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In Gritos (Grove Press: New York), Dagoberto
Gilb's first non-fiction collection, the reader will
discover a Chicano fighting for his place in American literature, a Chicano
fighting for respect for the working poor, and even a Chicano struggling
against himself, and his worst instincts.
The honesty and often spectacular prose of these essays are reasons why
they should be essential to anyone who wishes to challenge the too-often
exclusive and esoteric status of American literature. These essays are truly gritos
into the hot sun: primal, heart-wrenching as well as ecstatic, and often
explosive.
Gilb's literary battles begin, as they so often do, in
Texas. In "Un Gritos
de Tejas," he chronicles how his essay on Mexico
is rejected by Texas Monthly for putting readers into "a dreamlike
trance," and so the mag wants an assistant to
help show him "how to write correctly, like his people." Gilb, with his
"hot-chile temper," sticks it to the magazine's
mandarins and sells the essay, as is, to Harper's Magazine. Sometimes, the literary battleground is more
internal. In "This Writer's
Life," one of the best essays in the collection, Gilb
shows how his work as a writer has changed his view about what a writer should
write about. As a journeyman carpenter
for almost two decades, he adamantly believed a writer should write about the
'adventure of experience.' Work. Trying to make the rent. The casual
brutality of the powerful against those with nada. And then Gilb
becomes a professor of writing, and discovers writers whom he admires have
often made it up, with imagination and not experience. And he admits: "I want to widen my
narrow, limited thinking. Though I'm the teacher, I am the one who wants to
learn."
Gilb often writes about El Paso (where he lived for many
years), a love-hate relationship if there ever was one. In "El Paso" and "Living Al Chuco," he rails against those who think El Paso is
but a nest of 'dirt streets and pink brothels and all-night bars and badass cholos.' He
counters: "El Paso's the best of Mexican culture: moms, dads, brothers,
sisters, babies, the cuñados and suegros,
compadres and comadres.
Grandfathers teach Spanish proverbs. Grandmothers walk children to school. Drivers go slow. In those big American cars. Even in the trucks. In life, too." But in
The most moving
essays are about familia, where Gilb's
anger and love and pride burst into inimitable words. In "L.A. Navidad,"
the reader will root for Gilb --fresh off the
construction site, covered with concrete dust-- to slug the idiot who has
carelessly flung a racial slur at Gilb's wife while
she shops for a Christmas tree. And in
"Letter to My Sons," there, on the page, is the love a man has for
his children and the bittersweet remembrance of what he has, and has not done,
for them. So this pugilistic writer has
a heart after all.
Finally "Mi
Mommy" must rank at or near the top of this collection of essays. Gilb takes the
perspective of, first, a young boy holding his beautiful mother's hand, awash
in trust and admiration and even jealousy (of solicitous men). Gradually, the perspective evolves to that of
a young adult, who recognizes that his mother is not too trustworthy. She drinks too much and has a series of
ex-husbands. Writes Gilb:
"My mother was becoming a person I wouldn't want to know…." At the end, drawn to each other by a psychic
conversation they have hundred of miles apart, the son and the mother forgive
each other and almost say what they have not said for years. But it is enough.
What Dagoberto Gilb most clearly
exemplifies is kinetic experience translated into musical, even poetic
words. He is not for those who want to
compromise and get along. He is not for
those who don't want to know themselves, in contradiction or blind assertion,
in the ugly pedos as well as the gritty
triumphs. Gritos
is a rough-hewn gem of brutal honesty, and so sorely necessary in American
literature today.
This newspaper
article appeared in the Sunday Books section of the El Paso Times on May 18, 2003.