What do you think?
Rate this book
Pocho
Jose Antonio Villarreal illuminates here the world of "pochos," Americans whose parents come to the United States from Mexico. Set in Depression-era California, the novel focuses on Richard, a young pocho who experiences the intense conflict between loyalty to the traditions of his family's past and attraction to new ideas. Richard's struggle to achieve adulthood as a young man influenced by two worlds reveals both the uniqueness of the Mexican-American experiences and its common ties with the struggles of all Americans—whatever their past.
187 pages, Paperback
First published November 1, 1970
32 people are currently reading
953 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews
August 28, 2014
A serendipitous find - one of my very best. More than ever, I am implicitly trusting my instincts these days when it comes to discovering new books, good books. What else can possibly explain my finger stopping on this title while browsing the shelves in the used-books section of East London's Durning Hall? A book that I had never heard of in a lifetime of bookwormery?
Nothing, except that odd staccato name - Pocho - and a triple-barrel Hispanic moniker that was always going to arrest my attention.
Pocho, as it turns out, was the very first Mexican-American novel, published way back in 1959. This was subaltern fiction long before the word crawled out of the primordial ooze of Gayatri Spivak's mind. The writer's father was a cavalry officer in the Mexican Revolution, a Pancho Villa loyalist who quit Mexico when the Centaur of the North was defeated by his archrival General Obregon. Villarreal père crossed the border via the Juarez-El Paso route and made his way overland to California. There his son was born, Jose Antonio who went on to become a pioneer of Chicano literature.
Pocho is his autobiographical account of growing up poor and Mexican in Depression-era California. (The word itself means rotten fruit, and is used to describe Chicanos living or growing up in el norte, not dissimilar to the ABCD slur that is used to tag desi kids in the States.) The protagonist Richard Rubio is the son of first-generation Mexican migrants. In calm and measured prose, Villarreal describes his childhood and youth amid the lush groves and orchards of California, the same fruit farms where his parents and their friends, the entire Mexican community in fact earned their living. These were the people on the other side of Steinbeck's Okies, though not quite so poor, not quite as rootless. The prose has all the truth and immediacy of lived experience; no doubt many of the people and events of the book were drawn from real life.
Villarreal has a gift for memorable scenes. The human mess that was the Mexican border after a decade of civil war. Four men playing cards by lamplight under a bridge in New Mexico, ending inevitably in bloodshed. A woman squatting by a dry creek in order to pee, and instead popping out a baby. A young Catholic boy's struggles with sexual awakening. Farm strikes and Communist agitation in the depths of the Depression. That brilliant passage where Richard's all-consuming lust for knowledge collides head-on with the modest ambitions and religious conservatism of his peasant-stock parents. He is a boy apart, an obsessive bookworm devoted solely to reading and learning, the one kid who's read all the books in the school library. Even in a community of misfits, he is drawn to its most awkward members for friendship and company. All these small human dramas playing out in the eternal sunshine of California, beneath the blue dome that shimmers forever above the Golden State.
*
The second half of the book is all about the losses that accrue in adolescence and early adulthood. Emancipated from the twin Mexican traditions of machismo and misogyny, the mother begins to speak out. Stormy scenes in the family home eventually turn apocalyptic. The collision of tradition and modernity ends up breaking the marriage of Richard's parents. It's simple: Juan Rubio does not how to change.
Richard himself grows distant from both parents, grows ambitions of his own that are distinct from his peer group and his society. He wants to become a writer. What drives him is that same restless male quest for the ineffable, the numinous that drove his father - the biponno bishmoy that another pre-war author had written of halfway around the world.
All the same, he is preternaturally attractive to women. Zelda, former child leader of the neighbourhood gang whose humiliating fall results in her becoming sexual fodder for the whole crew, grows up to become a striking young woman and falls hard for Richard. The love scenes shine. But they don't stop Richard from scattering his seed liberally - up to and including banging the wives of woolly white-liberal Marxists who have deigned to adopt him as their native mascot. Richard finds their attitude to sharing the marital bed disappointingly 'middle-class'!!!
There are interesting descriptions too of Latino youth subculture in California in the 1940s. Richard runs with the 'pachucos', describes their appearance and behaviour in almost anthropological detail. There are japes and scrapes with other gangs, with the police. After working all week at the factory to put food on the family table, these hi-jinks liven up Richard's weekend.
But the war comes eventually, and with it, the chance to make a decisive break - from family, from responsibility, from boredom, from California. Richard signs up with the navy - but not before the author inserts one final poignant note. Thomas Nakano, the Japanese kid in the gang, who is bound for the internment camps: "I just come to say goodbye, you guys. I got nothing to do with the war...I'm an American, just like you guys. I just come to say goodbye, 'cause we gotta go away..."
A beautiful book then, about belonging and not belonging, about growing up, about community and family. By rights, it belongs with the best Bildungsromans. At various times, it reminded me of The Grapes of Wrath, of Azuela's The Underdogs and Nadeem Aslam's Maps for Lost Lovers. Can't say fairer than that!
Nothing, except that odd staccato name - Pocho - and a triple-barrel Hispanic moniker that was always going to arrest my attention.
Pocho, as it turns out, was the very first Mexican-American novel, published way back in 1959. This was subaltern fiction long before the word crawled out of the primordial ooze of Gayatri Spivak's mind. The writer's father was a cavalry officer in the Mexican Revolution, a Pancho Villa loyalist who quit Mexico when the Centaur of the North was defeated by his archrival General Obregon. Villarreal père crossed the border via the Juarez-El Paso route and made his way overland to California. There his son was born, Jose Antonio who went on to become a pioneer of Chicano literature.
Pocho is his autobiographical account of growing up poor and Mexican in Depression-era California. (The word itself means rotten fruit, and is used to describe Chicanos living or growing up in el norte, not dissimilar to the ABCD slur that is used to tag desi kids in the States.) The protagonist Richard Rubio is the son of first-generation Mexican migrants. In calm and measured prose, Villarreal describes his childhood and youth amid the lush groves and orchards of California, the same fruit farms where his parents and their friends, the entire Mexican community in fact earned their living. These were the people on the other side of Steinbeck's Okies, though not quite so poor, not quite as rootless. The prose has all the truth and immediacy of lived experience; no doubt many of the people and events of the book were drawn from real life.
Villarreal has a gift for memorable scenes. The human mess that was the Mexican border after a decade of civil war. Four men playing cards by lamplight under a bridge in New Mexico, ending inevitably in bloodshed. A woman squatting by a dry creek in order to pee, and instead popping out a baby. A young Catholic boy's struggles with sexual awakening. Farm strikes and Communist agitation in the depths of the Depression. That brilliant passage where Richard's all-consuming lust for knowledge collides head-on with the modest ambitions and religious conservatism of his peasant-stock parents. He is a boy apart, an obsessive bookworm devoted solely to reading and learning, the one kid who's read all the books in the school library. Even in a community of misfits, he is drawn to its most awkward members for friendship and company. All these small human dramas playing out in the eternal sunshine of California, beneath the blue dome that shimmers forever above the Golden State.
*
The second half of the book is all about the losses that accrue in adolescence and early adulthood. Emancipated from the twin Mexican traditions of machismo and misogyny, the mother begins to speak out. Stormy scenes in the family home eventually turn apocalyptic. The collision of tradition and modernity ends up breaking the marriage of Richard's parents. It's simple: Juan Rubio does not how to change.
Richard himself grows distant from both parents, grows ambitions of his own that are distinct from his peer group and his society. He wants to become a writer. What drives him is that same restless male quest for the ineffable, the numinous that drove his father - the biponno bishmoy that another pre-war author had written of halfway around the world.
All the same, he is preternaturally attractive to women. Zelda, former child leader of the neighbourhood gang whose humiliating fall results in her becoming sexual fodder for the whole crew, grows up to become a striking young woman and falls hard for Richard. The love scenes shine. But they don't stop Richard from scattering his seed liberally - up to and including banging the wives of woolly white-liberal Marxists who have deigned to adopt him as their native mascot. Richard finds their attitude to sharing the marital bed disappointingly 'middle-class'!!!
There are interesting descriptions too of Latino youth subculture in California in the 1940s. Richard runs with the 'pachucos', describes their appearance and behaviour in almost anthropological detail. There are japes and scrapes with other gangs, with the police. After working all week at the factory to put food on the family table, these hi-jinks liven up Richard's weekend.
But the war comes eventually, and with it, the chance to make a decisive break - from family, from responsibility, from boredom, from California. Richard signs up with the navy - but not before the author inserts one final poignant note. Thomas Nakano, the Japanese kid in the gang, who is bound for the internment camps: "I just come to say goodbye, you guys. I got nothing to do with the war...I'm an American, just like you guys. I just come to say goodbye, 'cause we gotta go away..."
A beautiful book then, about belonging and not belonging, about growing up, about community and family. By rights, it belongs with the best Bildungsromans. At various times, it reminded me of The Grapes of Wrath, of Azuela's The Underdogs and Nadeem Aslam's Maps for Lost Lovers. Can't say fairer than that!
February 27, 2016
Rated 3.5
My first time reading from this author. There was a lot that went on in this story with a Mexican family but especially a young boy that sees everything going on through his family but also the people around him. A good story.
My first time reading from this author. There was a lot that went on in this story with a Mexican family but especially a young boy that sees everything going on through his family but also the people around him. A good story.
July 7, 2011
(Note: This is a lengthy analysis of Pocho, originally written for my college class. Lyn)
The 1959 novel, Pocho, by José Antonio Villarreal, is an insightful cultural exposition told primarily from the vantage point of Richard Rubio, the coming-of-age son of immigrant Mexican parents who eventually settle in Santa Clara, California, after many seasons of migrant farm work. Although fiction, the story likely mirrors some of the experiences of the author who was born to migrant laborers in Los Angeles in 1924 and was himself a "pocho" - a child of the depression era Mexican-American transition. ("I am a Pocho," he said, "and we speak like this because here in California we make Castilian words out of English words." p 165)
Such a journey was a difficult one ("...for the transition from the culture of the old world to that of the new world should never have been attempted in one generation." p 135), and Villarreal nicely employs a cross cultural bildungsroman to explore a diversity of related themes.
Among the most prominent are strains of racism/classism, belonging and dislocation, death and meaning and self-identity, and sexual awakening. In a slim 187 pages the author competently weaves social commentary (via the seemingly innocent adolescent perspective) into a moving narrative that only occasionally veers toward the pedantic.
Some Themes Explored
Richard's father, Juan Rubio, is proud to be a Mexican and resents the Spanish people, whom he identifies as oppressors (although Juan is clearly of Spanish descent since he had "fair skin" and "blue-gray eyes" - p 1). He explains to his son, who exclaims in response to his father's prejudice, "But all your friends are Spanish!" (p 99):
Another response to this clash of cultures is the emergence of the zootsuiters, a "lost race" (p149) generation filled with anger and frustration over their uncertain place in society. But Richard is fascinated by their strangeness and attended their dances and fiestas as part of his journey of self-discovery.
In addition to exploring these expansive ideas on class, status, and cultural identity, Pocho works on a very personal level giving the reader insight into the mind of a maturing young man. With regard to self-identity and throwing off his Catholic upbringing, Richard states with some irony:
Author José Antonio Villarreal has a dry sense of humor and, as mentioned above, does a marvelous job weaving bits of wry commentary throughout the novel. Another fun quote is when Richard's sister, Luz, demonstrates her own prejudice for the newly arrived, and darker skinned, Mexicans: "Well, they ain't got nuthin' and they don't even talk good English." (p 148)
Like Villarreal, I'm a native Californian, but not Mexican-American. I was raised during the César Chávez years in a small farming town which saw its fair share of migrant worker strikes and labor unrest. It was a difficult era for whites to understand. Now, 50 years after the novel was first written - and a lifetime removed from my upbringing - I find the story still relevant. It's an intriguing narrative and helpful in capturing the "double consciousness" that many of my Mexican-American friends that I grew up with lived with as a matter of course.
About the Book
Pocho was likely the first Mexican-American novel released by a major publisher and is considered the first of, or at least a precursor to, what is now called Chicano literature. It's not a perfect story - the POV changes from father to son on occasion, the life-lessons can seem a bit heavy handed at times, and is, in my opinion, overly concerned with sexuality. Still, it's a mature read and lends itself well for discussion at a college level (or possibly an advanced high school class if taught appropriately).
Originally an Anchor Book published by Doubleday in 1959, Pocho is still available through Anchor Books, now part of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House. (Although it's cheaper to buy used at Amazon.) I give it a 7 out of 10.
The 1959 novel, Pocho, by José Antonio Villarreal, is an insightful cultural exposition told primarily from the vantage point of Richard Rubio, the coming-of-age son of immigrant Mexican parents who eventually settle in Santa Clara, California, after many seasons of migrant farm work. Although fiction, the story likely mirrors some of the experiences of the author who was born to migrant laborers in Los Angeles in 1924 and was himself a "pocho" - a child of the depression era Mexican-American transition. ("I am a Pocho," he said, "and we speak like this because here in California we make Castilian words out of English words." p 165)
Such a journey was a difficult one ("...for the transition from the culture of the old world to that of the new world should never have been attempted in one generation." p 135), and Villarreal nicely employs a cross cultural bildungsroman to explore a diversity of related themes.
Among the most prominent are strains of racism/classism, belonging and dislocation, death and meaning and self-identity, and sexual awakening. In a slim 187 pages the author competently weaves social commentary (via the seemingly innocent adolescent perspective) into a moving narrative that only occasionally veers toward the pedantic.
Some Themes Explored
Richard's father, Juan Rubio, is proud to be a Mexican and resents the Spanish people, whom he identifies as oppressors (although Juan is clearly of Spanish descent since he had "fair skin" and "blue-gray eyes" - p 1). He explains to his son, who exclaims in response to his father's prejudice, "But all your friends are Spanish!" (p 99):
"That is all there is here," said Juan Rubio, "but these people are different - they are also from the lower class, although some of them take on airs here. They are people who were stepped on, much the same as we were in our country. That is the wonder of this country of yours, my son. All the people who are pushed around in the rest of the world come here, because here they can maybe push someone else around. There is something in people, put there only to make them forget what was done to them in other times, so that they can turn around and do the same thing to other people. . .It is not in retribution because they remember they were once mistreated, my son; it is because they forget." (p 99, 100)
Another response to this clash of cultures is the emergence of the zootsuiters, a "lost race" (p149) generation filled with anger and frustration over their uncertain place in society. But Richard is fascinated by their strangeness and attended their dances and fiestas as part of his journey of self-discovery.
They had a burning contempt for people of different ancestry, whom they called Americans, and a marked hauteur toward Mexico and toward their parents for their old-country ways. The former feeling came from a sense of inferiority that is a prominent characteristic in any Mexican reared in southern California; and the latter was an inexplicable compensation for that feeling. They needed to feel superior to something, which is a natural thing. The result was that they attempted to segregate themselves from both their cultures, and became truly a lost race. (p 149)
In addition to exploring these expansive ideas on class, status, and cultural identity, Pocho works on a very personal level giving the reader insight into the mind of a maturing young man. With regard to self-identity and throwing off his Catholic upbringing, Richard states with some irony:
"There are but three things that I can say I have learned for myself. First, I know that one should never discuss matters of sex with one's parents. Second, one should not, on penalty of going to Hell, discuss religion with the priests. And, last, one should not ask questions on history of the teachers, or one will be kept in after school," he said. "I do not find it in me to understand why it is this way." (p 85, 86)
Author José Antonio Villarreal has a dry sense of humor and, as mentioned above, does a marvelous job weaving bits of wry commentary throughout the novel. Another fun quote is when Richard's sister, Luz, demonstrates her own prejudice for the newly arrived, and darker skinned, Mexicans: "Well, they ain't got nuthin' and they don't even talk good English." (p 148)
Like Villarreal, I'm a native Californian, but not Mexican-American. I was raised during the César Chávez years in a small farming town which saw its fair share of migrant worker strikes and labor unrest. It was a difficult era for whites to understand. Now, 50 years after the novel was first written - and a lifetime removed from my upbringing - I find the story still relevant. It's an intriguing narrative and helpful in capturing the "double consciousness" that many of my Mexican-American friends that I grew up with lived with as a matter of course.
About the Book
Pocho was likely the first Mexican-American novel released by a major publisher and is considered the first of, or at least a precursor to, what is now called Chicano literature. It's not a perfect story - the POV changes from father to son on occasion, the life-lessons can seem a bit heavy handed at times, and is, in my opinion, overly concerned with sexuality. Still, it's a mature read and lends itself well for discussion at a college level (or possibly an advanced high school class if taught appropriately).
Originally an Anchor Book published by Doubleday in 1959, Pocho is still available through Anchor Books, now part of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House. (Although it's cheaper to buy used at Amazon.) I give it a 7 out of 10.
November 15, 2009
WHAT is this book?! It starts like Bless Me, Última or a Mexican-American Last Picture Show -- a funny-serious tale of a smarter-than-average outsider boy who comes of age in an isolated town in a moment of exceptional national turmoil, with lots of talk of people's genitals. Then, at about the midpoint, it abruptly becomes serious-tragic, more like zombie movie -- a smarter-than-average teenager wandering lost as his culture, town, family and friendships disintegrate around him. The blurb on the back of the book says it is about the Depression, but is that all?
Pocho seems to me a book about prejudice and oppression. More than once the narrator observes that people naturally want to dominate other people, that Spanish colonists were low-ranking nobodies in Europe but kings in the Americas, etc. And to this end, Villarreal invokes then repudiates a number of oppressive dichotomies: His protagonist is a Mexican-American named Richard Rubio (the English-Spanish name is no accident) who finds enlightenment by refusing to pigeonhole himself in particular identities. He is more than Mexican OR American, Christian OR pagan, literate OR illiterate, man OR boy, gay OR straight, etc.
And yet. While Richard transcends society-enforced dualities, Villarreal continues to depict women in dehumanizing ways. Richard's mother, Consuelo, is nameless for the first half of the book then becomes "Americanized" and suddenly refuses to clean her house, becomes a selfish/jealous lover, degrades her daughters as lesser than her one son, etc. Richard lives in a household of many sisters, but how many? We don't know, because their only purpose is to become dead weight when Richard accepts financial responsibility for them. The only one who is given a name, at least that I remember, is Luz, who Richard himself terms a "whore" because she does with a white classmate what Richard himself does with many, many women, including other people's wives, all before he is old enough to be enlisted in the United States Army.
The book is engaging and certainly though-provoking. But it is also extremely elusive. Can't wait to hear what my classmates have to say about it in class next week, for I myself cannot make heads or tails of it. I cannot even decide if Villarreal wants me to make heads or tails of it.
Pocho seems to me a book about prejudice and oppression. More than once the narrator observes that people naturally want to dominate other people, that Spanish colonists were low-ranking nobodies in Europe but kings in the Americas, etc. And to this end, Villarreal invokes then repudiates a number of oppressive dichotomies: His protagonist is a Mexican-American named Richard Rubio (the English-Spanish name is no accident) who finds enlightenment by refusing to pigeonhole himself in particular identities. He is more than Mexican OR American, Christian OR pagan, literate OR illiterate, man OR boy, gay OR straight, etc.
And yet. While Richard transcends society-enforced dualities, Villarreal continues to depict women in dehumanizing ways. Richard's mother, Consuelo, is nameless for the first half of the book then becomes "Americanized" and suddenly refuses to clean her house, becomes a selfish/jealous lover, degrades her daughters as lesser than her one son, etc. Richard lives in a household of many sisters, but how many? We don't know, because their only purpose is to become dead weight when Richard accepts financial responsibility for them. The only one who is given a name, at least that I remember, is Luz, who Richard himself terms a "whore" because she does with a white classmate what Richard himself does with many, many women, including other people's wives, all before he is old enough to be enlisted in the United States Army.
The book is engaging and certainly though-provoking. But it is also extremely elusive. Can't wait to hear what my classmates have to say about it in class next week, for I myself cannot make heads or tails of it. I cannot even decide if Villarreal wants me to make heads or tails of it.
February 8, 2010
Pocho was a little journey through American/ Mexican history. But for such a little book, too much was packed into it. The character stories were disintegrated. It started out with Pocho's dad, and his lover, and then it suddenly jumped to his life with his wife and the birth of Pocho. And since the author tried to cover so mucb ground, the book read more like a newspaper report covering the events in Pocho's life. Too much was told, little was left for the reader to experience himself, by partaking in Pocho's life. Too many characters crossed Pocho's path, and as soon as I got into their stories, the abruptly ended, and someone else took over in importance. Otherwise, certainly informative. I learned about Pachucos, and also gained a better insight into a traditional mexican marriage.
October 16, 2019
2.5 stars? There were parts of it that I really enjoyed and were wonderfully written. But there are times I didn't quite understand the point of Richard's story. It's written in vignettes. You see short episodes of Richard's life as he's growing up, but some things don't quite connect with others. It's like things just WERE, and sad to say, I'm just not a huge fan of that kind of writing. Plus, I HATED the way he treated Zelda. I wanted to see more of his internal conflict as a Mexican-American.
August 22, 2019
This was a random find I bought at a used book store and I have to say: this wasn’t what I expected.
There were some scenes that were fantastic in understanding the oppression of Mexicans who want a better life and other scenes I, unfortunately, could not relate to (mainly because this book was more for Chicanos than Chicanas) but really a fascinating read!💚
There were some scenes that were fantastic in understanding the oppression of Mexicans who want a better life and other scenes I, unfortunately, could not relate to (mainly because this book was more for Chicanos than Chicanas) but really a fascinating read!💚
January 12, 2013
Amazing book, Villareal truly masters the intricacy of each character and their story lines from the start of Juan Rubio toward Richard Rubio's emancipation of traditional values, and it is a must read for all ages.
January 17, 2018
it was a nice book because it was showing what the chicanos/mexicans want to do to change how people look at us.He came out the struggle just any other chicano bu at the end we had to show who we were really are.
Read
December 8, 2019Idk whether to give this five stars cause it made me laugh so much or 1 star because it’s garbage
July 5, 2023
I did not find it too interesting. I thought the concept was alright but no very well executed. It could have been a lot deeper into the life of the mexican immigrants.
September 25, 2024
period
April 20, 2019
The book “Pocho” by Jose Antonio Villarreal is a well written novel that mainly portrays the hardships a kid of immigrant parents, Richard, faces on his journey to self discovery. Being born an American from a Mexican background created these social expectations he was expected to adhere to. This created an internal conflict of tradition vs oneself within Richard as he tried to discover his true identity. Growing up, Richard always struggled to “fit in.” Being from a different cultural background than the one he was residing in made it extremely difficult to fit into one side. Consequently, this made him feel judged by both cultures instead of accepted in one. The aspect of this book that makes it unique is the ability it has to personally connect with numerous people, including myself. This is due to the realism the author has presented all throughout the book involving the real struggles immigrants and their kids face when the need to adapt to a new community. Because of this, this book would be perfect for becoming of age readers. The fact that the author has experienced what his main character has gone through makes this sense of realism even stronger. It gives more credibility to the events stated within the book involving what feelings and/or circumstances people in this situation experience. Another thing I enjoyed about the book is its inclusion of the theme to stay true to oneself. Even though Richard’s aspirations were discouraged by many, including his own mother, he still demonstrated resilience and had his own perspective on life. The title of the book itself shows the identity Richard was struggling to find all throughout the book. It shows his acceptance of what he really is, a “pocho,” and his dedication to make the most out of it.
September 17, 2019
The figure of family is in the heart of this novel. All societal transformations begin in the family.
November 22, 2008
Villarreal does a great job of characterization and creating a vivid depression era Mexican-American setting. Villarreal also created the cultural conflicts in the main character and others very well. The book is thought provoking to say the least.
However, I did not entirely like how Villarreal handles point of view. The vast majority of the book is from the point of view of Richard. However, the book starts out from the point of view of his father. Almost none of the rest of the book is from his father's viewpoint, except one little bit somewhere in the middle. One tiny bit is from the viewpoint of his mother. I just thought it jarring to not keep to one point of view when that point of view is so obviously dominant in the work. The bits from the other two characters just didn't seem to fit into the novel as a coherent whole. I'm sure those sections were important to introduce information about what parts of his parent's backgrounds contributed to the cultural conflict, but it seems it would have been better to reveal that information indirectly rather than tack on tiny sections with a differing point of view than the rest of the book.
However, I did not entirely like how Villarreal handles point of view. The vast majority of the book is from the point of view of Richard. However, the book starts out from the point of view of his father. Almost none of the rest of the book is from his father's viewpoint, except one little bit somewhere in the middle. One tiny bit is from the viewpoint of his mother. I just thought it jarring to not keep to one point of view when that point of view is so obviously dominant in the work. The bits from the other two characters just didn't seem to fit into the novel as a coherent whole. I'm sure those sections were important to introduce information about what parts of his parent's backgrounds contributed to the cultural conflict, but it seems it would have been better to reveal that information indirectly rather than tack on tiny sections with a differing point of view than the rest of the book.
May 25, 2009
Pocho is a very well written book and very ahead of its time for when it was written and published, but i can't rate it higher because its attitude towards women absolutely infuriated me. It's one thing to simply state how things are in recognition of "traditional" gender roles in a certain culture and for a time I thought maybe the main character would come to understand that women shouldn't be boxed into stereotypes and cultural expectations as he was fighting them as well, but he doesn't. He never really did. He recognized his father's "manly" needs and women's submission to those needs, and comes to almost hate his mother for feeling that she might be able to become liberated in America, too. That's the only aspect of this novel that made me lose some respect for it. Otherwise, it's a very vivid and often startling portrait of Depression-era life. It makes its case for the need for equality both racially and economically, but the fact that the author can so blatantly seem to say "this can only be the case for men and not women - women have to stay in the home and defer to their man" makes me very angry.
June 19, 2013
I think this book did such an amazing job at depicting the attitude of many U.S. born Mexicans. Often people end up being depicted as stereotypes or archetypes that are too simple to truly give recognition to the type of people that emerge from being raised in this country by immigrants trying to assimilate and cultivate their culture simultaneously. It is a complicated picture but Pocho describes the life of second-generation immigrants more accurately than other novels I've enjoyed. This novel definitely spoke to me on a personal level and I ended up taking pictures of passages to immortalize the experience of reading this book for the first time. Definitely a Chicano must-read.
May 13, 2013
At times poorly written and lacking in detail, explanation, and substance, but nonetheless very thought provoking and incisive. The author's eye for social criticism and complexity exceeds his capacity as a writer. Would recommend to any Mexican-American or those interested in Chicano culture. As for how the novel dealt with Great Depression era Southern California, it doesn't come close to The Grapes of Wrath, but is still valuable in providing another perspective of the time that Steinbeck did not provide.
September 2, 2013
A descriptive personal account of the challenges and changes involved with assimilating to a different culture. Covers many social and cultural conflicts that the protagonist's family faces really bringing to light many of the hardships immigrants face both in and outside of their homes. Very enlightening. I also want to note I really enjoyed the author's writing style and his ability to jump around through the protagonist's life, highlighting important events that attributed to his ever-adapting identity as a Mexican-American boy.
December 10, 2007
This was written in the 50s (a feat for a Chicano author at that time) and gives an interesting glimpse into the world of a "pocho", or a kid born in the US of Mexican parents. It's the fictional story of Richard and his family in southern Cali. It's a short read with a lot of history woven in as it takes place in the 40s. It reminded me of my father...who coincidentally has the same name as the author.
March 3, 2014
I loved the conflict between two identities. Richard at times has to decide whether he wants to give in to this Americanization that comes with living here as well as keeping with the traditions that his father brought from Mexico. Richard also has to face the lack of acceptance from the society he lives in he struggles with finding somewhere to belong because he has two different backgrounds and they both seem to exclude him from being accepted in Mexico and in America.
December 10, 2019
A coming of age story for a young boy. Richard struggles with his identity as a descendant of immigrants, trying to decide if he is American, Mexican, or something in between. Realities of racial tensions and issues well examined, but all of the women in the book are one dimensional and purely used for sex—the depictions of Zelda’s role within the novel are mildly graphic and could be triggering.
March 2, 2016
This is a classic and foundation (1959) novel for Chicano literature. It's themes echo in the works of Rudolpho Anaya and more recently Benjamin Alire Saenz's wonderful novel, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the universe. Imperfect characters and hilarious critiques of masculinity, bourgeois decency, and religion.
September 18, 2008
this book was way ahead of its time. It IS NOT an assimilationist novel, but rather captures the idea that the individual cannot be boxed into fixed categories of heritages. It also captures the transcendence of these boundaries, especially in the Bay Area.
May 14, 2009
I learned a lot about Mexican American family life from this book, which I read for my class called readings in Mexican American studies. It was a good novel. Generally, not my favorite-but if you're interested in the subject, I would recommend it.
October 12, 2008
A perspective into the life of a self proclaimed chicano - pocho, good light read
May 11, 2012
An amazing story of a boy stuck between two very different cultures: the Mexican tradition of his parents' background and the liberalism of America. Loved every minute of it.
May 28, 2012
It's a little slow starting, but it's a good read.
May 12, 2013
Like it alot, a very good Chicano book.
February 10, 2014
For me it jumped around way too much & was unclear at times, but the story was great & I believe I understood the overall message
Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews