From the beginning, Gabriela Mistral defied the odds.
Even in the age of irony, many opening lines of books are steeped in the seductive power of drawing readers in with a particularly sincere and comprehensive expression of character. It’s one of the great ironies of the age. Many readers coming to this page—if not necessarily this book—will not be familiar with Mistral, the Chilean poet who became first in a long line of Latin American writers awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. Those that are familiar with this life-affirming coronation may still not be aware of her significant role Chilean education and politics. And even among those there are likely to be some utterly blank when it comes to knowing details about her persona life. All those mysteries are cleared up in a story that identifies concretely that this is opening line is utterly lacking in irony. A lot of people are said to have lies that defied the odds, but in this case it turns out to be true.
“I like them far better, I care for them more in the singular, and not in legion. I also like them when they are small like a flower’s stem, or of the height of a three-year-old orange tree. Yes, exactly like I am saying: I like them alone, a few, and better yet, unique.”
Here is Mistral providing the ultimate commentary on being a teacher. Or, at least if one talks to enough teachers, it certainly seems that ways. One would expect that an educator inherently has a great love of being surrounded by children, but Mistral puts that misconception to rest. And it does run deep. Perhaps it does not start out that way, but spend a full day in the average classroom and you will understand why it is a common evolution. Of course, in the case of Mistral, the irony—and here we are definitely talking an ironic component—of being a teacher who doesn’t really care for the mechanics of the job is made even more understandable within the context of the politics of Latin America and sexism of the educational system.
“The poem must not be too long, except in those cases where the subject is heroic or religious. It should limit itself to songs or portions full of the senses; it should have the exact rhythms of its melodic archetype and its themes should be as naked in emotion as an entrail.”
This book covers Mistral’s work as an educator and her passion as a poet. The two interest intersect, of course, but in ways that are both seamlessly connected and at odds with each other. The author affords a portrait of a complicated individual thrust into a complicated milieu dealing with ingrained issues placed in her way that are obstacles genuinely only overcome against the odds. When one considers all the many more recognizable and familiar names from the fertile world of Latin America literature, the idea that it is was this female poet almost completely unknown to most Americans not just affirms the author’s opening contention, but does with an exclamation point.
