Q & A: Diana Anhalt on Her Poetry Collection “Walking Backward”

This blog posts on Mondays. Fourth Mondays of the month I devote to a Q & A with a fellow writer.

Diana Anhalt, author of Walking Backward

We have never met, but I feel as if we have. I think this is always true when one has read another’s such wonderful writing. But I did “meet” Diana Anhalt, in a matter of speaking, when years ago, she sent me a selection from her powerful and fascinating history / memoir of growing up in Mexico City, A Gathering of Fugitives: American Political Expatriates in Mexico 1948-1965. When, sometime later, I read the entirety of that beautifully written book itself–which I admiringly recommend to anyone with an interest in Mexico–I wrote to her, and we have kept in touch ever since. Apart from writing poetry and essay, we have this common: a lifetime, it seems, of living in Mexico City, and married to a Mexican. By the time we found each other’s work, however, Diana and her husband Mauricio had left “the endless city” for Atlanta, Georgia. (But ojalá, we will meet one day outside of cyberspace soon!)

Her latest, just out from Kelsay Books, is Walking Backward. From her publisher’s website, her author bio:

Diana Anhalt left Mexico over nine years ago following close to a lifetime in that country but claims her writing sometimes digs in its heels and refuses to budge. She continues to write about Mexico. Many of her essays, short stories, and book reviews have appeared in both English and Spanish along with her book, A Gathering of Fugitives: American Political Expatriates in Mexico 1948-1965. Since she first arrived in Atlanta, two of her chapbooks, Second Skin, (Future Cycle Press), Lives of Straw, (Finishing Line Press), and one short collection, Because There Is No Return, (Passager Books), have been published. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in “Nimrod,” “Concho River Review,” “The Connecticut River Review,” “The Atlanta Review,” and “Spillway,” among many others. She believes this is the first time her work has started to lose its Mexican accent.”
Source: Kelsay Books

Writes Dan Veach, founding editor of Atlanta Review, author of Elephant Water and Lunchboxes:

“The best way to visit any country is with someone who knows and loves it intimately. In Walking Backward, Diana Anhalt welcomes us graciously into the very heart of her family and her Mexico. With deep empathy and quiet courage, and always with a saving grace of humor, she shows us how to deal with love and loss, both on a personal and an artistic level.”

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C.M. MAYO: What inspired you to write Walking Backward

DIANA ANHALT: I wanted to put together a collection—this is my fifth—which would include, for the first time, some of what I’d written following my husband’s death three years ago, but it couldn’t just be a book about death so I settled on including, as well, work focused on the family, on the past. 

MISSING
by Diana Anhalt

I walk my unwritten poems down La Reforma,
stop to buy La Prensa, scan the Want Ads. 
Missing bilingual parrot Inglés/Español,
answers to the name of Palomitas.

Se Busca María Felix look-alike for chachacha-ing
on Saturday nights. Extraviado/Lost  guitar case 
filled with woman’s shoes and toothpaste samples. 

In Search Of instructions on how to read divining bones.
Reward Offered for information leading to whereabouts
of Gabi Escobedo, missing since September. 

Attención Mauricio—You’ve been dead long enough. 
It’s time to come home.

Reprinted by permission of the author from Walking Backwards, Kelsay Books, 2019 Copyright © Diana Anhalt


C.M. MAYO: If a reader were to read one poem in this collection, which one would you suggest, and why?

DIANA ANHALT: The logical choice would be Walking Backward, the title poem and the first in the book. After Mauricio and I left Mexico and the home where we had lived for many years, I’d wake up in the middle of  the night to go to the kitchen or the bathroom only to discover my feet walking  in the direction they would have taken in my Mexican home, not here in Atlanta. The title’s suggestion of walking and residing in the past was what I was aiming for.

[SCROLL DOWN TO THE END OF THIS POST READ THE POEM, “WALKING BACKWARD”]


C.M. MAYO: Can you talk about which poets and writers have been the most important influences for you?

DIANA ANHALT: It’s changed, of course, over the years, but more recently I was very  fortunate to belong to a group which worked closely with the head of the Georgia Tech poetry program, the late Tom Lux, who became a mentor and friend. Tom facilitated our interaction with the poets Ginger Murchinson and Laure Ann Bosselar. Richard Blanco and a number of wonderful poets in our Poetry Workshop and others writing here in Atlanta have also influenced my poetry.

C.M. MAYO: Which poets / writers are you reading now?

DIANA ANHALT: Here: Poems for the Planet, a recent anthology, edited by poet Elizabeth Coleman,  Jo Harjo, our new U.S. poet laureate, and Land of Fire by Mario Chard. I’ve also been reading Jennifer Clement’s Gun Love and Fatima Farheen Mirza’s  A Place for Us.

C.M. MAYO: You have been a productive poet and writer for many years. How has the Digital Revolution affected your writing? Specifically, has it become more challenging to stay focused with the siren calls of email, texting, blogs, online newspapers and magazines, social media, and such? If so, do you have some tips and tricks you might be able to share?

DIANA ANHALT: You’ve expressed it well. It has been challenging to stay focused and I’m afraid that, as of now, I’m still incapable of using it fully to my advantage—I don’t use social media— but I do find the Internet extraordinarily helpful at times in establishing contacts,  finding venues and staying in touch.

C.M. MAYO: Another question apropos of the Digital Revolution. At what point, if any, were you working on paper? Was working on paper necessary for you, or problematic?

DIANA ANHALT: I had always worked on paper but once I began to write on the computer I found  the ability to make changes and save the many versions necessary in producing a poem very helpful. I  still  keep a notebook, transfer the notes to the computer, and do the actual writing on the computer. 

C.M. MAYO: What’s next for you as a writer / poet?

DIANA ANHALT: Now that Walking Backward is out I  will continue to produce for our monthly poetry workshop meetings, send my work out, enter a contest or two but I do hope to get back and revise my now outdated computer files for A Gathering of Fugitives: American Political Expatriates in Mexico 1948-1965. (Although I must admit that I’ve been promising myself to do that for years. Still haven’t.)

Use ‘heel’ and ‘toe’ as verbs

WALKING BACKWARD
By Diana Anhalt

Late each night I rose, woozy with sleep
and my bare feet traveled blind—knew
one room from the next through cracks
in the wood, space between floorboards,

sensed their width, breadth,  girth…
For forty years I called that same place home—
Left it, yet it resides in me. The feet are last
to follow. They fumble the unfamiliar,

reject the waxed surface of a new life, 
are the last to forgive my leaving, long
to return me to the old home—wet wash
pinned to a line in the courtyard, scent of chili

and cilantro wafting from the kitchen. 
At night they lurch backwards into the past, 
tread the dream halls where faces linger
in mirrors, Spanish echoes down corridors

into a past I thought I’d left behind—
And there you are. You wait in the doorway, 
lean against the door frame and ask: Como te fue
How did it go? Red wine or white?

Walking Backward

Late each night you rose, woozy with sleep,
the space your familiar, and your bare feet traveled
it blind—knew one room from the next through
cracks in the wood, space between floorboards,
splinters, sensed their width, breadth girth.

For forty years you called the same place home—
Leave it, yet it resides in you. The feet are last to follow.
They fumble the unfamiliar, reject the waxed surface
of a new life, are the last to forgive your leaving,
long to return you to the old home—wet wash
pinned to a line in the courtyard, scent of chili
and cilantro wafting from the kitchen. 

At night they lurch backwards into the past, 
tread dream halls where faces linger
in mirrors, Spanish echoes down corridors
into a past you thought you’d left behind—

And there you are.  You wait in the doorway, 
lean against the door frame and ask: “Como te fue?” 
How did it go? Red wine or white?

They cleave to familiar roadways. The late night path between bed and bathroom.
Your feet are the last to forgive you.
The feet are the last to forgive your leaving 
murky
Leading you down a hall you left behind. (no longer there)
You alongside

(forgive)

(home) in the cracks between boards. (where your Spanish song)

(And when you leave) The feet are the last to forgive your leaving home

Footsteps lurk in the past. My feet tread the past.
Your feet are the last to forgive you. (to forgive your wandering.)
You abandon your past

My feet still know a past when….
Tide erases footsteps on the sand.

Bare feet, it’s time to get used to this, 
this unknown space, a floor less friendly,
rougher on your soles, less familiar with
your tread, colder, tile not wood

The tug of familiar surfaces

Today after a deep sleep my feet walk me
Toward the door I left behind
down a hallway I left behind.
No longer there.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx
Late each night you rise, woozy with sleep,the space your familiar, and your bare feet travel
it blind—tread those same midnight floorboards
sense their width, breadth girth,
know one room from another through cracks in the wood,
They tread the past.

Lingered behind in the familiar 
Who thought to warn them? I forgot to warn them.(you) 

Late at night, woozy with (from) sleep
I forget to tread the slippery smoothness of new floors
(I forget and tread the old floors)
through hallways silenced by sleep, dizzy with sleep

Foothold, heel and toe
My body owns (keeps, retains) the compass, (encompasses)
Maps (traces) the floors I left  behind.
My footsteps tread  past.

retrace ones steps
(If you) live in the same place for 40 years. (Call one place home)
tread the same midnight floorboards
That place resides in you.
(When) You rise at night, the floor is your familiar
and your bare feet travel it—feel it’s width, breadth girth,
Know one space from another 
by the cracks in the wood,
a shaky floorboard,

(After years treading the same midnight floorboards)

Today, late at night, woozy with (from) sleep

After years of treading darkened halls feet knewthose floors and follow them. 
They seek the familiar groundwork of the past, late to discover it’s disappeared. 
(no longer there.)

I argue with my feet (An argument with my feet)
Earlier notes

I walk away from forty years of my life

Awakened to darkness, late at night my feet
refuse to travel,
walk the dark, down the hall you left behind
Remind me that I never thought to tell them:

For forty years you call the same place home
and each night, woozy with sleep, your feet 
tread those same midnight floorboards
until 

My feet still remember a past when

your feet 
tread those same midnight floorboards
until that place resides in you

Awakened from a deep 
Nudged into the past
Nudge words into meaning

When I left I forgot to tell (warn) my feet. They stayed 
Behind entrenched in the familiar streets of home

Go through the process of leaving

I forgot to tell you. (them) (warn them)
When I left I forgot to tell (warn) my feet. 
they linger behind

Behind 

Highways, biways.
At home on bicycle pedals.
My feet, unlike the rest of me, refuse to take the lead (to follow my lead)
Highways, biways.
At home on bicycle pedals.
My feet, unlike the rest of me, refuse to take the lead (to follow my lead)
When I rise from bed late at night in this new place
fuzzy (heavy) with sleep 
Feet speak a language of their own

The scurry, scrape against the floor
New territory (territorial)

I try to reason with my feet.

Abandon home after forty years, last to follow
are the feet. They fumble the unfamiliar, reject 
the waxed surface
of new floors. (newness)

They reject the slippery smoothness of new floors
They forget to tread the slippery smoothness of new floors
And fumble in the unfamiliar 
(I forget and tread the old floors)
through hallways silenced by sleep, dizzy with sleep
When you abandon (leave) home after 60 years. the feet are the last to follow.
Mine, at home in the past, learned (memorized) the floors—width, breadth, girth
Today, in this new place, they move (walk) (grope) backwards into (retrieving) the past late at night, woozy with sleep,
reject the slippery smoothness of new floors
forget to tread the slippery smoothness of new floors
fumble with the unfamiliar 
The late night path (track another word-meaning destination?) between bed and bathroom.
You abandon your past

Reprinted by permission of the author from Walking Backwards, Kelsay Books, 2019 Copyright © Diana Anhalt

>> Look for Walking Backward at amazon and at Kelsay Books.

>> See also Diana Anhalt’s guest-blog for Madam Mayo in 2015 on “Five Books that Inspire Poetry.”

>>More Q & As at Madam Mayo blog here.

Q & A: W. Nick Hill on Sleight Work and Mucho Más

Who Was B. Traven? Timothy Heyman on The Triumph of Traven

What the Muse Sent Me About the Tenth Muse, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

Find out more about C.M. Mayo’s books, shorter works, podcasts, and more at www.cmmayo.com.

Journal of Big Bend Studies: “The Secret Book by Francisco I. Madero”

Nope, that is not Francisco I. Madero, pictured right, but J.J. Kilpatrick, subject of Lonn Taylor’s fascinating article in this same issue of the Journal of Big Bend Studies, vol. 29, 2017.

A belated but delighted announcement: “The Secret Book by Francisco I. Madero, Leader of Mexico’s 1910 Revolution,” which is an edited and annotated transcript of my talk about my book, Metaphysical Odyssey into the Mexican Revolution (which is about and includes my translation of Manual espírita), came out in the Journal of Big Bend Studies in 2017. Because I am a literary writer, not an academic historian, it is a special an honor to have my work published in an outstanding scholarly journal of the Texas-Mexico borderlands.

For those rusty on their borderlands and Mexican history, Francisco I. Madero was the leader of Mexico’s 1910 revolution– the first major revolution of the 20th century– and President of Mexico from 1911-1913. This was not only a transformative episode for Mexico, but also for Texas.

My book, Metaphysical Odyssey into the Mexican Revolution: Francisco I. Madero and His Secret Book, Spiritist Manual, came out in 2014 (also in Spanish, translated by Agustín Cadena as Odisea metafísica hacia la Revolución Mexicana, Francisco I. Madero y su libro secreto, Manual espírita, from Literal Publishing.) So far so good: it has been cited already in a number of scholarly works about Madero and the Revolution.

Yes indeed, Metaphysical Odyssey is a peculiar title. In the article, I explain why I chose it and why, much as readers groan about it, I would not change it.

> Read the paper here. (I had posted an earlier only partially edited PDF at this link; in case you’ve already seen it, as of today, June 17, 2019, it has been updated.) And you can order a copy of the actual printed article with all photos, and of the complete issue from the Center for Big Bend Studies here.

A few of the photos, not in the PDF:

The first and definitively not secret book. This shows my copy of a third edition of the book that launched the Mexican Revolution: Francisco I. Madero’s La sucesión presidencial en 1910 [The Presidential Succession in 1910]. This third edition is from 1911. The first edition is dated 1908 and went into circulation in early 1909. Photo: C.M. Mayo.
Advertisement in Helios, October 1911, for the just-published Manual espírita by Bhîma, that is, Francisco I. Madero. Photo: C.M. Mayo.
The title page of my copy of a first edition of Madero’s Manual espírita of 1911. Note that it is stamped “Cortesia del Gral. Ramón F. Iturbe [Courtesy of General Ramón F. Iturbe]. Photo: C.M. Mayo.
Frontispiece and title page of my copy of the 1906 Spanish translation of Léon Denis’ Aprés le mort, translated from the French by Ignacio Mariscal and sponsored by Francisco Madero and his son, Francisco I. Madero. Photograph by C.M. Mayo.
My copy of the cover of the rare circa 1924 Barcelona edition of Manual espírita. Photo by C.M. Mayo.

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SPECIAL NOTE

Undoubtedly scholars, novelists and screenwriters will be producing works about Francisco I. Madero and the Mexican Revolution until Kingdom Come (or, perhaps I should say, the Reemergence of Atlantis); because I am a literary writer who roams over a wide variety of subjects, I do not intend to keep up with them all. That said, I regret that I could not cite in my article the book by Mexican historian Beatriz Gutiérrez Müller, Dos Revolucionarios a la sombra de Madero: A historia de Solón Argüello Escobar y Rogelio Fernández Güell (Mexico: Ariel, 2016), which I recommend as crucial for any bibliography on Madero, his Spiritism, the history of metaphysical religion in Mexico, and the Mexican Revolution itself. Gutíerrez Müller’s work should also be of special interest for anyone interested in current Mexican politics, for the prologue is by the author’s husband, now president of Mexico, Andrés López Obrador. This video on his YouTube channel shows the president and first lady discussing her book.

Biographer’s International Interview with C.M. Mayo: Strange Spark of the Mexican Revolution

Why Translate? The Case of the President of Mexico’s Secret Book

Marfa Mondays Podcast #20:
Raymond Caballero on Mexican Revolutionary General Pascual Orozco

and Far West Texas

Visit my website for more about my books, articles, and podcasts.

Why Do Old Books Smell? / Plus From the Archives: “What the Muse Sent Me About the Tenth Muse: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz”

A most wonderful rare book about a 17th century American poet, whom I aim to write about, has arrived in my library. But phew, it STINKS. It stinks so nasty, I cannot even bear to read half a page of it.

Here’s what a used books expert says about smelly books:

But ayy, this book I have is another level of stinky. Think musty, as in New Orleans graveyard. Googling around, I find that baking soda, strong sunlight, and kitty litter are some possible remedies. I will try the kitty litter, and report. Meanwhile, any suggestions would be most welcome.

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Migrating this blog, or rather, migrating selected link-updated posts from its old blogger platform to self-hosted WordPress here at www.madam-mayo.com has been a bit of a job, ongoing since January of this year 2019. So this Monday I’m taking a break, reposting a recently migrated piece, a readers’ favorite of this blog’s many Mexico-related posts.

What the Muse Sent Me about the Tenth Muse,
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
by C.M. Mayo

First published at Madam Mayo blog March 20, 2017

Door to the quarters of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, “the Tenth Muse.” Photo by C.M. Mayo, 2017.

Late last year my amiga the brilliant short story writer Paula Whyman invited me to send a “Dispatch from Mexico City” for her new magazine, Scoundrel Time. So I dialed in to Muse HQ… 

As I told Paula, woefully past the deadline, I had asked the Muse for a slider, a yummy little note about books in Mexico, but she delivered the whole ox. In other words, my “Dispatch from the Sister Republic or, Papelito Habla”is a novela-length essay about the Mexican literary landscape, from prehispanic codices to contemporary writers. It is what it is, I don’t want start chopping (there would be blood!!), but of course, a 30 page essay is too long for a magazine. 

Scoundrel Time will be publishing an excerpt about Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca’s Relación-– a nearly 500 year-old memoir little known outside of Mexico and Texas, yet that stands as one of the most astonishing and important books ever written. (As soon that goes on-line, I will be sure to link to it from here. Read the piece about Cabeza de Vaca in Scoundrel Time here.) 

As for my full-length essay, “Dispatch from the Sister Republic,” look for it as a Kindle under my own imprint, Dancing Chiva, ASAP.  it is now available in Kindle.

Herewith my other favorite excerpt, about the Tenth Muse, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz:

Excerpt from 
“DISPATCH FROM THE SISTER REPUBLIC OR, PAPELITO HABLA”
by C.M. MAYO 

For rare book collectors, Mecca is Mexico City’s Colonia Centro, and for such aficionados of mexicana as myself, its sanctum sanctorum, the Librería Madero—by the way, recently relocated from the Avenida Madero to the Avenida Isabela La Católica, facing the the formidable wedding cake-white corner of the 16th century ex-convent of San Jerónimo, known today as the Claustro de Sor Juana, that is, the Convent of Sister Juana.

And if you would not know Sor Juana from a poinsettia, gentle reader, with all respect, you must crowbar out that boulder of ignorance, for which you will be rewarded by a glimpse of the diamond of the Mexico’s Baroque period, the first great Latin American poet and playwright, “the Tenth Muse,” a cloistered nun.

Texan poet John Campion was the first to translate Sor Juana’s magnum opus, “Primero sueño,” as “The Dream,” in 1983. (Alas, that date is not a typo.) Campion’s translation is out of print, but he offers a free PDF download of the text on his website, worldatuningfork.com. The first lines of Campion’s translation beautifully capture Sor Juana’s uncanny power:

Pyramidal
death-born shadow of earth
aimed at heaven
a proud point of vain obelisks
pretending to scale the Stars

In her time Sor Juana was one of the most learned individuals, man or woman, in the New World, and her prodigious oeuvre, from love poems to polemics, comedies to enigmas to plays to villancicos, was exceptionally sophisticated, so much so that its interpretation is today the province of a small army of sorjuanistas. As Mexico’s Nobel laureate poet Octavio Paz writes in Sor Juana: Or, the Traps of Faith (translated by Margaret Sayers Peden), “A work survives its readers; after a hundred or two hundred years it is read by new readers who impose on it new modes of reading and interpretation. The work survives because of these  interpretations, which are in fact resurrections.”

And perchance startling discoveries. In his 2011 El eclipse del Sueño de Sor Juana, Américo Larralde Rangel makes a radiant case that her “Primero Sueño” describes the dawn over Mexico City after a lunar eclipse on the solstice of the winter of 1684.

In the Librería Madero I find on the first shelf, facing out, two new books by sorjuanistas: one about Sor Juana’s family, another, just published by a Legionario de Cristo, that purports to decipher her twenty enigmas. The latter work incorporates a series of contemporary paintings of Sor Juana in the baroque style—dim backgrounds, crowns and scepters of flowers, and afloat above her head, fat-tummied cherubs, flounces, unspooling bundles of draperies. But these Sor Juanas look too pert, make too coy a tilt of the head. It seems to me as if, session over, the model might have just tossed off that habit to wriggle into some yoga wear.

Yes, just as in the United States, in Mexican cities yoga studios have been popping up like honguitos.

But if a vision of modern Mexico would have been obscure to Sor Juana, by no means is Sor Juana obscure in modern Mexico. She has inspired scores of poets and musicians; there have been movies, documentaries, and novels, most recently, Mónica Lavin’s 2009 best-seller Yo, la peor (I, the Worst—yet to be translated into English—fingers crossed that Patricia Dubrava will do it). 

As I write this in 2017, Sor Juana graces the celadon-green 200 peso bill. From the portrait by Miguel Cabrera in the Museo Nacional de Historia: a serenely intelligent young woman’s face framed in a wimple, and behind her, her quills and inkpot and an open book of her poetry—and a few lines:

Hombres necios que acusáis 
a la mujer sin razón, 
sin ver que sois la ocasión
de lo mismo que culpáis.

I cannot pretend to render the music of Sor Juana’s lines into English. But here’s a rough go at their literal meaning: You pig-headed men who accuse women unjustly, blind to the fact that you are the cause for that which you cast blame.

[…. CONTINUE READING]

UPDATE: “Dispatch from the Sister Republic or, Papelito Habla,” my long essay on the Mexican literary landscape and the power of the book, is now available in Kindle.

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P.S. You will find more Mexico-related posts on this blog’s Mexico page. As you will see, there are a few posts that have been migrated, and many more to go– and more as yet unlisted. Plus, ayyy, there is the whole Maximilian – Carlota blog (History of Mexico’s Second Empire / French Intervention) to do…. It will happen.

Luis Felipe Lomelí Interviews Yours Truly About Mexico: A Traveler’s Literary Companion, & Etc.

José N. Iturriaga’s Mexico In US Eyes (México en las miradas de Estados Unidos)

Who Was B. Traven?

Visit my website for more about my books, articles, and podcasts.

Who Was B. Traven? Timothy Heyman on the Triumph of Traven

B. Traven, the naturalized Mexican who wrote in German and English, was an internationally best-selling novelist many of whose works were made into into movies, most famously The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, starring Humphrey Bogart. In Mexico he remains immensely respected: recently, decades after his death, his life and works were celebrated with a splashy, crowd-pleasing show at Mexico City’s Museo de Arte Moderno. But who was B. Traven? Where did he come from? Why, really, did he come to Mexico? And why was he so reclusive, and so fond of pseudonyms?

Many a member of the literary cognoscenti will tell you that the B. stood for Bruno. Not so. Ret Marut? Not so. Was he Prussian, Bavarian, Norwegian, American? Any number of claims and theories have been put forth over the years, one or more of which you can ever and always find, depending on who last logged in to edit that Maoist mashup otherwise known as Wikipedia.

In this month’s Letras Libres, 50 years after his death in Mexico City, B. Traven’s true identity has been revealed, and this time by someone whose closeness to the subject and research are flat-out impossible to beat: Timothy Heyman, who together with his wife, B. Traven’s stepdaughter Malú Montes de Oca de Heyman, administers Traven’s literary estate.

Because Traven had wanted it this way, after he died in Mexico City in 1969, his widow claimed that he was the German actor and journalist Ret Marut. But in fact Ret Marut was only another disguise.

Traven’s close friend the cinematographer Gabriel Figuera once claimed Traven was Moritz Rathenau, but for Traven’s biographers, that bit of intelligence seems to have been either overlooked or treated as nothing more than a wisp of a rumor among others. However, Timothy Heyman reveals, B. Traven / Ret Marut was Moritz Rathenau. And more: Moritz Rathenau was the illegitimate son of none other than Emil Rathenau (1838-1915), one of Germany’s richest Jewish industrialists, founder of AEG. His mother was Irish actress Helen Mareck. For his political activities in the violent tumult of post World War I Germany, as Ret Marut, he was condemned to death in 1919, and escaped to remain undercover in Germany. In 1922 his half-brother Walther Rathenau, then Minister of Foreign Relations, was assassinated by an extreme rightwing antisemitic group– an event some historians identify as the beginning of the Holocaust. The following year, as “B. Traven,”– B. for “Plan B”–Moritz Rathenau escaped what would in another decade become Nazi Germany, and– long story short– he lived a long life as an international literary star in wildly productive seclusion in Mexico.

Timothy Heyman’s article with all the details appears in the current issue of Mexico’s most prestigious magazine, Letras Libres.

UPDATE October 19, 2020: You can now read the English original of this essay as a guest blog post: “Traven’s Triumph” by Timothy Heyman.

Translating Across the Border

Reading Mexico: Recommendations for a Book Group of Extra Curious and Adventurous English-Language Readers


From the Archives:
A Visit to the Casa de la Primera Imprenta de América in Mexico City

Visit my website for more about my books, articles, and podcasts.

Michael F. Suarez’s Ted Talk “Glorious Bookishness: Learning Anew in the Material World” / Plus, From the Archives: “Translating Across the (US-Mexico) Border”

My favorite rare book historian Michael F. Suarez, SJ gives this excellent talk for TEDxCharlotteville:

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AND FROM THE MADAM MAYO ARCHIVES…

Poco a poco (bit by bit), since January of this year I have been migrating selected and updated posts from Madam Mayo’s original Google Blogger platform to self-hosted WordPress here at www.madam-mayo.com. Madam Mayo goes all the way back to the Cambrianesquely Blogasonic Explosion, I mean, um, 2006… This past week I’ve worked a bit on the translation posts, among them:

TRANSLATING ACROSS THE BORDER
Originally posted October 29, 2015
Edited Transcript of a Talk by C.M. Mayo
at the annual conference of the
American Literary Translators Association (ALTA)

Muchísimas gracias, Mark Weiss, and thank you also to my fellow panelists, it is an honor to sit on this dias with you. Thank you all for coming. It is especially apt to be talking about translating Mexican writing here, a jog from the Mexican border, in Tucson—or Tuk-son as the Mexicans pronounce it.

I grew up in Northern California and was educated in various places but mainly the University of Chicago. As far as Mexico went, until I was in my mid-twenties, I had absorbed, to use historian John Tutino’s term, the “enduring presumptions.” Translation: I had zero interest in Mexico.

You know that old saying, if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans?

>>CONTINUE READING THIS POST

Q & A: W. Nick Hill on Sleight Work and Mucho Más

Top 10 Books Read 2018

Reading Mexico: Recommendations for an English-Language Book Club of Extra-Curious and Adventurous Readers

Visit my website for more about my books, articles, and podcasts.

José N. Iturriaga’s “Mexico in US Eyes” (México en las miradas de Estados Unidos)

With México en las miradas de Estados Unidos (Editorial Las Animas, 2017), Mexican writer and historian José N. Iturriaga has edited an anthology that is at once a vital scholarly contribution towards the history of Mexican and of US-Mexico relations, and an “armchair read,” as I like to think of those box-of-chocolate tomes one can dip into here and there, on some quiet afternoon (perhaps with a bit of a birdsong and by a burbling fountain…) In short, this is a book I will keep on an eye-level shelf of my working library, but also return to time and again just for the fun of it. (For this reason furnishings for a proper working library include an upholstered armchair and ottoman!)

For those who can read Spanish and have even an iota of interest in Mexico, México en las miradas de Estados Unidos is a must-have. Over 130 American voices are represented here, and of an astonishing variety, from the early 19th century to recent years, and of all sensibilities. To quote [my translation] from Iturriaga’s introduction, they are:

“traders and engineers, adventurers and sailors, explorers and historians, photographers and archaeologists, diplomats and journalists, novelists and miners, geographers and artists, poets and filmmakers, priests and planters, scientists, various soldiers, a comic and a president.”

That comic would be Groucho Marx, and the president, James K. Polk.

Many of these authors will be familiar to those who who have already read widely on Mexico in English:  Fanny Chambers Gooch, John Kenneth Turner, John Reed, Katherine Anne Porter, Alma Reed, William Spratling, John Steinbeck, William Burroughs, John Womak.

And I was delighted to see so many of my personal favorites, among them, pioneer trader and explorer Josiah Gregg, Princess Salm Salm (suffice to say, had Andy Warhol been alive in 1866 they would have been amiguísimos), Charles Macomb Flandrau, and my own dear amigo, the accomplished biographer and historian Michael K. Schuessler.

I am immensely honored to find my own work in such company, with an excerpt from my novel based on the true story of Mexico’s half-American prince, The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire.

Although I have been reading on Mexican history for decades now, and in fact collect memoirs of Mexico in English, many of Iturriaga’s selections were new to me, for example, General John E. Wool, soldier Thomas Yates Lundie, traveler Maude Mason Austin, and more.

Read about José N. Iturriaga’s many works, including the recent Saberes y delirios, his fine novel about the incomparable 19th century naturalist Alexander von Humboldt, here.

Luis Felipe Lomelí Interviews C.M. Mayo

Reading Mexico: Recommendations for a Book Club of Extra Adventurious and Curious English-Language Readers

What the Muse Sent Me About the Tenth Muse,
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

Visit my website for more about my books, articles, and podcasts.

Lord Kingsborough’s “Antiquities of Mexico”

Mexico has been very much on my mind these past days because I have been working on some translations of works by Mexican writers Agustín Cadena and Rose Mary Salum... more news about those soon… and also (not entirely a digression from the book in-progress about Far West Texas) I have been working on an essay about books in Mexico entitled “Dispatch from the Sister Republic.” 

A brief excerpt from my longform  essay:

The Dresden Codex was water-damaged in the firebombings of World War II. Fortunately for us, around 1825, a facsimile had been made by the Italian artist Agostino Aglio, commissioned by the Irish peer Edward King, Lord Kingsborough—the latter a believer in the theory, to become an article of faith for the Mormons, that the Mesoamericans were descendants of one of the Lost Tribes of Israel. 

Aglio’s facsimile is included in Kingsborough’s colossal multi-volume Antiquities of Mexico. And when I say “colossal” I do not exaggerate. In those days before photography, Lord Kingsborough sent Aglio all over Europe, to the Vatican Library, the royal libraries of Berlin, Dresden, and Paris, and the Bodleian Library at Oxford, among many others, to copy their Mexican codices, painstakingly tracing the elaborate diagrams and glyphics, and then coloring them in. Aglio also made paintings of Mexican sculptures and other artifacts in European collections. The whole project, from making the fascimiles to the state-of-the-art color printing and luxury binding, was at once a visionary contribution to world culture and an extravagance beyond folly. It could be said that Antiquities of Mexicokilled Lord Kingsborough; having exhausted his liquidity before paying for the paper, he was imprisoned in Dublin, where he contracted typhoid.*

[*Sylvia D. Whitmore, “Lord Kingsborough and His Contribution to Ancient Mesoamerican Scholarship: The Antiquities of Mexico,” The PARI Journal,Spring, 2009]

Lord Kingsborough never made it to Mexico, but it was in Mexico City, on a tour of the Biblioteca Vasconcelos, that I saw one of those volumes of Antiquities of Mexico up close. That particular volume was part of the personal library, then recently acquired, of Carlos Monsiváis, one of Mexico’s most esteemed journalists and leftist social critics, who died in 2010. I could not tell you which volume of Antiquities of Mexico it was nor why nor how it was separated from its fellow volumes in its set, nor why nor how Monsiváis, famous for his witty musings on Mexican popular culture, had acquired it. 

The librarian, wearing white gloves, strained to lift the volume off its shelf. Bound in navy-blue Morrocco leather, it was the size of a small suitcase. With the grimace of a weight-lifter, he slowly lowered it onto the table. He levered up the cover, then turned a couple of the pages. The colors of the prints of Aglio’s paintings of the leaves from a codex— red, yellow, turquoise, ochre— were as bright as if painted that morning. 

I later learned that that single volume weighed some 65 pounds.

>> Read more about the Antiquities of Mexico at Dorothy Sloan-Rare Books, a description of a set that was auctioned for USD 61, 625.

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UPDATE: “Dispatch from the Sister Republic or, Papelito Habla,” my longform essay on the Mexican literary landscape and the power of the book, is now available in Kindle.

Biographers International Interview with C.M. Mayo:
Strange Spark of the Mexican Revolution

Translating Across the Border

What the Muse Sent Me About the Tenth Muse, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

Find out more about
C.M. Mayo’s books, articles, podcasts, and more.

Reading Mexico: Recommendations for a Book Club of Extra-Curious & Adventurous English-Language Readers

Just a few selections from the chocolate box of English language books on Mexico 

In recent days, I am delighted to report, more than one American has asked me for a list of recommended reading on Mexico for their book clubs. Before I present my correspondents, and you, dear reader, with my list, herewith a big fat flashing neon-lime caveat: 

This list is unlikely to coincide with most English language writers’ and readers’ ideas of what might be most appropriate. Nope, no Graham Greene. No D.H. Lawrence, no Malcolm Lowry, nor John Steinbeck. Most of the usual suspects have gone missing from my list. I packed the bunch of them off, as it were, to Puerto Vallarta for margaritas (a drink invented by a Texan, by the way) and a purgatory of reading juicy crime-novels. About crime novels, I am not your go-to gal.

For those of you new to this blog, let me introduce myself. I am a US citizen who has been living in Mexico City on and off for over three decades, and not in an expat community, but as a part of a Mexican family. Over these many years I have written several books about Mexico, most recently, the novel based on the true story of Mexico’s Second Empire, The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire, and Metaphysical Odyssey into the Mexican Revolution: Francisco I. Madero and His Secret Book, Spiritist Manual. I have also translated a long list of Mexican writers and poets, and am the editor of an anthology, Mexico: A Traveler’s Literary Companion, which is not a guidebook but a selection of 24 Mexican writers on Mexico, many in translation for the first time. All of which is to say that although I have not read each and every last thing ever published on Mexico (a feat for a bot!), I am indeed familiar with both the Spanish and the English language literature on Mexico, fiction and nonfiction. 

TWO CHALLENGES: SAD! VERY SAD!

But to make a list of recommendations for an English-language book club there are challenges. First, a number of Mexican works have been translated into English, but this amounts to only a tiny percentage of what has been published in Mexico over the centuries. To quote DJT completely out of context, “Sad!”

Second, also sadly, many of the best-known and easily available originally-in-English works on Mexico strike me as superb examples of a south-of-the-border species of what Edward W. Said termed “orientalism.” Translation: toe-curling. Steinbeck’s The Log from the Sea of Cortez, to take but one example, while a deserved classic for its lyric beauty (count me a fan), will tell you little about Mexico, never mind the Baja California peninsula that stretches for nearly a thousand miles along the Sea of Cortez; much of what Steinbeck says about it is either flat wrong or rendered through a filter of commonplace prejudice and presumption.

Much of the best of contemporary English language literature on Mexico covers the border, mainly focusing on illegal immigration, drug trafficking, and violence. There are several excellent works under that voluminous tent, but I’d like to get to those last. I submit that for a deeper sense of Mexico, one has to dig past the sorts of stories one can easily encounter in the mainstream news, television, and cinema, to go both deeper into the country and deeper into its past.

For a deeper sense of Mexico, one has to dig past the sorts of stories one can easily encounter in the mainstream news, television, and cinema, to go both deeper into the country and deeper into its past. 

Nope, that sad little shelf in the back room of your local big box bookstore is not the place to look. Unfortunately, and head-scratchingly—for the United States shares a nearly 2,000 mile border with Mexico, and all the cultural, economic, ecological, historical, and political intertwinings that would suggest— the selection of such works in English, enticing a “box of chocolates” as it may be, is limited. Moreover, whether because of their scarcity, high prices, length, and/or academic prose-style replete with reams of footnotes, few English language works on Mexico lend themselves to a felicitous selection for a book club.

A NOTE ON (MORE THAN) A FEW TITLES NOT ON MY LIST FOR BOOK CLUBS

Historian John Tutino’s Making a New World, for example, is a scholarly doorstopper of a tome, so I wouldn’t recommend it for a book club; however, I do believe it is one of the most important books yet published about Mexico. Read my review of Tutino’s Making a New World here and listen in anytime to my extra crunchy podcast interview with Tutino here.

Seriously, if you want to start getting an idea of Mexico beyond the clichés, stop reading this right now and listen to what Tutino has to say.

RESUME HERE

Also, I would have recommended the magnificent The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr. Francisco Hernández, edited by Simon Varey, but (sigh), Stanford University Press has priced it at USD 72 a copy. You might ask your university or local public library to order a copy, if they do not already have one. 

Another wonder not on my list for book clubs— but do have a look at the digital edition free online— is Franciscan missionary Bernardino de Sahagún’s Historia general de las cosas de Nueva Españaor General History of the Things of New Spain. The original 16th century manuscript, which contains 2,468 colorful illustrations and text in both Spanish and Nahuatl (the language spoken by the Aztecs phonetically transcribed using Latin), is also known as the Florentine Codex because it is in the Medicea Laurencziana Library in Florence, Italy. 

Then there is Daniela Rossell’s hilariously outré take on Mexico City’s, as the title says, Rich and Famous, but at over USD 100 for a used paperback copy, that title did not make it to my list, either. (But if you and your book club have wheelbarrows of cash to spare for no better purpose than to rain down upon amazon.com for some dozen copies of Rich and Famous, well, pourquoi pas? Read it while eating your cake, too!)

Numerous Mexican fabulosities, including Rich & Famous,  which cover is shown here, are not on my list.

My list, therefore, focuses on works in a variety of genres, from biography to history to poetry, that are not only illuminating but could be enjoyable reading for avid and thoughtful readers, and lend themselves to a spirited book club discussion. And, crucially for most book clubs, these are titles currently available at more-or-less-reasonable prices from major online booksellers and/or, as in the few instances when a work has lapsed into the public domain, as free downloads from www.archive.org. 

Toss a tomato if you like, but I also recommend my own works, else I would not have troubled to write them.

> For those looking for more complete and scholarly lists of recommended reading on Mexico, as well as several more fine anthologies, click here.

PREHISPANIC, CONQUEST, COLONY
(IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER BY AUTHOR)

Coe, Sophie D., and Michael D. Coe. The True History of Chocolate
A scrumptuously sweeping history of Mexico’s most delicious bean by a noted food historian and anthropologist. This one should be an especially popular pick for any book club.

Díaz, Bernal. The True History of the Conquest of New Spain
One of the greatest books every written about one of the greatest adventures of all time. And that is no exaggeration.
> Also available on archive.org

León-Portilla, Miguel, and Earl Shorris. In the Language of Kings: An Anthology of Mesoamerican Literature, Pre-Columbian to the Present
León-Portilla is one of Mexico’s leading historians and intellectuals and this collection, the first to offer a comprehensive overview of this literature, is magnificent. 

Paz, Octavio. Sor Juana or, The Traps of Faith
Translated by the exceptional Margaret Sayers Peden. Catalog copy: “Mexico’s leading poet, essayist, and cultural critic writes of a Mexican poet of another time and another world, the world of seventeenth-century New Spain. His subject is Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, the most striking figure in all of Spanish-American colonial literature and one of the great poets of her age.”

UPDATE: See my blog post of March 20, 2017, “What the Muse Sent Me About the Tenth Muse, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz”

Roberts, David. The Pueblo Revolt: The Secret Rebellion that Drove the Spanish Out of the Southwest
The Pueblo Revolt of 1680 took place in what was then the Kingdom of New Mexico and is now within the United States; nevertheless, this is an crucial episode for understanding the history of the North American continent, including, of course, Mexico. 

NINETEENTH CENTURY 
(IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER BY AUTHOR)

Calderón de la Barca, Madame (Frances Erskine Inglis). Life in Mexico
This delightfully vivid memoir of 1842 by the Scottish-born wife of Spain’s first ambassador to Mexico should go at the top of the list for any Mexicophile. 
> Also available on archive.org
Read my review for Tin House

Fowler, Will. Santa Anna of Mexico
A new and revisionist history of that tremendous and mercurial personality who dominated the first half of 19th century Mexico, the “Napoleon of the West.”

Hämäläinen, Pekka. The Comanche Empire
A mite heavy-going for a book club, but essential for understanding the historical relationship between the U.S. and Mexico and the US-Mexican War. 
Read my review of this book.
> For a less rigorous but more entertaining and elegantly-written work on the Comanches, see S.C. Gwynne’s Empire of the Summer Moon.

Hogan, Michael. Abraham Lincoln and Mexico: A History of Courage, Intrigue, and Unlikely Friendships
In this shining contribution to the literature on Abraham Lincoln and that of the US-Mexican War, Michael Hogan illuminates the stance of a young politician against that terrible war, telling a story that is both urgently necessary and well more than a century overdue.

Magoffin, Susan Shelby. Down the Santa Fe Trail and into Mexico
Now considered a classic of mid-19th century Americana, as a work of literature, this book has its limits and faults, for it was written as a private diary by a Missouri trader’s bride who was only 19 years old. I warmly recommend it for US book clubs because it is easy to find an inexpensive copy, and if it has faults, it also has many charms; and moreover, it provides an unforgettable glimpse of historical context for US-Mexico trade. Y’all, US-Mexico trade did not start with NAFTA. 
See my blog post of notes about this book.

Mayo, C.M. The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire
A novel based on extensive archival research into the strange but true story of the half-American grandson of Agustin de Iturbide, Agustin de Iturbide y Green, in the court of Maximilian von Habsburg. A Library Journal Best Book of 2009.
Visit this book’s website for excerpts, reviews, photos and more
> Related: From Mexico to Miramar or, Across the Lake of Oblivion
A nonfiction novela about a fairytale: a visit to the Emperor of Mexico’s Italian castle. An award-winning long-form essay now available in Kindle.

McAllen, M.M. Maximilian and Carlota: Europe’s Last Empire in Mexico
A deeply researched book about a period of Mexican history that, while vital for understanding modern Mexico and its relations with the United States and Europe, is of perhaps unparalleled cultural, political, and military complexity for such a short period.
Listen in anytime to my extra-extra crunchy conversation with M.M.McAllen about her splendid book, the first new major narrative history of this period in English in nearly forty years.

Solares, Ignacio. Yankee Invasion: A Novel of Mexico City
Translated by Timothy G. Compton
In 1848 a young man named Abelardo witnesses the Yankee Invasion of Mexico City. When it came out I gave this one a blurb: “Bienvenido to this translation of a searing work by an outstanding Mexican writer.”

LATE 19th CENTURY, REVOLUTION, EARLY 20th CENTURY
(IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER BY AUTHOR)


Azuela, Mariano. The Underdogs: A Novel of the Revolution
This is the first and classic Mexican novel of the Revolution, translated by Sergio Waisman and with a foreword by Carlos Fuentes. The original title in Spanish is Los de abajo. Not everyone’s slug of mescal, but a century on, it remains a cult fave, especially around the border.

Cooke, Catherine Nixon. The Thistle and the Rose: Romance, Railroads, and Big Oil in Revolutionary Mexico
This family history of Scotsman John George McNab and Oaxacan Guadalupe Fuentes Nivon McNab not only gives an overview of the transformation of the Mexican economy in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but some of Mexico’s ethnic, social, and regional diversity, both of which are far greater than U.S. media and Mexican tourist industry narratives would suggest.

Esquivel, Laura.Like Water for Chocolate: A Novel in Monthly Installments with Recipes, Romances, and Home Remedies
The charming novel that was made into a major motion picture. 

Mayo, C.M. Metaphysical Odyssey Into the Mexican Revolution: Francisco I. Madero and His Secret Book, Spiritist Manual
Knocks the huaraches off most people’s understanding of the 1910 Revolution, and its leader, Francisco I. Madero, who was elected President of Mexico in 1911 and served until his assassination in the coup d’etat of 1913. Someone described Metaphysical Odyssey as The Underdogs turned upside down, inside out, and with a cherry orchard on top. Anyway, Metaphysical Odyssey into the Mexican Revolution is nonfiction and it includes the first and complete translation of Madero’s Spiritist Manual of 1911. 
Visit this book’s website for excerpts, reviews, interviews, podcasts, and more.

Reed, Alma. Peregrina: Love and Death in Mexico
Edited by Michael K. Schuessler with a foreword by Mexican writer Elena Poniatowska, who knew Alma Reed back in the 1960s. Reed was a journalist from San Francisco who came to Yucatan on assignment and ended up engaged to marry the governor, Felipe Carrillo Puerto. Just before the wedding Carrillo Puerto was assassinated.
Listen in to my podcast interview with Michael K. Schuessler. 

Tenorio-Trillo, Mauricio, I Speak of the City: Mexico City at the Turn of the Twentieth Century
A leading scholar of Mexico takes on Mexico City from 1880 to 1940 in this beautifully written work. If you have ever visited or ever plan to visit Mexico City, this rich-as-a-truffle read is a must.

Traven, B. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
Although it seems he may have been born in Germany, one must count the mysterious B. Traven, who escaped a death sentence in Germany in the 1920s, as a Mexican writer. Little is known about his early life. According to his Mexican stepdaughter, the “B.” stands not for Bruno as some biographers have asserted, but for “Plan B.” Mexico City’s Museo de Arte Moderno recently closed its B. Traven show which featured clips from the movie “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre” directed by John Huston and starring Humphrey Bogart, as well as clips from several other major movies inspired by Traven’s novels, and displays of his papers, photographs, guns, and typewriters. 

UPDATE: See my Q & A with Timothy Heyman, co-administrator of the B. Traven Literary Estate; also Heyman’s guest-blog post “Traven’s Triumph.”

Urrea, Luis Alberto. The Hummingbird’s Daughter
The novel based on the true story of his great aunt, the folk saint and mediumnistic healer Teresita Urrea, la Santa de Cabora (Cabora is in Chihuahua). 

MID TO LATE TWENTIETH CENTURY
(IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER BY AUTHOR)

Biggers, Jeff. In the Sierra Madre
Adventure writing at its finest.

Fuentes, Carlos. The Death of Artemio Cruz
New translation by Alfred MacAdam. The famous novel by the famous author. Muy macho. Dark. Bitter. Ayyy a real jaw-cruncher.  

Herrera, Heyden. Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo
The best introduction to Mexico’s most famous and uniquely flamboyant artist of the 20th century.

Hickman, Katie. A Trip to the Light Fantastic: Travels with a Mexican Circus
A spellbinding memoir by a noted British writer. 

Isaac, Claudio. Midday with Buñuel: Memories and Sketches, 1973 – 1983
Mexican filmmaker Claudio Isaac’s very personal and poetic recollection of his friendship with his mentor, the Spanish surrealist Luis Buñuel, a major influence on Mexican (and world) cinema, who died in Mexico City in 1983. I do not have the original Spanish for a comparison, but the English is so vivid and smoothly elegant, I am sure that Brian T. Scoular’s must be a superb translation. 

Mastretta, Angeles. Women with Big Eyes
Short stories about “aunts” translated by Amy Schildhouse Greenberg. A best-seller in Mexico and widely read in Spanish in the United States as well. (A story from this book is in my anthology, Mexico: A Traveler’s Literary Companion.)

Mayo, C.M. Miraculous Air: Journey of a Thousand Miles through Baja California, the Other Mexico
LA Times: “A luminous exploration of Baja California, from its southern tip at Los Cabos to its ‘lost city’ of Tijuana…. a work of nonfiction that elides into modern myth.” 
Visit this book’s website for excerpts, photos, podcasts, and more
More recommended reading on Baja California, including titles by Bruce Berger, Harry Crosby, and Graham Mackintosh.

Mayo, C.M., ed. Mexico: A Traveler’s Literary Companion
A portrait of Mexico in the work of 24 contemporary Mexican writers, many translated for the first time. Among them: Agustín Cadena, Rosario Castellanos, Fernando Del Paso, Ricardo Elizondo Elizondo, Laura Esquivel, Carlos Fuentes, Mónica Lavín, Angeles Mastretta, Carlos Monsiváis, Juan Villoro.
> Visit this book’s website for excerpts, podcasts, and more.
NPR interview about this book.

Monsiváis, Carlos. Mexican Postcards
Edited, Introduced and Translated by John Kraniauskas. A collection of essays by Mexico City’s most beloved social commentator. (His essay “Identity Hour or, What Photos Would You Take of the Endless City?” is included in my anthology, Mexico: A Traveler’s Literary Companion.)

Novo, Salvador. Pillar of Salt: An Autobiography, with 19 Erotic Sonnets
Introduced by Carlos Monsiváis; Translated by Marguerite Feitlowitz. The memoir of a major and controversial figure in 20th century Mexican letters. Never a dull moment with Sr. Novo.

Poniatowska, Elena. The Skin of the Sky.
Poniatowska is one of Mexico’s most respected journalists and literary writers. Her better-known works include Massacre in Mexico, and Here’s to You, Jesusa. For a book club seeking a fresh and unexpected look at Mexico, however, I would recommend first reading The Skin of the Sky.

Rulfo, Juan. Pedro Paramo
The surrealist novel of the 1950s now translated by Margaret Sayers Peden. 

Schuessler, Michael K. Elena Poniatowska: An Intimate Biography
> Listen in to my interview with Michael K. Schuessler.

Sullivan, Rosemary, Villa Air-Bel: World War II, Escape, and a House in Marseilles.
You might not guess it from the title, but Villa Air-Bel is essential reading for understanding modern art in post-WW-II Mexico. My article about the author and this book, “A Traveler in Mexico: A Rendezvous with Writer Rosemary Sullivan,” appeared in Inside Mexico, March 2009.

Tree, Isabella. Sliced Iguana: Travels in Mexico
One of my favorites for armchair traveling. Crisp, observant, original.
> Isabella Tree offers this guest-blog post on her five favorite books on Mexico. 

MEXICO POST-2000 & THE BORDER(IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER BY AUTHOR)

Burton, Tony. Western Mexico: A Traveler’s Treasury
A unique guidebook by an English geographer that is chock full of surprises, plus illustrations and many maps. Yes, I am recommending a guidebook for a book club; it is that special. 

Call, Wendy. No Word for Welcome: The Mexican Village Faces the Global Economy
A passionate look at Mexico’s Isthmus of Tehuantepec, a little known and yet culturally, economically, historically, and politically vital part of Mexico. Winner of the Grub Street National Book Prize for Nonfiction. 

Corchado, Alfredo. Midnight in Mexico: A Reporter’s Journey through a Country’s Descent into Darkness
Like the title says. 

Ferguson, Kathryn. The Haunting of the Mexican Border
Ferociously personal reporting on both sides of the border.

Lida, David. First Stop in the New World: Mexico City, the Capital of the 21st Century
A long-time resident of Mexico City and a prolific writer in both English and Spanish, Lida is one of the most knowledgable Americans writing about Mexico. 
>Visit Lida’s blog

Quinones, Sam. Dreamland: The True Tale of America’s Opiate Epidemic
Dreamland should be read—and more than once— by anyone who would make or attempt to influence policy on the drug trade, whether legal or illegal. Moreover, Dreamland should be read by every citizen who would visit a doctor. > Read my review of this book in Literal Magazine.
> See also his beyond-outstanding collections of essays on Mexico: True Tales from Another Mexico and Antonio’s Gun and Delfino’s Dream.

Toledo, Natalia. The Black Flower and Other Zapotec Poems
Translated from Zapotec, a major indigenous language in Mexico, by Clare Sullivan.

Urrea, Luis Alberto. Into the Beautiful NorthYou can’t go wrong with Luis Alberto Urrea, pick any one or more of his titles.
Visit his website.

PLUS! PLUS! PLUS! PLUS! PLUS!
FIVE BOOKS ON MEXICO THAT I HAVE NOT YET READ,
BUT IF I WERE IN A BOOK CLUB I WOULD VOTE TO READ THEM

Boullosa, Carmen. Texas: The Great Theft 
Translated by Samantha Schnee. Why I would vote to read this book: Boullosa is one of Mexico’s best-known literary writers; Schnee is a respected literary translator, and the flip-side of the story of Texas is one Americans rarely if ever hear.

Gamboa, Federico. Santa
Translated and edited by John Charles Chasteen. Why I would vote to read this book: It was a racy best-seller of its day in Mexico and its author, Federico Gamboa, was a noted literary figure and politician.

Prieto, Carlos. Adventures of a Cello
It is a Stradivarius and Prieto is one of the best cellists in the world. From the catalog: “To make the story of his cello complete, Mr. Prieto also provides a brief history of violin making and a succinct review of cello music from Stradivari to the present. He highlights the work of composers from Latin America, Spain, and Portugal, for whose music he has long been an advocate and principal performer.”

Valenzuela-Zapata, Ana G. and Gary Paul Nabhan. Tequila: A Natural and Cultural History
From the catalog: “Ana G. Valenzuela-Zapata, the leading agronomist in Mexico’s tequila industry, and Gary Paul Nabhan, one of America’s most respected ethnobotanists, plumb the myth of tequila as they introduce the natural history, economics, and cultural significance of the plants cultivated for its production.”

Wulf, Andrea. The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World
German naturalist Alexander von Humboldt wrote about his research and explorations in Mexico; it would be difficult to overestimate his influence on how Mexican scientists saw their own country, and how Europeans saw Mexico in the 19th century. Friends have raved about Wulf’s book, so it would get my vote for a read. 

Una Ventana al Mundo Invisible (A Window to the Invisible World): 
Master Amajur and the Smoking Signatures

From the B. Traven Conferences in Berlin / Plus Cyberflanerie

José N. Iturriaga’s Mexico in US Eyes 
(México en las miradas de Estados Unidos)

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Find out more about
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Another One Hundred Foreigners in Morelos: José N. Iturriaga (and Yours Truly) in Cuernavaca’s Historic Jardín Borda

The two volume anthology by José N. Iturriaga, a collection of writings by foreigners in Morelia, from the 16th to the 21st century. 

To see one’s own country through the scribbles of foreigners can be at once discomfiting and illuminating. Out of naiveté and presumption, foreigners get many things dead-wrong;  they also get many things confoundingly right. Like the child who asked why the emperor was wearing no clothes, oftentimes they point to things we have been blind to: beauty and wonders, silliness, perchance a cobwebby corner exuding one skanky stink. And of course, there are things for foreigners to point at in all countries, from Albania to Zambia.

As an American I have to admit it’s rare that we pay a whit of attention to writing on the United States by, say, Mexicans, Canadians, the Germans or the French. True, we have the shining example of Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America, which every reasonably well-educated American may not have waded through but has at least heard of (and if you haven’t, dear reader, now you have.) But de Tocqueville’s tome is a musty-dusty 181 years old (the first of its four volumes was published in 1835, the last in 1840– get the whole croquembouche in paperback here.)

José N. Iturriaga, signing copies of his anthology, July 1, 2016, Centro Cultural Jardin Borda, Cuernavaca, Morelos, Mexico.

This past Friday, July 1, 2016, I participated in the launch of novelist and historian José N. Iturriaga’s anthology Otros cien forasteros en Morelos [Another One Hundred Foreigners in Morelos], the companion volume to Cien forasteros en Morelos [One Hundred Foreigners in Morelos], from the 16th to the 21st century.

(For those rusty on their Mexican geography, Morelos is a large state in central Mexico that includes Cuernavaca, “the city of eternal springtime,” which it actually is, and Tepoztlán, a farm town surrounded by spectacular reddish bluffs that, despite an influx of tourists from Mexico City and abroad, still has a strong indigenous presence, and has been designated by Mexico’s Secretary of Tourism as a “pueblo mágico.” The most famous resident of the state of Morelos was Revolutionary leader Emiliano Zapata.) 

The launch was held in the Centro Cultural Jardín Borda (Borda Gardens Cultural Center), an historic garden open to the public in downtown Cuernavaca– about an hour and a half’s drive from Mexico City. 

Jardín Borda, entrance patio. 

As Iturriaga said in his talk, for almost forty years he has been studying the writings of foreigners on Mexico, precisely for the fresh, if not always kind nor necessarily accurate, perspective they offer on his own country. 

I admire Iturriaga’s work, and his curiosity, open-mindedness, and open-heartedness more than I can say. It was a mammoth honor to have had an excerpt from my novel included in his anthology, and to have been invited to participate on the panel presenting his anthology. The other two panelists, whose work is also in the anthology, were poet, novelist and essayist Eliana Albala and journalist and poet María Gabriela Dumay, both of whom came to live in Cuernavaca in the early 1970s, political exiles from Pinochet’s Chile.

Mexican book presentations tend to be more formal affairs than those in US (the latter usually in a bookstore with, perhaps, a brief and informal introduction by the owner or a staff member. I have war stories.) In Mexico, in contrast, there is usually a felt-draped dais, always a microphone, and two to as many as five panelists who have prepared formal lectures about the book. The author speaks last, and briefly. Another difference is that the Mexican reporters, photographers, and oftentimes television cameras crowd the dais, lending the affair a glamor and gravitas rare for a US book presentation. Afterwards, there is a party with white-gloved waiters pouring “vino de honor”– in this case, for Iturriaga’s  Otro cien forasteros en Morelos, whoa, mezcal.

C.M. Mayo, Eliana Albala, María Gabriela Dumay, José N. Iturriaga, July 1, 2016, Centro Cultural Jardín Borda, Cuernavaca, Morelos, Mexico

>> Where to buy Otros Cien Forasteros en Morelos? I hope to be able to provide a link shortly.

Here is my talk for the panel, translated into English.

Dear José Iturriaga; fellow panelists, Eliana Albala and María Gabriela Dumay; everyone in this beautiful Centro Cultural Jardín Borda who made this event possible; Ladies and Gentlemen:

First of all, heart-felt congratulations to José Iturriaga on this extraordinary anthology in two volumes, a magnificent and opportune cultural contribution that, no doubt, required endless hours of reading, not to mention the tremendous labor of love that went into selecting and then translating so many writers. 

Between the covers of this second volume, Otros cien forasteros en Morelos, I find my fellow Americans Jack London, Katherine Anne Porter, and John Steinbeck– among the most outstanding figures in US literature. There is also the great novelist who arrived, so mysteriously, from Germany: B. Traven; and artists such as Pedro Friedeberg; and distinguished historians such as John Womack, author of Zapata and the Mexican Revolution, Michael K. Schuessler, biographer of the eccentric poetic genius Pita Amor; and the Austrian Konrad Ratz, whose meticulous research on Maximilian von Habsburg was essential, in fact a parting of the seas, in our understanding of the personality, education, and politics of the Archduke of Austria.

In three words, José Iturriaga’s anthology is eclectic, fascinating, and illuminating.

It is a great honor for me to participate in this presentation and an even greater honor that this second volume, Otros cien forasteros en Morelos, includes excerpts from my novel, The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire. [In the anthology, excerpts are taken from the Spanish translation by Mexican novelist and poet Agustín Cadena, El último príncipe del Imperio Mexicano.]

My novel is about the grandson of Agustín de Iturbide,* Agustín de Iturbide y Green (1863-1925) whom Maximilian “adopted” in 1865, making this half-American two-year old, briefly, Heir Presumptive to the Mexican throne.

(*Agustin de Iturbide (1783-1824) led the final stage of Mexico’s war for independence from Spain, and supported by the Catholic Church, was crowned Emperor of Mexico in 1822, deposed in 1823, and executed in 1824. )

In the winter of  1866, Maximilian brought his court here, to the Jardín Borda. And since we are within those very walls and surrounded by those very gardens, in celebration of José Iturriaga’s work, I would like to invoke those foreigners of the past, that is to say, I would like to read the few very brief excerpts from the novel, The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire, as they appear in this anthology. 

This bit from the novel is the imagined point of view of José Luis Blasio, a Mexican who served as Maximilian’s secretary:

Depend on it: Maximilian is shepherding Mexico into the modern world— so José Luis Blasio, His Majesty’s secretary, has told his family and tells himself. And this is no small task when His Majesty must grapple not only with our backwardness and ingratitude, but that thorn in his side, General Bazaine. The rumor is that, abetted by his Mexican wife’s family, Bazaine schemes to push aside Maximilian; they aim to have Louis Napoleon make Mexico a French Protectorate with himself in charge—  not that José Luis would give that a peso of credence. But José Luis does consider it an outrage, the latest of many, that he would wire a complaint that Maximilian has removed his court to Cuernavaca, rather than “attend to business in the capital.”

Yes, they are here in the Casa Borda amongst gardens and fountains, fruit trees, palm trees, parrots of every size and color—  a world away from Mexico City. But does not Louis Napoleon go to Plombières and Biarritz? Queen Victoria, who has sterner blood, travels as far as Balmoral in the Scottish Highlands. Dom Pedro II of Brazil retires to his villa in Petropolis. And did not the empress’s late father, Leopold, absent himself from Brussels in the Château Royal at Laeken? It is natural that for the winter, His Majesty should hold court in a healthier clime. 

But even here where he siestas in a hammock, drinks limeade from a coconut shell, and wears an ecru linen suit with an open-necked blouse, Maximilian’s work never ceases. It is a wide, rushing river that José Luis can only hope will not overspill its banks. In the past year, José Luis has come to appreciate the uncompromising necessity of working long hours; indeed, his eyesight, never strong, has deteriorated from so much reading in the dim of early mornings. Maximilian arises at four; his valet attends him, and though he might linger over breakfast, by no later than six, he is at “the bridge,” as he says, that is, his desk—  or, as here in Casa Borda, a folding table on the veranda. His Majesty’s dispatch box is heavy, and growing ever heavier… 

And now Pepa de Iturbide, daughter of the Emperor Agustín de Iturbide, godmother to Agustin de Iturbide y Green, and member of Maximilian’s court:

It is a holy miracle that she got a wink of sleep at all! So appalled she is by Maximilian’s whim to uproot the court to this hamlet two bone-jarring days travel up and down the sierra— good gracious, this is no time to abandon the capital, and go gallivanting about with butterfly nets and beetle jars! Matamoros is under siege; the whole state of Guerrero, from Acapulco to Iguala, is in thrall to guerrillas. And Pepa got it from Frau von Kuhacsevich, who got it from Lieutenant Weissbrunn, that whilst the empress was in Yucatan, Maximilian fancied a visit to Acapulco, but General Bazaine nixed it because it would have been impossible to maintain security for his person. That is the sum of things!

Oh, but in Mexico City Maximilian felt cramped, “an oyster in a bucket of ice,” he said. Over the past two months, the few times Pepa chanced to see Maximilian, he had spoken of the empress’s dispatches from Yucatan proudly but with— Pepa recognized it when she saw it— a glint of green. If Maximilian could not have his expedition to Yucatan, by Jove, he was going to go some place tropical! And Maximilian could not be outshone by his consort, oh no. A mere visit to Cuernavaca would not do; he had to serve himself  the whole enchilada with the big spoon: an Imperial Residence with landscaping, fountains, an ornamental pond stocked with exotic fish, and furnishings and flub dubs aplenty, comme ça and de rigueur. Whom did he imagine he was impressing with this caprice? Poor Charlotte, exhausted after Yucatan.  And as if the von Kuhacseviches were not already foundering in their attempts to manage the Imperial Household in Mexico City! As if the Mexican Imperial Army could offer its officers anything approaching a living wage! Or keep its depots stocked with gunpowder! It is a monumental waste of time, of effort, of money, and to boot, Casa Borda is a-crawl with cockroaches, beetles, earwigs, and moths—  a bonanza for Professor Bilimek!

And now the Austrian Frau von Kuhacsecvich, Mistress (chief administrador) of the Imperial Household: 

On the steps to the next patio, Frau von Kuhacsevich must pause to fan herself. Cuernavaca is not the Turkish bath of the hot lands, more, as Maximilian put it, an Italian May. Pleasant for the men, and Prince Agustín, perhaps, but a trial for those who must encase themselves in corsets and crinolines. Oh, poor Charlotte that her father has died, but Blessed Jesus, what would Frau von Kuhacsevich have done had she been obliged to wear mourning black! The thought simply wilts her. She is afraid her face has gone red as a beet. Her back feels sticky, and under her bonnet, she can feel her scalp sweating. Taking the bonnet off is out of the question: her roots have grown in nearly an inch— in all the rushing to and fro, there has not been a snatch of time to touch up the color.

An Italian May: in that spirit, for luncheon, Tüdos has concocted an amuse-gueule of olives, basil, and requeson, a cheese too strong to pass for mozzarella, but toothsome. In addition to coffee, he will be making a big pot of canarino: simply, the zest of lemons steeped as tea. Well, here it has to be made of limes, ni modo, no matter, as the Mexicans say.

Finally, Maximilian himself:

Here, this moment in Cuernavaca, one is happy: perfumes in the air, colors from the palette of Heaven, birds, flowering trees and vines and oranges, the music of the orchestra and of the fountains, this bone-warming sunshine…

Thank you.

Daniel Chacón’s “Words on a Wire” Podcast Interview 
with Yours Truly About Francisco I. Madero’s Secret Book

Spotlight on Mexican Fiction: “The Apaches of Kiev”
by Agustín Cadena in Tupelo Quarterly and Much More

A Visit to the Casa de la Primera Imprenta de América 
in Mexico City

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Find out more about
C.M. Mayo’s books, articles, podcasts, and more.

Global Migration: People and Their Stories (Introduction to the Panel with Elizabeth Hay, Lisa See, Luis Alberto Urrea, and Juan Villoro at the San Miguel Writers’ Conference)

I wasn’t planning to post this since it’s not a complete essay, only an introduction to a panel at the San Miguel Writers’ Conference, but it has come up in so many conversations since the panel was held this past February that I thought I’d offer it here— and with links in case you’d like to learn more about these extraordinary writers.

PANELISTS: ELIZABETH HAYLISA SEELUIS ALBERTO URREA, AND JUAN VILLORO 

TRANSCRIPT OF INTRODUCTORY REMARKS BY MODERATOR C.M. MAYO

Good morning, Buenos días! Bienvenido! Welcome! What an joy of a conference this is. If my memory serves me, I participated in what was the very first of these conferences. I know it was more than 10 years ago. And that was an outstanding conference, but wow, it has gotten not only bigger but better and better. What we have here in this conference is unique: A gathering in the heart of Mexico, of writers from Mexico, writers who may or may not be Mexican living in Mexico, writers visiting Mexico, writers from so many different cultures.  

The day before yesterday, here, over there by one of those big white tents, I ran into one of my favorite Mexican writers, who happens to be a native of San Miguel de Allende, and baptized in the Parroquía, that otherwordly gothic church that is impossible to miss. Araceli Ardón. She was on the faculty last year, and some other years. So I mentioned to Araceli that I was going to moderate this panel today on Global Migration: People and their Stories.

Well, why do we write?

And Araceli told me that in his writing workshop, years ago, Carlos Fuentes—who was, without a doubt, one of Mexico’s greatest writers— Carlos Fuentes said something that, like a beacon in the night, had guided her as as writer. In Spanish, Fuentes said: “La literatura tiene que dar voz a los silencios de la historia.” 

Literature must give voice to history’s silences. 

As we go on with this panel, I would like to invite you to keep those words of Carlos Fuentes present in your mind.

Global Migration: it’s in the news. We see it, we hear it, we read about it every day. Those of us who are from the US and Canada are keenly aware , on many levels, of our histories with migration, and this includes, in most cases, our own family histories.

For those who are new to Mexico— and I know that quite a few if you are—an extra special welcome to you.

I’d like to underline something that could be… shall we say… fruitful to keep in mind as we proceed, and that is that Mexico, too, has had and continues to accept important numbers of immigrants. For example, Mexico’s literary figures include many who were immigrants or descendants of immigrants from Spain, of course, but also from Germany— and that includes Carlos Fuentes—from France, Italy, Ireland, Japan, China, Africa, Central America, Cuba, Argentina, Poland (Elena Poniatowska!) and Russia— it’s a long list.

And it also includes immigrants from the Middle East– that flow of immigrants, from the Middle East, by the way, goes back many, many decades. 

Rose Mary Salum, a Mexican writer of Lebanese descent, recently published a visionary anthology entitled, in Spanish, Delta de las arenas, cuentos árabes, cuentos judíos, a title I would translate as Delta of Sands: Arab and Jewish Short Fiction from Latin America. It is a large and splendid and very interesting book, by the way.

There are also notable flows of migration within Mexico itself. Just to give one example, many people have come from small towns and farms to live in large cities, and in so doing making them larger: Mexico City, Querétaro, Monterrey, Guadalajara, Tijuana… Farm workers, migrant workers, who might go north to Oregon or Florida, also go to the Mexican states of Baja California or Sinaloa.

Another example: Many Mexican artists, professionals and retirees have come from Mexico City have come to live here in San Miguel de Allende—there is quite a bit less traffic, among other attractions. 

And Mexico has indigenous groups from Mayas to Nahuas to Zapotecs, and members of these communities have moved all over the map of the Mexican Republic, and beyond. Of course, thousands of years ago, the ancestors of these peoples immigrated to what is now Mexico by way of the bridge under what is now the Bering Straight. And they too have important and rich storytelling, poetic, and literary traditions.

I myself am an immigrant to Mexico. I came from the US to live in Mexico City 30 years ago. So that’s why all my books are about Mexico. And I also translate Mexican writers, which brings me to a Mexican writer I am very proud to say I have translated: Juan Villoro. It was his short story about Mexican punk rockers that appears in my collection, Mexico: A Traveler’s Literary Companion. 

Juan Villoro is one of Mexico’s most outstanding writers, and it is truly a privilege, a stellar privilege, to have him here with us. 

So now I am going to formally introduce him, as our first speaker. And then, in turn, I will introduce each one of our panel. And then, after each has had the opportunity to speak, for about 10 to 12 minutes, we will take your questions and comments.

The questions at hand are: Why are stories of migration, or stories in some way inspired by migration, so vital? And what is it that elevates them to the level of “literary”? What are the challenges for writers who may be far removed from the culture in respecting their subjects, respecting their own creative process, and, ultimately, respecting their readers? And how is literature itself changing with such infusions?



If you would like to buy an MP3 recording of the entire panel, that is available from the San Miguel Writers Conference here.

John Bankhead Magruder: A Military Reappraisal by Thomas M. Settles

Q & A: Sara Mansfield Taber on Chance Particulars: A Writer’s Field Notebook

A Glimpse of the New Literary Puzzlescape


Find out more about C.M. Mayo’s books, shorter works, podcasts, and more at www.cmmayo.com.


My new book is Meteor