A review by melissa_cosgrove
A House of My Own: Stories from My Life by Sandra Cisneros

reflective slow-paced

3.0

More random collection of life stories than memoir, this is written beautifully, but it just didn’t work for me stylistically. Some parts were introductions from books, some were speeches, some were presentations; this seemed especially odd when their original performance included musical and/or visual accompaniments that obviously couldn’t be replicated on the page. 

 

There was a lot of repetition, like using the same anecdotes in multiple instances, which just underscored the lack of cohesiveness and the fact that the book was compiled rather than written within a finite time period with a clear intention. I did like the footnotes, which highlighted growths in perspective and emotion, but overall I was left wanting more details. She mentions heartbreak and a suicide attempt, but never dedicates any meaningful time to them; we don’t even get a basic story, let alone an emotional analysis/reflection/resolution. Instead, most of the focus is on other people — writers she admires, musicians she loves, friends, roommates, family members, artists, etc. — when I just came here to learn about her life/feelings/experiences! 

 

After so much repetition, I grew tired of the pages of scenery descriptions (lovely and poetic as they were) and ached for something with more substance than “I finally have my own place and I like being alone.” It didn’t seem like the details were carefully chosen — many felt insignificant and so became part of a never ending exposition of setting. (As opposed to House on Mango Street, which is a master class in selecting sparse and powerful details, which I wish was replicated in her nonfiction.) 

 

I was expecting something much more vulnerable or maybe daring, and I feel bad for feeling disappointed but that’s my honest opinion. “Natural Daughter” felt the most authentic; it was one of the only chapters where people weren’t so idealized, so it held my attention the best. It felt more like it came from the heart. Toward the end, she gets more honest about her parents too. “Daydreamer Girl” irritated me at the very end because why did it have to be gendered? The last sentence reads, “…thinker, visionary, intuitive—all wonderful words synonymous with ‘girl.’” That sort of rubbed me the wrong way, especially after she dedicated so many pages to singing the praises of male thinkers and visionaries. I felt bummed about being excluded as a nonbinary person even though I realize that likely was not her intention. 

 

To end on a positive note, I found the piece about Teresa Urrea fascinating and I loved learning about her life. I didn’t know she was the mother of Luis Alberto Urrea (I read his book The Devil’s Highway in a southwestern border literature class in high school and have never forgotten it). 

 

Overall, the writing of this was great, but I wish it had been trimmed down quite a bit.