When I Was Puerto Rican

( 103 )

Overview


Esmeralda Santiago's story begins in rural Puerto Rico, where her childhood was full of both tenderness and domestic strife, tropical sounds and sights as well as poverty. Growing up, she learned the proper way to eat a guava, the sound of tree frogs in the mango groves at night, the taste of the delectable sausage called morcilla, and the formula for ushering a dead baby's soul to heaven. As she enters school we see the clash, both hilarious and fierce, of Puerto Rican and Yankee culture. When her mother, Mami,...
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When I Was Puerto Rican: A Memoir

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Overview


Esmeralda Santiago's story begins in rural Puerto Rico, where her childhood was full of both tenderness and domestic strife, tropical sounds and sights as well as poverty. Growing up, she learned the proper way to eat a guava, the sound of tree frogs in the mango groves at night, the taste of the delectable sausage called morcilla, and the formula for ushering a dead baby's soul to heaven. As she enters school we see the clash, both hilarious and fierce, of Puerto Rican and Yankee culture. When her mother, Mami, a force of nature, takes off to New York with her seven, soon to be eleven children, Esmeralda, the oldest, must learn new rules, a new language, and eventually take on a new identity. In this first volume of her much-praised, bestselling trilogy, Santiago brilliantly recreates the idyllic landscape and tumultuous family life of her earliest years and her tremendous journey from the barrio to Brooklyn, from translating for her mother at the welfare office to high honors at Harvard.

From a rippled zinc shack in rural Puerto Rico to "the better life" in a decaying Brooklyn tenement, Esmerelda Santiago's Puerto Rican childhood is one of sorcery, smoldering war between the sexes, and high comedy. Hers is a portrait of a harsh but enchanted world that can never be reclaimed.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, 3/2/09
“[Santiagos] story is painful at points, funny in others, but it speaks a universal truth: We never totally leave our past behind.”

Teen Ink, 4/09
“It shows you the trials that immigrants face when they move to the United States, including the many differences in language and culture…Perfect for those who like books that have real meaning.”

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Santiago's artful memoir recounts her childhood in rural Puerto Rico and her teenage years in New York City; also available in a Spanish-language edition.
Library Journal
As president of her own film company, Santiago has won praise for her writing and producing. In this, her first book, she tells of her childhood in Puerto Rico in the 1950s and of her family's move to New York when she was 13. Her rich prose recreates the tropical splendor of Puerto Rico, the harsh conflicts between her parents, and the squalor of Brooklyn. While she shares unique personal experiences, Santiago also expresses the universality of growing up. Her memoir ends dramatically with her audition for New York's High School for Performing Arts. A poignant look at a girl's coming of age and taking control of her own destiny, Santiago's story reflects that of Puerto Rico: to be a part of the United States, yet distinct and somehow detached. Recommended.-- Gwen Gregory, U.S. Courts Lib., Phoenix
School Library Journal
YA-Esmerelda and her seven siblings live in a corrugated metal shack in Puerto Rico. She is uprooted as a result of poverty and her parents' quarreling and suffers blows to her ego from their expectations of her. The girl goes to New York, where her grandmother lives, and must rely on her intelligence and talents to help her survive in an alien world in which being Puerto Rican is not advantageous. Her story rings true and will be an inspiration to YAs forced to make their own way in a sometimes hostile environment.-Ginny Ryder, Lee High School, Fairfax County, VA
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780306814525
  • Publisher: Da Capo Press
  • Publication date: 2/28/2006
  • Series: A Merloyd Lawrence Book Series
  • Edition description: New Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 288
  • Sales rank: 226,662
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 8.10 (h) x 0.80 (d)

Meet the Author

Esmeralda Santiago

Esmeralda Santiago is the author of two highly acclaimed memoirs, The Turkish Lover and Almost a Woman, which was made into a film for PBS's Masterpiece Theatre. She has also written a novel, America's Dream, and has co-edited two anthologies of Latino literature. She lives in Westchester County, New York.
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Read an Excerpt

Al j?baro nunca se le quita la mancha de platano.

A j?baro can never wash away the stain of the plantain.

We came to Mac?n when I was four, to a rectangle of rippled metal sheets on stilts hovering in the middle of a circle of red dirt. Our home was a giant version of the lard cans used to haul water from the public fountain. Its windows and doors were also metal, and, as we stepped in, I touched the wall and burned my fingers.

"That'll teach you," Mami scolded. "Never touch a wall on the sunny side."

She searched a bundle of clothes and diapers for her jar of Vick's VapoRub to smear on my fingers. They were red the rest of the day, and I couldn't suck my thumb that night. "You're too big for that anyway," she said.

The floor was a patchwork of odd-shaped wooden slats that rose in the middle and dipped toward the front and back doors, where they butted against shiny, worn thresholds. Papi nailed new boards under Mami's treadle sewing machine, and under their bed, but the floor still groaned and sagged to the corners, threatening to collapse and bring the house down with it.

"I'll rip the whole thing out," Papi suggested. "We'll have to live with a dirt floor for a while. . . ."

Mami looked at her feet and shuddered. A dirt floor, we'd heard, meant snakes and scorpions could crawl into the house from their holes in the ground. Mami didn't know any better, and I had yet to learn not everything I heard was true, so we reacted in what was to become a pattern for us: what frightened her I became curious about, and what she found exciting terrified me. As Mami pulled her feet onto the rungs ofher rocking chair and rubbed the goose bumps from her arms, I imagined a world of fascinating creatures slithering underfoot, drawing squiggly patterns on the dirt.

The day Papi tore up the floor, I followed him holding a can into which he dropped the straight nails, still usable. My fingers itched with a rust-colored powder, and when I licked them, a dry, metallic taste curled the tip of my tongue. Mami stood on the threshold scratching one ankle with the toes of the other foot.

"Negi, come help me gather kindling for the fire."

"I'm working with Papi," I whined, hoping he'd ask me to stay. He didn't turn around but continued on his knees, digging out nails with the hammer's claw, muttering the words to his favorite chachach?.

"Do as I say!" Mami ordered. Still, Papi kept his back to us. I plunked the can full of nails down hard, willing him to hear and tell me to stay, but he didn't. I dawdled after Mami down the three steps into the yard. Delsa and Norma, my younger sisters, took turns swinging from a rope Papi had hung under the mango tree.

"Why can't they help with the kindling?" I pouted.

Mami swatted the side of my head. "Don't talk back," she said. "You girls keep away from the house while your father is working," she warned as we walked by my sisters having fun.

She led the way into a thicket behind the latrine. Twigs crackled under my bare feet, stinging the soles. A bananaquit flew to the thorny branch of a lemon tree and looked from side to side. Dots of sun danced on the green walls of the shady grove above low bushes weighted with pigeon peas, the earth screened with twigs, sensitive moriviv? plants, and french weed studded with tiny blue flowers. Mami hummed softly, the yellow and orange flowers of her dress blending into the greenness: a miraculous garden with legs and arms and a melody. Her hair, choked at the nape with a rubber band, floated thick and black to her waist, and as she bent over to pick up sticks, it rained across her shoulders and down her arms, covering her face and tangling in the twigs she cradled. A red butterfly circled her and flew close to her ear. She gasped and swatted it Into a bush.

"It felt like it was going right into my brain," she muttered with an embarrassed smile.

Delsa and Norma toddled through the underbrush. "Mami, come see what I found," Delsa called.

A hen had scratched out a hollow and carpeted its walls and floor with dry grass. She had laid four eggs, smaller and not as white as the ones our neighbor Do?a Lola gave us from time to time.

"Can we eat them?" Delsa asked.

"No."

"But if we leave them here a snake will get them," I said, imagining a serpent swallowing each egg whole. Mami shuddered and rubbed her arms where tiny bumps had formed making the fine hairs stand straight up. She gave me a look, half puzzled, half angry, and drew us to her side.

"All right, let's get our sticks together and bring them to the kitchen." As she picked hers up, she looked carefully around.

"One, two, three, four," she chanted. "One, two, three, four."

We marched single file into our yard, where Papi stacked floorboards.

"Come look," he said.

The dirt was orange, striped in places where crumbs had slipped through the cracks when Mami swept. Papi had left a few boards down the center of the room and around his and Mami's bed, to stand on until the ground was swept and flattened. Mami was afraid to come into the house. There were small holes in the dirt, holes where snakes and scorpions hid. She turned around swiftly and threw herself off balance so that she skipped toward the kitchen shed.

"Let's go make supper!" She singsang to make it sound like fun. Delsa and Norma followed her skirt, but I stared at the dirt, where squiggly lines stretched from one wall to the other. Mami waited for me.

"Negi, come help in the kitchen."

I pretended not to hear but felt her eyes bore holes in the back of my head. Papi stepped between us.

"Let her stay. I can use the help."

I peered between his legs and saw her squint and pucker her lips as if she were about to spit. He chuckled, "Heh, heh," and she whirled toward the kitchen shed, where the fire in the fog?n was almost out.

"Take these boards and lay them on the pile for the cooking fire," Papi said. "Careful with the splinters."

I walked a broad circle around Mami, who looked up from her vegetable chopping whenever I went by. When I passed carrying a wide board, Mami asked to see it. Black bugs, like ants, but bigger and blacker, crawled over it in a frenzy.

"Termites!" she gasped.

I was covered with them. They swarmed inside my shirt and panties, into my hair, under my arms. Until Mami saw them, I hadn't felt them sting. But they bit ridges into my skin that itched and hurt at the same time. Mami ran me to the washtub and dunked me among my father's soaking shirts.

"Pablo!" she called, "Oh, my God! Look at her. She's being eaten alive!"

I screamed, imagining my skin disappearing in chunks into the invisible mouths of hundreds of tiny black specks creeping into parts of my body I couldn't even reach. Mami pulled off my clothes and threw them on the ground. The soap in the washtub burned my skin, and Mami scrubbed me so hard her fingernails dug angry furrows into my arms and legs. She turned me around to wash my back and I almost fell out of the tub.

"Be still," she said. "I have to get them all."

She pushed and shoved and turned me so fast I didn't know what to do with my body, so I flailed, seeming to resist, while in fact I wanted nothing more than to be rid of the creepy crawling things that covered me. Mami wrapped me in a towel and lifted me out of the tub with a groan. Hundreds of black bugs floated between the bubbles.

She carried me to the house pressed against her bosom, fragrant of curdled milk. Delsa and Norma ran after us, but Papi scooped them up, one on each arm, and carried them to the rope swing. Mami balanced on the floorboards to her bed, lay me beside her, held me tight, kissed my forehead, my eyes, and murmured, "It's all right. It's over. It's all right."

I wrapped my legs around her and buried my face under her chin. It felt good to have Mami so close, so warm, swathed by her softness, her smell of wood smoke and oregano. She rubbed circles on my back and caressed the hair from my face. She kissed me, brushed my tears with her fingertips, and dried my nose with the towel, or the hem of her dress.

"You see," she murmured, "what happens when you don't do as I say?"

I turned away from her and curled into a tight ball of shame. Mami rolled off the bed and went outside. I lay on her pillow, whimpering, wondering how the termites knew I'd disobeyed my mother.

We children slept in hammocks strung across the room, tied to the beams in sturdy knots that were done and undone daily. A curtain separated our side of the room from the end where my parents slept in a four-poster bed veiled with mosquito netting. On the days he worked, Papi left the house before dawn and sometimes joked that he woke the roosters to sing the barrio awake. We wouldn't see him again until dusk, dragging down the dirt road, his wooden toolbox pulling on his arm, making his body list sideways. When he didn't work, he and Mami rustled behind the flowered curtain, creaked the springs under their mattress, their voices a murmur that I strained to hear but couldn't.

I was an early riser but was not allowed out until the sun shot in through the crack near Mami's sewing machine and swept a glistening stripe of gold across the dirt floor.

The next morning, I turned out of the hammock and ran outside as soon as the sun streaked in. Mami and Papi sat by the kitchen shed sipping coffee. My arms and belly were pimpled with red dots. The night before, Mami had bathed me in alcoholado, which soothed my skin and cooled the hot itch.

"Ay bendito," Mami said, "here's our spotty early riser. Come here, let me look." She turned me around, rubbing the spots. "Are you itchy?"

"No, it doesn't itch at all."

"Stay out of the sun today so the spots don't scar."

Papi hummed along with the battery-operated radio. He never went anywhere without it. When he worked around the house, he propped it on a rock, or the nearest fence post, and tuned it to his favorite station, which played romantic ballads, chachach?s, and a reading of the news every half hour. He delighted in stories from faraway places like Russia, Madagascar, and Istanbul. Whenever the newscaster mentioned a country with a particularly musical name, he'd repeat it or make a rhyme of it. "Pakist?n. Sacrist?n. ?D?nde est?n?" he sang as he mixed cement or hammered nails, his voice echoing against the walls.

Early each morning the radio brought us a program called "The Day Breaker's Club," which played the traditional music and poetry of the Puerto Rican country dweller, the j?baro. Although the songs and poems chronicled a life of struggle and hardship, their message was that j?baros were rewarded by a life of independence and contemplation, a closeness to nature coupled with a respect for its intractability, and a deeply rooted and proud nationalism. I wanted to be a j?bara more than anything in the world, but Mami said I couldn't because I was born in the city, where j?baros were mocked for their unsophisticated customs and peculiar dialect.

"Don't be a j?baro," she scolded, rapping her knuckles on my skull, as if to waken the intelligence she said was there.

I ducked away, my scalp smarting, and scrambled into the oregano bushes. In the fragrant shade, I fretted. If we were not j?baros, why did we live like them? Our house, a box squatting on low stilts, was shaped like a boh?o, the kind of house j?baros lived in. Our favorite program, "The Day Breaker's Club," played the traditional music of rural Puerto Rico and gave information about crops, husbandry, and the weather. Our neighbor Do?a Lola was a j?bara, although Mami had warned us never to call her that. Poems and stories about the hardships and joys of the Puerto Rican j?baro were required reading at every grade level in school. My own grandparents, whom I was to respect as well as love, were said to be j?baros. But I couldn't be one, nor was I to call anyone a j?baro, lest they be offended. Even at the tender age when I didn't yet know my real name, I was puzzled by the hypocrisy of celebrating a people everyone looked down on. But there was no arguing with Mami, who, in those days, was always right.

On the radio, the newscaster talked about submarines, torpedoes, and a place called Korea, where Puerto Rican men went to die. His voice faded as Papi carried him into the house just as Delsa and Norma came out for their oatmeal.

Delsa's black curly hair framed a heart-shaped face with tiny pouty lips and round eyes thick with lashes. Mami called her Mu?equita, Little Doll. Norma's hair was the color of clay, her yellow eyes slanted at the corners, and her skin glowed the same color as the inside of a yam. Mami called her La Color?, the red girl. I thought I had no nickname until she told me my name wasn't Negi but Esmeralda.

"You're named after your father's sister, who is also your godmother. You know her as Titi Merin."

"Why does everyone call me Negi?"

"Because when you were little you were so black, my mother said you were a negrita. And we all called you Negrita, and it got shortened to Negi."

Delsa was darker than I was, nutty brown, but not as sun ripened as Papi. Norma was lighter, rust colored, and not as pale as Mami, whose skin was pink. Norma's yellow eyes with black pupils looked like sunflowers. Delsa had black eyes. I'd never seen my eyes, because the only mirror in the house was hung up too high for me to reach. I touched my hair, which was not curly like Delsa's, nor pasita, raisined, like Papi's. Mami cut it short whenever it grew into my eyes, but I'd seen dark brown wisps by my cheeks and near my temples.

"So Negi means I'm black?"

"It's a sweet name because we love you, Negrita." She hugged and kissed me.

"Does anyone call Titi Merin Esmeralda?"

"Oh, sure. People who don't know her well-the government, her boss. We all have our official names, and then our nicknames, which are like secrets that only the people who love us use."

Copyright © 1994 by Esmeralda Santiago
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Reading Group Guide

The questions and discussion topics that follow are designed to enhance your group's reading of Esmeralda Santiago's When I Was Puerto Rican. We hope they will provide you with a number of ways of looking at--and talking about--this beautiful narrative of a young girl's coming-of-age in 1950s Puerto Rico and of her subsequent move to the very different world of New York City.

1. Though Santiago's story takes place in several locations, she specifically contrasts two kinds of community: the rural one, represented by Mac&uacuten, and the urban culture of Brooklyn. What role does "tradition" play in each society? Could Mac&uacuten be classified as a "traditional society"? How cohesive is the family and social unit in Mac&uacuten? How does the family unit fare when it is transplanted to New York? Would Tata and Chico lead the type of life they do if they were still in Puerto Rico?

2. Much of the book's text and subtext concern the different roles men and women are expected to play in Puerto Rican society. Though the men work hard, they are allowed time for recreation; the women work far harder with no time off at all. Women serve men, but they also scorn them. How do the demands made on men and women differ in this culture? How similar--or different--are attitudes in the United States? How does hostility between men and women affect the Santiagos' lives?

3. Like all young people, Negi gropes to understand the concept of love by observing the examples she sees around her. What idea of romantic love does she receive from the radio programs and romantic novels she devours? In what way does her principal model of a love relationship--that of herparents--contrast with this model? Is there any way of reconciling these two visions of love? What role does sex play in her romantic imaginings? What does it mean in Negi's world to be se&ntildeorita? Why is her position as casi se&ntildeorita such a difficult one?

4. Describe the ways in which the Puerto Rican concept of dignidad contrasts with contemporary American manners and mores. Is there an equivalent concept in our culture? In the Puerto Rico described by Santiago, how effective is dignidad as a social code? Does it contribute to the well-being of the community? Does it contribute to the oppression of women?

5. The scenes in which Negi translates for her mother and other Hispanic women in the welfare office are suggestive of tensions within the city culture. How can we deduce Mami's feelings from Santiago's description? How does Negi feel about the women who pretend to be Puerto Rican so that they can collect welfare? Why does she agree to translate their lies?

6. In what way does Negi respond to the challenge of the more socially fluid society she encounters in the United States? How is her encounter with Mr. Grant representative of her changed circumstances? Will Negi's victory cause her to change her ideas of dignidad and of respect for her elders? Will it cause her to change her ideas of correct feminine behavior?

7. How does Santiago use the event of her audition at the High School for the Performing Arts as a symbolic dramatization of the many barriers that she has had to cross in order to escape Brooklyn, Hispanic cultural ghettoization, and her life of poverty?

8. Certain contradictions in Puerto Rican culture are symbolized by the juxtaposition in Santurce of the Evangelical church and the botanica. How does each one minister to the spiritual needs of the people? How do the different belief systems of the Puerto Ricans--Christian, African, Native American--manifest themselves in the Santiago family?

9. What effect does the past tense of the title have on the reader? (Discuss this point as if you haven't read Santiago's note to readers.) At the end of the book, Esmeralda Santiago calls herself a hybrid. Is there anger in her conclusion, as well as pride in her own achievement?

10. In writing When I Was Puerto Rican, Esmeralda Santiago encountered difficulties in finding appropriate English terms for some of the Puerto Rican concepts she was trying to convey. She decided to leave many of these words in Spanish, providing a glossary at the end of the book. Can you explain why she might have had a hard time finding exact English equivalents for concepts like dignidad, jÌbaro or toda una se&ntildeorita? Can you come up with good translations of these terms and others in the text?

11. How does Papi define "imperialism"? Does Negi come to share his opinion? In giving her father's opinions, is Santiago telling the reader something about America or is she using the conversation as a way to reveal her father's character?

12. How might you compare the Latino experience of assimilation with those of, for example, Chinese, Jewish, or Haitian immigrants? How might the cultural barriers between these groups and mainstream America differ? What roles do race and language play in the process?

13. When I Was Puerto Rican is nonfiction, but Santiago relies on many techniques important to fiction writing. What sort of "narrative voice" has she chosen to use? What ideas of Negi's character and culture do we glean from her narrative style? She has chosen to portray her parents and relatives not as fully developed characters but as adults seen from a child's point of view. How does that enhance or detract from the book's impact?

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 103 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(61)

4 Star

(23)

3 Star

(9)

2 Star

(5)

1 Star

(5)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 104 Customer Reviews
  • Posted February 22, 2012

    I'm loving it! Takes me back to my early visits to Puerto Rico.

    Although I never lived in PR, I remember my parents talking about it and remember experiencing some of the things that Esmeralda talks about when visiting my grandmother years ago. I found myself laughing out loud on the subway. I love the way she interjects the Spanish words throughout the book. I knew all of them. I would recommend this book to anyone who grew up in a Puerto Rican family!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 13, 2011

    Puerto Rico is not like that anymore.

    I am 50 yrs. old. She paints our culture like a 3rd word country. She is right about the fruits and dirt floors but that was by the time of my grandmother not now our cities are line your cities in the U.S. and towns like yours suburbs. Do not put Puerto Rico as a retrograde country

    2 out of 8 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 1, 2008

    It started with the 1st book!

    I read this when I was younger and fell in love with this book. My family also comes from a Puerto Rican background. I just love how Esmeralda puts her words into writing. I read the book in less than two days.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 20, 2012

    I highly recommend this book.

    I was born and raised in Puerto Rico and reading this book brought back so many memories. I feel that it was my life written in this book. The author and I lived similar experiences.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 12, 2012

    pretty awesome.

    i never knew i would actually finish this book. never judge the book by its cover.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 11, 2011

    Beautifully written

    The story and characters in this book have stayed with me for years. This book was required reading for a college course and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Santiago writes with such depth that you feel as if these are your own experiences. A beautiful, honest look at relationships, culture, and family.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted November 10, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    A Enjoyable and Insightful Read

    History and cultural studies can sometimes be stiff and dull. But when told through the humorous stories of individual persons and their families, that same history and culture becomes alive and we can relate to it on a personal level. I read this book a few years ago and enjoyed it. Santiago has a nice writing style.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 26, 2010

    BORING

    I have to read this book for school, and I haven't finished it yet, but it is so boring and is far too detailed. The first two pages just talk about a fruit. Don't read it. SAVE YOURSELF!

    1 out of 11 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 27, 2009

    D-

    I found this book to be dull and boring. What the author says about in the book is true it does depict an American invasion on a culture, how it is received, and its repercussions. Though it still does show happy time, it still seams to depict only her life and . I found it choppy to read with random views into her life, that didn't always seam to portray the whole situation. I feel for the author and the situations that she was in, overall i did not enjoy this book.

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 15, 2008

    A Definite Read!

    When I was Puerto Rican is a memoir about Esmeralda Santiago¿s childhood. You quickly get caught up in the story and almost feel apart of the family. I really liked how the story picked up quickly and there wasn¿t a slow beginning like in some books. And from then on, there is never a dull moment. I highly recommend this book for teenagers who are taking Spanish in school 'mostly girls because the story shows a girl coming of age etc.'. There is also a helpful dictionary in the back of the book for all the Spanish words you encounter as you read. You follow Esmeralda from her home in Macun, Puerto Rico, where she deals with her two sisters Delsa and Norma and worries about her parent¿s constant fighting. She moves to New York and worries about losing her Puerto Rican heritage because of such a dramatic change. There, she develops a facination with putas, gets sick from freeze dried eggs and peanut butter milk at her new school, and learns about her grandmother¿s religious ways. Esmeralda moves frequently as well and every time her and her family moved, there would be new things to adapt to along the way. The book was not action packed, but there was never a dull moment. Whether it was a new sibling on the way, waking with worms in her bed, or helping a baby¿s spirit to Heaven. My mom recommended this book for me, and it was much better than I thought it was going to be. Esmeralda also starts off new sections in the book with quick, witty, and strange lines that make you stop and say ¿What!?¿ A few that kept me reading were, ¿We had eleven avacado trees and nine mango trees,¿ ¿Love made people do crazy things,¿ ¿ `If you close your eyes while they¿re crossed, they¿ll stay like that!` ¿ and ¿ `Everybody, take off your clothes!¿ ¿ Overall, When I Was Puerto Rican was definitely a good read. It was a bit long, but defintily worth reading.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 2, 2010

    Excellent!

    I found the detail descriptive quality of the author's style to be inspiring, captivating and culturally educational. Being of hispanic origin the author's introspective reflections of the culture of being puerto rican (the ups, downs and traditions) to be honest, pure and unembellished. Stories my mother told me of her upbring in Puerto Rico, the adjustments she had to make being an "american" girl of hispanic origins impact many puerto rican women even today. My daughter is of puerto rican/italian origin and I encouraged her to read this book for insight I could not put into words~ I have read Esmeralda's next two books and cannot wait for the next~

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  • Posted January 30, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Esmerala Santiago I capturing in her story. She is such a great writer.

    The Story in this book takes you back to Puerto Rico. Esmeralda Santiago lets you into her life in Puerto Rico. It takes you back to when she was a little girl till she is a teenager. I just love the fact that she uses both english and spanish in her story. This book is wonderful. I have recommended it to many.

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  • Posted December 29, 2008

    I Also Recommend:

    Wonderfully Written

    This book brought back many memories that I had forgotten. Puerto Rico is alive and well in my heart and soul and this book helped bring it back to life within me.

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  • Posted December 13, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    It was a good book

    This book was a good read, if you are Puerto Rican it would be better. The mother in this story is almost like any of the moms that I know. I remember everything that she was writing about as I have lived it. This was a book for people to remember. The ending for me was kind of bad. She should not have ignored her mother and past like that. But other than that, it was good (but not the best either). I am Puerto Rican born in Puerto Rico and it describes almost everything I have been through as well. Love the book!

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  • Posted November 16, 2008

    I Also Recommend:

    I love love love this book!

    This is one of my favorite books ever. Being Puerto Rican I could identify to the island, customs, mentality and cultural difference from the mainland. When I Was Puerto Rican is a must read!!! E. Santiago's writing style is siliar to D. L. Blanco's novel, Single Latina Female which is a really good book, too.

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  • Posted October 14, 2008

    I Also Recommend:

    Loved It!

    The interesting memoire about a girls transition when moving from her small town on the island to big New York City. Very interseting and touching.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 5, 2007

    Between Two Worlds

    Santiago shares with readers episodes from her life but written through her eyes as a young girl growing up from childhood to early puberty. In writing about Ramona and Pablo's (her parents) turbulent relationship, she presents what were the cultural norms or proscribed roles dictated by the concept of 'dignidad' expected of men, women and the oldest daughter of the time she wrote, the 1950s-1960s. Looking at the expectations from the perspective of today, it seems unfair that women, let alone oldest daughters, must accept the traditional roles and not complain about husbands' philanderings or young girls must behave, whether they are ready or not, like young ladies or 'casi senoritas.' But Santiago makes it very clear that Puerto Rican society accepted double standards for men and women and certainly would ostracize those who flouted 'the rules.' But her descriptions of what is positive focuses on the lush beauty of the island, the special holiday seasons such as Christmas which has neighbors celebrating together, and of course, the strong character of her mother, Ramona, who is the pivotal figure not only in Santiago's life but for the Santiago family as she is the one, after finally leaving Pablo, who makes the decision to move the family forever from the island Santiago loves to the cold, harsh climate of Brooklyn, New York. Although this part of the book, the last quarter of her autobiography, relates how living conditions differed drastically - a high school where students are diverse in ethnicity but do not socialize, a community where not everyone is Puerto Rican, being confined to the apartment to avoid crime on the streets and experiencing for the first time the snowy, bleak winter season - Santiago also talks of her relationship with Ramona moving from the latter taking care of the daugher as she did in Puerto Rico to Santiago taking her own steps at being indendent. She negotiates with her high school principal to briefly be put back a grade until she proves her academic abilities and is given the opportunity to apply to the High School of Performing Arts which she sees as her ticket out of Brooklyn and into a new and different world. I am not Puerto Rican but Santiago's book mirrors cultural, generational and social conficts that are universal for anyone who reads her autobiography. For those interested in Latina literature, in learning about Puerto Rican society of that time, and in seeing the world she lived in through her own eyes, Santiago's autobiography is worthwhile reading.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 19, 2007

    Excellent

    I loved this book and it is now one of my favorites. I highly recommend this to all high school students and especially those of Hispanic descent. Make sure to follow it with 'Almost A Woman'.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 19, 2006

    Cool Book

    Can life be easier? I feel you, the author of 'When I Was Puerto Rican' has gone through so many things that life is unfair. Her parents seperate, she keeps moving too much, and her mother keeps having more babies. When will this stop?! When will she be able to make her own decisions? When? Read this book and you'll see what her final decision was. This is a non-fiction book and there are many connections between yourself and the author. There are some Puerto Rican words that you'll learn by looking back at the glossary. What happened to her life? Well, .... why don't you find out for yourself.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 18, 2006

    book

    The name of the book is When i was Puerto Rican. This book had more than 200 pgs. Whe i started to read it, it was getting interesting. I like books that talks about a person's life. This book was about a girl who their family was going throug the wrong path. Her family kind of got separate because her dad found an other wife. Some times he came to their house and sometimes he didn't.Throughout her life she learns lessons just by observing. I recommend this book to people who like to read about a person's life and that wants to learn a different part of the world.

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