Reflection #4: The House on Mango Street

“She thinks stories are about beauty…She thinks people who are busy working for a living deserve beautiful little stories, because they don’t have much time and are often tired. She has in mind a book that can be opened at any page and will still make sense to the reader who doesn’t know what came before or comes after” (p.xvii).

When I read this passage, I almost laughed aloud; it perfectly described my reading situation for The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros .  Pressed for time, I was using every spare moment at work to read through this short novel.  Between refereeing TCU intramural soccer games, I would run back to the official table to read a page or two before beginning my next task.  I had managed to read through only a few pages of the introduction before I began my first shift.  After the game, I returned to the novel, quickly unfolding the dog-ear corner marking my place.  I found it hard to focus as I read; my mind drifted to my expanding list of “to dos” for the week, reminding me of everything I needed to accomplish within the next 48 hours.   I read this line of the introduction in the middle of life: the TCU Ultimate Frisbee team was running laps around the soccer fields, soccer teams were checking in for their next round of games, the rugby team laughed in the distance, cars zoomed around the bend in Berry Street, fraternities and sororities laughed as they enjoyed the warm weather outside.  All around me, life was occurring; and here I was, opening this novel as I worked to pay for my college expenses, busy living life yet reading despite the chaos around me.  Throughout the night, I was able to finish half of the novel, reading sketches sporadically as time permitted.  The next day, I attended classes with the book in hand.  While waiting for class to begin, I usually read 3-4 sketches; during class breaks, I could knock out another 2-3 sketches.  The House on Mango Street was living up to Sandra Cisneros’s intentions; I was able to open the novel at any point as I went through my day to day activities and still derive meaning from the text.

I found this novel emotionally trying as I followed the childhood reminisces of the narrator, Esperanza. Some of the sketches were humorous, containing familiar dialogues or thoughts I experienced during my own childhood.  However, other sketches were dark and deeply disturbing, containing events I have never encountered and describing situations I will never understand.  Esperanza’s dream in life was to have a home of her own; growing up I always had a home to call my own, a blessing I know I have taken for granted.  Esperanza learned from an early age the tragedies of poverty, forced to mature and become wise in the realities of the world far faster than any child should.  I think my biggest concern as a child was which doll to play with; I got in trouble for not eating my vegetables.  Esperanza worried about escaping the cycle of poverty which bound the residents of Mango Street, forced to eat greasy rice sandwiches because there was no money for lunch meat. 

As I read the novel, I tried to put myself in Esperanza’s shoes, to feel the emotions which must have coursed through her veins as she observed her poverty ridden neighborhood.  But no matter how hard I attempted to be Esperanza, I couldn’t.  Surrounded by the pristine brick structures and first class amenities of our private university, I could never feel the oppressive poverty faced by Esperanza.  I have worked with children in a preschool for low socioeconomic families and have volunteered in homeless shelters over the years, but knowing the existence of poverty and experiencing poverty are two entirely separate things.  This novel forced me to acknowledge that I will never grasp the entirety of Esperanza’s story without personally experiencing her situations.  Until I have lived in a poverty stricken neighborhood, personally witness the aftermath of abuse in my neighbors, and watch friend after friend abandon their hopes in return for relative “security”, I will never truly walk in Esperanza’s worn brown saddle shoes.   

“I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not ache so much.  I write it down and Mango says goodbye sometimes.  She does not hold me with both arms.  She sets me free.  One day I will pack my bags of books and paper.  One day I will say goodbye to Mango.  I am too strong for her to keep me here forever.  One day I will go away” (p.110).   No two individuals live identical lives.  I believe the every person is molded by the experiences and relationships they encounter throughout life.  “Coming-of-age” is not a process; as Esperanza reveals in this passage, an individual never stops growing and learning.  Though her house on Mango Street is part of the past, the memories of the street continue to haunt and strengthen Esperanza.  Esperanza will not be free from the painful memories of Mango Street in an instant; rather, these recollections continue to influence her choices and decisions, powerful agents in Esperanza’s “coming-of-age” process.  Someday, Esperanza might have the strength to leave Mango Street behind, barring her mind against the invasive memories; however, Mango Street will always remain a part of her, a life experience that will continue to unconsciously shape her perspectives and character.  Individuals can forget their past, but they can never fully erase it. For Esperanza, her childhood experiences on Mango Street cultivated a desire to rescue her neighbors, leaving only so she can someday return for the friends and family she had to leave behind.  Escaping Mango Street long enough to find happiness and peace, then returning to help others find the same contentment, rescuing those who cannot rescue themselves (p.110).