I mean it in the best possible sense.
I've already openly swooned over one of the most gorgeous short stories ever written, "Salvador Late or Early," but I want to go on record with my love for the whole series of vignettes. Each page unfolds a new secret that reveals the sweet pain of childhood, from sharing wonder with Lucy at the "yellow blood of butterflies" to Salvador's "memory of kites" to the immortal battle between the humiliated child and the all-knowing teacher in "Eleven."Each of these pieces woke up some buried emotion in me, something both eternally joyful and inexpressibly sad. A butterfly emerging from the chrysalis and dying an hour later. That is childhood. It's a truth you can die from if you're not careful.
Cisneros could not be more different from Hempel. Where Hempel is cool, Cisneros is warm. Where Hempel is dry and sardonic, Cisneros is lively and ecstatic. I almost regret writing the later statements, as they grossly simplify the two women's work, however, I don't think it's incorrect to allow that each writer colors in her own hue. Nevertheless, I believe that both writers employ a technique of withholding that allows their stories to soar. I don't know what any of the characters in Reasons to Live or "My Friend Lucy" look like. Yes, The House on Mango Street has cute little sections about the family's varying pelitos, but this is still in accordance with the unspoken rule of keeping descriptions spare and salient. Everything included in the story is supposed to *mean* something.
Another thing I like about Cisneros is that she lets us know her. She cares about the state of the world. And damn but does she know how to take a good publicity photo:
Work it, girl! And thank you for your wonderful, wonderful words.
