60 pages 2 hours read

Dreaming in Cuban

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1992

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Themes

Immigration, Exile, and Cuban Identity

This theme remains the most overt and important idea in the text, unifying the author’s study of the disparate experiences and individual voices that dominate Dreaming in Cuban and Cristina García’s other novels. The thematic importance of Immigration, Exile, and Cuban Identity is evident in the narrative’s historical grounding, in its characterization, and its setting. García brackets her text with two of the most important mass-immigrations in Cuban history: Cuba’s 1959 Revolution and the Mariel Boatlift in 1980. Part of Fidel Castro’s set of socialist reforms included the governmental seizure of private property, particularly the sprawling network of fincas (large farms and plantations) that benefited foreign and foreign-affiliated owners while doing nothing to increase the standard of living for everyday Cubans. The characters of Rufino and Lourdes thus become caught up in this process, and it is the appropriation of Rufino’s family finca and Lourdes’s rape at the hands of the soldiers that fuels the pair’s decision to immigrate to the United States with their daughter Pilar. Cuba’s Revolution was a time of violent upheaval, and it prompted a massive exodus from the island. Among this first wave of émigrés were many wealthy Cubans, those who had been part of Batista’s inner circle, and others with ties to the United States. Lourdes and Rufino are therefore representative of this early group of exiles, and they are recognizable as such, particularly to Cuban readers.

Although there was also emigration from Cuba in the years that followed the revolution, Castro made it very difficult to leave, and the next mass exodus did not occur until 1980. The depiction of the storming of the Peruvian embassy that is one of the narrative’s last main events is historically accurate. It led to Castro giving official permission for many Cubans to leave the island. They had to find their own means of transportation, and many Cuban émigrés already established in the United States paid for their family members to be transported to Miami or the Florida Keys. The United States altered its immigration quotas and set up welcome centers to process the arrivals. Castro also infamously “emptied his prisons” and sent a host of prisoners, many of them political, and many requiring mental health services, along with the Cubans who were on their way to join family in the United States. This event would become known as the Mariel Boatlift, and García only refrains from labelling it as such because she depicts the exodus in its infancy, before it was given a semi-official name. That García both begins and ends her story with events so integral to the history of the Cuban diaspora is representative of the stakes of immigration and exile.

Within this broader historical context, each of the women in Celia’s family struggles with self-understanding and identity development. García has noted many times that there is no singular “immigrant experience” and that the lives of immigrants are not monolithic. Celia, Lourdes, Felicia, and Pilar, although not all immigrants, come from a family that has been deeply ruptured by immigration and exile, and each woman must therefore develop her own unique way of integrating her Cuban identity into her sense of self. Accordingly, each woman locates her “Cubanidad” in a different place. For Celia, being Cuban means embracing the revolution and immersing herself fully in the cult of personality of El Líder. For Lourdes, Cuban identity is pushed to the side in favor of American identity, and although she is staunchly pro-America, the pain of exile becomes a hidden, private wound, for she had more status in Cuba and was treated better there. Although she does prefer life in America, there are aspects of living in Cuba that she still misses. Her primary connection to Cuba is her relationship with her father, although he too is more interested in his American identity than his Cuban roots.

For Felicia, Cuban identity is found within the world of Santería and her devotion to the Orishas. Pilar also struggles to find her Cuban identity, noting at one point, “Most days Cuba is kind of dead to me. But every once in a while a wave of longing will hit me and it’s all I can do not to hijack a plane to Havana or something” (137-38). Like Felicia, she finds her connection to Cuba within the Afro-Caribbean traditions of Santería. Catholicism, atheism, Santería, and communism are all distinct but interwoven parts of Cuban history. In locating Cuban identity in all of these various pieces of Cuban culture, García shows her readers that Cuban identity is not a monolith, and she also pays homage to an island, claiming it as her own by outlining its long, rich, and storied history. For some members of the Cuban diaspora, being Cuban means retaining connections to the Afro-Caribbean traditions that are still practiced on the island. For others, it means maintaining a fierce devotion to the equalizing project of communism. For others still, it means enduring the pain of failed political promises and exile. Ultimately, García implies that each of these ways of identifying is equally “Cuban.”

Setting is also an important aspect of this theme. The novel is set in primarily in Cuba, Miami, and New York City, and these three locations are prominent settings within the Cuban diaspora. Miami-Dade county is home to the largest population of Cuban exiles and Cuban Americans in the country, and there is a substantial community of such émigrés and their descendants in New York City as well. Miami is too hot and its culture too Cuban for Lourdes; she wants to travel further north and experience real winter so that she can feel as though she has truly left Cuba behind. The area of New York City that they settle in is itself a complex tapestry of migration; their neighborhood in Brooklyn was primarily Jewish until waves of immigrants from the Caribbean began to settle there. The state of flux that their neighborhood experiences highlights the nature of migration itself, for the ever-shifting groups moving in and out of Brooklyn are emblematic of the overlapping waves of migration that have shaped American culture throughout its history. The space of Cuba also figures prominently and speaks to the differing ways that each character identifies with their sense of Cuban identity. Celia is deeply devoted to her country, and for her, post-revolutionary Cuba offers more equality and opportunity than it did in the past. But for Lourdes, who finds her identity largely by rejecting all things Cuban, the country represents the failed promises of equality and opportunity. Whereas Celia still sees a revolutionary project unfolding, Lourdes sees food shortages, political repression, and families torn apart by clashing ideologies.

Fraught Family Bonds

Although Dreaming in Cuban’s socio-historical focus on the experience of the Cuban diaspora is an important aspect of its narrative, García is equally interested in the micro-experience of the family. Celia and her descendants struggle in their own journeys toward identity and self-understanding and also with one another. Each generation of the family has its own example of fraught familial relationships, and their conflicts are not fully resolved within the space of the narrative. Significantly, the author portrays each character using their inner monologues and their direct interactions with each other, as well as the tales that they tell about each other over the years. For example, although Lourdes tells her own story, key details of her characterization are variously provided by Pilar, Jorge, and Rufino.

Celia and Jorge represent the first fraught family bond within the narrative, and there are ways in which their relationship is doomed even before it starts, for when they wed, Celia is still in love with Gustavo and wasting away from heartbreak. Although Jorge believes that Celia always loved him in her “own way,” the two never have a close relationship, and when Jorge leaves for the United States, Celia does not truly miss him. They are ultimately divided by Celia’s love for another man and by Jorge’s love for capitalism and American culture, and Celia arguably replaces her husband with her admiration for El Líder, to whom she displays a fanatical emotional fidelity that is absent in her marriage.

Celia’s relationships with her daughters are similarly strained, and Lourdes in particular bonds much more deeply with Jorge than with her mother. Between Celia and Lourdes is a similar ideological gulf to the one that separates Celia from her husband. Lourdes’s anti-communist zeal, although intellectually in opposition to her mother’s pro-communist beliefs, matches them in its fervor. Felicia also feels a distance between herself and her mother, although in her case the ideological divide has its origins in her increasing devotion to the blended Yoruba and Catholic traditions of Santería. Celia cannot understand either of her daughters, and they in turn find their mother’s obsession with El Líder and her devotion to a failed economic system to be incomprehensible. Influenced by her own religious beliefs, Felicia also worries about the state of her mother’s soul.

Felicia and Lourdes, in addition to their fraught relationship with their mother, also struggle with their own children. Pilar seems to want to define herself entirely in opposition to everything that Lourdes believes in, and although Lourdes’s dictatorial parenting style suggests otherwise, she is bothered by her tense relationship with Pilar. Lourdes expresses this sadness only to Jorge, telling him, “Papi, no matter what I do Pilar hates me” (74). Felicia’s struggles with her own children run even deeper, for her constantly eroding mental stability greatly impacts her children, and they are taken from her after she attempts her own suicide and also tries to kill her young son Ivanito. It should be noted that Felicia and Lourdes never receive a typical mother’s love, and thus, it is logical that they would both struggle to parent their own children. This is in part what draws Felicia to Yemayá, an Orisha associated with a spirit of divine motherhood. Pilar and Celia are also separated from each other, and that reality becomes a fraught family bond, for the author implies that Celia could have been an important figure in Pilar’s childhood if circumstances had not conspired against them.

The Impact of Political Ideology on Individuals

Cristina García’s own family was part of the first wave of post-revolution exiles, and her willingness to describe the food shortages, difficulties, and human rights abuses of the Castro regime is typical of that group of largely anti-communist political émigrés. She is open about her political beliefs, and although she has also been adamant that her work should not be placed within a tradition of dissident writing, she does want readers to understand the adverse impact that communism has had on individual freedoms, access to food and other necessities, and safety from political persecution in Cuba. Although the impact of political ideology on the individual is an important thematic focus in its own right, it also drives much of the fraught familial discord in Celia’s family, and the author emphasizes the impact of various ideologies on the trajectory of individual lives and on interpersonal relationships.

Significantly, Celia is the novel’s one true communista. Her son Javier shares her support for El Líder, but he lives abroad in Czechoslovakia for much of the story and does not play a direct role in the narrative. Although Celia is a believer in the equalizing project of communism and this sincerity can be seen in her observations of the island’s pre-revolutionary poverty, Celia fills the hole that Gustavo left in her heart by helping the Castro regime in various ways. She is willing to perform physical labor in service of the island’s success, and the work that she does for the socialist cause ranges from serving as a judge and working in a nursery to harvesting sugar cane. Celia does represent the best that communism has to offer, but she also glosses over its darker sides through her intense devotion to the cult of personality surrounding El Líder. This kind of hero worship borders on a quasi-sexualization of Castro and proves to be a motif within García’s work as a whole, and it is particularly evident in the novel King of Cuba. This is also a moment of intertextual connection with other literary works of the Cuban diaspora. Ana Menéndez’s novel Loving Che, for example, has similar themes. Political ideology has made its way into every corner of Celia’s identity, and her fierce devotion to communism shapes who she is and how she relates to her children and husband, particularly because they do not share her political orientation.

Lourdes also demonstrates the reach of politics into individual lives. She marries into a wealthy, landed family with ties to the United States and the mafia. Their property is seized by the government, and Lourdes is raped at knifepoint by the soldiers sent to deliver the edict. She, Rufino, and Pilar flee to America with their finances in tatters, and their sense of personal safety and Lourdes’s bodily inviolability shattered. As a result, Lourdes comes to hate communism and to define herself through her opposition to it. This is a source of pain to her mother and damages their relationship, but Lourdes maintains, “In Cuba no one was prepared for the communists and look what happened” (128). She herself feels as though she had been unprepared for communism, and the sense of order that she brings to her life in America can also be read as a reaction to the traumatic chaos that the revolution brought to Cuba and to her life. Celia remains moved by the promise of equality encoded within socialist ideology, but Lourdes looks at Cuba and sees failed promises. When she visits Cuba, she cannot help but castigate her fellow Cubans for their fidelity to a regime that cannot guarantee basic necessities, let alone the success that she has achieved in America. She notes that even the ancient American cars work better than the new Russian ones, and she cannot understand why anyone still believes in the promises of communism in Cuba. That she convinces Ivanito to leave is an important moment of historical engagement, for it was in part because of the émigré community that the Mariel Boatlift was rendered possible. It should also be noted that the visit she and Pilar make to Cuba comes at a time of increased mobility; Castro, after decades of limiting travel, allowed émigrés to visit their families in Cuba for the first time in 1978, and it was that increased contact that led to the mass exodus that became the Mariel Boatlift in 1980.

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