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    Woodcuts of Women
    Woodcuts of Women
    Woodcuts of Women
    Ebook183 pages2 hours

    Woodcuts of Women

    By Dagoberto Gilb

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    These ten stories of “intensity and bravado” by the acclaimed Chicano author explore love, lust, and longing among people struggling to find their way (Jean Thompson, The New York Times Book Review).
     
    Featuring characters of Mexican American heritage, each of these haunting stories is crafted with Gilb’s quintessentially spare yet evocative language and explores the lives of men and women at odds with each other. Steeped in an ethos of regimented gender roles, the men in these stories see the women in their lives as little more than woodcuts—crude variations of their actual complexity; symbols of seduction, mystery, and power that will ultimately bring about their undoing.
     
    At turns powerful and resonant, hopeful and humorous, Woodcuts of Women is a tour de force by one of America’s foremost Latino writers.
     
    “Lonely, tough stories—stories that force us to confront what’s difficult in us, and in the people we love.” —Esquire
     
    “The gritty passions of men for women—the grand delusions and tender mercies—are the jukebox songs playing through the 10 stories of Gilb’s ‘Woodcuts of Women.’” —San Francisco Chronicle
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateDec 1, 2007
    ISBN9781555846367
    Woodcuts of Women

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      Woodcuts of Women - Dagoberto Gilb

      Critical Acclaim for Dagoberto Gilb’s

      Woodcuts of Women:

      In lyric prose that approaches poetry, the men in these stories describe their struggles with alcohol and poverty, and tell of their longings for the women who have gotten away.… Pitch perfect … Brilliant.

      — Pam Lange, The Austin American-Statesman

      These ten gritty, minimalist tales, set amid the smells, dust and heat of working-class neighborhoods in the American Southwest, concretely evoke the small-scale pleasures of bed and table, the ache of unfulfilled sexual desire, or anxieties over paying the rent, unwanted pregnancies, the end of a job.… Vividly realized … Poetic.

      —A. J. Sherman, The Baltimore Sun

      In these rippling, musical stories, it looks circumstantially like the women are stuck, but really, it is the men and their hopeless running who provide the tension... The woodcuts are lovely… and give the book a Garden-of-Eden look.

      — Susan Salter Reynolds, Los Angeles Times Book Review

      Intriguing and satisfying … Tales spun about human action and reaction, and tales glorifying the little things that we tend to overlook in our everyday monumental efforts to see The Big Picture … Juicy and engaging.

      —Julie Ann Vera, The Albuquerque Journal

      "Gilb’s stories read like verbal woodcuts deliberately unrefined and carefully unadorned, clear in their intent but without undue elaboration…. Gilb has outdone himself in Woodcuts of Women. … Among the year’s best literary offerings."

      — Sean Glennon, The Hartford Courant

      There’s nothing glamorous in Gilb’s stories of Mexican-Americans living in the unsettled terrain of the deep Southwest, except for the frenetic, Tarantino-like shifts in tone and pacing…. Gilb Knows the dirty secrets of men stuck in emotional exile. And he knows, too, the tools of revelation.

      —Mark Levine, Men’s Journal

      "The ten stories in this impassioned collection not only teem with characters of genuine human complexity, they also prove the author to be a thoroughly provocative voice in contemporary American fiction.… The stories in Woodcuts of Women… seduce the reader into the knowledge of the sanctity of intercourse between any number of elements, not least of all that between men and women."

      —David Garza, The Austin Chronicle

      This book is [Gilb’s] most daring, and the voice in these stories is wholly there; Gilb has matured and inhabited his world and his words.… Dagoberto Gilb is here to stay, and he will never betray what he believes. That he is a fine writer only makes it that much sweeter for us. Expect greatness from this pen.

      —Luis Urrea, The San Diego Union-Tribune

      Stories of love, lust, big-hearted infatuation and everything in between … The images and characters in Gilb’s work resonate with complexity and emotion, like an intimate conversation or the memory of a familiar face, long after reaching the end of the collection.

      —Monica Drake, The Oregonian

      These stories are about the heartbreak and comedy of love, and Mr. Gilb is at the top of his form. His vision is honest and humorous and unsentimental. His language is lucid and strong. Any man who has ever suffered for love will find something of himself in this book.

      — Bryan Woolley, The Dallas Morning News

      "[Woodcuts of Women] is about temptation, obsession, jealousy, passion, despair, relief, deception, control—in other words, love.… Both sexes will enjoy the book for its honest, feverish portrayal of relationships."

      —Christine Granados, El Andar Magazine

      Finely crafted bursts of painterly prose … Gilb can take your breath away.… The erotica here is often effectively literal, but perhaps what is most arousing about these stories is Gilb’s haunting search for self.

      —Ed Morales, The Village Voice

      Gilb fills his fiction with memorable characters who share a similar thirst for experience—working-class women and men struggling to illuminate their startled lives with love.

      — Lynn Cline, The Santa Fe New Mexican

      Gilb takes the reader into the mind of men, removing all the masks and costumes. The reader sees the machismo, love, sexism, strengths, weaknesses, lust, and much more of what makes the male.… [These stories] leave the reader with a grin or in deep thought.

      — Raymundo Eli Rojas, The El Paso Times

      Sizzling … portrays Latinos in the Southwest with remarkable skill and candor … Gilb’s stories are always refreshing and surprising — margaritas made with rare fruit.

      — Jenny Shanky, The Rocky Mountain News

      "There’s a compelling extravagance to it, a natural rhythm that has more fire and guts than the King’s English or, particularly for American audiences, TV speak. It’s the language of growls and whispers, of corazon and lengua.… It fits the woodcuts that illustrate the book, and both create a combination of art and language striking for their bold contrasts and stark beauty."

      —William J. Cobb, The Houston Chronicle

      A resounding success. Gilb’s voice is fanciful but unassuming.… His stories live and breathe and wrap the reader in their world.

      —Emily Carter, Ruminator Review

      Extraordinary stories about ordinary people, each of the pieces in the collection is a winner.… Brilliant.

      — Jim Carvalho, Tucson Weekly

      WOODCUTS OF WOMEN

      Also by Dagoberto Gilb

      The Magic of Blood

      The Last Known Residence of Mickey Acuña

      WOODCUTS OF WOMEN

      Dagoberto Gilb

      Illustrations by Artemio Rodriguez

      Copyright © 2001 by Dagoberto Gilb

      Illustrations copyright © 2001 by Artemio Rodriguez

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Any members of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or publishers who would like to obtain permission to include the work in an anthology, should send their inquiries to Grove/Atlantic, Inc., 841 Broadway, New York, NY 10003.

      Published simultaneously in Canada

      Printed in the United States of America

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

      Gilb, Dagoberto, 1950-

      Woodcuts of women/Dagoberto Gilb.

      p. cm.

      Contents: Maria de Covina — Mayela one day in 1989 — Hueco — Shout — The pillows — About Tere who was in Palomas — Brisa — A painting in Sante Fe — Bottoms — Snow.

      eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-5558-4636-7

      1. Mexican American women —Fiction. 2. Southwestern States — Social life and customs —Fiction. I. Title.

      PS3557.I296 W6 2001

      813′.54-dc21                                                                                    00-060060

      Design by Julie Duquet

      GROVE PRESS

      841 Broadway

      New York, NY 10003

      as a prayer

      for Love

      to be forgiven

      Acknowledments

      The author wishes to thank the Mrs. Giles Whiting Foundation and John Simon Guggenheim Foundation for their generous financial support.

      Also thanks to friends (a random ordering) who have provided their friendship at moments they are not even aware of, who have tolerated and encouraged me for years: William Timberman, the late Ricardo Sánchez, Rick DeMarinis, Annie Proulx, Ixchel Rosal, Armando Villareal, George Keating, Paige Martinez, Elizabeth Hadas, Tish Hinojosa, Francisco Goldman, Elena Castedo, Wendy Lesser, Oscar Casares, Pat Carr, Pat Little Dog, Hettie Jones—and Judy Hottensen, and Morgan Entrekin.

      Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following magazines where these stories first appeared: The New Yorker, Maria de Covina ploughshares Mayela One Day in 1989, The Pillows; DoubleTake, Hueco; The Threepenny Review, About Tere Who Was in Palomas; New Dog, Brisa; The Texas Observer, A Painting in Santa Fe.

      Contents

      Maria de Covina

      Mayela One Day in 1989

      Hueco

      Shout

      The Pillows

      About Tere Who Was in Palomas

      Brisa

      A Painting in Santa Fe

      Bottoms

      Snow

      WOODCUTS OF WOMEN

      Maria de Covina

      I’ve got two sports coats, about, six ties, three dressy pants, Florsheims I polish a la madre, and three weeks ago I bought a suit, with silk lining, at Lemonde for Men. It came with a matching vest. That’s what made it for me. I love getting all duded up, looking fine, I really do. This is the thing: I like women. No, wait. I love women. I know that don’t sound like anything new, nothing every guy wouldn’t tell you. I mean it though, and it’s that I can’t say so better. It’s not like I do anything different when I’m around them. I’m not like aggressive, going after them, hustling. I don’t play that. I don’t do anything except have a weakness for them. I don’t ask anybody out. I already have my girlfriend Diana. Still, it’s like I feel drunk around them. Like they make me so pedo I can’t move away. See what I’m saying? So yeah, of course I love working nights at The Broadway. Women’s perfume is everywhere, and I’m dizzy while I’m there.

      Even if what I’m about to say might not sound right, I’m saying it: It’s not just me, it’s them too, it’s them back, maybe even first. Okay, I realize this sounds bad, so I won’t talk about it. But why else did they put me in the Gifts department? I didn’t know ninada about that stuff, and I noticed right away that most customers were women. And I’m not meaning to brag, but the truth is I sell, they buy. They’re older women almost always, rich I see now, because the things we have on the racks— cositas como vases and statues and baskets and bowls, from Russia, Germany, Africa, Denmark, France, Argentina, everywhere — are originals and they’re expensive. These ladies, maybe they’re older, but a lot really look good for being older, they come in and they ask my opinion. They’re smiling when they ask me what I’d like if it was for me. I try to be honest. I smile a lot. I smile because I’m happy.

      You know what? Even if I’m wrong, no le bace, I don’t care. Because when I go down the escalator, right at the bottom is Cindy in Cosmetics. She says, Is your mommy coming for you tonight? Cindy’s almost blond, very pretty, and way out there. She leans over the glass to get close to me. She wears her blouses a little low-cut. She’s big for being such a flaquita.

      Maybe, I say. Maybe not.

      Don’t marry her yet. That bedroom voice of hers.

      What difference will it make?

      None to me, she says.

      You talk big, I say, but do you walk the walk?

      You know where I am. What’re we waiting for?

      She’s not wrong. I’m the one who only talks the talk. I don’t lie to myself. For instance, I’m about to be nineteen, but I pretend I’m twenty. I do get away with it. I pass for older. I’m not sure why that’s true — since I’m thirteen I’ve had a job—or why I want it to be. I feel older when I say I am. For the same reason I let them think I know so much about sex. Ya sabes, pretend that I’m all experienced, like I’m all bad. Lots of girls, and that I know what they like. I feel like it’s true when I’m around them. It’s what Cindy thinks. And I want her to, I like it that she does, but at the same time it makes me scared of her. She’s not pretending, and I’m afraid she’ll find out about me: The truth is that my only experience is with Diana. I’m too embarrassed to admit it, and I don’t, even to her.

      It’s not just Cindy though, and this isn’t talk, and though it might sound like it, honest, I’m not trying to brag. Over in Women’s Fashions is Ana, a morena with green eyes, and strong, pretty legs. She’s shy. Not that shy. She wants to be in love, wants a wedding, wants a baby. In Housewares is Brigit. Brigit is Russian, and sometimes she’s hard to understand. You should see her. She’s got the bones of a black girl, but her skin is snow. I think she’s older than she looks. She’ll go out with me, I know it. I don’t know how she’d be, and I wonder. Over there, down the mall, at Lemonde for Men, is where Liz works. That’s who I bought my suit from. Liz is fun. Likes to laugh. The Saturday I picked up my suit we had lunch together, and then one night, when I knew she was working, just before we closed, I called her. I told her I was hungry and would she want to go somewhere after. She said yeah. We only kissed good-bye. The next time she was letting me feel her. She likes it, and she’s not embarrassed that she does. I think about her a lot. Touching her. But I don’t want this to sound so gacho, porno or something. I like her, that’s what I mean. I like everything about her. I don’t know how to say it better.

      You’re such a liar, Maria says. She’s my boss. The assistant manager of Gifts and Luggage, Silverware and China. I worry that she knows how old I really am, and she’s going by that. Or that she knows I’m not really

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