Quinto
Sol’s Chicano Archive:
Reading
Anaya’s Bless Me, Ultima through Romano’s
Don Pedrito Jaramillo
Joseph Morales
University
of California, Irvine
Many
critics have pointed to the role of Quinto Sol Publications in the
establishment of a Chicano literary canon.(1) One way of reworking this statement might be,
How to understand the role of Quinto Sol in the production of a Chicano
archive? This article aims to
demonstrate that the concept of an “archive” – in this case, Quinto Sol’s
Chicano archive – is indispensible for Chicana/o literary and cultural studies.(2) I perform a close reading of Octavio Romano’s
PhD dissertation in Anthropology, Don
Pedrito Jaramillo: The Emergence of a Mexican-American Folk Saint (1964), and
the winner of the second Quinto Sol Prize, Rudolfo Anaya’s novel Bless Me,
Ultima (1972). To what extent did
Romano’s doctoral work on “healing and folk medicine” inform editorial criteria
at Quinto Sol Publications? (3) In an editor’s note to Bless Me, Ultima,
Romano and his co-editor Herminio Ríos C. write about Anaya: “He shares and
respects the collective intellectual reservoir that is manifest in his profound
knowledge of a people and their relationships to the cosmos and its
forces. It is only with this deep
respect for a people that Anaya has been able to create in literary form a
person such as the curandera Ultima, la Grande” (Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima
ix). I contend that Romano’s PhD
dissertation is essential to rereading Anaya’s novel and by extension to the
project of opening up Quinto Sol’s Chicano archive.
Today,
Anaya is one of the most widely acclaimed Chicana/o writers. Bless Me, Ultima, his first novel, is a classic bestseller and
is also the basis for a 2013 film of the same title. But, Anaya’s work has not always been part of
the mainstream. East coast publishers
originally rejected Bless Me, Ultima (Anaya, “Autobiography” 379). Anaya’s success came only after he won the
Second Premio Quinto Sol literary award, and Quinto Sol subsequently published Bless
Me, Ultima in 1972 (380). Quinto Sol
was co-established as an independent Chicano press in Berkeley during the 1960s
by Romano and Nick C. Vaca.(4) Between 1967 and 1974, Quinto Sol developed a
publishing profile that sought to combat negative images of Mexican
Americans. This is evident in Romano’s
own contributions to Quinto Sol’s quarterly journal, El Grito: A Journal of
Contemporary Mexican-American Thought.(5) But this goal of countering “the distortion
of Mexican-American history” is also evident in his PhD dissertation. Romano received a PhD in Anthropology from University
of California, Berkeley in 1964. His
doctoral dissertation Don Pedrito
Jaramillo sought to combat the “stereotypic shackles” of social scientific
research on “folk-medicine” among Mexicans and Mexican Americans (Romano 1). As John Alba Cutler has argued: “The history
of Quinto Sol demonstrates the pivotal role the university has played in the
development of the field of Chicano/a literature” (Cutler 57). However, what
is less understood is the extent to which Romano’s research on Mexican American
spirituality shaped his view of literary value.
Why did Anaya win the Premio Quinto Sol literary award? No doubt, Anaya’s work exhibits literary
skill. On the other hand, did Romano
also view Anaya’s work as countering those “stereotypic shackles” of mainstream
social scientific research? Did Romano
find a Chicano theory of religion in Anaya’s novel Bless Me, Ultima? Stated otherwise, is it possible that in
Romano’s hands Chicana/o literature becomes not only a form of counter-history
but also a theory of the archive?(6)
My
use of the term “archive” here refers not to traditional, physical archives but
rather to a conceptual repository. In
the same way that Edward Said analyzes orientalism as an archive; in the same
way that Jacques Derrida analyzes psychoanalysis as an archive; I am attempting
to analyze the archives that comprise Chicano and Latino studies.(7) No doubt, psychoanalysis and orientalism
manifest in the world as physical spaces – the Freud Museum in London; the
Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago – the same that Chicano and Latino
studies comes to life in the Ethnic Studies Library at University of California,
Berkeley. But, I look first and foremost
to cultures of scholarship and their corresponding politics of organizing
information. In this sense, Chicana/o
literature is an archive.
Roberto
González Echevarría’s Myth and Archive: A
Theory of Latin American Narrative (1990) is one of the earliest and most
influential works to explore how the concept of the archive relates to literary
and cultural studies. He writes: “It is
my hypothesis that the novel, having no fixed form of its own, often assumes
that of a given kind of document endowed with truth-bearing power by society at
specific moments in time” (González Echevarría 8). Building on the work of Michel Foucault,
González Echevarría regards “the Archive” as “the law of what can be said.”(8) For example, Inca Garcilaso de la Vega’s Comentarios reales de los Incas (1609)
assumes the form of “notarial rhetoric” (i.e., it is “a simulacrum of the order
of the Empire, an order that is itself a simulacrum of the authority invested in
the figure of the King”) (González Echevarría 70); Domingo Faustino Sarmiento’s
Facundo (1845) and Euclides da
Cunha’s Os Sertões (1902) both bear
the stamp of 18th and 19th century scientific travelogues
(e.g., like Alexander von Humboldt’s Voyage
aux régions équinoxiales du Nouveau Continent [1805-1834], Sarmiento and
Euclides employ scientific models to relate “Latin American historical
uniqueness”) (96); and lastly, works such as Jorge Luis Borges’ “Tlön, Uqbar,
Orbis Tertius” (1940) and Miguel Barnet’s Biografía
de un cimarrón (1966) both develop self-reflexive narratives that mimic the
“literariness” of anthropological discourse (153). “Latin America, like the novel,” González
Echevarría contends, “was created in the Archive” (30). “A myth of myths,” the Archive contains all
the “phantoms” of original authority (174).
It is a repository of “master-stories” (3) and also is “something
between a ruin and a relic” (180).
I
read two relatively recent studies of Quinto Sol as interrogations of the
Chicano archive. In “Good-Bye Revolution
– Hello Cultural Mystique: Quinto Sol Publications and Chicano Literary Nationalism”
(2010), Dennis López explores Quinto Sol’s role in “the consolidation of a
dominant Chicano Movement aesthetic ideology and cultural politics” (López 185). Of particular interest, he considers “roads
taken and not taken” by Quinto Sol (185).
In “Felix beyond the Closet: Sexuality, Masculinity, and Relations of
Power in Arturo Islas’s The Rain God” (2009), Yolanda Padilla highlights
Islas’ critique of Quinto Sol’s hetero-normative editorial criteria. Padilla suggests that Islas’ novel The
Rain God had been rejected for publication because his representations of
sexuality did not match Quinto Sol’s “ethnonationalist” criteria for “‘positive
images’ of Chicanos” (Padilla 11). López
and Padilla ask us to consider (borrowing Derrida’s words), How
might it have been otherwise (Derrida, Geneses 87)? For example, how might it have been had
Quinto Sol looked to the internationalism of Luisa Moreno instead of the
territorially bounded, male grammar of ethnic nationalism (Schmidt Camacho
152-92)? Likewise, how might it have
been had Quinto Sol published Islas’ novel?
How might our understanding of Chicana/o literature have been otherwise
had Quinto Sol had different publishing criteria?
What
we do know is this: Quinto Sol created the Big Three – Rivera, Anaya, Hinojosa – by way of the Premio Quinto Sol. In 1990, Bruce-Novoa wrote:
What
we do not know is which novels, if any, were rejected by the Quinto Sol Prize committee. We would have to read them to know what was
excluded from the canon. As a matter of
fact, it would be interesting to know how many losers competed against the
prize winners so as to know the state of the field at that time. And if there were any other novels in the
running, what became of them? (Bruce-Novoa
136)
According
to Theresa Delgadillo, Latina/o literature in the 21st century
displays a “preoccupation with the female healer, saint, shaman, clairvoyant,
or visionary” (Delgadillo 244). Might
it have been otherwise had Anaya’s story of a boy’s coming-of-age with the help
of the curandera Ultima not been awarded the Quinto Sol Prize? Might it have been otherwise had one of the
“many losers” (as we know now) such as Arturo Islas’ novel or Alejandro
Morales’ Caras viejas y vino nuevo (1975) become part of the Quinto Sol
archive?(9) If Morales’ story of two youths living a
violent existence in the inner city had won, might Latina/o literature in the 21st
century have displayed instead a preoccupation with religion as a site of
surveillance and of guidance in a poor, racialized, urban environment?
One
of the earliest and most influential studies of religion in Chicana/o
literature is Davíd Carrasco’s 1982 article “A Perspective for a Study of
Religious Dimensions in Chicano Experience: Bless
Me, Ultima as a Religious Text.” Carrasco
defines Bless Me, Ultima as a “religious
text.” In his view: “The patterns of
sacred space and the sacred human . . . motivated the plot and its meanings”
(Carrasco 301). By focusing on the
protagonist’s “initiation into sacred knowledge,” Carrasco suggests “the
shamanic paradigm” (in an Eliadean sense) illustrates “the religious paradigm
for the Chicano experience” (Carrasco 316).(10) The protagonist Antonio undergoes “spiritual
transformation” (Carrasco 303) under the guidance of the “religious virtuoso”
Ultima (316) and also in an “ecstatic,” apocalyptic dream (320). Antonio becomes a “spiritual conduit” while
he assists Ultima with the “curing” of his “bewitched” uncle Lucas and goes
through a “religious pattern of decay, destruction, dismemberment and
regeneration” during a nightmare about “the apocalypse of the world” (Carrasco 319-20). The “gift of Ultima” is “a form of religious
wisdom,” and more specifically, “knowledge that the integration of his [Antonio’s]
diverse and conflicting elements [e.g., his names] and the cultivation of
sacred forces within a human being [e.g., ‘shamanic imagination’] can lead to a
life full of blessings” (Carrasco 323).
Carrasco
aims to reimagine the Chicana/o novel as a locus of religious meaning. At the same time, it is important to note
that Carrasco’s argument partakes of a specific universe of belief, the field
of comparative religions. In The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on
Art and Literature (1993), Pierre Bourdieu considers “not only the material
production but also the symbolic production of the work, i.e. the production of
the value of the work or, which amounts to the same thing, of belief in the
value of the work” (Bourdieu 37). Besides
“social conditions” that contribute to the production of works (i.e., race,
gender, etc.), he takes into account how “social agents” (e.g., museums,
publishers, disciplines, et al) help to produce and sustain belief in the value
of art, literature, and scholarship (164, 37).
Though Carrasco’s critical essay appears in Aztlán, a scholarly journal committed to Chicana/o studies, it
appears one of his main objectives is to acquaint “Chicano students and
scholars” with “the Chicago School of the History of Religions” (Carrasco 302).(11) Indeed, it is arguable that Carrasco’s
“affiliation”(12)
serves as the foundation for an emergent field of study known as Mexican
American or Chicana/o religions.(13) Luis León’s “The Poetic Uses of Religion in The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez”
(1999) is a case in point. León writes: “I recuperate Carrasco’s project, arguing that some Mexican American
novels can be valuable textual sources for uncovering religious meaning” (León 206). What
Carrasco calls “the lyrics of Chicano spirituality” (Carrasco 312) is
re-imagined in León as “religious poetics” (León 206).(14) For example, just as Carrasco reads Chicana/o
literature as an allegory of faith, so, too, León approaches the novel as a
“mimetic” vehicle that portrays “a realistic account” of Chicana/o religious
experience (León 207-08).
In
this regard, one might ask how Anaya’s novel emerged as a
representative portrait of Chicana/o experience. Again, as Carrasco notes, in reference to the
relationship between the protagonist Antonio and his mentor Ultima: “The
shamanic paradigm . . . illustrates the religious paradigm for the Chicano
experience” (Carrasco 316).(15) In particular, to what extent might Romano be
responsible for producing “the shamanic paradigm” as the prototype of Chicana/o
religious experience? In fact, Romano’s
dissertation involves “the anthropological study of a folk-saint [Don Pedrito
Jaramillo] in connection with healing and folk-medicine among Mexican-Americans
in South Texas . . .” (Romano 2). More precisely, to what extent did
Romano’s doctoral research shape editorial criteria for Quinto Sol
Publications?
I
read religion and spirituality as concepts that vary in meaning at different
moments. These varying concepts can be
viewed as key to the formation of Chicana/o literature. One approach to the study of religion and
Chicana/o literature is to ask how Chicana/o literature represents religion and
spirituality. In this first approach,
religion can be read as an essence (e.g., as “the soul of a people,” as “the
soul of the artist and the soul of the pueblo” etc.). A second approach might ask instead how
religion has contributed to the formation of the thing we call Chicana/o
literature. In this scenario, religion
can read as a signifier for social conflict (i.e., the meaning of religion
changes in response to different political struggles). In “A Perspective for a Study of Religious
Dimensions in Chicano Experience,” Carrasco seems to read Anaya’s novel as a
representation of religion. In his
words: “We are witnessing in Anaya’s novel a Chicano variation of an archaic
pattern of spiritual creativity; what I would call the lyrics of Chicano
spirituality” (Carrasco 312). In my
approach, I ask how a concept such as “the lyrics of Chicano spirituality”
betrays a specific moment of political struggle; that is, how a concept such as
“spiritual creativity” might shape Chicana/o literary production at a specific
moment. In what follows, I try to
develop this approach by reading Anaya’s novel through Romano’s PhD dissertation.
Though
there are many ways to group representations of religion in Anaya’s novel, I
like to follow Quinto Sol’s lead: I rely on picture inserts in the text’s
earliest editions. This approach stems
from my belief that a literary work’s “meaning” is not restricted to the text
itself. Rather, a literary work’s
meaning is comprised of a number of circumstances that speak to its “life” in
the world – from writers and editors to marketers and librarians, among many
other factors.(16) The earliest editions of Bless Me, Ultima
call attention to at least four foci: La Virgen de Guadalupe (Anaya, Bless
Me, Ultima 40-41); the Golden Carp (106-07); Antonio; and Ultima (249). Whereas the existential dilemmas of Antonio
can be read as the focus of the bildungsroman (they make resolution of the plot
possible), the curanderismo of Ultima is likewise essential to the novel’s
closure. As she is about to die, Antonio
begs her in desperation: “Bless me, Ultima” (247). And before he runs out to fulfill the destiny
hinted at since the outset of the novel, Ultima’s last words are: “I bless you
in the name of all that is good and strong and beautiful, Antonio. Always have the strength to live. Love life, and if despair enters your heart,
look for me in the evenings when the wind is gentle and the owls sing in the
hills, I shall be with you–” (247). As
in the beginning of the novel – when Ultima’s arrival provokes an awakening to
the “beauty of the llano” (1) – the final chapter pushes Antonio to move out
into the “darkness” of the llano and ultimately to move beyond his childhood
(247).
Romano’s
PhD dissertation also focuses on a healer, Don Pedrito Jaramillo. Of particular interest is his intent to study
Don Pedrito Jaramillo (1829-1907) as a “folk-saint . . . in the context of
Mexican-American life in South Texas” (Romano
i). Though Romano’s study will ultimately
link Don Pedrito’s success as a healer to his charisma (in a Weberian sense),
Romano does not reduce Don Pedrito’s efficacy to Max Weber’s theories but
rather opts to bring Don Pedrito’s case into conversation – that is to say, on
equal footing – with Weber
(Of course, this foreshadows his well-known critical work on the
historical and intellectual presence of Mexican Americans). Romano’s doctoral project aims “to relate in
a meaningful manner the ideal culture and the world of South Texas Mexican-American
healing with the historically specific case of Don Pedrito Jaramillo, a man who
moved from an original position of rustic roustabout into the hierarchy of
healers and from there went on to be ultimately acclaimed a folk-saint” (Romano 148). Key here are three concepts: the “ideal
culture” of Mexican Americans – a concept he defines as “raza” (“‘the race of
the people’”); the hierarchy of healers in the community; and Don Pedrito’s ascendancy
from “folk-healer” to “folk-saint” (iii-iv).
Don Pedrito’s role as “curandero
is as much a social role as it is one of healing” (141) and, ultimately, “the
position of folk-saint . . . represents the personification and the recognition
of . . . [community] ideals” (3). That
is, Don Pedrito’s success (i.e., his charisma) rests in part on his “rigid
adherence to those aspects of the ideal culture which pertain to communality
and cooperativeness . . .” (152). Though,
as Romano acknowledges: “The present study concerns the male world primarily . . .. The . . .
category of respected females has been omitted” (135).
In
a sense, Anaya’s novel completes Romano’s study: Ultima is the “omitted”
curandera. She is “la Grande,” the
“respected” yet nevertheless “omitted.”
My aim here is not to assess the success or failure of his
representation of “la raza” (Though, let’s be clear; it’s incomplete without a
consideration of gender). Rather, my aim
is to consider how a particular concept of religion might have shaped
expectations for Chicana/o literature.
Ultima is a healer; she teaches Antonio to search for “plants and roots
in the hills” (Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima 115); she provides Antonio with a
scapular against the evil of Tenorio (118); and she cures Antonio’s uncle Lucas
after “the power of the doctors and the power of the Church had failed” (92). At the same time, her “magic” is ambiguous. She is simultaneously revered as a
“curandera,” as “una mujer que no ha pecado”; and regarded as a “bruja,” as a
“hechicera” (Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima 96). In this sense, she is a personification of
the community’s struggle to manage “good” and “evil,” a struggle that is also
central to Antonio’s coming-of-age. Again,
as Quinto Sol’s editors observe at the outset of Bless Me, Ultima: Anaya
“shares and respects the collective intellectual reservoir that is manifest in
his profound knowledge of a people and their relationships to the cosmos and
its forces. It is only with this deep respect for a people that Anaya has been
able to create in literary form a person such as the curandera Ultima, la
Grande” (ix). Ultima, like Don Pedrito Jaramillo,
personifies “a people.”
Romano’s
doctoral research set the stage for Anaya’s success at Quinto Sol. This is not to disparage Anaya’s literary achievements
in Bless Me, Ultima. Rather, it
is to suggest that Romano saw the extension of his own work in Anaya. Bless Me, Ultima affirms “the collective intellectual
reservoir” that Romano sought to produce and distribute via Quinto Sol
Publications. The knowledge that Quinto
Sol’s Chicano archive sought to hoard was a Chicano theory of religion, a
theory that could counterpose “positive” images against the distortions of late
1960s social science. At the same time,
no archive is complete. Religion could
have been manufactured otherwise. We
will have to wonder how it might have been and, thus, continue to seek out
those stories that tell of an “opening up” of the archive. Bless Me, Ultima is but one beginning
among others for founding a theory of Chicano/a religion. We will have to wonder how it might have been
and how it will be in times to come.
The
question of how it might have been otherwise runs the risk of sounding
superfluous. Yet, my aim – my ultimate
goal – is simply to consider the possibility that what we have may not be what we
could have had. Had Anaya’s novel not
won the Quinto Sol Prize, what other kinds of representations of religion or spirituality
might have emerged? How might those concepts
have become an integral part of Chicana/o literature? And how might religion and spirituality have
shaped Chicana/o literary production otherwise?
Notes
(1). By
way of illustration, see Padilla, López, and Cutler 56-85.
(2). The
structure and aim of my inquiry here builds on Shetty and Bellamy 25-26.
(3). This
line of inquiry first emerged in conversation with José David Saldívar.
(4).
Quinto Sol’s records have yet to be uncovered.
For an early study of Quinto Sol, see Espinoza. Contemporary scholars seem to differ on the
specifics of Quinto Sol’s history. For
example, compare López 187 and Cutler 60-61.
(5). Among
others, see Romano, “The Anthropology and Sociology of the
Mexican-Americans.” Also, see García
293-96.
(6).
Here, I build on Derrida. For example: “The
theory of psychoanalysis . . . becomes a theory of the archive and not only a
theory of memory” (Archive Fever 19).
Extending this line of inquiry further: How has religion contributed to
the formation of Chicana/o literature?
(7). See
Said, Orientalism and Derrida, Archive Fever.
(8). See
González Echevarría 33 in connection with Foucault 129.
(9).
Personal communication from Alejandro Morales.
(10). Here
I quote from the 1982 version of Carrasco; the 2001 version has been altered
slightly from “the religious paradigm” to “a religious paradigm.”
(11).
According to Kitagawa, Joachim Wach established the history of religions at the
University of Chicago circa 1945. The
history of religions is to be distinguished from three prior notions of
comparative religion at Chicago as evident in George Stephen Goodspeed, George
Burman Foster and Louis Henry Jordan, and A. Eustace Haydon (xiv-xxi). More recently, Wedemeyer has suggested:
Regarding
the existence of a Chicago School encompassing both Wach and Eliade, I would
argue that this notion (if not the moniker) seems to have been almost entirely
the product of Joseph Kitagawa’s affection for . . . his beloved mentor Wach,
preserving a place for him in the history of the school and the “discipline” .
. .. The distinctive panoply of concepts
characteristic of what has been called the hermeneutical or phenomenological
approach – religious experience, understanding, antireductionism (in fact, in
some respects the very idea of the history of religions itself) – and . . . the
curriculum that was the basis for socializing scholars in the field was the
legacy of Wach, communicated through his chief disciple, Kitagawa (xix-xx).
(12).
Said defines “affiliation” as “that implicit network of peculiarly cultural
associations between forms, statements, and other aesthetic elaborations on the
one hand and, on the other, institutions, agencies, classes, and amorphous
social forces” (The World, the Text, and the Critic 174).
(13). In
particular, see Espinosa 36-37.
(14).
For example, León argues:
The Miraculous Day of Amalia
Gómez . . . portrays the
conditions under which religious poetics emerge and function . . .. In narrating the
character of Amalia Gómez, Rechy sets religion to a poetic meter, delineating
the choreography of religious movement replete with details that are virtually
unrepresentable in other forms of writing.
Each event in the story registers the meter, building to an epiphanic
moment of experience that is key to understanding Amalia’s story and religious
poetics in general. Inasmuch as the
novel creates a realistic account of one woman's religious expression, set to
the rhythms of everyday life, it provides structured access to the ways some
underclass Mexican Americans reimagine and reorder their perceptual worlds through
various physical, psychological, and symbolic movements (208).
(15).
Here, it is important to qualify Carrasco’s assertion. In his words: “I am
suggesting here not that Ultima and Antonio are shamans,
but that their relationship reflects some characteristics of the initiation
scenario typical of shamanic ecstasy” (312).
(16).
For example, see Gruesz 485.
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