous loose ends and looks into the family histories and stories to better understand her late grandmother.

Some reviewers have compared Caramelo to John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. I believe that while the Reyes family may not be monetarily wealthy, they are rich with stories and identity. At times this book was reminiscent of Forrest Gump in the numerous appearances of famous and/or infamous, true people. However, I did like the historical context these cameos lent the work.

For the most part, I enjoyed listening to this book. Cisneros was able to better convey her points with her vocal characterizations - from the Awful Grandmother's whine to Inocencio's formality to Zoila's crackling sarcasm. Additionally, Cisneros can pronounce these words. She knows her own stuff and that's great. Still, it was good to have the book to see exactly how some of these words looked so I could say, "Oh, that's how you say that word." If anyone has as little understanding of Spanish as I, Caramelo may be a struggle.

I appreciated that many of the characters had an oft-repeated sentiment throughout the work. Narciso (the Little Grandfather) was a man feo, fuerte, y formal although he was not ugly (Cisneros, 103) while Soledad (the Awful Grandmother) reminds herself "Just enough, but not too much (92).

I am happy I stuck it out, though. I was able to see Lala make and wear her very own rebozo with the help of various relatives, especially her grandmother. Thus, I recommend this to the patient history buff out there.

Caramelo receives three out of five pearls from me. show less

Snippets of life in the Reyes, strung together into a story. I loved the family pet names that emerged: Awful Grandmother, Little Grandfather, Auntie Lightskin, and all the variants of other names sprinkled throughout. The book was inspired by the author's Mexican heritage and childhood in Chicago. Each summer, her family (her own family and that of her two uncles) caravaned to visit her grandparents in Mexico City. The book is supposedly semi-autobiographical, but the vignettes, whether real or fictional, are interesting, amusing, and have a ring of verity about them.