Of Women and Salt

These first three chapters collectively introduce a loose plot focus as well as the novel’s storytelling approach, which alternates perspectives and transcends generations. Most of the novel follows María’s descendants; Jeanette gets the lion’s share of that focus, so it makes sense that the novel introduces her early. Later chapters provide other family members’ perspectives too. Likewise, to the extent that a singular plotline ties the novel together, it is the experience of Gloria and Ana, whose journey concludes the novel as well. However, the early chapters don’t use an expository approach but rather introduce the novel’s unconventional structure: Jeanette’s story not only jumps around but omits many important moments, and Ana’s story is really Ana and Gloria’s story, with chapters split between the two. Moreover, despite the extensive first chapter on María, the narrative never truly returns to her, and the extent to which her family is aware of her story is never entirely clear.

Nevertheless, several key themes emerge in this early section, and to the extent that one “story” ties the chapters together, that story is the struggle of women, particularly Latina women, throughout the last two centuries. For example, the first chapter emphasizes strength, or force (fuerza): Despite María’s anger at Antonio’s reading Victor Hugo’s words rather than Emilia Casanova de Villaverde’s, Hugo’s assertion that “we are force” (17) reverberates throughout the novel, and the women show strength in the face of adversity in different ways. However, that moment in María’s chapter, “Dance Not Beyond the Distant Mountain,” also demonstrates the difficulty that the women face in achieving that strength: Not only does the assertion come from a male rather than a female writer, but this is the second time that Antonio cheerfully expects a reading to pleasantly surprise María without actually considering what she wants (the first being his decision to simply read Cecilia at the factory after María rejects his offer to read to her privately). María seeks strength in a world that wishes to deny it to her. Likewise, later chapters detail Jeanette’s struggles with her own strength on two related fronts—drug addiction and her relationship with Mario—and the state’s outright denying Gloria her autonomy. Strength is therefore not only a goal but a central conflict.

Additionally, the opening chapters deny the existence of a monolithic Latinx experience, instead choosing to highlight division in ways that become more pronounced in later chapters. (Latinx defines people who originate and/or descend from Latin America. It’s used as a gender-neutral alternative to Latino and Latina.) Jeanette notes the differential treatment that Cuban Americans receive in the US, which figures prominently in “An Encyclopedia of Birds,” when Gloria must navigate an immigration nightmare. Likewise, the narrative reveals differences in how Carmen and Jeanette understand their responsibility and allegiance to other immigrant groups: Jeanette sees herself as part of a larger group of immigrant (or child-of-immigrant) Americans, whereas Carmen sees women like Gloria as fundamentally different from them. This represents a real-world generational divide between older and younger Cuban Americans, between those with more tangible ties to Cuba as “First Wave” immigrants (37) and a younger generation far less hostile toward the revolution and far more liberal politically. The novel complicates both elements: For instance, it later reveals that Carmen’s departure had nothing to do with politics and that Jeanette’s cousin Maydelis, who actually lives in Cuba, has little good to say about Americans who view Cuba with rose-colored glasses. However, these complications only reinforce the message that the Latinx experience is far from monolithic.

To that end, “Dance Not Beyond the Distant Mountain” discusses questions of race and colorism within Cuban and Latinx communities. Within mid-1800s Cuba are several hierarchical levels of skin color, with the white Spanish at the top, Black Cubans at the bottom (often as slaves), and those like María with diverse racial backgrounds, known as “mulata” people, in the middle, working the difficult jobs but actually getting paid for them. As a result, the novel gives an interesting demonstration of the ways that racism can present itself depending on the society. In the US, that same hierarchy separates Cuban Americans from white Americans, but within the Latinx community, a distinction exists between Cuban Americans and other Latinx groups, as Carmen exemplifies. Later in the novel, Jeanette’s grandmother, Dolores, makes erroneous assumptions about her Black neighbor based on the color of his skin, which not only shows the existence of racism in modern Cuba but also juxtaposes Dolores’s beliefs and those of her grandmother, María. Later chapters mirror this in Gloria and Ana’s experience: When they remain in Mexico, as Salvadorans, they remain on a socially lower rung.

Finally, the novel is set against two real-world contexts that these chapters introduce. The first is that of revolution in Cuba. The most familiar revolution is likely the communist revolution of the mid-20th century, which led to a wave of Cuban immigration during and following Carmen’s generation. Although this wasn’t strictly a war for independence, many revolutionaries of the time viewed it as a war against capitalism as represented by the West—in particular, by the US. As a result, it was in a sense a war for independence from US imperialism. However, María’s story takes place instead against the backdrop of a war for literal independence from Spain, which began in earnest in 1868 and continued until 1878 (hence its colloquially being known as the Ten Years’ War). The narrative hints at the war losing steam—”Peace was coming, [María] could feel it, though peace meant surrender, slavery, so many dead for nothing” (21)—and in fact, the effort ultimately failed. Cuba did not gain independence from Spain until the Spanish-American War, and it finally gained formal independence in 1902.

The other real-world context is that of US-Latinx immigration (or more broadly the US immigration system, focusing on Latinx immigration). In some ways, this intertwines with the context of Cuban revolution. As Jeanette notes, the US treats Cuban Americans differently than other immigrants, in part due to Cuba-US relations following the communist revolution, in which the US not only backed the anti-communists but installed President Batista himself through an earlier coup. Regardless, Gloria and Ana’s experience represents the messy real-world US immigration system and the difficulties that many immigrants face through this system. For one, Gloria quickly discovers that once you’re in the system, hope seems futile: Multiple people in positions of power and authority tell her that she’s going to be deported; the difference is just in how quickly it happens. Additionally, Gloria has no assistance during the process: She has no lawyer, in part because she has no contacts; she can’t understand the legal self-help books she receives; and the forms she needs to read and sign aren’t available in a language she can read. (On the other end, when Jeanette tries to track her down, she finds it nearly impossible.) Finally, in Gloria’s experience the narrative again touches on the myth of a monolithic immigrant experience through the eyes of immigration officials, who view all immigrants as “Mexican” (indeed, Gloria and Ana are later dumped in Mexico instead of being taken to their home country of El Salvador). However, the author still resists easy blame: Although Gloria later refers to “kids locked up in cages” (86), a reference to a major criticism of the Trump presidency, it’s important that Gloria initially—and explicitly—enters the detention center under President Obama.