House on Mango Street/Vignettes

AGENDA:

BELL WORK:  Work on Character List for the stories up to pg. 48 in House on Mango Street. You may work with a partner, but keep a list for yourself.  There will be a quiz on the characters and their relationship to Esperanza.

In your reading groups, read aloud pg. 49-61 (4 stories) in House on Mango Street.
Add these characters to your list.

Discuss these questions after you read each story and post a comment for your reading group.

"Hips"

1. What are the girls doing as they talk about hips? What are hips good for? What does their conversation tell you about their ages?

"The First Job"

Why does this story have a misleading title? What happens to Esperanza on her first day at work? What does this episode tell you about her family and their expectations?

"Papa Who Wakes Up Tired in the Dark"
Why does Esperanza's father cry? How does his crying make her feel?

"Born Bad"
What happens to Aunt Lupe? Why does Esperanza believe she deserves to go to hell? What special relationship did Esperanza have with her aunt?

Focus on Themes, Mood, Setting, and Conflict.  How will your stories connect and convey theme, mood, setting and conflict?

Major Themes
Maturity 

The main theme of the book is Esperanza’s increasing maturity. It is in evidence throughout the book, as Esperanza talks to older female characters, trying to determine who her role models will be, or as she overcomes her insecurities and learns about her own strengths and weaknesses.

Home and Identity

Throughout the book, Esperanza attaches meaning to where she lives: she takes it personally as an extension of herself. Thus, the fact that she is unhappy and ashamed at her Mango Street house is a major point of contention in the book, and her dreams of another home parallel her dreams of becoming who she wants to be.


Minor Theme Love

Though it is not discussed directly in the book, love of different kinds, between different characters, holds many relationships together. Family love is contrasted with romantic love, and mistaken ideas about what love is (particularly as concern Marin and Sally) are prominent in the book.

MOOD

The mood of the story is highly influenced by Esperanza’s own mood, and the mood of the story is uneven to reflect Esperanza’s uneven moods. When she is happy, as in "Our Good Day," the mood is joyous, relaxed, and untroubled. When she is frightened or hurt, as in "Red Clowns," the mood reflects that. Esperanza has a complex personality, so the mood ranges from childish temper tantrums to solemn thoughtfulness. In general, this indicates Esperanza’s place in the world: intelligent, but not yet fully grown up. The mood is childish and adult by turns.

SETTING

The setting of the story is a poor Hispanic neighborhood in Chicago. Judging from the cars people drive, it is probably the 1960’s. The neighborhood is very close-knit, full of immigrants who do not speak English well and rarely leave the neighborhood.

Conflict

Protagonist / Antagonist

Esperanza, the protagonist, has no real antagonist except, perhaps, herself. The story concerns her journey to maturity (bildungsroman, "coming of age"). Conflicts in the story often arise because of Esperanza’s misunderstanding of herself. For example, she makes fun of her sick aunt, then realizes how much she values her aunt’s friendship, and feels terrible about what she has done. Her shyness is another aspect of her immaturity that forces conflict upon her: she wants to be like bolder girls she knows, who have secret meetings with boys, but does not have the courage. Additionally, Esperanza must mature enough to discover her own identity, and understand how the Mango Street she hates so much fits into her life.


WRITING:  Period 4
Continue working on your own stories.

Brainstorming for "House on (your title) Street" Vignettes

AGENDA:


EQ:  What key moments in my life will be interesting to write about in vignette form?

ACTIVITIES:  Brainstorming.
Using the high/low handout and/or timeline handout, plot out key moments in your life.
What are your dreams (clouds)?
What are your high points (Mountains)?
What are your low points (valleys)?
What are your every day activities (River of life)?

Also, you can go online and look at "have you ever" questions.  These are good starters, as well as the following questions.

Don't forget about characterizations.  WHO are the best/worst/craziest/smartest/most interesting/silliest/ weirdest people in your life--family, friends, neighbors, etc?



Where in the world have you been that you thought was paradise?

What is your favorite bumper sticker?
Weirdest thing you have ever eaten?

What is your pet peeve?

What makes a good friend? Who is your best friend?

What part of society needs to be cleaned up?


Who is the worst actor in Hollywood?
Name a time when you got into big trouble with your parents.
When you were small – which superhero did you like?
Can you fake any accents?
I am not trying to embarrass you, but, do you have an embarrassing guilty pleasure?
You wouldn’t be caught dead, where?
What is the kindest thing that someone has ever done for you?

If you had a time machine that could take you back in time – what year would you go to and why?
Do you have any hidden talents?
How far east can you go before you're heading west?

Most hated chore on the household chore list?
Which bad habits of other people drive you crazy?
Name two things you consider yourself to be very good at.
Name two things you consider yourself to be very bad at.
Which kind of puppies do you hate the most?


What is the stupidest habit that mankind participates in regards to the environment?
Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? 


Where is your bloodline originally from?
If you had to, what family member would you kill off and why?

BEGIN WRITING YOUR VIGNETTES.  TRY TO IMITATE CISNEROS' STYLE BY USING METAPHORS, SIMILES,
REPETITION, AND THE ELEMENTS OF PROSE POETRY.

Poetic Prose Vignettes/Sandra Cisneros

AGENDA:

EQ: What are the qualities of a poetic vignette?

BELLWORK: Parts of Speech Review

1. Presentations for The FIRST PART LAST continued

2. DISCUSSION:  Review Cisneros vignettes from last class
http://www.enotes.com/topics/house-on-mango-street

3. WRITING: Begin your House on My Street vignette book
The House on Mango Street is a deceptive work. It is a book of short stories—and sometimes not even full stories, but character sketches and vignettes—that add up, as Sandra Cisneros has written, "to tell one big story, each story contributing to the whole—like beads in a necklace." That story is told in language that seems simple but that possesses the associative richness of poetry, and whose slang and breaks from grammatical correctness contribute to its immediacy. It is narrated in the voice of a young girl—a girl too young to know that no one may ever hear her—but whose voice is completely convincing, because it is the creation of a mature and sophisticated writer. For example, The House on Mango Street appears to wander casually from subject to subject—from hair to hips, from clouds to feet, from an invalid aunt to a girl named Sally, who has "eyes like Egypt" and whose father sometimes beats her. But this apparent randomness disguises an artful exploration of themes of individual identity and communal loyalty, estrangement and loss, escape and return, the lure of romance and the dead end of sexual inequality and oppression.

The House on Mango Street is also a book about a culture—that of Chicanos, or Mexican-Americans—that has long been veiled by demeaning stereotypes and afflicted by internal ambivalence. In some ways it resembles the immigrant cultures that your students may have encountered in books like My Ántonia, The Jungle, and Call It Sleep. But unlike Americans of Slavic or Jewish ancestry, Chicanos have been systematically excluded from the American mainstream in ways that suggest the disenfranchisement of African-Americans. Although Cisneros uses language as a recurring metaphor for the gulf between Mexican-Americans and the majority culture, what keeps Esperanza Cordero and her family and friends locked in their barrio is something more obdurate than language: a confluence of racism, poverty, and shame. It may help your discussion to remind students that the ancestors of many Chicanos did not come to the United States by choice, but simply found themselves in alien territory as a result of the U.S.'s expansionist policy into country that had once been Mexican. 

But although The House on Mango Street will have a particularly strong appeal to Latino students, who may never have encountered a book that speaks so pointedly to their own experience, it is a work that captures the universal pangs of otherness—what Cisneros, in her introduction to the tenth anniversary edition (published by Knopf, $18.00), has called "the shame of being poor, of being female, of being not-quite-good-enough." It suggests from where that otherness comes and shows how it can become a cause for celebration rather than shame. Few students, regardless of their ancestry or gender, will come away from this book without a strong sensation of having glimpsed a secret part of themselves. For, as Sandra Cisneros has written, "You, the reader, are Esperanza.... You cannot forget who you are."

ABOUT THIS AUTHOR

Sandra Cisneros was born in Chicago in 1954. She has worked as a teacher to high school dropouts, a poet-in-the-schools, a college recruiter, and an arts administrator. Internationally acclaimed for her poetry and fiction, and the recipient of numerous awards, Cisneros is also the author of Woman Hollering Creek and Other Stories, My Wicked Wicked Ways, and Loose Woman. The daughter of a Mexican father and a Mexican-American mother, and sister to six brothers, she is nobody's mother and nobody's wife. She lives in San Antonio, Texas, and is currently at work on a novel.

HMWK: Read to pg. in House on Mango Street

PRESENTATIONS FIRST PART LAST

AGENDA:

Period 3  Turn in Verbs Handout
Presentations in A238

Period 4 
    EQ:      How does Cisneros       
READ and Discuss:   

Eleven

By Sandra Cisneros

What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.

You don’t feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don’t feel smart eleven, not until you’re almost twelve. That’s the way it is.

Only today I wish I didn’t have only eleven years rattling inside me like pennies in a tin Band-Aid box. Today I wish I was one hundred and two instead of eleven because if I was one hundred and two I’d have known what to say when Mrs. Price put the red sweater on my desk. I would’ve known how to tell her it wasn’t mine instead of just sitting there with that look on my face and nothing coming out of my mouth.

“Whose is this?” Mrs. Price says, and she holds the red sweater up in the air for all the class to see. “Whose? It’s been sitting in the coatroom for a month.”

“Not mine,” says everybody. “Not me.”

“It has to belong to somebody,” Mrs. Price keeps saying, but nobody can remember. It’s an ugly sweater with red plastic buttons and a collar and sleeves all stretched out like you could use it for a jump rope. It’s maybe a thousand years old and even if it belonged to me I wouldn’t say so.

Maybe because I’m skinny, maybe because she doesn’t like me, that stupid Sylvia Saldivar says, “I think it belongs to Rachel.” An ugly sweater like that, all raggedy and old, but Mrs. Price believes her. Mrs. Price takes the sweater and puts it right on my desk, but when I open my mouth nothing comes out.

“That’s not, I don’t, you’re not . . . Not mine,” I finally say in a little voice that was maybe me when I was four.

“Of course it’s yours,” Mrs. Price says, “I remember you wearing it once.” Because she’s older and the teacher, she’s right and I’m not.

Not mine, not mine, not mine, but Mrs. Price is already turning to page thirty-two, and math problem number four. I don’t know why but all of a sudden I’m feeling sick inside, like the part of me that’s three wants to come out of my eyes, only I squeeze them shut tight and bite down on my teeth real hard and try to remember today I am eleven, eleven. Mama is making a cake for me for tonight, and when Papa comes home everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you.

But when the sick feeling goes away and I open my eyes, the red sweater’s still sitting there like a big red mountain. I move the red sweater to the corner of my desk with my ruler. I move my pencil and books and eraser as far from it as possible. I even move my chair a little to the right. Not mine, not mine, not mine.

In my head I’m thinking how long till lunchtime, how long till I can take the red sweater and throw it over the schoolyard fence, or leave it hanging on a parking meter, or bunch it up into a little ball and toss it in the alley. Except when math period ends Mrs. Price says loud and in front of everybody, “Now, Rachel, that’s enough,” because she sees I’ve shoved the red sweater to the tippy-tip corner of my desk and it’s hanging all over the edge like a waterfall, but I don’t care.

“Rachel,” Mrs. Price says. She says it like she’s getting mad. “You put that sweater on right now and no more nonsense.”

“But it’s not—“

“Now!” Mrs. Price says.

This is when I wish I wasn’t eleven, because all the years inside of me—ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one—are pushing at the back of my eyes when I put one arm through one sleeve of the sweater that smells like cottage cheese, and then the other arm through the other and stand there with my arms apart like if the sweater hurts me and it does, all itchy and full of germs that aren’t mine.

That’s when everything I’ve been holding in since this morning, since when Mrs. Price put the sweater on my desk, finally lets go, and all of a sudden I’m crying in front of everybody. I wish I was invisible but I’m not. I’m eleven and it’s my birthday today and I’m crying like I’m three in front of everybody. I put my head down on the desk and bury my face in my stupid clown-sweater arms. My face all hot and spit coming out of my mouth because I can’t stop the little animal noises from coming out of me, until there aren’t any more tears left in my eyes, and it’s just my body shaking like when you have the hiccups, and my whole head hurts like when you drink milk too fast.

But the worst part is right before the bell rings for lunch. That stupid Phyllis Lopez, who is even dumber than Sylvia Saldivar, says she remembers the red sweater is hers! I take it off right away and give it to her, only Mrs. Price pretends like everything’s okay.

Today I’m eleven. There’s a cake Mama’s making for tonight, and when Papa comes home from work we’ll eat it. There’ll be candles and presents and everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you, Rachel, only it’s too late.

I’m eleven today. I’m eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two. I wish I was anything but eleven, because I want today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny o in the sky, so tiny-tiny you have to close your eyes to see it.

From Woman Hollering Creek Copyright © 1991 by Sandra Cisneros. Reprinted by permission of Susan Bergholtz Literary Services, New York. All rights reserved.

Barbie-Q

By Sandra Cisneros

Yours is the one with mean eyes and a ponytail.  Striped swimsuit, stilettos, sunglasses, and gold hoop earrings.  Mine is the one with bubble hair.  Red swimsuit, stilettos, pearl earrings, and a wire stand.  But that’s all we can afford, besides one extra outfit apiece.  Yours, “Red Flair,” sophisticated A-line coatdress with a Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat, white gloves, handbag, and heels included.  Mine, “solo in the Spotlight,” evening elegance in black glitter strapless gown with a puffy skirt at the bottom like a mermaid tail, formal-length gloves, pink chiffon scarf, and mike included.  From so much dressing and undressing, the black glitter wears off where her titties stick out.  This and a dress invented from an old sock when we cut holes here and here and here, the cuff rolled over for the glamorous, fancy-free, off-the-shoulder look.

Every time the same story.  Your Barbie is roommates with my Barbie, and my Barbie’s boyfriend comes over and your Barbie steals him, okay?  Kiss kiss kiss.  Then the two Barbies fight. You dumbbell!  He’s mine.  Oh no he’s not, you stinky!  Only Ken’s invisible, right?  Because we don’t have money for a stupid-looking boy doll when we’d both rather ask for a new Barbie outfit next Christmas.  We have to make do with your mean-eyed Barbie and my bubblehead Barbie and our one outfit apiece not including the sock dress.

Until next Sunday when we are walking through the flea market on Maxwell Street and there!  Lying on the street next to some tool bits, and platform shoes with the heels all squashed, and a fluorescent green wicker wastebasket, and aluminum foil, and hubcaps, and a pink shag rug, and windshield wiper blades, and dusty mason jars, and a coffee can full of rusty nails.  There!  Where?  Two Mattel boxes.  One with the “Career Gal” ensemble, snappy black-and-white business suit, three-quarter-length sleeve jacket with kick-pleated skirt, red sleeveless shell, gloves, pumps, and matching hat included.  The other, “Sweet Dreams,” dreamy pink-and-white plaid nightgown and matching robe, lace-trimmed slippers, hair-brush and hand mirror included.  How much?  Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, until they say okay.

On the outside you and me skipping and humming but inside we are doing loopity-loops and pirouetting.  Until at the next vendor’s stand, next to boxed pies, and bright orange toilet brushes, and rubber gloves, and wrench sets, and bouquests of feather flowers, and glass towel racks, and steel wool, and Alvin and the Chipmunks records, there!  And there!  And there!  And there!  and there!  and there!  and there!  Bendable Legs Barbie with her new page-boy hairdo, Midge, Barbie’s best friend.  Ken, Barbie’s boyfriend.  Skipper, Barbie’s little sister.  Tutti and Todd, Barbie and Skipper’s tiny twin sister and brother.  Skipper’s friends, Scooter and Ricky.  Alan, Ken’s buddy.  And Francie, Barbie’ MOD’ern cousin.

Everybody today selling toys, all of them damaged with water and smelling of smoke.  Because a big toy warehouse on Halsted Street burned down yesterday—see there?—the smoke still rising and drifting across the Dan Ryan expressway.  And now there is a big fire sale at Maxwell Street, today only.

So what if we didn’t get our new Bendable Legs Barbie and Midge and Ken and Skipper and Tutti and Todd and Scooter and Ricky and Alan and Francie in nice clean boxes and had to buy them on Maxwell Street, all water-soaked and sooty.  So what if our Barbies smell like smoke when you hold them up to your nose even after you wash and wash and wash them.  And if the prettiest doll, Barbie’s MOD’ern cousin Francie with real eyelashes, eyelash brush included, has a left foot that’s melted a little—so?  If you dress her in her new “Prom Pinks” outfit, satin splendor with matching coat, gold belt, clutch, and hair bow included, so long as you don’t lift her dress, right?—who’s to know.

Discussion questions for Sandra Cisneros‘s “Barbie-Q”

1. What could Barbie’s wardrobe, e.g. Red Flair, Career Gal, Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat, Prom Pinks, suggest about a woman’s status in society?
2. What values and ideals does Barbie represent/symbolize in the story? What does she offer the two girls in the story?
3. Do you believe that Cisneros has some feminist concerns in Barbie-Q? If yes, explain what these concerns could be.
4. What could the image of flawed/damaged dolls signify?
5. Do you believe that Cisneros voices some racial concerns in Barbie-Q? If yes, explain what these concerns could be. Comment on the origin of the protagonists.
6. What could the story tell us about the influence of hegemonic culture over the dominated?
7. Discuss whether Barbie is the embodiment of women’s oppression or liberation.
8. Why does Cisneros associate the title of the story with a cooking technique?

Continue to work on writing your own "House on Mango Street" 
8-10 Vignettes modeled on the book but based on your own life, family, friends, neighborhood
Title your vignettes

HMWK: Read to  pg. 43 for Wednesday House on Mango Street
TURN IN MONTANA 1948!  Turn in The First Part Last!

Finish First Part Last PROJECTS for presentation!

House on Mango Street--Vignettes

AGENDA:  Finish up First Part Last projects for presentation Monday

 1. GRAMMAR:  Work on VERBS handout to hand in Monday (if you are finished with other work)

 

 2. Introduction to The House on Mango Street

Go to library and pick up book

EQ: What is a vignette?

vi·gnette

vinˈyet/

noun

noun: vignette; plural noun: vignettes

1. 1.

   a brief evocative description, account, or episode.
2. 2.

   a small illustration or portrait photograph that fades into its background without a definite border.

   • a small ornamental design filling a space in a book or carving, typically based on foliage.

verb

verb: vignette; 3rd person present: vignettes; past tense: vignetted; past participle: vignetted; gerund or present participle: vignetting

1.

portray (someone) in the style of a vignette.

Example:

 

Four Skinny Trees

"Four Skinny Trees" is an excerpt from the book by Sandra Cisneros entitled The House on Mango Street. "Four Skinny Trees" is found on pages 74 and 75. Copyright Sandra Cisneros, 1984 and published by Vintage Contemporaries, 1991.

"They are the only ones who understand me. I am the only one who understands them. Four skinny trees with skinny necks and pointy elbows like mine. Four who do not belong here but are here. Four raggedy excuses planted by the city. From our room we can hear them, but Nenny just sleeps and doesn't appreciate these things.
"Their strength is secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the ground. They grow up and they grow down and grab the earth between their hairy toes and bite the sky with violent teeth and never quit their anger. This is how they keep.
"Let one forget his reason for being, they'd all droop like tulips in a glass, each with their arms around the other. Keep, keep, keep, trees say when I sleep. They teach.
"When I am too sad and too skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny thing against so many bricks, then it is I look at trees. When there is nothing left to look at on this street. Four who grew despite concrete. Four who reach and do not forget to reach. Four whose only reason is to be and be."

http://writingfix.com/Chapter_Book_Prompts/HouseonMangoStreet2.htm

http://writingfix.com/Chapter_Book_Prompts/HouseonMangoStreet4.htm

House on Mango Street

The First Part Last Closure

AGENDA:

Quiz on The First Part Last

WRITING:  Work on the First Part Last Project
Finish Partner Story