From The Editor

Abstract

From The Editor Elizabeth Coonrod Martínez We are pleased to present this second issue of Diálogo 15, conceived and selected by guest editor Alicia “Achy” Obejas in response to her call, “When You Can’t Go Back: Exile and Dislocation.” Exile, diaspora, homeland, identity and transnationalism are now concepts in regular use and understanding, and yet personal experience is more elusive. It is through creative works that a better sense is often gained of societal issues, hope and anxiety in self-identity. Exile from original homelands leaves regret, anger, and other emotions invisible to general society. The children of exiled persons as well often feel nostalgia for their parents’ experience, and seek understanding in travel and those around them. I am reminded of the final image in Tomás Rivera’s landmark novel …y no se lo tragó la tierra (And the Earth did not part), which captures a certain feeling of esperanza (more than hope, a strong desire for fulfillment and understanding). In that novel a young migrant worker examines life, harsh treatment and family issues, as he travels the harvest circuit from Texas to Wisconsin picking crops during the mid-20th century. In the final vignette, the young protagonist climbs to the top of a tree to look far off into the horizon and think about his future. He detects another tree in the distance, where another small figure has climbed to the top, and appears to wave to him. For the reader—after the despair and difficult issues pursued in this narrative—such an intriguing ending offers a variety of readings, from mirrored action to contact with other souls of similar experience. It was Thomas Wolfe’s landmark 1940 novel, You Can’t Go Home (published posthumously) that opened literary consciousness to considerations of time and memory, a return to old roots in expectation of understanding, contemplations of homeland while living displaced experiences. During the 21st century, what and where is the “home” of so many migrants, exiles, and transnational beings? This issue of Diálogo invites an array of assessments on the post-exile experience. In criticism two scholars explore recent works by Cuban writers Carla Suárez and Reina María Rodríguez, followed by a recent narrative of Rodríguez’s, in translation: a moving reflection on the death of her friend and poet Alexander Blok. “One is from places far away,” states Rodríguez, speaking to us all. In Diálogo Entrevistas, an interview with Dominican-American novelist Loida Maritza Pérez that was conducted in the Center for Latino Research offices some years past, while Pérez was on tour with her first novel, Geographies of Home. She explains her artistic drive in creating that novel, as well as observations on the publishing world and Latinos in the US. Excerpts from this interview were published in Diálogo 4 (March 2000), this edited version makes an interesting addition to our thematic issue. Creative writer, journalist and translator of creative works herself, Obejas has collected a variety of narratives and poetry for her special featured section, beginning with an intriguing excerpt of new work from Cristina García, a prominent writer who is herself the child of exiled parents. Her character an aging Cuban émigré, he examines the Biscayne Bay from his hospital bed, recalling experiences from early life in Cuba, as well as those of the US, including his estranged children. Experiences and impressions are contrasted. Despite the proximity of death, the image projected infers a position of privilege: the view from his hospital room a magnificent view of the bay, where he surveys boats and recognizes participants from his own yacht club. A narrative of meditation follows, by distinguished Latin American writer Ariel Dorfman, born in Buenos Aires but raised in Chile, and who has lived in the US extensively. Most of his writings evoke the trials of exile. Here, upon a return visit to Chile, he surveys a “pillaged wasteland,” both physically and in memory. Enrique del Risco’s title the story as much as the narrative itself, the physical journey from Cuba to Spain, into exile, serves to reveal deeper-rooted sensibilities and crisp descriptions...