What a beautifully written book of short stories about Mexicans and women and their cultures.
Cisneros has a way with the English language. Her similes and metaphors are original and unique. Her descriptions are vivid yet simple. In a short paragraph, she can paint a person's eyes, the color of his skin, the soft tufts of hair on his chest, and the stumpiness of his legs, so you can imagine him standing there. You know the person, and you understand him intimately.
In this book, Cisneros writes about what she knows: Mexican women, their hopes and dreams, and their realities. She can transport an old white guy into the world of bodegas, telenovelas, and the Virgen de Guadalupe. Cisneros introduces us to Mexicans from Chicago to Los Angeles to San Antonio, with several stops in the small villages of their ancestors' country. She writes about love and family and loneliness.
But while her writing is admirable, her story-telling skills can be best described as confusing. The stories seldom have linear narratives. Instead her short stories are more like poetry -- written beautifully, with the writing and descriptions and words more important than the story being told.
Still, I would recommend this book highly, if only for the sheer delight of reading it.
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