73 pages • 2 hours read
Alma Cruz is a Dominican American writer who decides to end her literary career by burying or burning all of her unfinished, untold stories. To this end, she creates a cemetery on a plot of land in Santiago. In the Dominican Republic, residents assume that she is American. Her pen-name is Scheherazade, after the narrator of Arabian Nights. Alma’s self-descriptions often revolve around her relationships to words and stories. Though she writes in English, certain expressions evade her because “English wasn’t her original language, [and] its root system didn’t go deep enough in her psyche” (7). Despite that limitation, she is in love with finding the right word for a feeling. Even at the end of her life, when she is implied to be experiencing the early stages of dementia, she is “still hopelessly, helplessly in love with naming things” (205) as a way of knowing and of feeding her curiosity. For this reason, she has always been troubled by her lack of knowledge about her father’s life. Her arc in this story is about letting go of her need to know about her father’s life, and she learns to accept the idea that his stories died with him.
Letting go is not easy for Alma, who embraces the idea of revision “as a way of life, not just writing” (30). However, by creating a definitive end to her writing career, she allows a large portion of her identity to fade away, and she decides to “let the writing go and […] [to allow] the fears and disturbances to pass through her” (17). Compounding that discomfort is her propensity for giving voice to people whose stories are unknown, such as Bienvenida and her father, Manuel. Similarly, she is drawn to Filomena, a quiet person who contains great depths of stories. Eventually, however, Alma succumbs to dementia, and Filomena explains that Alma’s head is so “packed with stories” that “it gets stuffed, like a nose when you have a bad cold” (225). Ultimately, Alma suffers a fate very similar to that of her writer-friend in Part 1.
People in the barrio describe Filomena as “un alma de Dios,” a servile woman who is “none too bright” and “seldom speaks” (41). Her silence leads people to believe that she has nothing of significance in her past or her future. Therefore, the neighbors are surprised when Alma selects her to be the cemetery’s caretaker.
Throughout much of the story, Filomena remains mostly satisfied with her lowly position in life and works as a maid, caretaker, and church custodian. She never leans to read or write, but Alma praises her imagination after hearing her stories. However, Alma doesn’t fully realize that Filomena has not yet developed the capacity to lie or invent stories; instead, she sees the world very literally. Her character development exposes her to many stories, and she learns to spin a few stories herself, although she is pious enough to feel guilt over uttering an untruth. The stories change her as she becomes more absorbed in the ideas that the voices express. Their stories open her mind to other experiences and perspectives, allowing her to increase her empathy with others in the real world.
All her life, Filomena has sought love, clinging to Perla in the absence of their mother and accepting Tesoro’s molestations because of her deep need for some form of love or attention. Perla’s son Pepito therefore becomes like her own son, but when Perla and Tesoro take Pepito back to New York, she unintentionally sabotages the relationship with her sister when she reveals the fact that Tesoro sexually assaulted her when she was a teenager. Thus, she learns that telling her story only causes her to lose everyone she loves, so she becomes resigned to decades of near-silence. In the end, however, even Perla sees that Filomena embodies goodness and has an abundance of compassion and forgiveness.
Manuel is Alma’s father. He is initially characterized as a charmer, someone in his nursing home who “became a favorite of the aides, an exotic creature in his Panama hat, gallantly kissing their hands, complimenting them” (12-13). However, despite his charm, he has avoided talking about his life, even to his daughters. As Alma states, “If Mami was an open book, Papi wasn’t even in the library” (14). When he becomes a disembodied voice in Alma’s cemetery and shares his story with Filomena and Bienvenida, it becomes clear that Manuel’s reticence is both learned and well-earned. He first learns to conceal his thoughts from his father, about whom he states:
It irritated him that I loved poetry, that I cried if told a sad story. He tried to beat my nature out of me, and when that didn’t work, he shipped me off to a military school. The harsh discipline, the unquestioned obedience to stupidity—I was miserable (104).
Only with his mother can he be himself, as they both find refuge in the stories they create about the fantastical land of Alfa Calenda. He puts himself through medical school in the DR, but his involvement in the resistance against Trujillo’s brutality forces him to leave the country. The fact that twice he becomes involved with dissidents suggests that Manuel has a sense of justice and is willing to take risks to fight against dictators, for his father was his earliest experience of violent oppression.
However, he faces a different sort of oppression in New York, where he feels constantly judged and unwelcome. Wary of divulging his dissident past with other Dominicans, he becomes lonely and isolated despite periods of happiness with his wife, Lucía. After his daughters are grown and have American lives, Manuel’s yearning for connection and understanding deepens, leading to his affair with Tatica. Later, his combined guilt over betraying his wife and shame over deporting Tatica solidify his reticence to talk about his past. As he states, “I’ve built up a wall of silence they cannot climb over. […] Only Alma persists in scaling the wall of my storied self, peppering me with questions. […] It is torture to be reminded of what I cannot forget or forgive myself for having done” (190). However, as he speaks with Bienvenida and confesses his sins, he finds some solace in sharing his story. Although he doesn’t regret telling his secrets to Bienvenida and Filomena, he is saddened to realize that his daughters will never fully understand him.
Bienvenida describes her younger self as “an incurable romantic, awaiting my prince” (110). Her romantic nature causes her to be easily wooed by Trujillo. Several different characters question “how such a good woman could end up married to the devil himself [Trujillo, or el Jefe]” (142). That is the central question of Bienvenida’s life, and the answers elude her even after her death. Dr. Beale comes closest to the truth when she calls Bienvenida a “fragile soul” and states, “Sometimes we need our stories, even if they are lies” (142-43). This comment comes after Bienvenida’s suicide attempt. However, Bienvenida eventually resolves to carry on despite her hardships. Later, she even gives up the love she shares with Arístides in order to regain custody of her daughter. This decision demonstrates her strength of character.
Bienvenida is not troubled by the fact that her legacy as First Lady and her efforts to influence El Jefe toward kindness have been erased and forgotten. Even after her death, she wonders why she stayed with Trujillo and does not know whether he actually loved her. Even as a disembodied voice, she muses, “Why am I still asking for reassurance, encouraging others to participate in my self-deception? Have I learned nothing from my life?” (215). Although she is forgiving of the sins of others, she still cannot forgive herself.
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By Julia Alvarez