{"product_id":"bordering-fires-isbn-9781400077182","title":"Bordering Fires","description":"\u003cb\u003e“A marvelous introduction to some of the most luminous and illuminating voices to be found in the Chicano\/a and Mexican literary traditions, offering a fascinating and resonant dialogue among them.”  \u003cbr\u003e–Rafael Pérez-Torres, Professor of American Literature and Chicano Studies, UCLA\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eAs the descendants of Mexican immigrants have settled throughout the United States, a great literature has emerged, but its correspondances with the literature of Mexico have gone largely unobserved. In \u003ci\u003eBordering Fires\u003c\/i\u003e, the first anthology to combine writing from both sides of the Mexican-U.S. border, Cristina García presents a richly diverse cross-cultural conversation. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Beginning with Mexican masters such as Alfonso  Reyes and Juan Rulfo, García highlights historic voices such as “the godfather of  Chicano literature” Rudolfo Anaya, and Gloria Anzaldœa, who made a powerful case  for language that reflects bicultural experience. From the fierce evocations of Chicano  reality in Jimmy Santiago Baca’s Poem IX to the breathtaking images of identity in  Coral Bracho’s poem “Fish of Fleeting Skin,” from the work of Carlos Fuentes to Sandra  Cisneros, Ana Castillo to Octavio Paz, this landmark collection of fiction, essays,  and poetry offers an exhilarating new vantage point on our continent–and on the best  of contemporary literature.\u003ci\u003eIntroduction, by Cristina García\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ePrelude:  SAMUEL RAMOS  excerpt from “The Use of Thought”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eEARLY INFLUENCES\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ALFONSO REYES \u003cbr\u003e “Major Aranda’s Hand”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e RAMÓN LÓPEZ VELARDE\u003cbr\u003e “My Cousin Agueda”\u003cbr\u003e “In  the Wet Shadows”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e JUAN RULFO\u003cbr\u003e excerpt from \u003ci\u003ePedro Páramo\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e XAVIER VILLAURRUTIA\u003cbr\u003e “L.A.  Nocturne:  The Angels”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eCHICANO\/A VOICES I\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e GLORIA ANZALDÚA\u003cbr\u003e “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e RICHARD RODRIGUEZ\u003cbr\u003e “India”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e JIMMY SANTIAGO BACA\u003cbr\u003e “Mediations on the South Valley:   Poem IX”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e RUDOLFO ANAYA\u003cbr\u003e “B. Traven Is Alive and Well in Cuernavaca”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eCONTEMPORARY  MEXICAN VOICES\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e CARLOS FUENTES\u003cbr\u003e excerpt from \u003ci\u003eThe Death of Artemio Cruz\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eELENA POONIATOWSKA\u003cbr\u003e introduction from \u003ci\u003eHere’s to You, Jesusa!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e OCTAVIO PAZ\u003cbr\u003e “The Day of the Dead”\u003cbr\u003e “I Speak  of the City”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ROSARIO CASTELLANOS\u003cbr\u003e excerpt from \u003ci\u003eThe Book of Lamentations\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eCHICANO\/A  VOICES 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003eANA CASTILLO\u003cbr\u003e “Daddy with Chesterfields in a Rolled Up Sleeve”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e SANDRA CISNEROS\u003cbr\u003e “Never Marry a Mexican”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e DAGOBERTO GILB\u003cbr\u003e “Maria de Covina”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e RUBÉN MARTÍNEZ\u003cbr\u003e excerpt  from \u003ci\u003eCrossing Over:  A Mexican Family on the Migrant Trail\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eIGNACIO PADILLA\u003cbr\u003e “Hagiography  of the Apostate”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ÁNGELES MASTRETTA\u003cbr\u003e “Aunt Leonor”\u003cbr\u003e “Aunt Natalia”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e CARLOS MONSIVÁIS\u003cbr\u003e “Identity Hour or, What Photos Would You Take of the Endless City?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e CORLA BRACHO\u003cbr\u003e “Fish of Fleeting Skin”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eNote About the Authors\u003cbr\u003e Permissions Acknowledgments\u003c\/i\u003e“A marvelous introduction to some of the most luminous and illuminating voices to  be found in the Chicano\/a and Mexican literary traditions, offering a fascinating  and resonant dialogue among them.”  \u003cbr\u003e –\u003cb\u003eRafael Pérez-Torres, Professor of American  Literature and Chicano Studies, UCLA\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"In an age that reduces \u003ci\u003elo mexicano\u003c\/i\u003e to a nefarious  stereotype, this assortment of literary delights will allow shrewd readers to appreciate  the richness of a millenarian civilization.\" –\u003cb\u003eIlan Stavans, Professor of Latin American  and Latino Culture, Amherst College\u003c\/b\u003eCristina García was born in Havana and grew up in New York City. Her first novel, \u003ci\u003eDreaming in Cuban,\u003c\/i\u003e was nominated for a National Book Award and has been widely translated. Ms. García has been a Guggenheim Fellow, a Hodder Fellow at Princeton University, and the recipient of a Whiting Writers’ Award. She lives in Napa with her daughter and husband.ALFONSO REYES    Major Aranda’s Hand    Major Aranda suffered the loss of a hand in battle, and, unfortunately for  him, it was his right hand. Other people make collections of hands of  bronze, of ivory, of glass and of wood; at times they come from religious  statues or images; at times they are antique door knockers. And surgeons  keep worse things in jars of alcohol. Why not preserve this severed hand,  testimony to a glorious deed? Are we sure that the hand is of less value  than the brain or the heart?    Let us meditate about it. Aranda did not meditate, but was impelled by a  secret instinct. Theological man has been shaped in clay, like a doll, by  the hand of God. Biological man evolves thanks to the service of his hand,  and his hand has endowed the world with a new natural kingdom, the kingdom  of the industries and the arts. If the strong walls of Thebes rose to the  music of Amphion’s lyre, it was his brother Zethus, the mason, who raised  the stones with his hand. Manual laborers appear therefore in archaic  mythologies, enveloped in magic vapor: they   are the wonder-workers. They are “The Hands Delivering the Fire” that  Orozco has painted. In Diego Rivera’s mural the hand grasps the cosmic  globe that contains the powers of creation and destruction; and in  Chapingo the proletarian hands are ready to reclaim the patrimony of the  earth.    The other senses remain passive, but the manual sense experiments and adds  and, from the spoils of the earth, constructs a human order, the son of  man. It models both the jar and the planet; it moves the potter’s wheel  and opens the Suez Canal.    A delicate and powerful instrument, it possesses the most fortunate  physical resources: hinges, pincers, tongs, hooks, bony   little chains, nerves, ligaments, canals, cushions, valleys and hillocks.  It is soft and hard, aggressive and loving.    A marvelous flower with five petals that open and close like the sensitive  plant, at the slightest provocation! Is five an essential number in the  universal harmonies? Does the hand belong to the order of the dog rose,  the forget-me-not, the scarlet pimpernel? Palmists perhaps are right in  substance although not in their interpretations. And if the physiognomists  of long ago had gone on from the face to the hand, completing their vague  observations, undoubtedly they would have figured out correctly that the  face mirrors and expresses but that the hand acts.    There is no doubt about it, the hand deserves unusual respect, and it  could indeed occupy the favorite position among the household gods of  Major Aranda.    The hand was carefully deposited in a quilted jewel case. The folds of  white satin seemed a diminutive Alpine landscape. From time to time  intimate friends were granted the privilege of looking at it for a few  minutes. It was a pleasing, robust, intelligent hand, still in a rather  tense position from grasping the hilt of the sword. It was perfectly  preserved.    Gradually this mysterious object, this hidden talisman, became familiar.  And then it emigrated from the treasure chest to the showcase in the  living room, and a place was made for it among the campaign and high  military decorations.    Its nails began to grow, revealing a slow, silent, surreptitious life. At  one moment this growth seemed something brought on by inertia, at another  it was evident that it was a natural vir-  tue. With some repugnance at first, the manicurist of the family consented  to take care of those nails each week. The hand was always polished and  well cared for.    Without the family knowing how it happened—that’s how man is, he converts  the statue of the god into a small art object—the hand descended in rank;  it suffered a manus diminutio; it ceased to be a relic and entered into  domestic circulation. After six months it acted as a paperweight or served  to hold the leaves of the manuscripts—the major was writing his memoirs  now with his left hand; for the severed hand was flexible and plastic and  the docile fingers maintained the position imposed upon them.    In spite of its repulsive coldness, the children of the house ended up by  losing respect for it. At the end of a year, they were already scratching  themselves with it or amused themselves by folding its fingers in the form  of various obscene gestures of international folklore.    The hand thus recalled many things that it had completely forgotten. Its  personality was becoming noticeable. It acquired its own consciousness and  character. It began to put out feelers. Then it moved like a tarantula.  Everything seemed an occasion for play. And one day, when it was evident  that it had put on a glove all by itself and had adjusted a bracelet on  the severed wrist, it did not attract the attention of anyone.    It went freely from one place to another, a monstrous little lap dog,  rather crablike. Later it learned to run, with a hop very similar to that  of hares, and, sitting back on the fingers, it began to jump in a  prodigious manner. One day it was seen spread out on a current of air: it  had acquired the ability to fly.    But in doing all these things, how did it orient itself, how did it see?  Ah! Certain sages say that there is a faint light, imperceptible to the  retina, perhaps perceptible to other organs, particularly if they are  trained by education and exercise. Should not the hand see also? Of course  it complements its vision with its sense of touch; it almost has eyes in  its fingers, and the palm   is able to find its bearings through the gust of air like the   membranes of a bat. Nanook, the Eskimo, on his cloudy polar steppes,  raises and waves the weather vanes to orient himself in an apparently  uniform environment. The hand captures a thousand fleeting things and  penetrates the translucent currents that escape the eye and the muscles,  those currents that are not visible and that barely offer any resistance.    The fact is that the hand, as soon as it got around by itself, became  ungovernable, became temperamental. We can say that it was then that it  really “got out of hand.” It came and went as it pleased. It disappeared  when it felt like it; returned when it took a fancy to do so. It  constructed castles of improbable balance out of bottles and wineglasses.  It is said that it even became intoxicated; in any case, it stayed up all  night.    It did not obey anyone. It was prankish and mischievous. It pinched the  noses of callers, it slapped collectors at the door. It remained  motionless, playing dead, allowing itself to be contemplated by those who  were not acquainted with it, and then suddenly it would make an obscene  gesture. It took singular pleasure in chucking its former owner under the  chin, and it got into the habit of scaring the flies away from him. He  would regard it with tenderness, his eyes brimming with tears, as he would  regard a son who had proved to be a black sheep.    It upset everything. Sometimes it took a notion to sweep and tidy the  house; other times it would mix up the shoes of the family with a true  arithmetical genius for permutations, combinations and changes; it would  break the window panes by throwing rocks, or it would hide the balls of  the boys who were playing in the street.    The major observed it and suffered in silence. His wife hated it, and of  course was its preferred victim. The hand, while it was going on to other  exercises, humiliated her by giving her lessons in needlework or cooking.    The truth is that the family became demoralized. The one-handed man was  depressed and melancholy, in great contrast to his former happiness. His  wife became distrustful and easily frightened, almost paranoid. The  children became negligent, abandoned their studies, and forgot their good  manners. Everything was sudden frights, useless drudgery, voices, doors  slamming, as if an evil spirit had entered the house. The meals were  served late, sometimes in the parlor, sometimes in a bedroom because, to  the consternation of the major, to the frantic protest of his wife, and to  the furtive delight of the children, the hand had taken possession of the  dining room for its gymnastic exercises, locking itself inside, and  receiving those who tried to expel it by throwing plates at their heads.  One just had to yield, to surrender with weapons and baggage, as Aranda  said.    The old servants, even the nurse who had reared the lady   of the house, were put to flight. The new servants could not endure the  bewitched house for a single day. Friends and relatives deserted the  family. The police began to be disturbed by the constant complaints of the  neighbors. The last silver grate that remained in the National Palace  disappeared as if by magic. An epidemic of robberies took place, for which  the mysterious hand was blamed, though it was often innocent.    The most cruel aspect of the case was that people did not blame the hand,  did not believe that there was such a hand animated by its own life, but  attributed everything to the wicked devices of the poor one-handed man,  whose severed member was now threatening to cost us what Santa Anna’s leg  cost us. Undoubtedly Aranda was a wizard who had made a pact with Satan.  People made the sign of the cross.    In the meantime the hand, indifferent to the harm done to others, acquired  an athletic musculature, became robust, steadily got into better shape,  and learned how to do more and more things. Did it not try to continue the  major’s memoirs for him? The night when it decided to get some fresh air  in the auto-  mobile, the Aranda family, incapable of restraining it, believed that the  world was collapsing; but there was not a single accident, nor fines nor  bribes to pay the police. The major said that at least the car, which had  been getting rusty after the flight of the chauffeur, would be kept in  good condition that way.    Left to its own nature, the hand gradually came to embody the Platonic  idea that gave it being, the idea of seizing, the eagerness to acquire  control. When it was seen how hens perished with their necks twisted or  how art objects belonging to other people arrived at the house—which  Aranda went to all kinds of trouble to return to their owners, with  stammerings and incomprehensible excuses—it was evident that the hand was  an animal of prey and a thief.    People now began to doubt Aranda’s sanity. They spoke of hallucinations,  of “raps” or noises of spirits, and of other things of a like nature. The  twenty or thirty persons who really had seen the hand did not appear  trustworthy when they were of the servant class, easily swayed by  superstitions; and when they were people of moderate culture, they  remained silent and answered with evasive remarks for fear of compromising  themselves or being subject to ridicule. A round table of the Faculty of  Philosophy and Literature devoted itself to discussing a certain  anthropological thesis concerning the origin of myths.","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300640608485,"sku":"NP9781400077182","price":15.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781400077182.jpg?v=1767722957","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/bordering-fires-isbn-9781400077182","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}