The House On Mango Street
The House On Mango Street
The House On Mango Street
by Sandra Cisneros
The author
Sandra Cisneros is a poet, short story writer, novelist,
essayist, performer, and artist whose work explores the
lives of the working-class. Her classic, coming-of-age
novel, The House on Mango Street, has sold over six
million copies and has been translated into over twenty
languages.
We had to leave the flat on Loomis quick. The water pipes broke and the
landlord wouldn't fix them because the house was too old. We had to
leave fast. We were using the washroom next door and carrying water
over in empty milk gallons. That's why Mama and Papa looked for a
house, and that's why we moved into the house on Mango Street, far
away, on the other side of town.
They always told us that one day we would move into a house, a real
house that would be ours for always so we wouldn't have to move each
year. And our house would have running water and pipes that worked.
And inside it would have real stairs, not hallway stairs, but stairs inside like
the houses on TV. And we'd have a basement and at least three
washrooms so when we took a bath we wouldn't have to tell everybody.
Our house would be white with trees around it, a great big yard and grass
growing without a fence. This was the house Papa talked about when he
held a lottery ticket and this was the house Mama dreamed up in the
stories she told us before we went to bed.
But the house on Mango Street is not the way they told it at all. It's small
and red with tight steps in front and windows so small you'd think they
were holding their breath. Bricks are crumbling in places, and the front
door is so swollen you have to push hard to get in. There is no front yard,
only four little elms the city planted by the curb. Out back is a small
garage for the car we don't own yet and a small yard that looks smaller
between the two buildings on either side. There are stairs in our house,
but they're ordinary hallway stairs, and the house has only one washroom.
Everybody has to share a bedroom—Mama and Papa, Carlos and Kiki, me
and Nenny.
Once when we were living on Loomis, a nun from my school passed by
and saw me playing out front. The laundromat downstairs had been
boarded up because it had been robbed two days before and the owner
had painted on the wood YES WE'RE OPEN so as not to lose business.
There. I had to look to where she pointed—the third floor, the paint
peeling, wooden bars Papa had nailed on the windows so we wouldn't fall
out. You live there? The way she said it made me feel like nothing. There. I
lived there. I nodded.
I knew then I had to have a house. A real house. One I could point to. But
this isn't it. The house on Mango Street isn't it. For the time being, Mama
says. Temporary, says Papa. But I know how those things go.
My great-grandmother. I would've liked to have known her, a wild horse
of a woman, so wild she wouldn't marry. Until my great-grandfather
threw a sack over her head and carried her off. Just like that, as if she
were a fancy chandelier. That's the way he did it.
And the story goes she never forgave him. She looked out the window her
whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I
wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she sorry because
she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be. Esperanza. I have
inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window.
I would like to baptize myself under a new name, a name more like the
real me, the one nobody sees. Esperanza as Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze
the X. Yes. Something like Zeze the X will do.
Watch the v
ideo and answer the questions
1. Did the author wrote the book with the purpose of it being an
autobiography?
2. When and in what context did she write it?
3. How did Cisneros feel her culture being depicted?
4. The author says she has never seen herself in books. What does
she mean by that?
5. She also says that you should write about something you, and
only you know, can you think of anything you may be able to write
about?
✦ Read the following article and answer the questions:
Blind Spot: 'The House on Mango Street' by Sandra Cisneros
By Jennifer Day for the Chicago Tribune
I'm not sure how I went so long without reading "The House on Mango
Street" by Sandra Cisneros. The first time I remember taking note of it was
in the mid-'90s when one of my college professors, hellbent on exploding
the dead-white-man canon, put it on a list of books that should be
required reading in America. Yet she didn't assign Cisneros's clear-eyed
chronicle of life as lived by a Latina girl, so I didn't read it.
It wasn't until I became books editor for the Tribune that I started to feel
true embarrassment: How was it possible I hadn't read this Chicago
classic?
I'm sure if I had read it at any age, I would have been arrested by its
language. In a mere 110 pages, through a series of vignettes, the book
constructs a neighborhood and illuminates the interior life of Esperanza.
She's a child still, struggling to make sense of the adults around her.
Esperanza tells us that she was named after her great-grandmother:
"She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit
their sadness on an elbow. … I have inherited her name, but I don't want
to inherit her place by the window."
Had I read this book sooner, I suspect I would have appreciated it.
Cisneros' keen sense of detail, the strong rhythm of the prose, her sly
sense of humor and the electric character of Esperanza make it
irresistible. I doubt, though, that it would have leveled me the way it did
last week.
We forget that the consumption of art is a two-way street: It's as much
about the reader as it is about the book in front of them. A little more
than a year ago, I became a mother, opening an emotional portal I
wouldn't have been able to fathom previously. It's cliche, I know. But to
ignore how it's changed the way I see and read and think would be naive.
"(I)t's not the house we thought we'd get. … For the time being, Mama
says. Temporary, says Papa. But I know how those things go."
By the end, we understand that Esperanza, like all of us, will fall victim to
that old truism that you can never go home again. The same way I can't
imagine a way to go back to how I thought and felt before our child
arrived, I can’t imagine a way to go back before The House on Mango
Street.
Those who don't know any better come into our neighborhood scared.
They think we're dangerous. They think we will attack them with shiny
knives. They are stupid people who are lost and got here by mistake. But
we aren't afraid. We know the guy with the crooked eye is Davey the
Baby's brother, and the tall one next to him in the straw brim, that's
Rosa's Eddie V., and the big one that looks like a dumb grown man, he's
Fat Boy, though he's not fat anymore nor a boy.
They are the only ones who understand me. I am the only one who
understands them. Four skinny trees with skinny necks and pointy
elbows like mine. Four who do not belong here but are here. Four
raggedy excuses planted by the city. From our room we can hear them,
but Nenny just sleeps and doesn't appreciate these things.
Their strength is secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the ground.
They grow up and they grow down and grab the earth between their
hairy toes and bite the sky with violent teeth and never quit their anger.
This is how they keep.
Let one forget his reason for being, they'd all droop like tulips in a glass,
each with their arms around the other. Keep, keep, keep, trees say when I
sleep. They teach.
When I am too sad and too skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny
thing against so many bricks, then it is I look at trees. When there is
nothing left to look at on this street. Four who grew despite concrete.
Four who reach and do not forget to reach. Four whose only reason is to
be and be.
✦ Is there something in your community or neighborhood that is
significant to you? What is it? What does it mean to you? Why is it
important to you?
Writing
✦ Choose any of the chapters we worked with, the idea is that you write
something that deals with your house, your name, the objects and people
that surround you or define you.
You can try to reflect Cisneros’s style or write with your own. Write no
more than 250 words.
To carry on reading:
The House on Mango Street full book