lunes, 9 de noviembre de 2020

Quiltras Book Review, by Lauren Cocking

“I’ll just read one story, then I’ll go to bed,” is what I thought when I plucked Quiltras from my To Read pile on the spookiest night of the year. But this turned out to be the very opposite of a book I could just dip in and out of – within a couple of hours I’d read the whole thing.

Written by Chilean journalist and author Arelis Uribe, Quiltras – comprised of eight short stories averaging about ten pages apiece – was originally published in Chile in 2016 and has just been republished by Paraíso Perdido in Mexico. Uribe has said in other interviews that she “wrote [Quiltras] with a clear aesthetic and political goal: write like I talk, write from my barrios.” [Translation my own.] Her protagonists fulfil those goals and then some.

Each story is a window into the life of working-class Chilean women — whether queer, brown, teenaged or all the above — and the prose is chatty but crisp, fizzy with Chilean slang and loaded with the springy elasticity and rhythm of the spoken, rather than written, word. And the moment her protagonist calls a German Shepherd a “fucking nazi” in ‘Bestias’? Inspired. (If you’re not familiar with Chilean Spanish, I’d recommend googling pololo at the very least before reading Quiltras.)

Quiltras, a feminised play on the Chilean word ‘quiltro’ (meaning street mutt or mongrel), is about solidarity, female friendship, and – to my mind — the undercurrent of disillusionment that accompanies growing up. Take ‘29 de febrero’, the penultimate story in the collection, in which the protagonist is left behind in a world of paddling pools and the diary of Anne Frank while everyone around her has picked up smoking and the habit of kissing on both cheeks. Or ‘rockerito83@yahoo.es’, in which the protagonist tells us about the cyber-boyfriend she met on Napster who turned out to be nothing like she imagined. As Gabriela Wiener writes in the prologue to my edition of Quiltras, referencing the women of Uribe’s narrative world: “ellas serán las próximas feministas.” (“They’ll be the next feminists.”)

Which brings me to class, perhaps the collection’s most important theme, and that epigraph by Chilean band Supernova: “Yo no hablo ingles/ vivo en un barrio que no es burgués.” Uribe’s observations on class regularly had me cackling and cringing in equal measure, such as when the protagonists of ‘Ciudad desconocida’ stay in La Paz with a wealthy girl called Jessica, “like the Jessicas that have an English surname…an uncle who’s a senator and cousin that had been crowned Miss Bolivia”. And in ‘Italia’, which is about a brief but intense relationship between the eponymous Italia and our protagonist, when Uribe hits on the “rules” of adolescent attraction which hinges on “the law of the excess of brown girls and scarcity of blondes”. For what it’s worth, these are the stories which bookend the collection and are, coincidentally, my favourites.

All that to say, Quiltras is remarkably fun to read, despite touching on topics like family in-fighting, teen pregnancy, and pre-Instagram catfishing. I think that’s really a testament to the intimacy of the narration, one that only comes from a writer deeply familiar with the scenes she’s sketching out; you – you – are in dialogue with these women, these quiltras. And Uribe is one of them.

Buy Quiltras: Paraíso Perdido (Mexico) | Los libros de la mujer rota (Chile)
About Arelis Uribe

Arelis Uribe (Santiago de Chile, 1987) is a journalist, writer, and student of creative writing. Quiltras is her first and, to date, only book of fiction.

Other Books by Arelis Uribe: Que explote todo (Los libros de la mujer rota, 2017)


https://leyendolatam.com/quiltras-book-review/

Arelis ñi nütxam

 


domingo, 8 de noviembre de 2020

Tañi chuchu Noemí del Carmen pigey

Iñche Arelis pigen.
Santiago waria mew tuwün.
Brooklyn waria mew mülen.
Iñche wirifegen ka ñochikechi wiriken.

Tañi chuchu Noemí del Carmen pigey
La Cisterna mew tuwy
San Bernardo mew müley
Fey fendefegey


My name is Arelis.
I am from Santiago city.
I live in Brooklyn.
I am a writer who calmly writes.

My grandmother's name (by mother side) is Noemí del Carmen.
She is from La Cisterna.
She lives in San Bernardo.
She is a vendor.

International Working Women's Day Coalition

International Working Women's Day Coalition "Can We Live?" Fightback Program Every Issue is a Woman's Issue • Free, quality healthcare and access to all reproductive choices • Paid maternity, childcare & family medical leave • $15-an-hour minimum wage and workers’right to organize & strike • Quality & affordable housing, mass transportation, public education and elimination of all student debt • Reparations & land returned to peoples of African descent and Indigenous nations • Life in a world without imperialist wars and occupation; defend sovereignty • An end to mass incarceration and police brutality • Full guaranteed rights for immigrants • Immediate freedom for all political prisoners • NO sexual and domestic violence,including rape • An END to: all forms of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia & discrimination against people with disabilities * Hands off pensions for seniors, retired workers; a livable income for ALL • A clean environment including clean water & air

 

jueves, 5 de noviembre de 2020

I was here before you

I was here before you white men
this land of freedom has in its roots
my dark bark skin
I was here before you
white & black people
I am brown
I am you both two at once
You are welcome to my home
also yours because
no one can buy the land
no one can own the land
no once can rule the land
this land is no one’s land
this land is everyone’s land
this land is anyone’s land

lunes, 2 de noviembre de 2020

Riparana

Eduardo Kohn, in his extraordinary book, How Forests Think, Toward an Anthropology Beyond the Human notes the creation of a new verb by the Quichua speakers of Ecuador: "riparana" which means "darse cuenta," to realize or to be aware. The verb is a Quichua transfiguration of the Spanish "reparar," to observe, sense and repair. As if awareness itself, the simple act of observing, has the power to heal.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2016/04/language-is-migrant

 

Sylvia Plath


The nurse was due to arrive at nine on the morning of February 11, 1963, to help Plath with the care of her children. Upon arrival, she could not get into the flat but eventually gained access with the help of a workman, Charles Langridge. They found Plath dead of carbon monoxide poisoning with her head in the oven, having sealed the rooms between her and her sleeping children with tape, towels and cloths. At approximately 4:30 a.m. Plath had placed her head in the oven, with the gas turned on. She was 30 years old.