Cisneros is known for her poetic and often lyrical sentence structure. Frequently, she employs short and fragmented sentences to mimic the rhythm of thought and speech. Through seemingly simple stanzas and phrasing, she is able to elaborate on very disturbing realities through a child-like lense. With plain and easy-to-understand diction, she indirectly reflects the characters own understanding. The emotional weight and symbolic meaning of her words is unexpected, yet hits close to home.
The House on Mango Street is a perfect example of one of Cisneros’s more poetic works. There, Esperanza, the protagonist, describes her feelings of being confined in her identity in the ways she knows how to. She describes herself to be like a red balloon, “a balloon tied to an anchor.” This simple statement serves not only as a metaphorical representation, but also a reflection of Ezperanza’s innocent way of comprehending her emotions.
Sandra Cisneros places extreme emphasis on the location of her stories. Often set in urban, working class Latino neighborhoods, she heavily draws off her own experience growing up in a Chicano community. The setting in her works are intimate and personal, shaped by culture, family, and emotion.
In her novel, The House on Mango Street, the setting is not just a backdrop. Rather the home in which the protagonist lives is a character itself, symbolizing both the struggles and desires she faces.
Sandra Cisneros' characters are often young girls from hispanic backgrounds. These girls, navigating thier identity as they mature, struggle with persistent issues of cultural expectations, family dynamics, and gender roles. Cisneros typically writes in first person, giving a more intimate understanding of the characters emotions and unsaid opinions. Through small but profound events, these characters turn mundane into extraordinary. Rather than brushing over thier struggles, Cisernos often puts her characters' uncertainties on a pedestal. Longing for autonomy and struggling with identity, the characters are deeply human— searching for a place and voice in a world that often shuns them.
Esperanza, in The House on Mango Street, is the epitome of Sandra Cinseros’s choice in characters. Being a young Latina girl, who struggles with assimilation and gender expectations, Esperanza learns how to use her identity as a source of empowerment rather than setback.
Emulation
In the kitchen we have this big window. La ventana. It never really opens– not all the way at least. I think it's kind of stuck like that, halfway between closing and trying. It’s like when you smile but don't mean it. Mama always watches the street from that window. With a pencil twisting her hair into a bun, because she always loses the clips, she hums and smiles at the kids running around our street. At least when she smiles, she means it.
I like sitting at the table behind Mama as she watches. Inside our fan is broken and it smells like onion mixed with cilantro. But I still grin to myself and sit by Mama. I don't mind the smell; it smells like being home, with all the family together. Juntos. Don and Miguel are always out and running. It's like they don't care– but I know Mamma wants company, so I stay.
The table itself is wooden with lots of marks from the many years of wear-and-tear it has endured. If you squint, sometimes, you can see some words, maybe even fragments, from writing letters. Mamma always wrote the letters. It's the only time she smiled like our window. You know, a forced smile, where you are halfway between happiness and trying. Smiling but not really meaning it. Luckly windows don't smile anyways. They only open and shut. Claro.
Sometimes I write my own letters to Papa. He's been gone a while now. Miguel told me he had to go work on a big project in México. I don't know why I couldn't come. Mama had tried to explain it to us all, but she only lasted two or three words into her explanation. Then her eyes got sad, and her smile she insisted on holding grew cold. It wasn’t an actual smile anymore.
I never go to stand by Mama at the window. In the corners of it there are spider webs and different kitchen-dust treasures. It's kind of gross if you ask me. So I watch from my table. The street which the window opens up to is thin but lively. Miguel and Don, mi hermanitos, are easy to spot out there. Mama doesn't need help keeping guard, and even though she always tells me girls need to be helpful, I never offer my hand. I don't want to bother her as she daydreams there anyways— that's when she genuinely smiles. Una verdadera sonrisa.
One day my house will have tall ceilings and no dusty corners. Iit will still smell of onion and cilantro, but will have a window that closes all the way. There's nothing worse than buffering between two things: open and shut. Papa will be back and no smile will ever be fake. Don and Miguel will keep playing, and Mama won't use them as a distraction. We’ll all be together again. Juntos. Para siempre.
Explanations
In my emulation I set my narrator to be a young girl, with a hispanic cultural background, just as Cisneros would. While young and innocent, my character was also created to be observant and empathetic. Through her perspective I was able to employ a young latina character, much like Cisneros would, to convey her struggles with family dynamics due to the absence of her father. Living in an emotionally tight environment, my first person narration is introspective.