Collected from twenty years of zines, Ofrenda is the work of Chicago-based librarian Celia C. Perez (The First Rule of Punk). Cultural identity, loss, book love, and music nostalgia are just a few of places this books goes to.
Collected zines include issues of I Dreamed I Was Assertive, Roots and Wings, Hickey Underworld, Sherman Sez (a Sherman Alexie fanzine), and many others.
Celia C. Pérez is the author of The First Rule of Punk, a 2018 Pura Belpré Author Honor Book. Celia is a longtime maker of zines inspired by her love of punk music and writing. Originally from Miami, Florida, Celia lives in Chicago with her family where she works as a community college librarian.
Ever since I was in high school, I have had an interest in zines. I love these so much for so many reasons, but mainly how people express themselves, and the words that they choose to use. These are basically a memoir of the author's life because, no matter what subject they choose, a part of them is still always in it. But it's beyond a memoir. It's like an art journal, a diary, a memoir, a conversation with a close friend - the inside of their mind, including their thoughts, their loves, their hates - all rolled into one. It is them, but on sheets of paper instead of flesh and blood.
As you read a collection of these, like this anthology, you see their life over a period of time stretch out before your eyes. You watch them grow and become something different than what they began as.
When I was offered the chance to read this book, I couldn't wait. I don't know the author, but that was part of the fun in it. I wanted to see what she had to offer - the part of her that she chose to show the world through these pieces - her heart.
The cover is gorgeous, and as I opened the pages, I found that the beauty continues throughout each one. Not only the words, but in the other ways she chose to fill the pages. It is beautifully done, and I love the way it's put together. As you go through the zines that are included, you see her life unfold before you, and it was really neat to see.
The author really seems like an amazing person, though I noticed that the way she sees herself is not the way I see her by the time the book has ended. And, at the end, I feel like I really did know her, like her and I could be friends in real life. We have a lot in common, and see a lot of things in the same way.
And, on a personal note, I want to thank her. Yes, you read that right. Reading this book, she taught me some stuff about myself, and brought out more emotion than I could have ever imagined. As I stood at the bus stop the other day, reading her words, her thoughts on her little box made me think of the one I have and all the things I keep inside of it. The way she speaks of her father, now long since passed, made me think of my own father, and of other people who are no longer in my life, for one reason or another. She did an amazing job with these and I hope that she touches others the way that she touched me.
"So I make zines. I make them to write about what little I know of my parents. I make them to reveal myself in ways I may not reveal myself in person. I make them to document the exciting and the mundane things that make up my life. I write them to remember, so that my stories are on paper. I write them so that if I never tell you, you may still know."
Note: I received a copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for my honest review. Please remember that this is my opinion based on what I read.
Celia Perez captured my heart years ago with her words that were both handwritten and typed up in her personal zine, I Dreamed I Was Assertive. When a new issue would arrive in my po box, I'd lovingly open the envelope and brace myself for the magic inside.
Celia never disappointed me.
She is a magnificent storyteller and I am overjoyed to bring you twenty years of her writing (from various zines) in a 301-page anthology, Ofrenda. From 1994-2014, Celia documented parts of her childhood growing up in Miami and being a person of color. She has shared nostalgic stories about tradition, being a mother, dealing with loss, and the things that make her tick. It’s beautiful and real and I am thrilled it’s now documented in a perfectly bound paperback – her text, drawings, and collage work, enjoy!
Ordinary yet heart-pulling, imperfectly perfect, nostalgic and inspiring, sparked a thousand ruminative afternoons. I only wish the quality of the scans or printing were a little higher. It's a little pixelated/blurry at times and a bit hard to read. Love to Celia, always.
This book, which is made up of portions from selected zines that Pérez created from 1994-2014, was a pleasing read to immerse myself in over the course of several commutes and evenings. I don't think that I've read a single-author zine anthology before and there's definitely something satisfying about it, in terms of being able to get a feel for someone's style and voice. In her intro, Pérez writes about "document, as noun and as verb": she's concerned with documenting her life and also with the zine-as-document and also with various kinds of documents she interacts with (like books and family photos) (11). She also says this by way of introduction, which resonated with me a whole lot: "This is what I look for in stories, in people, in the world, in life and what I hope to convey in my own writing: humor, wonder, simplicity, magic, history, a sense of connection however small" (12).
There are so many good bits in here: lists of things Pérez likes that feel both very specific/personal and very relatable, writing about family and loss and difficult familial relationships and family histories known or unknown, writing about race and culture and representation and other-ness and sameness, diary-like entries about people-watching on public transit, or about the little details of books and meals and the rhythms of days, drawings of household objects, a great mini-zine Pérez made for her 40th birthday, notes from a trip to Oaxaca, and more. And I love that there are end-notes, some of which are for clarification but others of which are Pérez commenting, amusedly/amusingly, on her past self.