The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gomez

by John Rechy

In The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gomez, Amalia Gomez thinks she sees a large silver cross in the sky. A miraculous sign, perhaps, but one the down-to-earth Amalia does not trust. Through Amalia, we take a vivid and moving tour of the "other Hollywood," populated by working-class Mexican Americans, as John Rechy blends tough realism with religious and cultural fables to take us into the life of a Chicano family in L.A. Epic in scope and vision, The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gomez is classic Rechy.

Genres: Fiction, LGBT, Book Club, American

224 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1991

About the author

John Rechy is an American author, the child of a Scottish father and a Mexican-American mother. In his novels he has written extensively about homosexual culture in Los Angeles and wider America, and is among the pioneers of modern LGBT literature. Drawing on his own background, he has also contributed to Chicano literature, especially with his novel The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gomez, which is taught in several Chicano literature courses in the United States. His work has often faced censorship due to its sexual content, particularly (but not solely) in the 1960s and 1970s, but books such as City of Night have been best sellers, and he has many literary admirers.

Reviews

[Marti · Rating 4 out of 5]

I gave this book a shot because I liked City of Night so much. This story has many of the same qualities in that the author seems to imbue mundane occurrences with mystical/religious significance. Although the action takes place over a single day, flashbacks tell the story of Amalia's journey from El Paso, Texas to a bungalow on the seedy outskirts of Hollywood Boulevard, which is slowly succumbing to urban blight.

Although I am not familiar with the world of Mexican/American, Los Angeles (what little I know comes from doing PR work for El Vez the Mexican Elvis), the portrait of "the other LA" of the late 1980s, seems like it is pretty accurate. Although Amalia is downtrodden, there are others who have it much worse than she does.

As a result of her "miraculous" day, Amalia is able to see her problems clearly and formulate a plan. However, the ending is ambiguous and it is not clear at all that her life will get better.

[Gab]

“Amalia, corazón, you ask for so little of your powerful God.”
“Don’t you believe, Rosario?”Amalia had to ask. She had to hear her answer, yes, and then God—“No.”
“But without the intervention of the Holy Mother—”
“—you’re left to find your own strength, corazón,” Rosario said softly, “you don’t accept that you must be a victim.”

[Camila Garcia · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was intrigued by this book because of the Mexican-American perspective. In many of my lit classes catering to diverse narratives, I found that I read far more Asian-American and African-American works.

I will be honest, it was really difficult for me to get into the book in the beginning. I struggled with the characters because they seemed to be so heavily constructed around Mexican-American stereotypes. Amalia is a struggling mother who desperately clings to her faith throughout the novel. Based in Los Ángeles, her life is very familiar to me; she poses as a character I felt I could meet in my day to day. At first, I wondered why the narrative relied so heavily on these predisposed notions already established about immigrant families. Rechy addresses this topic in his intro by emphasizing that stereotypes are powerful because they are based on familiar realities. In the end, I grew to accept how/why the story was important and necessary because it highlighted a common lived experience vital to understanding the evolving culture Mexican-Americans have established in the US.

This read was different than something I would typically be drawn to but ultimately, I was content with how I grew to understand and appreciate the story.

[Bob Schnell · Rating 3 out of 5]

John Rechy's "Miraculous Day of Amalia Gomez" reminded me of the movie "Falling Down." One person's pretty bad day intersecting with other people's bad days in the grittier sections of Los Angeles. Only instead of an unemployed and disgruntled Michael Douglas character, Rechy gives us an unrealistically optimistic, uber-Catholic, Mexican-American woman whose life experiences really should have dragged her down by this point. However, she wakes up one day and thinks she has seen a miracle, a silver cross in the sky. The rest of the day is spent trying to understand what she has seen while revealing horrific backstories of rape, abortion, murder, infidelity, bad parenting, etc. Since Amalia lives in a poor immigrant section of Hollywood, plenty of criminal and sinful activities take place around her that day as well. The ending is a bit abrupt and not expected.

If Bunuel was still around he might be able to make a pretty good film from this material.

[Jessica · Rating 5 out of 5]

Amalia Gomez is a Hispanic single mother trying to come to terms with her past and present. She is a complex character who at times you feel sorry for. Other times, you she is frustratingly single tracked. She tries to come to terms with her past while ignoring her present and at the expense of her kids. Rechy creates a tapestry. His use of diction to portray a disenfranchised single mother in Los Angeles is chilling and spot on. I am not Amalia Gomez, but I have encountered a lot of Amalias in real life.

[Nancy Oakes · Rating 4 out of 5]

I very highly recommend this book. This is my first experience with Rechy's writing but it will certainly not be my last. What a talented writer! The book is very short but extremely powerful. And he describes Los Angeles so perfectly -- not the LA that most people know, but the neighborhoods. If you've ever been in East LA or the "other" side of Hollywood, you will recognize it immediately. I did some teaching work in East LA for a while at a school of predominantly Latino children, and his descriptions of the houses, the people and the atmosphere were right on the money.

In the middle of the book Amalia Gómez is watching a semanal and identifying bits and pieces of the conflict being televised with events & people in her own life. At the end of the show, one of the characters notes

"'O Dios, O Madre Sagrada! Is there no way out of of this nightmare, O God, O Sacred Mother?' ... 'None except ---' She gazes at heaven" 'Only a miracle can save us now! Give me a sign that you understand!" (104)

And that is precisely what Amalia Gomez thinks she sees one Saturday morning, looking up into the sky. She thinks there is a silver cross in the sky, a sign sent by God, "by way of the Blessed Mother." (105) And poor Amalia could use a miracle just now. Her eldest son, Manny, died while in jail under some mysterious circumstances, her younger son Juan has been acting weird and her daughter is much too young to be dressing and acting so maturely. There are a lot of pressures facing the family as they are living in the neighborhood and the pressures of being Mexican-American. She has to face the present while remembering her own past, and on this day, everything seems to be coming down on her all at once.

The book is very well written and pulls at your heartstrings. Don't miss the introduction -- it will offer some good insight into Amalia's character. I very highly recommend this one.

[Pete Dematteo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Amalia is a devout Roman Catholic but doesn't seem to like anyone, including herself, very much at all. She thinks she is superior for some reason because she is a Mexican-American, as opposed to a Mexican or Central American immigrant, sort of the type who would feel very threatened and invaded when and if a non-Hispanic were to speak to her in Spanish. Yet, she is to be pitied, indeed. She is stuck in the cycle of poverty, with cruddy men, a son who committed suicide in a jail, another who is a homosexual prostitute, and a daughter who dates a bizarre Mexican biker whose accentation is similar to that of a Valley Anglo, whom she considers a disgrace to her race. She makes a career out of making bad decisions and either doesn't realize that there are self-help training centers galore in East L.A., or simply no longer has either the energy and/or the patience to initiate such self-help. A sad tale indeed, but a perfect description of Mexican-American fatalism (stoicism??!!) Yet, after a trip to really impoverished nation such as Haiti or the Honduras, it becomes quite difficult to feel any compassion for this woman and her family with all of the seemingly endless opportunities available to her and her family if they'd simply just start moving their muscles in the right direction for a few times whilst ignoring the self-pity that society has conditioned them to feel!

[Anja · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a shattering novel, following a day in the life of Amalia Gomez. It includes flashbacks to earlier times in her life, but overall explores the miraculous, the mundane, and the inner workings of a mind of a woman trying to make sense of life, place, and faith when confronted with the realities of her and her family's life.

[Anthony Salazar · Rating 5 out of 5]

Such a great novel that truly represents themes expressed in preceding Chicana/o literature.

[Jack · Rating 5 out of 5]

Amalia Gomez: She looks like Ava Gardner, some people say. Or Maria Felix, the great Mexican film star. She’s living in a cheap bungalow in Hollywood. Trying to steer clear of gangs and drugs and violence and raise her two youngest children right after the tragic death of her oldest son, caught up in one of those very gangs.

John Rechy, more well-known for his sexually charged tales of gay desire and cruising, gives us a different portrait of loneliness and longing in Amalia Gomez (but there are a clear parallels, which I’ll get to later).

In Amalia Gomez, Rechy has given us an extraordinary literary creation. She is the portrait of the Modern Woman and Mother: Overflowing with love for her children; a striver, working her fingers to the bone to provide in the cold shadow of a man’s absence; she is beautiful, too; and capricious and cruel, and strong-willed, arrogant; but so, so weak, at times. She is a great lover of beauty, filling her modest home with artificial plastic flowers and draping herself in fine clothes (which she makes herself).

A Mexican-American Mildred Pierce of the 1990s, you could say (to return to the classic cinema theme).

The story begins one morning when Amalia wakes to see a silvery cross hanging in the smog of the Los Angeles sky. It’s just an illusion, of course. Something with the light and the clouds. Or perhaps a skywriting plane. Or is it? The rest of the book follows this uncertain vision as Amalia Gomez leaves her apartment, sets out on a walk through her neighborhood where she encounters strangers and neighbors, reminisces over her past troubles and current worries.

When Amalia Gomez sets out that morning, her mind is clouded by by the guilt of a hangover. She’d never drink more than two beers in one setting — but she had three the night before after arguing with her lover, Raynaldo, who’s not actually her husband even though that’s what she’s long told her children.

Raynaldo has run out on her, the latest in a series of misfortunes, heartbreak and savage cruelty that have marked Amalia’s love life. Her first crush on a boy resulted in her rape in an alleyway, then a pregnancy, then a miscarriage. She’s worked at a sewing sweatshop and cleaning houses, putting up with handsy bosses and jealous housewives. Born in El Paso, Texas, she always has her papers as trump card, but she watches the women she works with fall prey to the depredations of both coyotes smuggling in relatives and la migra. Her son is dead, her not-husband has run off and her two remaining children, now both teenagers, are suddenly both keeping secrets from her.


She frets about all this as she walks through her declining neighborhood, the big HOLLYWOOD sign looming over it all. The setting is almost as much as a character as Amalia herself: cinematic Technicolor watercolor—hellscape—that is Los Angeles. Like Oz, some parts of it are beautiful and many parts of it aren’t very nice at all. Rechy describes it all with such lush care, even the ugliness attains a certain level of exquisiteness.

Out on her walk that Saturday, Amalia eats at a Carl’s Jr fast food joint where coarse Middle-American tourists recount their recent trip to Universal Pictures theme park, which has a new earthquake-themed rollercoaster, and then crudely joke about the “Big One,” seemingly unable to distinguish between disaster and amusement.

She visits a church, where she confesses her transgression eating away at her — going home with an attractive young man from the bar after her fight with Raynaldo — and discovers the priest pleasuring himself in the little booth a she divulges her sins.

Still troubled by guilt (the bigger sin in Amalia’s mind being that the attractive young man turned out to be a coyote, a betrayer—a predator—of his own kind), she gets her fortune told by two pitiful old frauds who run a business out of their homes offering consultas, promising the secret to a happy life but offering only easy platitudes.

She visits one of the women from the sewing sweatshop, the rather inaptly named Milagros, who lives in a one-room decrepit apartment building with bars on the window, an apartment where the children play on the bed all day because it’s too dangerous to go out and play.

Violence always lurks. On her way home, Amalia sees a young man playing basketball — shot dead in a drive-by.

“Now he was bouncing the basketball — tap, tap tap. Then, with a graceful twist, his brown body shot up into the air, reaching up to the net and —

Ping!

A gunshot!

Blood erupted from the boy’s chest.

The basketball, poised on the rim for seconds, dropped into the net.

The boy fell to the concrete.

…

Not able to move yet, clutching the plastic flowers she had just bought, now Amalia could only stare at the playground where the shirtless young man lay sprawled in a growing blossom of blood.”

Throughout it all, there’s a sense of danger; a smoggy cloud of paranoia hangs over everything, like those crude tourists laughing about the Big One. Amalia is afraid of earthquakes, afraid of the gangs taking over her neighborhood, afraid of the police, too.

There’s something very 90s about this book. The feeling of cultural exhaustion; a sense of neurotic pessimism. The sense of an inevitable breakdown, that things cannot stand.

In its tone of cultural lament, the novel prophesizes the cultural conflagrations to come later – the deep cultural schisms over race and policing that erupted after the Rodney King verdict.

Published in 1991, at the very beginning of the decade, the mood Rechy captures here prefigures other fictional 90s nervous breakdowns, such as that depicted by Michael Douglas in the 1993 movie “Falling Down.” Amalia Gomez, unlike Michael Douglas, never snaps. She’s a woman, for one thing. She bears her suffering.

Place in the Rechy canon

The book may be seen as a departure from Rechy’s past work. But there are clear parallels.

In its compressed timeline—all taking place on a single Saturday, from sunup to sundown—it resembles some of the other great novels set in “real time” Rechy is a master at, such as “Numbers,” where the beautiful (aging) hustler Johnny Rio is looking to score as many tricks as he can in ten days, or “The Coming of the Night,” which follows a kaleidoscopic cast of characters—porn stars and priests—as they prepare for and meet an LA night, full of sex and danger.

There are other parallels with Rechy’s work. The lower-class Latinos in early 1990s Los Angeles that Rechy writes about here, like the gay men of a pre-Stonewall era, are people living on the margins, abused by the authorities, clawing for a place of dignity in an indifferent and even cruel society.

And another parallel: Amalia Gomez like the hustlers in “City of Night” is a seeker, possessed by a longing deep in her soul. Her long walk through the neighborhood also represents a kind of cruising, marked by the same sort intense scrutiny as is found in the sex-hungry eyes of a hustler. It is a search for beauty. Amalia buys artificial flowers to brighten her humble home. She takes pride in her dress and, in fact, her body and her beauty are those of a much younger woman. She is starved for the ecstasy of beauty in the same way as the chiseled hustlers who go out sex-hunting every night.

While the protagonists of the more traditional Rechy narrative are hemmed in by a rigid, moralistic society, the threat of police impunity and even their own psychology, the fetters on Amalia are different: Paycheck-to-paycheck poverty as a housecleaner; the discrimination faced as a Latina in Southern California; the suffering meted out to women down through the centuries. (The suffering of gay men is a denial of their masculine privilege, a withdrawing of their inheritance as men in a patriarchal society; the suffering of women is the fulfillment of their destiny as women.)

Throughout this singular day, the title of the novel hangs over the events of the story, like the cross Amalia saw in the sky. A miraculous day. But where is the miracle? What event or events will make the day miraculous for this middle-age Mexican-American woman with scars on her soul if not on her body and a seemingly boundless reserve of dumb hope.

Is it the Lotto she’s always playing? Will she have the winning ticket? Is it a big payout by the city for the death of her son who was found dead in his jail cell after being arrested for his involvement with one of the very gangs scourging Amalia’s neighborhood. She remembers watching the old TV show “Queen for a Day,” in which women of little means—housecleaners and scullery women—were showered with money and prizes simply by the luck of the draw.

Where is Amalia’s miracle? Earlier in the day, during her visit to the church, Amalia had prayed before the statue of the Virgin Mary, but it wasn’t a supplication: I demand a miracle, she defiantly says.

In the end, the day is ending. It’s night-time and Amalia has wandered to a flashy new huge shopping center full of luxury stores — another kind of church, the temple of consumerism and capitalism—where she is confronted with a shocking act of violence. A big grand blood and guts spectacle, something out a 90’s blockbuster or a Tarantino film.

Out of this sudden Technicolor explosion of violence, Amalia’s faith is restored. But as with the huge silver cross she saw in the sky, that astonishing omen that pulled her out of bed that morning, is she only seeing what she wants to see? Well, maybe that’s hope, anyway.

[James · Rating 5 out of 5]

As the title promises, John Rechy offers a single day in the life of Amalia Gomez, a Mexican-American woman living in a Los Angeles neighborhood that's just starting to slide. Amalia awakens to a vision of a large silver cross in the sky, but this kind of miracle is hard to process, as her hard life has led her to expect only disappointment.

"She could not remember a time when a desirable choice had been presented to her, something she would look back on and even suspect that it might have altered the lines of her life. Nothing."

Following this waking miracle, the novel presents a day in crisis as we learn more about Amalia's circumstances and traumatic past. She lives in a too-small apartment with two teenage children, who are growing into uncertain trouble. Her live-in boyfriend, Raynaldo, didn't come home after a fight last night, something related to an encounter with another man that Amalia doesn't want to remember. Her oldest son, Manny, has died in prison, and money is always a concern.

Still, Amalia is proud, proper and beautiful, although that last attribute seems to have caused her more trouble than joy in life, as recounted in her rapist, deadbeat exes. As she worries about every problem surrounding her, she wonders her neighborhood and the city, grabbing lunch, searching for a lost friend, going to confession, and revisiting the terrible upbringing in a Texas slum that led her to this point.

Amalia's narrative is self-serving and repetitive. It can be a bit wearying at times, but all the little evasions, defensiveness and tributes to the Holy Mother gradually build up to reveal the monumental facade that Amalia has built to protect herself. Her obliviousness and propriety are a defense mechanism, one that leaves her sadly unable to connect with her children, to share the trauma that she's experienced, which is deeply tied to their own.

She is an unreliable narrator, to be sure, and there are hints that her recollections are rose-colored, that she is choosing to omit her own irresponsibility and selfish decisions. (This is especially true if you've read Rechy's "Bodies and Souls," where part of this story is told in slightly different format.)

Still, Amalia seems correct in noting that she never really had a choice in many of the formative moments of her own life. That changes some as the book builds to its powerful ending: she makes choices, including some difficult ones for her children and her household. It's a short book, but a moving, meditative one.

[Martin · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have read John Rechy for many years, mostly focusing on his earlier LGTB books, but this book about an unusual day in the life of working class Chicano woman living in LA was a revelation. The book begins slowly with a lot of Amalia's backstory but picked up speed and gravity as she proceeded with her miraculous day, ending in a catacylsm in an upscale shopping mall. Although Amalia is not the most sympathetic and insightful of characters, her story still resonated and downscale LA is like descending into Dante's 9th Circles of Hell.

[Angel Moses Ochoa · Rating 4 out of 5]

High praise, high praise indeed! The way this author was able to believably articulate trauma, the protagonist’s battles with her faith, the pained family dynamic at play, the disparaging grandmother’s words of shame, and that scene in the church toward the end! Everyone should give this book their time and consideration.

[K. P. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Some tough stuff here, believably told. It seems, from the introduction, that Rechy has faced many audiences who are too obsessed with political angles to enjoy this work as a story. It is a moving story, told well. Interestingly the film that informs the novel and Rechy is The Song of Bernadette. That same film impacted the beat poet, John Corso.

[Alec Downie · Rating 5 out of 5]

If Ulysses had been written by Tennessee Williams.

A wonderful piece of economic and cutting writing, that takes on the relationships faith, family, culture, poverty, race, sex and lies in a way that hits hardest.

It is also a good reminder that often, you are not what you believe.

[Austin Houlgate · Rating 4 out of 5]

Picked up in Los Angeles and read on the train ride back to the Bay Area. Unsparing story that jostles back and forth from a fraught childhood to a fraught adulthood. The author's tenderness and attention to detail shines through, and creates a vivid inner and outer world.

[Amber · Rating 1 out of 5]

I don't want to spoil it for people who have to read this book, so I won't go into a full analysis of Amalia. Her character is awful. The story is not one of overcoming adversity, but of making excuses for bad choices. It isn't edifying at all.

Update: I just finished reading O'Neill's Long Days Journey into Night. It also includes characters that are not edifying and tend to be annoying, yet I found it to be thought-provoking and amazing. This led me to reflect on why exactly I despised this book so much. A story doesn't have to have lovable characters or a happy ending to be good. In fact, Rechy's writing is good. My difficulty is the contrived and forced ending. It isn't thought-provoking at all. It was as if after all the work of writing the book, the author thought, "how can I hurry up and end this damn thing already?" Amalia is a terrible character, and that's fine, but at least give us a reason for having read about her. There is no answer to the question, "why did I read this? What insights have been gained?"

[Maria £ · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is so sad and funny at the same time
A great comment on sexism and misogyny and what it means to have hope even in the darkest of days

[Maggie Jones · Rating 4 out of 5]

one of the best book i’ve had to read for a class that’s for sure

[Lena Thurber · Rating 3 out of 5]

What the heck????

[Michelle Garcia · Rating 2 out of 5]

Actual rating: 2.5

Amalia was a very irritating character to me. I felt like she always made herself the victim when clearly a lot of the things are her fault. Yes, some things were out of her control, such as being abused by her dad, emotionally abused by her mother, and physically/emotionally abused by Salvador. And a few partners (well all except Raynaldo) hurt her. But besides all that? Everything else she had a way of avoiding the outcomes. She could have taken things in controlled but then not. Instead she was busy loving the idea of living right by Hollywood and how a Mexican- American woman like her is somewhat lucky to have made it there.

The one major thing that bothered me was the fact she called herself a devout Catholic, she committed MANY sins. She would live, and sleep with, men that she was not married to. Normally I would not be bothered by this, but she would always say how she is "living in sin by living with a man she is not married to." But apparently it is okay because God knows her reasons. She cheated on Raynaldo. Because she never got to feel sex that way, she saw that it was sort of okay. She obviously knew what she was doing was wrong, yet she went ahead and still let Angel see and touch her.She lied ALL THE TIME. But again, God says it is okay. She did not really pay attention to her kids. I feel like she just let them grow up on their own. She never really got to know who they are and what was going on in their lives. Like how Juan is a gay prostitute, and Gloria was touched inappropriately by Raynaldo. Maybe if she had taken the time of day to talk to her children and ask how they are, what is new in their life, what have they been up to, then maybe she would have known what is going on and have a much better and HONEST relationship with Juan and Gloria. Manny as well. Maybe if she had looked after him well, he would not have joined a gang and gotten arrested. He would not have committed suicide and cause his family so much pain. I also find it ironic how Amalia yells at Juan telling him he is living in sin by being gay, yet she is living and having sex with a man that is not her husband. When he kids tell her exactly all of everything that I had stated, she feels like she is being attacked and that they are lying to her and just trying to make her feel bad. She refuses to see things clearly until the end.

And the ending. What the heck was that. Did not give me much. It felt very sudden. Like as if Rechy just wanted to get things over with and end it quickly.

Besides the confusion on events, and some parts being a tad bit too boring, it did have some interesting parts. Rechy should have just organized it a bit better. It was sometimes hard to grasp if whether Amalia was in the past or in the present.

[redeyematt · Rating 4 out of 5]

A heartfelt tale about the struggles of a first-generation Latina. Although this book is fiction, its content is very much real. The struggles surfaced in this book relate to thousands of people, particularly those who fall under the low-class status. Progresses nicely too, keeps a consistent flow of engagement and leaves readers curious for more.

[Rachel · Rating 5 out of 5]

A criminally underrated, underrecognized novel. I felt as if I were Amalia Gomez. Rechy enables us to identify with her. She represents those who lose, or are lost, in the postmodern, late capitalist environment. It's a devastating novel.

[Joni]

I like the author

[Dan · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's been a long time since I've read anything by Rechy and this gives me a new appreciation for his work.

[Sarah Vasquez · Rating 4 out of 5]

Read this in my Chicano/Chicana Narrative class. Great book.

[Amanda · Rating 3 out of 5]

Particularly overt themes, but engaging and entertaining.