Matthew Martin

7 December 2012

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Minority Literature

            Allow me to explain my title. I’m not completely unfamiliar with minority literature; I completed a “Masterpieces of 19^th Century European Literature” with the late Dr. McCall during my undergraduate coursework, which if that course’s authors had written in the United States, we would classify those authors as immigrants. I’ve had other minority themed texts sprinkled throughout my other courses (A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest Gaines, The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, and Native American origin stories being some that stand out in my memory), but I have mostly read works from male members of the dominant culture. It is not that I avoid works by minority authors; I simply haven’t been exposed to enough of them to consider myself comfortable with studying them for a semester-long course.

When I enrolled in this course, I had a fair amount of nervousness about the material. I wondered if a Caucasian male could ever truly understand the material the authors would no doubt present. I have had to struggle in my life just like everyone else, but never for racial equality or even gender equality. Compared to the minority and immigrant cultures in our country, I have been incredibly blessed with a struggle-free life. How could I possibly understand their struggles, let alone comment and discuss them in a seminar setting? Unlike my undergraduate course with Dr. McCall, this class contained major works by authors who were still alive (save for the slave narratives, the creation stories and Black Elk Speaks) and producing relevant material today. That gave me something else to worry about. These were not relics of history. These texts were still alive and breathing. Once I got to know my classmates who, luckily, were very open to opinions and speaking their minds (frustrations and all), I found myself growing more comfortable in reading, discussing and commenting on minority literature.

Something I found very helpful during the semester was the course objectives. These were not simply stand-alone words tucked at the back of the syllabus never to be looked over; we referred to them regularly throughout the course. Reflecting on my first few days in the course, my biggest concern was Objective 5, notably the sub-categories of 5a, 5b, and 5c. The first category ultimately would let me hear the minority voice and share in its experience, which was something I had not had much practice doing. The second was to understand just what we consider to be a “minority” work and just what exactly makes it a part of that canon. Finally, the texts were chosen to be a perfect avenue for us to take in the experience of being a minority and why the words had so much power to the authors who wrote them. As the semester continued, my classmates all had great ideas and opinions about the texts. The presentations were all very informative and everyone did a great job in presenting. Our discussions were always fruitful and touched on the points I had noted in my texts, and always brought up a fresh question for me to ask. It did not take long for me to realize that just because I was a male from the dominant culture it did not mean that I could not experience a minority’s voice and struggle. It was not always as far away from me as I had imagined.

I also came into the course with a few preconceived notions of what I considered to be a minority. When I enrolled and before I looked at the text list, I had the assumption that we would most likely study Mexican American works, some by African Americans, and maybe some by immigrants from overseas. A few of my assumptions were correct, but a few texts opened my eyes. The first was Woman Hollering Creek. Sandra Cisneros fit one of my assumptions—she was Mexican, but I overlooked something else. She was a female. It seemed so simple looking back on it. We have been a male dominated culture for so many generations. Females have their own struggles that, once again, I am not attempting to pass myself off as being an expert in them. I never considered females to be a minority, most likely because I used to think of females in terms of my own ethnic group. I hate for that narrow viewing to make me sound like an ignorant male, but after reading Woman Hollering Creek, I’ve learned to be a much closer reader when it comes to female-penned works. The stories in Creek were not strictly female voiced, but the ones that were had different feeling to them. As Leon Russell once said, “He’s a stranger in a strange land.” I certainly felt that way when reading that text, but I was never uncomfortable. I’m glad I had the opportunity to report on an unfamiliar text. A female author brings a fresh perspective and voice to the reader, and I’m grateful I had the chance to “meet” some new authors, such as Louise Erdrich.

I think it is safe to say that Erdrich was my favorite author of the whole semester. I found Love Medicine to be wonderful, fresh, a true pleasure to read. Her method of storytelling was fantastic and I cannot wait to read her other works. I’m also glad that she is still continuing to write today (and I’m even happier that she won a major award for her newest book) and can write amazing poetry, as well. As with the Cisneros text, I did not think of Native Americans when I thought of a minority-themed class. Native Americans seemed more of an oral-based culture (as I always recall in movies the Indians sitting around a fire telling stories). Their culture has changed from the romanticized notions we had from years past. Erdrich did not force the Native American culture onto the reader. She wove it into the stories so flawlessly that often I forgot I was even reading a minority themed work.

Another eye-opening experience for me was The Best Little Boy in the World. I’ve read some texts that have a slight amount of gay identity in it (The Mysteries of Pittsburgh by Michael Chabon has a male character in it who gets romantically involved with another man) but I cannot recall ever reading a strictly gay-identity novel. Showing a bit of ignorance on my part, I had not thought of the gay community as being a minority. Reflecting on the semester, they certainly have their own struggles (and still do to this day with the gay marriage legalization movement) and have been treated unfairly because of the AIDS awareness in the 1980’s. Just as with females, a person does not have to be a different skin color to be a minority. Many things can make us different from one another—skin color just happens to be the first one that comes to mind. This brings up our class objective 2a, which asks whether the status of women, lesbians, and homosexuals is analogous to that of ethnic minorities in terms of voice and choice. I believe they are similar because all of those mentioned groups suffer through some type of struggle. With Andrew Tobias, our culture was so repressed that being gay was something that just was not talked about. I cannot imagine having something so important to say to my parents and not being able to tell them for more than a decade because of it being labeled as “wrong” by a culture. It has become something that is talked about more, but still stings some people (those opposed to gay marriage or those who opposed the overturning of the “Don’t Ask , Don’t Tell” policy in the military). As far as minority groups, the gay community has endured its own share of battles.

 After reading The Best…, Love Medicine and Woman Hollering…, I realize that skin color alone does not categorize someone as a minority. It goes much deeper than that. A past student, Mallory Rogers, stated in her final exam that “when you venture outside of the mold of traditional texts and into the world of minority authors and their stories we, the dominant culture, are able to see firsthand the ways in which we oppress minority cultures by ignoring their literature.” I wholeheartedly agree. A minority group’s literature gives reader a first-hand experience in their struggle for identity and voice in a world dominated by certain cultures.