Sandra Cisneros’ new novel, Caramelo, invites the reader into the world of Celaya (“Lala”) Rey, an adolescent Mexican-American girl coming to grips with her heritage. As the only girl in a family of seven, Celaya recounts the history of her mother, grandmother, and relatives with a mix of poignant humor.

Caramelo is a lengthy novel as opposed to Cisneros’s well-known House on Mango Street and other poetry works. It is laden with sarcasm, wisdom, humor, and wit. Stories of the generations are passed down, addressing issues such as love, identity, history, hope, and roles in the family. Each story is intricate and unique.

"Remembering is the hand of God. I remember you, therefore I make you immortal. Recuerdo. I remember. Un recuerdo. A memory. A memento." Celaya’s words are filled with wisdom and originality, demonstrating a deeper, more mature knowledge gained from the stories of her ancestry.

Cisneros uses many Spanish words in her novels, which creates a certain authenticity and experience to her storytelling. It allows the reader to see through Celaya’s eyes and experience her world first-hand, starting with immersing in the Spanish language. Interpretations are rarely used, but rather are used indirectly to hint at the meaning. This creates a more genuine, original feeling to Cisneros’ storytelling. Mexican history and anecdotes, with everything from singers to battles, convey a feeling of regressing to the past while also focusing on revolution and redefining ourselves.

Celaya often refers to the Mexican “rebozo,” an intricate, embroidered shawl with beautiful patterns stitched together. It serves not only as a metaphor of all the intertwined stories and relationships but also as a symbol of Celaya’s Mexican history and ancestry and her knots in the “caramelo rebozo.”

Lala concludes with the wisdom of a girl who learned through experience and through storytelling. “…but for me these things, that song, that time, that place, are all bound together in a country I am homesick for, that doesn’t exist anymore…A country I invented. Like all emigrants caught between here and there.” She ends on a note of certainty yet still doubtful about her place.

“…Only the story is remembered, and the truth fades away like the pale blue ink on a cheap embroidery pattern.”