How to Be a Chicana Role Model

Instead of chapters, Serros supplies the reader with 13 “rules” that could have come under the heading “I Didn't Know It Would Be This Way.” Serros’s road to UCLA and publication is pockmarked with misconceptions, some hilarious, others sad. Asked to attend a Chicana writers’ conference, she arrives to discover that she’s been hired to serve food, not read her poetry. But this energetic young woman doesn’t let the croissants or an apron stop her from reading at open mike, after which a small-press publisher offers his card, prints her book, then leaves her with boxes of copies to hawk on her own. No matter what she does, Serros is alternately confused and amused by the contradictions around her. She’s hired to model for an artist because of her Mexican nose, the one feature she dislikes most in herself. Fellow Latinos and Latinas frown upon her for not speaking Spanish well, yet she receives instructions from a fan urging her to be more “universal” by dropping the Spanish from her work. Even her friend Martha Reyes tells her to “make yourself less Mexican, less girl” in trying to insure Serros a reading public. The best rule, however, comes from Aunt Tura: “If you want a real story, you need to look in your own backyard more often.” Indeed, only when Serros creates vivid family scenes are we drawn effortlessly into a world she cares about. Once her defensive guard is down, her gift for dialogue emerges, along with that rare ability to move readers toward complexity of emotion and thought—the things that make this not quite accomplished yet exciting new “fiction” distinctive.

An interesting—and maybe even a promising—start