The House on Mango Street is my favorite American novel
because it gives voice to the confusion and disillusion that stem from internal
conflict. Esperanza is Chicana; she lives two cultures, loving both but never
being able to find contentment with either one. Her Mexican family limits her
because, as she puts it, “the Mexicans don’t like their women strong.” Yet, the
American system has literally confined her to the inner-city of Chicago.
Esperanza dreams of breaking free from Mango Street, but she can’t. She feels
utterly trapped, but, as her name suggests, she hasn’t given up hope. Instead,
she explains: “I have begun my own quiet war. Simple. Sure. I am one who leaves
the table like a man, without putting back the chair, or picking up the plate.”
Esperanza’s “quiet war” is inspirational, but it isn’t unique to Mango Street.
The trapped women of Mango Street represent the trapped
women in real life: those in inner-cities, those trapped between cultures,
those trapped by expectation. These women are everywhere, but they are given
little to no representation in literature. In The House on Mango Street,
Esperanza’s story is full of intimate familiarity; I myself am Chicana, and I
recognize my own struggles in Esperanza’s experiences. Yet, Esperanza’s
internal conflict is not only felt by Chicanas or Latinas; it is the pain and the
hardship that all women face—its meaning transcends the words on the page. The
House on Mango Street teaches readers to fight the system, stereotypes, and
expectations. It teaches women to break free from their trap—their Mango
Street—and once they find their freedom, to return to help the women they have
left behind.
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