Sandra Cisneros’s 1984 novel, The House on Mango Street, introduces readers to Esperanza Cordero, a young Latina girl navigating adolescence in the Hispanic neighborhood of Mango Street in Chicago. This is not Esperanza’s dream home; she longs for “a house on the hill like the ones with the gardens where Papa works.” However, within the confines of this modest house and vibrant community, Esperanza’s story unfolds as a powerful narrative of self-discovery and resilience. Cisneros crafts a compelling portrait of a young woman striving to define her place in the world, against societal and cultural expectations.
Cisneros’s own life experiences resonate within Esperanza’s journey. Growing up in a family that moved between Chicago and Mexico, and as the only daughter among six sons, Cisneros understood the necessity of finding her voice. Her time at the University of Iowa’s Writers’ Workshop, while enriching, also brought feelings of isolation in a less diverse environment. This sense of being an outsider likely informs the poignant loneliness Esperanza expresses. Early in the novel, Esperanza declares, “Someday I will have a best friend all my own. One I can tell my secrets to. One who will understand my jokes without my having to explain them. Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor” (p. 8). This metaphor encapsulates her yearning for connection and understanding amidst her solitary experiences.
The House on Mango Street is uniquely structured as a series of 44 vignettes, varying in length from pages to paragraphs. Cisneros’s poetic background is evident in this form, creating what can be seen as a novel composed of prose poems. This poetic quality is particularly striking in vignettes like “Darius & the Clouds.” In this piece, Darius, not known for his eloquence, unexpectedly proclaims, “You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad. Here there is too much sadness and not enough sky” (p. 33). Darius’s observation underscores the limited horizons and pervasive sadness that characterize Mango Street, highlighting the environment Esperanza seeks to transcend.
Mango Street in Chicago is depicted as a place defined by cultural boundaries and misunderstandings. In “Those Who Don’t,” Esperanza observes, “Those who don’t know any better come into our neighborhood scared. They think we’re dangerous. They think we will attack them with shiny knives. They are stupid people who are lost and got here by mistake” (p. 28). She recognizes the irony and prejudice in their fear. Simultaneously, she acknowledges a shared experience of apprehension when venturing outside their familiar surroundings: “All brown all around, we are safe. But watch us drive into a neighborhood of another color and our knees go shakity-shake and our car windows get rolled up tight and our eyes look straight. Yeah. That is how it goes and goes” (p. 28). This reflection exposes the reciprocal nature of fear and prejudice rooted in cultural division.
A central theme in The House on Mango Street is Esperanza’s quest for self-definition. The vignette “My Name” delves into the complexities of her identity: “In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings, songs like sobbing” (p. 10). Her name, Esperanza, meaning “hope,” is laden with contrasting connotations in different languages and personal associations, mirroring her own multifaceted and evolving sense of self.
As the narrative progresses, the unique challenges faced by Latina women on Mango Street become increasingly prominent. These women confront both racial and cultural discrimination from the dominant white society in Chicago, who hold economic and political power. “Bums in the Attic” touches upon the socio-economic disparities reflected in Chicago’s geography: “People who live on hills sleep so close to the stars they forget those of us who live so much on earth” (p. 86). This statement poignantly captures the sense of being overlooked and marginalized due to their location and socio-economic status.
Beyond external discrimination, the women of Mango Street also grapple with gender oppression within their own community. Latino men often assert male privilege and dominance over women as a cultural norm. “Marin” portrays a young woman considered “too much trouble” for her independence and knowledge. “She is older and knows lots of things,” implying that female intelligence and autonomy are perceived as threats. The vignette ends with Marin, “under the streetlight, dancing by herself, is singing the same song somewhere. I know. Is waiting for a car to stop, a star to fall, someone to change her life” (p. 26). This image encapsulates the themes of hope, helplessness, and isolation experienced by women constrained by their circumstances.
The theme of limited choices for women is further explored in “A Smart Cookie.” Esperanza’s mother recounts why she left school: “Shame is a bad thing, you know. It keeps you down. You want to know why I quit school? Because I didn’t have nice clothes. No clothes, but I had brains. Yup, she says disgusted, stirring again. I was a smart cookie then” (p. 90). Her mother’s regret serves as a powerful warning to Esperanza: education is presented as the key to escaping a life of marginalization and limited opportunities on Mango Street.
“No Speak English” illustrates the profound isolation and cultural displacement experienced by women like Mamacita. Having moved from another country, Mamacita’s limited English proficiency traps her in a frustrating existence. Her heartbreak is amplified when her baby son starts singing a Pepsi commercial in English. “No speak English, she says to the child in the language that sounds like tin. No speak English, no speak English, and bubbles into tears. No, no, no, as if she can’t believe her ears” (p. 77). Here, “No speak English” transforms from a statement of fact to a desperate plea against cultural assimilation and the loss of her native identity.
The vulnerability of women and girls to male violence is disturbingly highlighted in “The First Job.” Esperanza’s first experience in the workplace at a photo-finishing shop on North Broadway turns unsettling:
I guess it was the time for the night shift or middle shift because a few people came in and punched the time clock, and an older Oriental man said hello and we talked for a while about my just starting, and he said we could be friends and next time to go in the lunchroom and sit with him, and I felt better. He had nice eyes and I didn’t feel so nervous anymore. Then he asked if I knew what day it was, and when I said I didn’t, he said it was his birthday and would I please give him a birthday kiss. I thought I would because he was so old and just as I was about to put my lips on his cheek, he grabs my face with both hands and kisses me hard on the mouth and doesn’t let go. (p. 54)
This incident foreshadows the dangers of sexual assault that permeate the lives of women and girls on Mango Street. The understated and responsible portrayal of this sensitive topic makes it all the more impactful, contributing to the book’s challenging themes and its history of facing banning attempts in some communities.
Cisneros intended The House on Mango Street to be accessible and resonant for readers within her community, allowing them to pick up the book at any point and find meaning. While the vignettes function independently, a narrative arc follows Esperanza’s journey toward leaving Mango Street. In “The Three Sisters,” Esperanza encounters three mystical women who, like the Fates, offer her guidance. They advise her, “When you leave you must remember to come back for the others. A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza. You will always be Mango Street. You can’t erase what you know. You can’t forget who you are” (p. 104). This encounter emphasizes the enduring connection to her community and her responsibility to return and help others.
The final vignette, “Mango Says Goodbye Sometimes,” concludes with Esperanza’s reflection on her departure as a temporary farewell, an Hasta luego, not a permanent Adios. She declares her intention to return: “They will not know I have gone away to come back. For the ones I left behind. For the ones who cannot get out” (p. 109). This ending reinforces themes of resilience, community, and Esperanza’s commitment to using her experiences to uplift others.
The power of The House on Mango Street lies in its concision and poetic language. While a quick read is possible, it would be a disservice to the novel’s depth. This book, rich in poetic texture and profound insights into character and culture, rewards multiple readings. To fully appreciate its lyrical quality, The House on Mango Street is best experienced when read aloud.
