LITR 5731: Seminar in American Minority Literature
University of Houston-Clear Lake, fall 2001
Student Research Project

David Miller
LITR 5731
Dr. Craig White
December 4, 2001

Richard Rodriguez:

Personal and Political

Introduction

               I became acquainted with some of the works of Richard Rodriguez while listening to National Public Radio and through various textbooks I have used to teach writing, and felt that a more in-depth survey of his works would be of interest to me. Having grown up and lived much of my adult life on the border, I am very interested in the cross-cultural conflicts that continue to trouble the relationship between the United States and Mexico, and Rodriguez' unique point of view provides a direct window into a culture rife with its own conflicts that exacerbate and perpetuate social, political, religious and cultural differences between the two countries.

               In this research journal, I will review sections of both of Rodriguez' books as well as transcripts of various essays, interviews, and broadcasts from PBS and NPR programs. I will also look into the work of one of his most negative critics, as well as some positive criticism, in an attempt to see the issues he raises from more than one perspective.

Biographical Information

               Richard Rodriguez was born in 1944 to Mexican immigrant parents. He lived in a middle-class, predominantly white neighborhood, and grew up speaking only Spanish:

When [he] entered Sacred Heart School in Sacramento, California, his English vocabulary consisted of barely fifty words. All his classmates were white. He kept quiet, listening to the sounds of middle-class American speech, feeling alone. After school, he would return to Spanish, to the pleasing, soothing sounds of his family language. (London, 1)

In an effort to help Rodriguez improve his skills in English, Irish nuns at Sacred Heart School encouraged his parents to speak English at home, "which had far-reaching consequences. Rodriguez went on to earn degrees in English at Stanford and philosophy at Columbia. He then pursued a doctorate in English Renaissance literature at Berkley..." (1).

               Writing in the Winter, 1998, edition of Texas Studies in Literature and Language, guest editor José Limón states that Rodriguez was at one point "[...] on the verge of becoming a professor of English [...] [but] has chosen the path of the public intellectual [...]" (emphasis added) which he describes as someone who "[...] speaks in an accessible though by no means unintellectual public language" (389). Limón also describes Rodriguez as

[...] a distinctive figure in American letters in at least two important respects. First, he is a public literary intellectual engaged in an expansion of a certain canonical tradition of American cultural criticism; and second, his work stands alone, yet within the Mexican-origin community in the United States since the late 1950s. (389)

In essence, Limón seems to be stating that although Rodriguez can claim Mexican-American ethnicity as a basis for a multi-cultural perspective, he is writing from within the bounds of the American intelligentsia, paradoxically creating

[...] the only public intellectual from Mexican America [who] has been rejected by most, if not all, of a leading intelligentsia that would also claim some substantial intellectual and political representation of Mexicans in the United States. (393)

Essentially, Limón feels that Rodriguez is not particularly qualified to comment on the issues regarding Mexicans or Mexican-Americans. After reading many of Rodriguez' works, it appears to me that his intent is more to comment on and explore various issues, issues not limited exclusively to those that deal with Mexican/American relations, to raise public awareness of a multitude of issues, and to propose questions to which answers are not always easy or readily available.

Rodriguez has authored two books, Hunger of Memory, The Education of Richard Rodriguez (1982), and Days of Obligation, An Argument With My Mexican Father (1992). A third book, Reflections of a Latin Lover, is to be released in early 2002.

Review of Hunger of Memory: The Education of Richard Rodriguez

               Hunger of Memory (1982) is Richard Rodriguez' early autobiographical work that concentrates primarily on his education. From his days as a Spanish-speaking elementary student to his days in graduate school, this work not only chronicles his life story, but also touches on two main political concepts, bilingual education and affirmative action, both of which he adamantly opposes. Threaded through the biography the reader finds some extremely right-wing political views not usually expected from a "minority" writer.

               Thematically, Hunger of Memory is metaphorically biographical. By this I mean that although Rodriguez follows a chronological path from early childhood to adulthood, he often leaves the reader with only enough information to force the reader to draw conclusions on his own. He also interjects political and social commentary at will, with total disregard for chronology. Interestingly, though, this tactic does not appear to inhibit the flow of the autobiography, nor does it create confusion for the reader. For instance, in his description of his first day in Roman Catholic school, he states that "[...] I turned to see my mother's face dissolve in a watery blur behind the pebbled glass door" (Hunger, 11). Immediately following this metaphor, he launches into an extremely politicized, one-paragraph history of bilingual education in the United States, yet the flow of the biography is never truly interrupted as he almost immediately returns to "[...] the early years of my boyhood" (12).

               This tactic becomes an essential part of his autobiography as he describes in his prologue:

My book is necessarily political, in the conventional sense, for public issues—editorials and ballot stubs, petitions and placards, faceless formulations of greater and lesser good by greater and lesser minds—have bisected my life and changed its course. (7)

Small wonder that political and historical digressions punctuate the text.

               Rodriguez pulls no punches when he discusses his views on bilingual education. To those who tout it he states, "I hear them and I am forced to say no: It is not possible for a child [...] ever to use his family's language in school. Not to understand this is to misunderstand the public uses of schooling and to trivialize the nature of intimate life—a family's 'language'" (12). This dichotomy between public and private language is a dilemma that permeates his writing. To him, Spanish is the language of his family, the language of the safety and security of home, to be used only at home. English, on the other hand, is public, to be used in public as somewhat of a mask to hide the privacy and intimacy of home, the language of, according to his parents, "los otros, los gringos in power. [...] It (Spanish) became the language of joyful return" (16).

               He sees it as fortunate that the Irish nuns at his Catholic elementary school found it necessary that he be able to speak English. In fact, he states that they "[...] were unsentimental about their responsibility. What they understood was that I needed to speak a public language" (19). And their influence extended well beyond the classroom and into the home where they insisted that his parents speak to Richard and his siblings only in English (21). Rodriguez sees the resultant lack of Spanish voices in the home as a distancing from the culture of his parents, something that has been the cause of a great deal of negative criticism regarding his writing. Ultimately, though, he feels that where language is concerned, "Intimacy is not created by a particular language; it is created by intimates. (author's emphasis) The great change in my life was not linguistic but social" (32).

               Rodriguez deals with numerous issues regarding other aspects of his education in Hunger of Memory, but of all the issues he addresses, on the subject of affirmative action, Rodriguez is strongly opinionated. "In the late 1960s nonwhite Americans clamored for access to higher education, and I became a principal beneficiary of the academy's response, its programs of affirmative action" (143). Ironically, he now regrets having been involved with (or forced into) accepting the "assistance" these programs offered:

Fittingly, it falls to me, as someone who so awkwardly carried the label, to question it now, its juxtaposition of terms—minority, student. For me there is no way to say it with grace. I say it rather with irony sharpened with self-pity. I say it with anger. It is a term that should never have been foisted on me. One I was wrong to accept. (143)

What follows is a short, yet revealing, history of affirmative action programs. Since inclusion in the program was based solely on race, Rodriguez feels that what could have been an admirable program missed what should have been its intended target, the culturally alienated, regardless of race.

               [Activists] [...] pressured universities and colleges to admit more black students and hire more black faculty members. [...] The aim was to integrate higher education in the North. So no one seemed troubled by the fact that those who were in the best position to benefit from such reforms were those blacks least victimized by racism or any other social oppression—those culturally, if not always economically, of the middle class. (145)

Potential students from the lowest socioeconomic groups were not even considered by institutions of higher learning simply because the colleges only looked at the boxes checked on applications, and the students who were applying were generally from middle-class homes. "Most blacks simply couldn't afford tuition for higher education. And, because the primary and secondary schooling blacks received was usually poor, few qualified for admission. Many were so culturally alienated that they never thought to apply; they couldn't even imagine themselves going to college" (144). Rodriguez' implication is clear: affirmative action did not address the socioeconomic problems of minorities. Neither did it address those most in need of higher education regardless of race or ethnicity. The problem was rooted in the educational disparities so often found between schools in the ghettos and those in suburbia, issues of poorly equipped and staffed schools and socioeconomic conditions that precluded improvement.

               Hispanics as well as blacks benefited from affirmative action programs on college campuses and Richard Rodriguez was certainly one of them. However, in retrospect, he feels that he should not have been targeted since his socioeconomic background placed him solidly in the middle class. He was targeted simply because he had an Hispanic surname. Minority "referred to entire races and nationalities of Americans, those numerically underrepresented in institutional life" (146). "The terms sounded in public to remind me in private of the truth: I was not—in a cultural sense—a minority, an alien from public life. [...] The truth was summarized in the sense of irony I'd feel at hearing myself called a minority student: The reason I was no longer a minority was because I had become a student" (147). Essentially, entering into the public life of the academy had philosophically rendered his minority status null and void.

               As a minority graduate student, unsolicited offers from colleges across the nation landed on his desk with regularity, while equally qualified non-minority students received few, if any. One colleague in particular found the inequity quite disturbing and remarked "'Oh, its all very simple this year. You're a Chicano. And I am a Jew. That's really the only difference between us'" (170). As a Jew, his parents had been excluded from many colleges (in this case, Yale) and since he did not fit the ethnic requirements of affirmative action, he, too, was being excluded from participation, despite excellent qualifications. Rodriguez found these quotas disgusting and in the end, refused to accept any of the offers he had received and retreated into what he deemed "Romantic exile" (171). He took on the persona of the public intellectual rather than that of the private academic.

               On the surface, Hunger of Memory works nicely as an autobiography of a middle-class Hispanic and his odyssey through the American education system. However, its underlying political messages reverberate strongly throughout the text and expose one man's disgust as he becomes aware of the inequities inherent within the social and political systems in the United States.

Review of Days of Obligation: An Argument with my Mexican Father

               Like Hunger of Memory, Days of Obligation: An Argument With My Mexican Father (1992) works as both autobiography as well as political and social commentary, but in this second book, Rodriguez is much more candid about his personal life and even more straightforward regarding his public life. In this book, he deals directly with his homosexuality, indirectly addressing some of his most negative critics who faulted him for not being more forthcoming in his previous work. He also looks more closely, and more candidly, at the tenuous social and religious relationships that exist between Mexico, the United States, and the rest of the world.

               Early in the book, in the chapter entitled "India," Rodriguez delves into the history of Mexico and the various forces that have been at work molding her into the very diverse country she has become. One point he makes in passing is of particular interest to me. He states, "Mexico is famous for politicians descended from Masonic fathers and Catholic mothers" (14). A "love-hate" relationship has existed for centuries between the Catholic Church and the Freemasons. The guild of Masons, essentially craftsmen from the Middle East, built the magnificent cathedrals in Medieval Europe, but as they became more clandestine regarding their guild secrets, requiring guild members to swear oaths of secrecy and participate in secret rituals, the church considered their actions to be blasphemous and anti-Catholic, effectively banning Masonry throughout the Catholic world. When Napoleon, a Mason, conquered Spain and put his brother on the Spanish throne, Freemasonry once again became an acceptable political and social practice in Spain and Mexico, but was still considered unacceptable by the church. Having French and Spanish Freemasons in positions of authority in Mexico created considerable friction between church and state, friction that exists to this day.

               Rodriguez sees Mexico as passive, submissive, female. All other entities she has encountered are regarded by him as male, aggressive, and intent on defilement, an interesting metaphoric image that conjures visions of violation and rape, and that is exactly what Rodriguez expects his readers to see. From the Spanish to the French to the Americans, all who have encountered Mexico have raped her. "The Spaniard entered the Indian by entering her city—the floating city—first as a suitor, ceremoniously; later by force" (13). Thus the Indian's first encounters with Europeans were violent and negative. Subsequent encounters became increasingly violent on a number of levels leading to a nation based in confusion.

Once emptied of Spain, the palace of Mexico became the dollhouse of France. Mexico was overrun by imperial armies. The greed of Europe met the Manifest Destiny of the United States in Mexico. Austria sent an archduke to marry Mexico with full panoply of candles and bishops. The U. S. reached under Mexico's skirt every chance he got. (15)

Until recently, Mexico had been ruled by the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI), an institution that Rodriguez describes as "Marx ex machina [...] a political machine appropriate to the age of steam" (15). His sarcasm indicates that Mexico continued to be raped, this time from within. The current political climate in Mexico is fluctuating due to a considerable weakening of PRI in the most recent elections.

               It is interesting that Rodriguez explores the legend of the Virgin of Guadalupe in the same chapter insofar as the Virgin, the representation of the church, seduces and forces the Indian convert, Juan Diego, the representation of indigenous Mexican Indians, to do things he would not normally do. Rodriguez refers to Juan Diego as "this Prufrock Indian [who] must go several times to the Bishop of Mexico City" (18). Why Prufrock? In T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," Prufrock contemplates his life as a waste of a lifetime. Is Juan Diego's life a waste if he is to be the catalyst for the mass conversion of Indians to Catholicism? One would think not. Prufrock is unable to make important decisions regarding his life and wastes his time cavorting with idly rich, useless people. But Juan Diego knows his duty is first to the Virgin and second to his ailing uncle, and he is willing to perform these duties at any cost. Perhaps Rodriguez is analogizing Juan Diego with Prufrock the Fool who is "Deferential, glad to be of use, / Politic, cautious, and meticulous, / Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; / At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—— / Almost, at times, the Fool" (Eliot 115-119). Prufrock's deference plays right along side that of Juan Diego, but for Prufrock, it becomes his personal downfall. For Juan Diego, it becomes the downfall of his people's Indian religion, just another conquest for the Catholic Church.

               In Hunger of Memory, Rodriguez is non-committal regarding his homosexuality; however, in Days of Obligation, he is quite candid about this topic:

To grow up homosexual is to live with secrets and within secrets. In no other place are those secrets more closely guarded than within the family home. [...] I live in a tall Victorian house that has been converted to four apartments; four single men. (30)

Using humor and irony, he attacks the topic with vigor in such statements as "The homosexual was sinful because he had no kosher place to stick it" and "Barren as Shakers, [...] homosexuals have made a covenant against nature" (32). He states that interior decorators have no homosexual clients because "Queers don't need decorators. They were born knowing how" (32). Although in no place in the text does Rodriguez claim to be gay, the implication is quite obvious from various remarks he makes. But does this (or, rather, should this) implication have any bearing on how the reader should approach the text? In this case, I think not. Rodriguez, in both texts, has much stronger social and political agendas to espouse.

               Ultimately, in Days of Obligation, Rodriguez confronts the conflict between Catholicism and Protestantism. Catholicism he defines as female: "Catholicism may be administered by embarrassed, celibate men, but the institution of Catholicism is voluptuous, feminine, sure. The Church is our mother; the church is our bride" (181). Protestantism he defines as male: "In its purest mold, Protestantism is male. [...] Catholicism would remind men that they are helpless; treats men like children. So men act like children. Whereas the call of evangelical Protestantism is a call to manhood, a call to responsibility" (181-182). Rodriguez states that the problem with Catholicism is that it is "all-embracing" and "assumes it is the nature of men and women to fail" (182) Sin is a requirement for inclusion; devotees must be sinners to be good Catholics; and to sin is to fail, necessitating the interdiction of the church. And the church is there to mother, console, and forgive the sinner. Evangelical Protestantism, on the other hand, "advertises an end to failure" (183) and "is the promise of sudden change" (184). Does this commentary on Catholicism mean that he disapproves of his own avowed religion? In Rodriguez' case, it appears to be more of the academic's quest for knowledge: "I take courses in religion, mainly Protestantism" (187); and the social critic's search for answers to social problems, in this case an answer to the church's dilemma regarding multiculturalism in secular America: "the Catholic Church does not attend to the paradox of American lives. We confess a communal faith; we live in an individualistic culture" (author's emphasis) (197). Therefore, it appears that the two most important social structures within the Mexican-American paradigm will remain in constant conflict.

               In Days of Obligation, Rodriguez continues his inquiry into what it is like to be Mexican American, Catholic, and homosexual within the unique Protestant American paradigm. Conflicts abound at all turns, and solutions to the conflicts are not readily forthcoming. His second autobiography is highly critical of faults within the systems he addresses; however, I feel he sees this as more of an opportunity for change for the better rather than a fatalistic view of what it is like to be an American.

Criticism

               I have often wondered about the meaning of literary criticism, and in general, have found it to be very purposeful in the acquisition of meaning and in the understanding of the author's intent. At times, it is an intellectual departure into conjecture that can be fascinating and educational at any level. At other times, it is a quest for knowledge that makes a text more meaningful and furthers the reader's understanding of the author's point of view. And whether the reader agrees or disagrees with the author, it becomes a vehicle to advance meaning and deepen understanding between the parties involved. However, when criticism goes beyond acceptable parameters and attacks the writer, rather than his writing, it becomes highly objectionable to me. Such is the case with Randy A. Rodriguez' ad hominim attack, "Richard Rodriguez Reconsidered: Queering the Sissy (Ethnic) Subject." (To avoid confusion, I will refer to the authors be their first names.)

               Randy Rodriguez (no relationship) appears to be more intent on attacking Richard Rodriguez on a more personal level than as a literary critic. The gist of this argument centers around the fact that in Hunger of Memory, Richard fails to openly admit that he is homosexual. I was under the impression that the content of an autobiography is solely controlled by the author. Obviously, Randy feels differently. He appears incensed at this omission and continually denigrates Richard at every turn. Name-calling begins in the title, "Queering" and "Sissy," and continues throughout the text. My overall impression is one of playground bullying gone berserk.

               Randy characterizes Richard's work by stating that "It does not deal with reality; instead it is subjective" (399). Commentary such as this is not objectionable; however, he continues, "Rodriguez is self-serving as an astute marketing strategist [...] [who] is not simultaneously a committed, selfless, community-minded activist [...] [merely] a misguided writer exhibiting a 'colonized mind'" (399). He goes on to state that he rejects Richard "because he is a joto or puto, a passive homosexual——a non-man in Mexican/Chicano/a-defined cultural terms [...,] el chingado (the fucked or violated one) because he consorts with the Anglo-American colonizer" (403). Although some readers may consider this type of attack legitimate, it appears to me that Randy is more bent on attacking Richard from a personal point of view because Randy does not agree with Richard's personal philosophy.

               When Randy characterizes Richard's writing as containing [...] excessive desire, perverse solipsism, chaotic narratives, lack of self-containment and boundaries, and irrational, emotional understanding of himself and his environment" (405) I cannot help but see more of a direct attack on the man, himself, rather than a critique of his writing. But when he states "the double, even multiple, negation of Chicana/o/American, American/gay, gay/Chicano/a results in the "motley" "mess" Chicana/o-American(a/o)-gay-Chinese-Irish-masculine-feminine-etc. = queer = Richard Rodriguez" (407), I must conclude that Randy's interpretation of Richard is based solely on pre-conceptions regarding what it means to be Mexican/American.

               Other critics tend to be more objective when viewing Rodriguez' work. Norma Tilden, writing in "Word Made Flesh: Richard Rodriguez's 'Late Victorians' as Nativity Story," remarks that he writes with "an evocative, ceremonial prose through which he reasserts the sacramentality of material things" (442). Very positive, almost glowing, praise for style that subtly changes to indirect criticism as she states that "Rodriguez juxtaposes seemingly disjointed reflections [...] [and] weaves these disparate concerns into a narrative performance that echoes the ritual of the Catholic mass [...]" (443), implies that the style is perhaps too complex. The fact that her essay concerns itself primarily with style and Rodriguez' seemingly jumbled format implies that the digressions have a tendency to distract the reader, requiring total concentration by the reader to understand Rodriguez' text. Her characterization of his writing, however valid, at least leaves room for the reader to draw individual conclusions from the interpretation she presents.

               Paige Schilt, in her essay "Anti-Pastoral and Guilty Vision in Richard Rodriguez's Days of Obligation," citing other critics, states, that the pastoral is a "[...] problematic trope for historical and cross-cultural representation [...] [because of] its inability to do justice to the complexity and historicity of private or folk experience" (426). She attempts to prove that Days of Obligation and Hunger of Memory (a pastoral according to Rodriguez) do not transgress the bounds of pastoral. And while she does allow the possibility that Rodriguez pushes the envelope of traditional pastoral, she does not accomplish her goal by personally attacking Rodriguez as a Mexican-American or as a homosexual.

               Writing in Studies in 20th Century Literature, Maarten van Delden, in his essay, "Crossing the Great Divide: Rewritings of the U. S.-Mexican encounter in Walter Abish and Richard Rodriguez," also commends Rodriguez' work in Days of Obligation. In this comparative analysis, van Delden discusses some of Rodriguez' possible motivations for writing his second book and draws some very interesting conclusions about Rodriguez and his Mexican-American cultural identity. He states that Rodriguez had "deeply personal reasons for writing about Mexico" because of his "concern with the problem of cultural identity" (6). van Delden suggests that one possible reason that led to negative criticism from some "Chicano intellectuals" is Rodriguez' stance on bilingual education which has led to "his estrangement from his natural community" (7). While I might question the term "natural," thinking "genetic" might be appropriate, I would have to agree that Rodriguez' stance would certainly arouse ire within the Mexican-American community. van Delden cites the work of Rosaura Sánchez and Ramón Saldívar who both accuse Rodriguez of being neither Mexican nor American; however, Kevin R. McNamara characterizes Rodriguez' writing as groundbreaking work that attempts "to create a new hybrid, cosmopolitan identity" (7).

               van Delden concludes his essay by discussing Catholicism and its relationship to Protestant American culture as defined by Rodriguez. He states that "Rodriguez makes it clear that from his Catholicism he derives his belief in the paramount value of belonging to a community" (10), but American culture traditionally touts the importance of the individual, creating a paradox that is difficult to resolve. To Rodriguez, America is a Protestant nation; Mexico is Catholic. Catholicism invites assimilation and shared experience while Protestantism, paradoxically in the nation of assimilation, promotes individuality, hence the conflict is within the opposing belief systems, themselves. Consequently, to become an American, an individual must be willing to accept the conflict and the paradox equally, thereby asserting individuality while becoming part of an all-inclusive, multi-cultural community that is constantly in flux. This paradox works not only on the individual level, but also on a geopolitical level, which makes "assimilation" even more difficult. Therefore, van Delden's critique becomes a wonderful catalyst for further thought on the subjects he raises regarding Richard Rodriguez.

Interviews

               In an interview with Timothy S. Sedore entitled "'Born at the Destination': An Interview with Richard Rodriguez," Rodriguez directly addresses the Catholic-Protestant conflict that continues to vex him. He states that "America was always a counter force to my Catholicism. I was very Catholic, but I was also becoming very American. The odd thing is the Irish nuns who made me very Catholic also made me very American" (2). Obviously, the conflicting ideals he continues to face come to the fore very early in his life. In this interview, however, he seems to shed more light on the concept of the American individual by stating that Americans do not truly realize just how community-oriented they are:

They (Americans) think they discovered the "I." They think that the black civil rights movement just happened, that it has nothing to do with Thomas Jefferson. They think that the women's movement has nothing to do with slaves. That the Gray Panthers have nothing to do with Black Panthers. They think that we bloom like little flowers on the horizons, and we each discover these ideas as if they never were known before. Well, this concept of newness is not a universal idea: It's an American idea. (3)

This thoughtful observation on the American concept of self may appear simplistic, but American history is truly a series of cause-effect relationships wherein all things past bear staggering forces on all things present and on all things to come. The notion that Americans are individualistic is accurate only to the degree of involvement. One can choose to participate or not to participate, but if one chooses not, the will of the majority will certainly affect the individual.

               Responding to a question about personal beliefs, Rodriguez globalizes by stating, "I believe in the continuousness of human existence. I renew that faith when I read a book that was written three hundred years ago or two thousand years ago, and I still relate to it" (7). He goes on to comment about how humanity, overall, relies upon itself, both past and present, to support itself, again bringing in the notion that the past affects all that is to come. This shared history of humanity is a connection everyone shares worldwide, implying that if we could be more aware of the past, we might be able to better work together to form a better world, but stating that that we all "carry the past in [our] li[ves]. It has validity; it makes itself apparent" (7) solidifying his point regarding American individualism.

               Concluding this interview, Rodriguez characterizes himself, Mexican-Americans, and Mexicans as both a continuation and a subversion of their shared culture through religion:

In many ways I both subvert the culture that created me and carry it on. I stole Catholicism from Europe. The churches of Europe are empty. We took the baby Jesus with us, and he lives now in Acapulco, He wears sunglasses, and He's quite happy in the warm climate. He's not in Europe. [...] The Europeans do not even know it; they don't care if they know it. (10)

Earlier asserting that Mexico has become the world capital for Catholicism and for Spanish-speaking peoples due to "population and Mexican television", Rodriguez sees the "Mexican voice" as "much more powerful than the Spanish voice to the rest of Latin America" (10). His assertion may not sit well with Spain, but Mexico is currently the strongest Spanish voice in the world.

               In a 1999 interview entitled "Violating the Boundaries: An Interview With Richard Rodriguez," again with Timothy Sedore, Rodriguez indirectly addresses some of his critics and discusses more of his views on assimilation and acculturation into American society. Sedore considers Rodriguez "an eloquent voice from a post-Causa generation of Mexican-Americans that has had to come to terms with what he finds to be an inevitable assimilation/alienation" (1). Quoting from an unidentified essay, Sedore quotes Rodriguez on that very point: "'As much as the country is joined in a common culture, Americans are reluctant to celebrate the process of assimilation. We stand together, alone'" (1). The concept of standing together is basic to the American ideal as is the concept of individualism: again, the paradox upon which Rodriguez feels America is founded. For Rodriguez, when we consider his political and social beliefs, the paradox becomes even more confounding.

               In this interview, Rodriguez reflects on Hunger of Memory and addresses some of the negative criticism he has received. He states that "it's too soft for men. It's not Latino enough, it's a little too feminine, a little too American" (1). While admitting that certain audiences may have been resistant to his views, he nonetheless qualifies his reasons for writing the book: "That's why I take it that the energies of the book are mainly class and not ethnic. [...] My interest was not ethnic; it was social and economic but not economic in the Marxist sense" (2). He charges that there are no American writers who will address the subject of class, implying that American society (don't ask, don't tell) turns a blind eye to the topic of class despite urban ghettos, despite border colonias, despite masses of homeless Americans. Don't ask, don't tell makes class a non-issue, something that Rodriguez recognizes as a major fault in the American system, especially where it applies to affirmative action. "Americans are talking about race or the pioneers, but not class" (2).

               Again, addressing critics, Rodriguez is blunt about his not "coming out" in Hunger of Memory. He states that had he been more overt regarding his homosexuality, it "would have turned the book sociologically into more than I wanted. I don't even consider it to be a Chicano book, but to think of it as a Chicano homosexual book would be even more reductionist" (3). Obviously, placing labels on the book would have rendered it less effective toward his purpose. He feels that taking a sociological stance with a text makes it a search for the typical, whereas reading a text as a piece of literature is a search for the particular that when found, discloses the universal. Perhaps this is why it is so difficult, perhaps impossible, to write (or read) the "great American novel" since the multi-faceted scope of American society precludes universality.

               Although not stated as such, as a parting comment in this particular interview, Rodriguez may be still addressing those negative critics when he states that "Emerson said that reading is reciprocal. It takes a good reader to make a good book" (14). Though not in direct response to a question regarding his critics, this statement could easily translate into a denouncement of those who criticize as those who are not capable of reading for the true meaning of any text.

Commentary by Rodriguez

               In October, 1995, Rodriguez, in his essay, "A Sense Of Time," reviewed an art show at the Whitney Museum in New York. The featured artist was Edward Hopper and Rodriguez makes some very interesting observations about Hopper and his work and how it relates to America in general. In Hopper, he notes, we see generic America; indeed, Hopper is, in the vast majority of his paintings, quite non-specific regarding location, and as Rodriguez notes, "In the America of Edward Hopper, all specificity is wiped away" (1). Time is rendered more specific, but still in a more general sense, in paintings such as "Morning Sun," "Cape Cod Sunset," and "Dawn in Pennsylvania." But if specificity is allowed in one area, it is automatically disallowed in another: specificity in degrees. Because of this phenomenon, Rodriguez feels that Hopper "senses an America that is not a physical place. His America is a state of mind" (1).

               Hopper often depicts the individual in isolation, seldom facing the artist, but when the subject's gaze is forward, it is not focused on the artist, rather, it is focused on something beyond the artist, so the viewer has a sense of the doppleganger, looking at one's very own image. Ironically, Rodriguez also sees American individuals in isolation, unaware of society, but often unaware of themselves, as well. Acutely aware of isolation himself, Rodriguez could not help but identify with Hopper's images.

               If Hopper's images of isolation are not enough, Rodriguez, in "Changing Obituaries," considers obituaries printed in the New York Times following the tragedies of September 11, 2001. To Rodriguez, it is a welcome change from the "formalities of Victorian prose" (1). But it is much more than that, alone. To him, it is the fact that obituaries have gone from a "means only to record a life's passing with the unemotional inflection of a notary" (1) to much more personal accounts of the lives lost. Using several examples, he notes how much more human are those who have died because of the way they are currently being remembered. And he states that the photographs included are of smiling faces, real people snatched from everyday lives, faces that address the camera directly, unlike the images in Hopper. Rodriguez' point here seems to be that perhaps from this tragedy we are regaining a lost bit of human-ness that our fast-paced society tends to ignore. He likens this current practice to one that began nearly twenty years ago when, in San Francisco, "the Bay Area Reporter,——one of the city's gay newspapers——began publishing similar homespun obituaries" (1). The obituary denotes either total isolation or total inclusion, depending on the deceased's philosophy, but this trend affords those left behind to participate in some small way in the lives of those lost.

Conclusion

               To say that there is much more that could be said is the epitome of understatement. What Richard Rodriguez does, like it or not, is open his reader's eyes much wider to the realm of possibilities regarding numerous issues. To say that he is a multi-faceted individual merely minimizes what he represents and what I hope he will come to represent in the future of literary America. He is possibly more American than many white-skinned Americans could ever dream of being simply because of his uniqueness. Opinionated and outspoken, his voice not only raises controversy, but also increases awareness of social dilemmas that will continue to require attention as our society becomes even more multi-cultural.

               Rodriguez, speaking under the guise of autobiography, teaches his readers about the universality of mankind, regardless of ethnicity, ignoring absolutes and minimalist criticism. When we look at the issues he raises, his politics alone put him beyond the pale of acceptance. He appears to be one of those few writers who can swing from the far right to the extreme left and still make sense, yet he makes sense of all the issues he discusses. Politics, religion, sexuality——nothing appears to be off limits to Rodriguez.

               This investigation has generated a great deal of personal thought, and has led me to a greater understanding of a number of concepts relating to multiculturalism. Coupled with what we have discussed in class, this has been quite an eye-opening experience. Most of all, I have discovered that every author, regardless of ethnicity, holds the power to change minds and lives for the better, and with these changes comes a greater understanding of those around us. It appears to me that only through trust and understanding can we accomplish goals that will eventually lead to a better nation and world.

Works Cited

Eliot, T. S. "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." Collected Poems 1909-1962. London: Faber and Faber, 1974, 13-17.

Limón, José E. "Editor's Note on Richard Rodriguez." Texas Studies in Literature and Language. 40 (1998): 389-395.

London, Scott. "A View From the Melting Pot: An Interview With Richard Rodriguez." Insight and Outlook (1997): 8. 22 Nov. 2001 <http://www.scottlondon.com/insight/scripts/rodriguez. html>.

Rodriguez, Randy A. "Richard Rodriguez Reconsidered: Queering the Sissy (Ethnic) Subject." Texas Studies in Literature and Language. 40 (1998): (396-423).

Rodriguez, Richard. "A Sense of Time." Rev. of Edward Hopper and the American Imagination. Online Newshour 4 Oct. 1995. 22 Apr. 1999 <http://pbs.org/newshour/essays/hopper_essay. html>

Rodriguez, Richard. Days of Obligation: An Argument With My Mexican Father. New York: Viking Penguin, 1992.

Rodriguez, Richard. Hunger of Memory: The Education of Richard Rodriguez. Boston: David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc., 1982.

Rodriguez, Richard. "Changing Obituaries." Online Newshour 31 Oct. 2001. 21 Nov. 2001 <http://www.pbs.org/newshour/ essays/july-dec01/obituaries_10-31.html>

Schilt, Paige. "Antipastoral and Guilty Vision in Richard Rodriguez's Days of Obligation." Texas Studies in Literature and Language. 40 (1998): (424-441)

Sedore, Timothy S. "'Born at the Destination': An Interview with Richard Rodriguez." New England Review 22.3 (Summer, 2001): 10. 20 Nov. 2001 <http://relayweb.hwwilsonweb.com>

Sedore, Timothy S. "Violating The Boundaries: An Interview With Richard Rodriguez." Michigan Quarterly Review 38.3 (Summer 1999): 14. 20 Nov. 2001 <http://relayweb.hwwilsonweb.com>

Tilden, Norma. "Word Made Flesh: Richard Rodriguez's 'Late Victorians' as Nativity Story." Texas Studies in Literature and Language. 40 (1998): (442-459).

van Delden, Maarten. "Crossing the Great Divide: Rewritings of the U. S.-Mexican Encounter in Walter Abish and Richard Rodriguez." Studies in 20th Century Literature 25.1 (2001): 12. 20 Nov. 2001 <http://relayweb.hwwilsonweb.com>.