Some thoughts about American Dirt, cultural appropriation and fact versus fiction

Several decades ago when I was the high school English department chair at a suburban Washington school, teachers were using a well-regarded Chicano novel called Bless Me Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya.  The main character is a six-year old boy living with his family in New Mexico, and the story revolves around the visit of his grandmother, a curandera, whose herbal cures and kind acts contrast with the town’s fire and brimstone priest. A student’s parents came in to protest the use of the novel, feeling that it wrongly depicted Catholicism; they did not want non-Catholic students to think this was The Church.   They wanted us to bring in their priest to speak to students to dispel the incorrect portrayal of the novel.

I am reminded of this incident as I read the articles about the criticism directed towards Jeanine Cummins and her novel American Dirt (“’American Dirt’ critics are censoring the author based on her genetic background”, Kathleen Parker, The Washington Post, January 31, 2020). She has been accused of cultural appropriation and of “getting it wrong.”  I haven’t read the book (yet) and so cannot comment on the veracity of her portrayal of Mexican immigrants, but I feel that – as with the personal incident I reference - critics are leaving out an important aspect, the readers.  In my personal experience, the school’s response to the parents was that one, it’s a novel, and doesn’t pretend to represent reality, but instead show a slice of it in this narrow context.  Second, one of the jobs of the teacher is to help readers be discerning, to understand that this is a story and that characters such as the priest serve a larger theme in the book.  Good readers understand that a novel is fictional.  I suspect that anyone who buys and reads American Dirt is not a casual reader, but someone who reads regularly and who has a frame of reference for current events beyond a novel.  The critics short-change us when they do not give readers credit for being able to understand the limitations of a novel and to understand that it is a story with characters who do not stand in as representatives of their entire race.  

Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson

Raised by a negligent single mother, Lillian sees her chance to break away when she is awarded a scholarship to Iron Mountain Academy, a boarding school for girls.  A duck out of water in this rich girl arena, Lillian manages to bond with her roommate, Madison, making her first real friend.  Towards the end of the first year, an R.A. discovers pot in Madison’s dresser; Madison’s father offers Lillian’s mother $1,000 if Lillian will take the fall for his daughter.  Lillian feels duped by her mother, who readily accepts the money, but goes along with the ruse in the interests of her best and only friend, who has pleaded with her that her life and future will be tainted if she owns up herself.  

Fast forward ten-plus years.  Lillian’s return to her home and public school have landed her as a grocery store clerk, desperately lonely and aimless.  She has kept in touch via letters with Madison all these years, playing out what really amounts to a fantasy friendship.  Madison has gone on to college, married an older man, Jasper, who is a U.S. senator and now has a three-year-old.  When Madison calls, asking her to come work as a nanny for the summer, Lillian jumps at the chance to escape and to also rekindle her friendship.  The job, as it turns out, involves taking care of the senator’s ten-year-old twins from his first marriage, children whose mother has recently killed herself and, most importantly to Madison, the senator and their political ambitions, children who self-combust when agitated.  Relegated to the guest house, a former slave quarter, behind the ancestral mansion, Lillian is to watch over the children 24-7 and keep their condition hidden from the public; this becomes even more dire when the current secretary of state dies suddenly and Jasper is nominated for the job.  

There’s a fair amount of hilarity that ensues as Lillian is ill-equipped to care for the twin 10-year-olds when the job begins.  She feels completely out of her depth and the children are initially outwardly hostile to her.  Gradually, however, she realizes that despite her lack of parenting experience, she and the children have a lot in common and she figures out that love and respect go a long way.  It turns out that Roland and Bessie, like Lillian, are not wanted, aliens in their own family.  To Madison and Jasper, they are a problem to be solved rather than children to nurture and love.  The reader also begins to wonder about the veracity of Lillian’s memories of her friendship with Madison, who is so caught up in her wealth and ambition, that she comes across as callous and manipulative.  Madison reaches out to Lillian after all of these years precisely because she knows that Lillian has never let go of her illusion of their relationship and that she will again fall on the sword for Madison. 

Lillian tries to figure out what makes the children tick – or rather, burn.  They explain that a heat starts in their chests and radiates out to their limbs when they feel panicked, scared or angry.  Lillian teaches them yoga and breathing exercises to try and give them other coping strategies.  Most of all, Lillian begins to love them and becomes a fierce protector when it becomes clear that Jasper is not the least bit interested in being a father to his children.  While Lillian readily admits that she is the least well-equipped adult she knows, she ultimately becomes the hero of the story and a funny, heart-warming one it is.