What do you think?
Rate this book
Im Namen der Salome.
It's 1960, and 65-year-old Camila Ureña decides to join the New World. Castro's new world, that is, which she has been following on the news with a heated excitement she hasn't felt for years. Forced into early retirement from her 20-year post as a Spanish teacher among the perky white girls of Vassar College, Camila faces a whether to move to Florida and live down the block from her best friend or to fly over Florida and into Havana where her brothers live--and thereby land in a place of upheaval and hungry ghosts. The hungriest ghost of all is Camila's mother, Salomé Ureña, whose poems became inspirational anthems for a short-lived revolution in the late-19th-century Dominican Republic. Based in fact, In the Name of Salomé alternates between Camila's story and her mother's. Camila's chapters are written in the third person, Salomé's in the first. By calling Camila "she," Alvarez alienates her within the text--as if in her attic at Vassar she is floating outside herself in an America that does not belong to her. In contrast, Salomé's chapters vibrate with life and tears and melodrama. Through the alternating voices, which Alvarez handles masterfully, the reader comes to grasp Camila's longing for the color and music of her mother's lost world--how the meek daughter wishes "she" could become the "I" of her mother's revolutionary and passionate life as a poet, which began under a pseudonym, Herminia, in a local political Each time there was a new poem by Herminia in the paper, Mamá would close the front shutters of the house and read it in a whisper to the rest of us. She was delighted with the brave Herminia. I felt guilty keeping this secret from her, but I knew if I told her, all her joy would turn to worry. Yet for Salomé, her pseudonym allows her to become the voice of a country, "and with every link she cracked open for la patria, she was also setting me free." --Emily White
Hardcover
First published January 1, 2000
135 people are currently reading
4288 people want to read
About the author
Julia Alvarez
83 books3,934 followersJulia Alvarez left the Dominican Republic for the United States in 1960 at the age of ten. She is the author of six novels, three books of nonfiction, three collections of poetry, and eleven books for children and young adults. She has taught and mentored writers in schools and communities across America and, until her retirement in 2016, was a writer-in-residence at Middlebury College. Her work has garnered wide recognition, including a Latina Leader Award in Literature from the Congressional Hispanic Caucus Institute, the Hispanic Heritage Award in Literature, the Woman of the Year by Latina magazine, and inclusion in the New York Public Library’s program “The Hand of the Poet: Original Manuscripts by 100 Masters, from John Donne to Julia Alvarez.” In the Time of the Butterflies, with over one million copies in print, was selected by the National Endowment for the Arts for its national Big Read program, and in 2013 President Obama awarded Alvarez the National Medal of Arts in recognition of her extraordinary storytelling.
Photo copyright by Brandon Cruz González
EL VOCERO DE PUERTO RICO
Photo copyright by Brandon Cruz González
EL VOCERO DE PUERTO RICO
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 233 reviews
May 27, 2021
In the Name of Salome was a beautiful book by one of my favorite Latin American writers, Julia Alvarez. I love her poetry as well as her prose and this historical fiction novel with the background of the Caribbean revolution and years of unrest did not disappoint, in fact In the Name of Salome may be my favorite book by Julia Alvarez.
This was the story of two women, one a mother and poet, and the other her daughter, a professor at Vassar. This is the beautiful tale of the life of Salome Urena, the national icon and poet during all of the political unrest in the Dominican Republic in the late nineteenth-century. She went on to open schools to teach young Dominican girls. Dying at a young age from tubuerculosis when her young daughter Camila was only three years old, the story unfolds in alternate chapters and narrated by Salome Urena and Salome Camila Henriquez Urena. Losing her mother at such a young age, her aunt taught her to make the sign of the cross as she says, "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of my mother, Salome." It is this blessing that she invokes often throughout her life. When Camila is leaving Poughkeepsie, New York in June 1960 as she retires from Vassar she is contemplating her life in America and her future in Cuba where she has chosen as the place to call home and there will be involved in her own political struggles.
The heart of the story is the struggle of these two women albeit a generation apart as Camila learns about her mother through her father's library, always a favorite haunt from the time she was a child. But it was through the letters between her mother and father found boxed away, when Camila begins to learn about her mother and she is finally able to embrace that she is Salome Camila.
There is a big boisterous family and extended family, so much so that in the prologue we have a chart of all of the players in Profesora Camila Henriquez Urena's family. This was a beautiful book and told in the powerful but loving voice that Latina poet and university professor Julia Alvarez does so well. This treasure will go back into my library for another time.
This was the story of two women, one a mother and poet, and the other her daughter, a professor at Vassar. This is the beautiful tale of the life of Salome Urena, the national icon and poet during all of the political unrest in the Dominican Republic in the late nineteenth-century. She went on to open schools to teach young Dominican girls. Dying at a young age from tubuerculosis when her young daughter Camila was only three years old, the story unfolds in alternate chapters and narrated by Salome Urena and Salome Camila Henriquez Urena. Losing her mother at such a young age, her aunt taught her to make the sign of the cross as she says, "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of my mother, Salome." It is this blessing that she invokes often throughout her life. When Camila is leaving Poughkeepsie, New York in June 1960 as she retires from Vassar she is contemplating her life in America and her future in Cuba where she has chosen as the place to call home and there will be involved in her own political struggles.
"She herself is worried about the emptiness that lies ahead. Childless and motherless, she is a bead unstrung from the necklace of generations. All she leaves behind here are a few close colleagues, also about to retire, and her students, those young immortals with, she hopes, the Spanish conjunctive filed away in their heads."
The heart of the story is the struggle of these two women albeit a generation apart as Camila learns about her mother through her father's library, always a favorite haunt from the time she was a child. But it was through the letters between her mother and father found boxed away, when Camila begins to learn about her mother and she is finally able to embrace that she is Salome Camila.
"But if I remain quiet, then I lose my mother completely, for the only way I really know her if through the things she stood for."
'To keep her dreams from dying
Was all the monument she dreamed of having.'
There is a big boisterous family and extended family, so much so that in the prologue we have a chart of all of the players in Profesora Camila Henriquez Urena's family. This was a beautiful book and told in the powerful but loving voice that Latina poet and university professor Julia Alvarez does so well. This treasure will go back into my library for another time.
August 4, 2014
Everything of ours--from lives to literature--has always been so disposable, she thinks. It is as if a little stopper that has contained years of bitterness inside her has been pulled out. She smells her anger--it has a metallic smell mixed in with earth, a rusting plow driven into the ground.
Around 1844, the Dominican Independence War gave the Dominican Republic freedom from Haiti. Years later, the Dominican President would turn the country over to Spanish rule. Disorder was inevitable. A revolution to save la patria ensued. This forms the backdrop for this book of historical fiction about family; how each generation is affected by the choices and lives of the ones before it.
Just as song unchains the soul, so does poetry. Poetry is song. Verse is liberation. Tears are the ink of the poet. At the center of it all, is the young poet, Salomé.
It was time for poetry, even if it was not the time for liberty. Sometimes I wondered if this didn't make sense after all. The spirit needed to soar when the body was in chains.
Imagine poetry as the voice of liberty. Salomé Ureña was a pioneer of poetry in the Dominican Republic during the 1870s. At a time when women were not trained to read or write, she was publishing poems at age seventeen, and later, she would open the first center of higher education for young women in the Dominican Republic. The fictional character in this book takes her bearings from this feminist hero.
There is only one way to make it stop, a way which Papa has been trying to teach me, and that is to sit down and think of the words for it all, then write them up the verses my mother copies neatly into her letters to my father.
Salomé's daughter, a college professor, pays homage to her mother's work and life through the present narration. But oh how I wish the young Salomé had been the narrator. How I wish the breaks and intersections of the narration had disappeared through Salomé's recount of Cuba's fight for independence, Santa Domingo's fight for liberty, the women's movement of that time, the fight against censorship…How I wish I had learned about these important time fractions through a more cohesive structure, minus the fragments of time, place and space. How I look forward to reading, In The Time Of Butterflies for a firmer grasp of that place and time.
Read
October 3, 2023(...)as lágrimas são a tinta de um poeta. Não as desperdices a chorar.
Em nome de Salomé é um livro ímpar, escrito a duas vozes, com duas narrativas intercaladas - uma seguindo em frente, outra às arrecuas, até que ambas se tocam - formando um todo. Da mesma forma se afastam e aproximam a vida das suas narradoras, Salomé e Camila, mãe e filha. A primeira: poetisa, reformadora, professora e ídolo dominicano; a segunda: escritora, professora, crítica... Mas o objetivo de Em nome de Salomé, vai mais longe do que traçar uma biografia destas duas mulheres, Em nome de Salomé é um hino à saudade, ao amor e à procura de afetos negados:
Sente-se mais esperançada agora do que desde há muito a esta parte. Só quando pensou que a sua vida acabara - quando o resto dos seus dias seria uma sucessão de curtas viagens de um local seguro para outro, comprimidos em caixas divididas em compartimentos etiquetadas com as dias da semana, guardando selos colados em cadernetas e resgatados para pequenas aplicações que estão sempre a desmoronar- se, e partes do seu corpo a esgotarem-se, começando pelos olhos doentes - só quando, resumindo, ela pensou que a sua história chegara ao fim, epílogo, coda, diminuendo, é que ela apareceu numa caravela com velas a encherem-se de vento (...)é que ela apareceu num caminho para casa, na cabeça uma canção dos tempos de infância: Vou a El Cabo encontrar a minha mãe... A baía é pouco profunda para flutuarmos hoje. Foi só quando ela pensou...
Tudo o que o coração quer é ser chamado de novo.
[...]
A luta para ver e a luta para amar a coisa imperfeita que vemos - que outra luta há para além destas?
Salomé morre quando Camila é ainda muito jovem, e a sua ausência irá refletir-se na vida da filha sob forma de uma construção em que mãe, heroína, amor e mito se mesclam para responder às necessidades de uma mulher que cresce como que apagada pela história de uma heroína nacional que é de todos e de ninguém - a mãe que Camila apenas conheceu nos últimos momentos da sua vida:
Ela não deve entrar na sala a não ser que Tivisita ou um dos irmãos a leve, e também não deve tocar na mãe, para não apanhar os germes da tosse.
Mesmo assim, ela entra. É um segredo. Há um banco, com livros empilhados em cima, e Camila sobe para uma ponta do banco e caminha para a outra ponta, perto da mãe, e senta-se nos livros dela. A mãe coloca um lenço a tapar a boca, para apanhar os germes da tosse, e conta-lhe histórias sobre a origem do nome de Camila.
De uma forma muito especial, a imagem da mãe idealizada servirá de bússola moral, ética e afetiva a uma Camila que luta para crescer e se [re]conhecer numa sociedade profundamente machista que outrora manietou a sua mãe como procura agora manietá-la:
(...)os rapazes podiam começar a procurar amor quando ainda eram muito jovens e podiam continuar a fazê-lo até serem velhos(...)e o seu brio era aplaudido. Enquanto isso, nós, raparigas, tínhamos de conduzir a nossa busca frenética, parecendo não o fazer, naquele estreito corredor que vai da idade suficiente até solteirona.
[...]
A soirée teve lugar em casa de Don Noël Henríquez, na Rua da Esperança, tendo nessa quarta-feira sido anunciado nos jornais o assunto da discussão. Em que consiste a grandeza da poesia? Entretanto, a Sociedade da Juventude estaria a discutir: Qual o futuro do fatalismo? La Republicana: Haiti é o nosso verdadeiro inimigo? E o preferido de Ramona, a decorrer no Aurora da Sociedade do Povo: É o amor a glória máxima da espécie humana? É claro que aos convidados femininos não era permitido participar nas discussões.
À sombra de uma mãe-poeta, de uma mãe-heroína, e de uma história nacional rica, mas conturbada, Camila procurará achar resposta para as várias dúvidas que assaltam o seu espírito curioso, artístico e amante, mas que, incompleto, nunca consegue achar a coragem de se afirmar completamente:
Por vezes [Camila] pergunta-se se é incapaz de ofender. Se todas as emoções imbuídas de raiva são filtradas pela memória da sua nobre mãe e da sua nação sofredora, e saem como observações em surdina, educadas. Ela sabe que se supõe que isso seja uma das suas prendas de mulher: a sua raiva não transparece; os seus dedos tocarão apenas um número de jazz no seu regaço, debaixo da toalha de mesa, e não no grande piano da sala.
Impelida, mas, de certa forma, também reprimida pela espírito, pela lenda, pela mística que acompanha a história da mãe que não conheceu verdadeiramente, uma Camila já idosa reconstrói a história da sua vida à imagem dos ideais da heroína da pátria, da poeta nacional, da artista e da mulher que foi Salomé Ureñas, sua mãe:
Eu sonhava em lutar pela nossa libertação. O meu escudo era o papel, e as minhas espadas eram as palavras que o meu pai me estava a ensinar a empunhar(...)Eu libertaria la patria com a minha pena afiada e o meu tinteiro.
[...]
Eu nasci poeta. As outras coisas aconteceram por acaso. Mas se não fizermos aquilo para que nascemos, isso destrói-nos.
Procurar sobreviver a uma herança mítica e encontrar a verdadeira Salomé que a trouxe ao mundo é o objetivo de Camila. Encontrar-se a si mesma através do real retrato da mãe - após uma vida encerrada numa ficção nacional - é uma vitória, para ela, próxima da epifania:
(...)não queria que a minha filha tivesse o meu nome. Queria que ela tivesse o seu próprio nome, para subir e se afastar da vida que se fechava à minha volta.
Quebrar as grilhetas da narrativa comum, desconstruir Salomé Ureñas é aquilo que dará a Camila as ferramentas com que responder finalmente às perguntas: Quem era, realmente, Salomé? E logo: Quem é Camila?
-(...)Sinto que também te devo um pedido de desculpas, Salomé. Se não fosse eu e as crianças, tu terias continuado nesse caminho imortal.
- Ay, Pancho-disse eu, abanando a cabeça. - Os meus filhos são a única imortalidade que eu quero.
Pancho olhava-me com atenção, como se cortasse camada após camada de pretensão para chegar à verdade do que eu realmente sentia.
- Mas tu podias ter sido Quintana. Podias ter sido Gallego - apelou ele.
- Em vez disso sou Salomé, que mais ninguém podia ser.
No decurso da sua busca, atravessando um longo e conturbado período de tempo em que as lutas pela soberania nacional desfazem o rosto do seu país, Camila dar-se-á também conta da gradual perda dos valores nacionais, da assimilação da cultura americana, da dissolução do espírito nas gerações mais jovens, da repetição do flagelo que já anteriormente havia cerceado a vida de sua mãe - a não aceitação do talento, do génio na mulher:
Todos tinham curiosidade em saber como eu escrevia e de onde provinham as minhas ideias. Havia rumores de que eu ouvia vozes ou de que o anjo Gabriel me visitava em sonhos. E outras histórias havia, segundo as quais era, na verdade, o meu pai que me escrevia os poemas.
[...]
(...)a multidão levantou-se de novo. Salomé! Salomé! Salomé! E recitaram-me versos do meu novo poema. Eu baixei a cabeça, reconhecida pelo aplauso, e, depois de este ter extinguido, se ter elevado novamente, se ter extinguido, como uma série de ondas a chegarem à praia, a voz de um homem gritou:
- Que homem que aquela mulher é! - Devia ser um elogio, suponho eu.
Chegando à mãe, Camila chegará à peça final do puzzle que compõe a sua vida:
(...)continuava a ter saudades dela- uma saudade que brotava em mim a meio da noite e que me fazia vaguear por casas, apartamentos, onde quer que fosse que eu estivesse a viver na altura. Tentei todos os tipos de estratégia. Descobri a história dela. Coloquei-a ao lado da minha. Entrancei as nossas duas vidas tão firmemente como uma corda e, com ela, icei-me do fundo da depressão e da dúvida que infligia a mim própria, Mas, tentasse eu o que tetasse, ela não voltava. Até que, finalmente, a encontrei no único local em que alguma vez encontramos os mortos: entre os vivos.
Uma vez que a sua identidade esteja completa, uma vez que a imagem da mãe seja recuperada, a filha que existiu à sombra do mito poderá finalmente atribuir-se um valor próprio e esse desabrochar, esse caminho é, para o leitor, uma jornada magnífica de acompanhar:
- Quem é esta Salomé Ureña? - perguntou ele. - Leio o nome dela em toda a parte.
Tive de morder a língua, quase de certeza que o fiz.
- Foi uma das melhores poetisas de língua espanhola -vangloriou-se Belkys, como se soubesse! - Foi ela que fundou a primeira escola superior do país para mulheres. E que mais, tía Camila? -perguntou, virando-se para mim.
Eu não me lembrava de mais nada para dizer. Senti a velha tristeza a brotar dentro de mim. E disse simplesmente:
- Era minha mãe.
Salomé Ureña Díaz de Henríquez (21 de outubro de 1850 - 6 de março de 1897)
Camila Henríquez Ureña (9 de abril de 1894 – 12 de setembro de 1973)
Em nome de Salomé é um livro ímpar, escrito a duas vozes, com duas narrativas intercaladas - uma seguindo em frente, outra às arrecuas, até que ambas se tocam - formando um todo. Da mesma forma se afastam e aproximam a vida das suas narradoras, Salomé e Camila, mãe e filha. A primeira: poetisa, reformadora, professora e ídolo dominicano; a segunda: escritora, professora, crítica... Mas o objetivo de Em nome de Salomé, vai mais longe do que traçar uma biografia destas duas mulheres, Em nome de Salomé é um hino à saudade, ao amor e à procura de afetos negados:
Sente-se mais esperançada agora do que desde há muito a esta parte. Só quando pensou que a sua vida acabara - quando o resto dos seus dias seria uma sucessão de curtas viagens de um local seguro para outro, comprimidos em caixas divididas em compartimentos etiquetadas com as dias da semana, guardando selos colados em cadernetas e resgatados para pequenas aplicações que estão sempre a desmoronar- se, e partes do seu corpo a esgotarem-se, começando pelos olhos doentes - só quando, resumindo, ela pensou que a sua história chegara ao fim, epílogo, coda, diminuendo, é que ela apareceu numa caravela com velas a encherem-se de vento (...)é que ela apareceu num caminho para casa, na cabeça uma canção dos tempos de infância: Vou a El Cabo encontrar a minha mãe... A baía é pouco profunda para flutuarmos hoje. Foi só quando ela pensou...
Tudo o que o coração quer é ser chamado de novo.
[...]
A luta para ver e a luta para amar a coisa imperfeita que vemos - que outra luta há para além destas?
Salomé morre quando Camila é ainda muito jovem, e a sua ausência irá refletir-se na vida da filha sob forma de uma construção em que mãe, heroína, amor e mito se mesclam para responder às necessidades de uma mulher que cresce como que apagada pela história de uma heroína nacional que é de todos e de ninguém - a mãe que Camila apenas conheceu nos últimos momentos da sua vida:
Ela não deve entrar na sala a não ser que Tivisita ou um dos irmãos a leve, e também não deve tocar na mãe, para não apanhar os germes da tosse.
Mesmo assim, ela entra. É um segredo. Há um banco, com livros empilhados em cima, e Camila sobe para uma ponta do banco e caminha para a outra ponta, perto da mãe, e senta-se nos livros dela. A mãe coloca um lenço a tapar a boca, para apanhar os germes da tosse, e conta-lhe histórias sobre a origem do nome de Camila.
De uma forma muito especial, a imagem da mãe idealizada servirá de bússola moral, ética e afetiva a uma Camila que luta para crescer e se [re]conhecer numa sociedade profundamente machista que outrora manietou a sua mãe como procura agora manietá-la:
(...)os rapazes podiam começar a procurar amor quando ainda eram muito jovens e podiam continuar a fazê-lo até serem velhos(...)e o seu brio era aplaudido. Enquanto isso, nós, raparigas, tínhamos de conduzir a nossa busca frenética, parecendo não o fazer, naquele estreito corredor que vai da idade suficiente até solteirona.
[...]
A soirée teve lugar em casa de Don Noël Henríquez, na Rua da Esperança, tendo nessa quarta-feira sido anunciado nos jornais o assunto da discussão. Em que consiste a grandeza da poesia? Entretanto, a Sociedade da Juventude estaria a discutir: Qual o futuro do fatalismo? La Republicana: Haiti é o nosso verdadeiro inimigo? E o preferido de Ramona, a decorrer no Aurora da Sociedade do Povo: É o amor a glória máxima da espécie humana? É claro que aos convidados femininos não era permitido participar nas discussões.
À sombra de uma mãe-poeta, de uma mãe-heroína, e de uma história nacional rica, mas conturbada, Camila procurará achar resposta para as várias dúvidas que assaltam o seu espírito curioso, artístico e amante, mas que, incompleto, nunca consegue achar a coragem de se afirmar completamente:
Por vezes [Camila] pergunta-se se é incapaz de ofender. Se todas as emoções imbuídas de raiva são filtradas pela memória da sua nobre mãe e da sua nação sofredora, e saem como observações em surdina, educadas. Ela sabe que se supõe que isso seja uma das suas prendas de mulher: a sua raiva não transparece; os seus dedos tocarão apenas um número de jazz no seu regaço, debaixo da toalha de mesa, e não no grande piano da sala.
Impelida, mas, de certa forma, também reprimida pela espírito, pela lenda, pela mística que acompanha a história da mãe que não conheceu verdadeiramente, uma Camila já idosa reconstrói a história da sua vida à imagem dos ideais da heroína da pátria, da poeta nacional, da artista e da mulher que foi Salomé Ureñas, sua mãe:
Eu sonhava em lutar pela nossa libertação. O meu escudo era o papel, e as minhas espadas eram as palavras que o meu pai me estava a ensinar a empunhar(...)Eu libertaria la patria com a minha pena afiada e o meu tinteiro.
[...]
Eu nasci poeta. As outras coisas aconteceram por acaso. Mas se não fizermos aquilo para que nascemos, isso destrói-nos.
Procurar sobreviver a uma herança mítica e encontrar a verdadeira Salomé que a trouxe ao mundo é o objetivo de Camila. Encontrar-se a si mesma através do real retrato da mãe - após uma vida encerrada numa ficção nacional - é uma vitória, para ela, próxima da epifania:
(...)não queria que a minha filha tivesse o meu nome. Queria que ela tivesse o seu próprio nome, para subir e se afastar da vida que se fechava à minha volta.
Quebrar as grilhetas da narrativa comum, desconstruir Salomé Ureñas é aquilo que dará a Camila as ferramentas com que responder finalmente às perguntas: Quem era, realmente, Salomé? E logo: Quem é Camila?
-(...)Sinto que também te devo um pedido de desculpas, Salomé. Se não fosse eu e as crianças, tu terias continuado nesse caminho imortal.
- Ay, Pancho-disse eu, abanando a cabeça. - Os meus filhos são a única imortalidade que eu quero.
Pancho olhava-me com atenção, como se cortasse camada após camada de pretensão para chegar à verdade do que eu realmente sentia.
- Mas tu podias ter sido Quintana. Podias ter sido Gallego - apelou ele.
- Em vez disso sou Salomé, que mais ninguém podia ser.
No decurso da sua busca, atravessando um longo e conturbado período de tempo em que as lutas pela soberania nacional desfazem o rosto do seu país, Camila dar-se-á também conta da gradual perda dos valores nacionais, da assimilação da cultura americana, da dissolução do espírito nas gerações mais jovens, da repetição do flagelo que já anteriormente havia cerceado a vida de sua mãe - a não aceitação do talento, do génio na mulher:
Todos tinham curiosidade em saber como eu escrevia e de onde provinham as minhas ideias. Havia rumores de que eu ouvia vozes ou de que o anjo Gabriel me visitava em sonhos. E outras histórias havia, segundo as quais era, na verdade, o meu pai que me escrevia os poemas.
[...]
(...)a multidão levantou-se de novo. Salomé! Salomé! Salomé! E recitaram-me versos do meu novo poema. Eu baixei a cabeça, reconhecida pelo aplauso, e, depois de este ter extinguido, se ter elevado novamente, se ter extinguido, como uma série de ondas a chegarem à praia, a voz de um homem gritou:
- Que homem que aquela mulher é! - Devia ser um elogio, suponho eu.
Chegando à mãe, Camila chegará à peça final do puzzle que compõe a sua vida:
(...)continuava a ter saudades dela- uma saudade que brotava em mim a meio da noite e que me fazia vaguear por casas, apartamentos, onde quer que fosse que eu estivesse a viver na altura. Tentei todos os tipos de estratégia. Descobri a história dela. Coloquei-a ao lado da minha. Entrancei as nossas duas vidas tão firmemente como uma corda e, com ela, icei-me do fundo da depressão e da dúvida que infligia a mim própria, Mas, tentasse eu o que tetasse, ela não voltava. Até que, finalmente, a encontrei no único local em que alguma vez encontramos os mortos: entre os vivos.
Uma vez que a sua identidade esteja completa, uma vez que a imagem da mãe seja recuperada, a filha que existiu à sombra do mito poderá finalmente atribuir-se um valor próprio e esse desabrochar, esse caminho é, para o leitor, uma jornada magnífica de acompanhar:
- Quem é esta Salomé Ureña? - perguntou ele. - Leio o nome dela em toda a parte.
Tive de morder a língua, quase de certeza que o fiz.
- Foi uma das melhores poetisas de língua espanhola -vangloriou-se Belkys, como se soubesse! - Foi ela que fundou a primeira escola superior do país para mulheres. E que mais, tía Camila? -perguntou, virando-se para mim.
Eu não me lembrava de mais nada para dizer. Senti a velha tristeza a brotar dentro de mim. E disse simplesmente:
- Era minha mãe.
Salomé Ureña Díaz de Henríquez (21 de outubro de 1850 - 6 de março de 1897)
Camila Henríquez Ureña (9 de abril de 1894 – 12 de setembro de 1973)
February 27, 2021
This was more difficult than it should have been. For some reason the author, who is telling us the stories of Salomé Ureña - a political poet and feminist in 19th century Dominican Republic - and her daughter Camilla, decides we should hear about the former’s life going forward and the latter’s going backwards. So, as we slip in time, decade behind decade, in Camilla’s life, we already know how things go. We are aware that this new relationship fails, that an important person is soon dead or gone, how she’ll make all of her decisions. I found the forward progression of Salomé’s life much more satisfying - not the Life, mind you, but the reading about it.
Maybe I’m just simplistic, but i want to hold on to hope until it’s too late. Knowing of a sadness, a tragedy, a betrayal 100 pages ahead of its occurrence seemed to suck the gravitas of the actual event right out of it - “oh yeah, that.” Or perhaps as my own time moves inexorably forward, I’m just unable to think in reverse. As Salomé wrote, “Their faces fresh with what they do not know…” Remember that? Me neither.
Nonetheless, the writing of Julia Alvarez largely saves this novel. She is just so good. There were insights and regalitos throughout:
Her family is in exile in pre revolution Cuba and her aunts want her inside:
“There are raids and roundups and all kinds of horrible things going on out there. Can’t she stay? Camilla thinks of them as family sirens, luring her back to the greater danger, a closed-down life at home.”
A past lover, Marion, who is white, always avoids the subject of race, saying, “I don’t care what you are.”
Camilla’s response speaks to what many of us are learning about racism now, nearly a century later, about those who righteously claim color-blindness. Why would anyone want Not to be seen?
“She wants to be apprehended fully, rather than seen only through the narrow lens of a few adjectives the other person finds acceptable.”
A good, but not great, book.
Maybe I’m just simplistic, but i want to hold on to hope until it’s too late. Knowing of a sadness, a tragedy, a betrayal 100 pages ahead of its occurrence seemed to suck the gravitas of the actual event right out of it - “oh yeah, that.” Or perhaps as my own time moves inexorably forward, I’m just unable to think in reverse. As Salomé wrote, “Their faces fresh with what they do not know…” Remember that? Me neither.
Nonetheless, the writing of Julia Alvarez largely saves this novel. She is just so good. There were insights and regalitos throughout:
Her family is in exile in pre revolution Cuba and her aunts want her inside:
“There are raids and roundups and all kinds of horrible things going on out there. Can’t she stay? Camilla thinks of them as family sirens, luring her back to the greater danger, a closed-down life at home.”
A past lover, Marion, who is white, always avoids the subject of race, saying, “I don’t care what you are.”
Camilla’s response speaks to what many of us are learning about racism now, nearly a century later, about those who righteously claim color-blindness. Why would anyone want Not to be seen?
“She wants to be apprehended fully, rather than seen only through the narrow lens of a few adjectives the other person finds acceptable.”
A good, but not great, book.
December 19, 2011
I love Julie Alvarez! She develops her characters so so well you want to know what happens to them and then don't want to story to end.
review by Debbis Lee Wesselman: "This deeply imaginative portrait of the Dominican poet Salome Urena and her daughter Camila captures the people behind the revolutions in the Dominican Republic and Cuba without idealizing them, without relegating them to mouths spouting political dogma. As Salome says to her young husband when he chides her for writing a non-revolutionary poem, "I am a woman as well as a poet." This is exactly what Alvarez accomplishes: an adept melding of the public and private sides of her characters to give her book real heart.
This novel spans over a hundred years, from the 1850's (the beginning of Salome's story) to the 1970's (the end of Camila's story.) Because the two stories are interspersed and are not told chronologically, the time and place can sometimes be confusing despite the chapter headings meant to give the reader his bearings. Don't let this frustrate you; the story is well worth this flaw. My advice is just to give yourself up to Alvarez's skill and let her take you where she wants."
review by Debbis Lee Wesselman: "This deeply imaginative portrait of the Dominican poet Salome Urena and her daughter Camila captures the people behind the revolutions in the Dominican Republic and Cuba without idealizing them, without relegating them to mouths spouting political dogma. As Salome says to her young husband when he chides her for writing a non-revolutionary poem, "I am a woman as well as a poet." This is exactly what Alvarez accomplishes: an adept melding of the public and private sides of her characters to give her book real heart.
This novel spans over a hundred years, from the 1850's (the beginning of Salome's story) to the 1970's (the end of Camila's story.) Because the two stories are interspersed and are not told chronologically, the time and place can sometimes be confusing despite the chapter headings meant to give the reader his bearings. Don't let this frustrate you; the story is well worth this flaw. My advice is just to give yourself up to Alvarez's skill and let her take you where she wants."
January 13, 2011
This is an extraordinary book. The fictional account of a real family from the Dominican Republic, the book follows the lives of both famed poet Salome Urena de Henriquez and her daughter, Camila. I particularly loved its structure; the chapters alternate between Salome and Camila's point of view, and while Salome's story starts at the beginning of her life and progresses toward the end, Camila's proceeds backwards. Salome dies when Camila is very young, yet the two women have a profound effect on each other, so it only makes sense that book's structure leads them to each other, to the brief time that mother and daughter have to spend together. The political struggles of the Dominican Republic and Cuba play a large role here, but Alvarez wisely emphasizes the complicated relationship between mothers and daughters, particularly for the tongue-tied Camila who lives in her mother's verbally eloquent shadow. Very, very glad I read this.
June 27, 2023
4.5 stars, rounded up.
"The struggle to see and the struggle to love the flawed thing we see - what other struggle is there? Even the struggle to create a country comes out of that same seed. In the name of Hostos, Salomé, José Martí... 'I am indeed surprised,' Rodolfo was saying playfully. He had caught his agnostic sister making the sign of the cross. Of course, he had not heard my sacrilegious prayer."
This book follows two real women: Salomé Ureña, who as a Dominican teen in the 1860s became an inspirational poet to her country's search for independence, and her daughter Camila, who is trying to find her mother through her poems and - when we meet her at age 60 - by going back to Cuba (the country where she grew up without her mother) to be involved in the revolution. The author notes: "Given the continuing struggles in Our America to understand and create ourselves as countries and as individuals, this book is an effort to understand the great silence from which these two women emerged, and into which they have disappeared, leaving us to dream up their stories and take up the burden of their songs."
As in How the García Girls Lost Their Accents, Camila's story is mostly told backwards, from old age to childhood, in the third person. Salomé's chapters, however, move forwards in first person. The effect of this is that A) the stories eventually cross at the end, with Camila's birth, and B) one gets a sense that the ghost of Salomé might be narrating the story of the daughter who so desperately wants to know her. But then we finish with a first-person perspective from 70-something-year-old Camila, reflecting on family, love, and the search for self-determination:
"For I had never thought of the real revolution as the one Fidel was commanding. The real revolution could only be won by the imagination. When one of my newly literate students picked up a book and read with hungry pleasure, I knew we were one step closer to the patria we all wanted."
Regarding love, both our protagonists find a romance (one M/F, one F/F) that is lasting but also... incomplete, true and untrue at the same time. I liked that, as Salomé notes, both get to realize they have hearts and bodies, but also that these love stories aren't the core of who they are or what their lives are about. The loves matter, but they have other people they care about too, and far more important things to do!
"The struggle to see and the struggle to love the flawed thing we see - what other struggle is there? Even the struggle to create a country comes out of that same seed. In the name of Hostos, Salomé, José Martí... 'I am indeed surprised,' Rodolfo was saying playfully. He had caught his agnostic sister making the sign of the cross. Of course, he had not heard my sacrilegious prayer."
This book follows two real women: Salomé Ureña, who as a Dominican teen in the 1860s became an inspirational poet to her country's search for independence, and her daughter Camila, who is trying to find her mother through her poems and - when we meet her at age 60 - by going back to Cuba (the country where she grew up without her mother) to be involved in the revolution. The author notes: "Given the continuing struggles in Our America to understand and create ourselves as countries and as individuals, this book is an effort to understand the great silence from which these two women emerged, and into which they have disappeared, leaving us to dream up their stories and take up the burden of their songs."
As in How the García Girls Lost Their Accents, Camila's story is mostly told backwards, from old age to childhood, in the third person. Salomé's chapters, however, move forwards in first person. The effect of this is that A) the stories eventually cross at the end, with Camila's birth, and B) one gets a sense that the ghost of Salomé might be narrating the story of the daughter who so desperately wants to know her. But then we finish with a first-person perspective from 70-something-year-old Camila, reflecting on family, love, and the search for self-determination:
"For I had never thought of the real revolution as the one Fidel was commanding. The real revolution could only be won by the imagination. When one of my newly literate students picked up a book and read with hungry pleasure, I knew we were one step closer to the patria we all wanted."
Regarding love, both our protagonists find a romance (one M/F, one F/F) that is lasting but also... incomplete, true and untrue at the same time. I liked that, as Salomé notes, both get to realize they have hearts and bodies, but also that these love stories aren't the core of who they are or what their lives are about. The loves matter, but they have other people they care about too, and far more important things to do!
November 10, 2023
https://las6delatarde.wordpress.com/2...
Salomé Ureña fue poeta durante algunos de los años más importantes en Republica Domicana, cuando, después de independizarse de Haití, volvió a ser colonia de España un tiempo para tener protección. Todos sus hijos ocuparon grandes cargos o fueron grandes intelecturales, entre los cuales sorprendía Camila Salomé, la menor, que obtuvo un doctorado en Cuba, fue conferencista en América Latina, profesora en Vassar y terminó su carrera en la Universidad de La Habana y dando clases en su tierra natal. Nunca había oído hablar de ninguna de las dos.
Por una serie de casualidades In the Name of Salomé fue el libro por el que acabé conociendo a Julia Alvarez. Su obra más reconocida es How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents (Cómo las chicas García perdieron sus acentos), justo el libro que leí inmediatamente después, también gracias a una serie de casualidades. En la biblioteca lo liberaron cuando yo estaba en lista de espera bastantes semanas antes de lo planeado y acabé leyéndolo, a pesar de ser uno de los libros menos reconocidos y aclamados de Julia Álvarez, sólo para descubrir que entre sus páginas se escondía la vida (ficcionalizada, por supuesto) de Salomé Ureña y su hija, Camila Salomé.
El libro tiene una estructura curiosa pues une dos líneas temporales: la primera empieza cuando Camila Salomé abandona Estados Unidos para trasladarse a Cuba, lo más cerca que puede ir de su patria sin pisarla realmente porque juró no volver mientras Trujillo, el dictador, gobernara; la segunda, empieza justo con la independencia de Haití de la Republica Dominicana, cuando Salomé Ureña era apenas una niña. Desde ese momento, las dos historias van a correr hasta encontrarse, una hacia atrás, la de Camila, y otra hacia adelante, la de Salomé.
Respecto a esta estructura, hay opiniones realmente encontradas, pues la mayoría prefiere la narración en primera persona de Salomé Ureña. Entiendo por qué, pues durante la primera parte del libro, son esas partes las que aportan más a la trama, pero, conforme la historia de Camila retrocede vamos entendiéndola un poco más y, al menos en mi caso, aprecié más toda su historia una vez que pude ver el resultado completo. Aun así, durante el principio sí que sentí un poco el tedio.
Reconozco que no sé hasta qué punto la vida de Salomé y su hija fueron alteradas para propósitos de ficción, pero por lo que he investigado, la mayor parte, la esencia, se ha mantenido fiel. Me queda claro que no es lo mejor que puede ofrecer Julia Alvarez después de leer otro de sus libros, pero sí que es un libro interesante y, al menos para los interesados, muy bueno para aprender un poco sobre la cultura Dominicana. Hay una parte en especial con la que me identifiqué: una amiga de Camila le dice que lo siente, pero que en realidad nunca había oído de su madre, Salomé Ureña, como poetisa. Me recordó a mí misma, que nunca antes había oído ni siquiera su nombre y me hizo preguntarme cuántos otros nombres nunca he oído, cuántos no oiré nunca.
Salomé Ureña fue importante en su país porque, además de sus poemas patrióticos, que publicó primero bajo seudónimo y luego con su propio nombre, fundó la primera escuela para mujeres de la República Dominicana, apoyada por su marido, Francisco Henríquez y Carvajal, que más tarde fue presidente del país. Su hija, Camila, no se quedó atrás: fue co fundadora de una de las principales asociaciones feministas culturales en Cuba y participó en la reestructuración de la Universidad de la Habana. No todo eso está mencionado en el libro, por supuesto, pues este no es una biografía, sino un libro de ficción, finalmente, pero sí es el libro que me ha abierto los ojos sobre estas dos mujeres impresionantes.
Salomé Ureña fue poeta durante algunos de los años más importantes en Republica Domicana, cuando, después de independizarse de Haití, volvió a ser colonia de España un tiempo para tener protección. Todos sus hijos ocuparon grandes cargos o fueron grandes intelecturales, entre los cuales sorprendía Camila Salomé, la menor, que obtuvo un doctorado en Cuba, fue conferencista en América Latina, profesora en Vassar y terminó su carrera en la Universidad de La Habana y dando clases en su tierra natal. Nunca había oído hablar de ninguna de las dos.
Por una serie de casualidades In the Name of Salomé fue el libro por el que acabé conociendo a Julia Alvarez. Su obra más reconocida es How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents (Cómo las chicas García perdieron sus acentos), justo el libro que leí inmediatamente después, también gracias a una serie de casualidades. En la biblioteca lo liberaron cuando yo estaba en lista de espera bastantes semanas antes de lo planeado y acabé leyéndolo, a pesar de ser uno de los libros menos reconocidos y aclamados de Julia Álvarez, sólo para descubrir que entre sus páginas se escondía la vida (ficcionalizada, por supuesto) de Salomé Ureña y su hija, Camila Salomé.
El libro tiene una estructura curiosa pues une dos líneas temporales: la primera empieza cuando Camila Salomé abandona Estados Unidos para trasladarse a Cuba, lo más cerca que puede ir de su patria sin pisarla realmente porque juró no volver mientras Trujillo, el dictador, gobernara; la segunda, empieza justo con la independencia de Haití de la Republica Dominicana, cuando Salomé Ureña era apenas una niña. Desde ese momento, las dos historias van a correr hasta encontrarse, una hacia atrás, la de Camila, y otra hacia adelante, la de Salomé.
Respecto a esta estructura, hay opiniones realmente encontradas, pues la mayoría prefiere la narración en primera persona de Salomé Ureña. Entiendo por qué, pues durante la primera parte del libro, son esas partes las que aportan más a la trama, pero, conforme la historia de Camila retrocede vamos entendiéndola un poco más y, al menos en mi caso, aprecié más toda su historia una vez que pude ver el resultado completo. Aun así, durante el principio sí que sentí un poco el tedio.
Reconozco que no sé hasta qué punto la vida de Salomé y su hija fueron alteradas para propósitos de ficción, pero por lo que he investigado, la mayor parte, la esencia, se ha mantenido fiel. Me queda claro que no es lo mejor que puede ofrecer Julia Alvarez después de leer otro de sus libros, pero sí que es un libro interesante y, al menos para los interesados, muy bueno para aprender un poco sobre la cultura Dominicana. Hay una parte en especial con la que me identifiqué: una amiga de Camila le dice que lo siente, pero que en realidad nunca había oído de su madre, Salomé Ureña, como poetisa. Me recordó a mí misma, que nunca antes había oído ni siquiera su nombre y me hizo preguntarme cuántos otros nombres nunca he oído, cuántos no oiré nunca.
Salomé Ureña fue importante en su país porque, además de sus poemas patrióticos, que publicó primero bajo seudónimo y luego con su propio nombre, fundó la primera escuela para mujeres de la República Dominicana, apoyada por su marido, Francisco Henríquez y Carvajal, que más tarde fue presidente del país. Su hija, Camila, no se quedó atrás: fue co fundadora de una de las principales asociaciones feministas culturales en Cuba y participó en la reestructuración de la Universidad de la Habana. No todo eso está mencionado en el libro, por supuesto, pues este no es una biografía, sino un libro de ficción, finalmente, pero sí es el libro que me ha abierto los ojos sobre estas dos mujeres impresionantes.
October 15, 2017
Based on my daughter's handwriting on the note I was using as a bookmark, I first started this book when she was 4, nine years ago. It was a time where between children and work and the introduction of smart phones, I was starting to lose the ability to read books, and I didn't make it far in this one.
With the passing of time and purposeful focus, I've relearned to read books and started this one over from the beginning. I can see why this one wasn't well-paired for me at that time. The skipping around in time across two women's lifetimes needs focus to keep track of the characters, the geopolitics and plot events. But with attention this go round, I really enjoyed the book. I liked how contemporary the voice is for both women even though many of the events take place more than 100 years ago. At core, it's a character-driven book of family connections in a specific geopolitical time, but it also touches on many issues - race, sex, sexual orientation, treatment of women, family, betrayal, forgiveness, coming of age, grief, aging. Really liked it.
With the passing of time and purposeful focus, I've relearned to read books and started this one over from the beginning. I can see why this one wasn't well-paired for me at that time. The skipping around in time across two women's lifetimes needs focus to keep track of the characters, the geopolitics and plot events. But with attention this go round, I really enjoyed the book. I liked how contemporary the voice is for both women even though many of the events take place more than 100 years ago. At core, it's a character-driven book of family connections in a specific geopolitical time, but it also touches on many issues - race, sex, sexual orientation, treatment of women, family, betrayal, forgiveness, coming of age, grief, aging. Really liked it.
January 20, 2025
4.5⭐️ I enjoyed learning more about a historical figure I grew up seeing everywhere but never knew her story even if it was fictionalized :)
September 29, 2016
We have a five-star!
In the Name of Salome is a novel that takes the reader through a journey of 100 years of Caribbean history – featured are real historical people and events so you get a good dose of history lessons. The book is told in 2 perspectives, opening with Camila Henriquez Ureña, age 60 in 1960 as she leaves her job teaching in Vassar College to travel to Cuba were young revolutionary Fidel Castro is urging people to come and join him. Camila is the daughter of famed poetess, Salome Ureña – the national poet of Dominican Republic. The second perspective is from Salome’s POV which is narrated in 1st person. Salome’s story is told in linear form from 1858 to the moment of her death. Camila’s story starts in 1960 and goes back in time so that both women met when Salome dies and Camila is born. That’s the technical aspect of this novel but it’s about so much more.
There are 2 overarching themes in this novel – the first and the most impactful for me was the love of patria. Patria would be most easily translated to ‘love of country’ – relating it to the English word of ‘patriot / patriotism’. It’s that deep rooted love towards your country of birth, it calls to you through your life and the love for it is as passionate as the love for a significant other or a child. Both women are affected by it in different ways. Salome, who never leaves the island and whose poetry inspired a nation to seek freedom from oppression and create a just and free land and Camila who left Dominican Republic at age 3 and was raised in Cuba but still yearns for her country. The second theme is the love found in family – be is sisters, fathers, brothers, mothers, etc. We explore different relationships through the novel and Alvarez really zooms in on the connection of a daughter who never knew her mother and her life-long quest to feel close to her.
Other themes done very well are racism and colorism within the Caribbean community along with feminism, religious themes and homosexuality.
Needless to say, I fell in love with this novel and I think it’s because it resonated very deeply with me, it became personal. I grew up in the Caribbean and I wrote poetry about the love of my island as a child. The description of how the mind of a poet works was so relatable to me that I highlighted the crap out of this book.
The two main characters are Salome, who is strong-willed, passionate, and spunky. She spends her life being the matriarch to a country in ruins, in her 40 years of life there are a total of 33 revolutions within in the island. Her father teaches her poetry, tells her to save her tears because the tears are a poet’s ink. We watch her grow up, we watch her fall in love with a man who disillusions her, we watch her relationship with her sister and her children and to her country. Then we have Camila who became motherless at the age of 3 and spends her life trying to grasp at the straws of her past while life as the daughter to an exiled president. Camila who questions her sexuality in a time where having feelings for a woman was considered the greatest taboo. Camila, who is painfully shy and is constantly living in the shadows of her other more successful family.
It is an incredibly moving story and one I will highly recommend. This is my first piece by Alvarez and I cannot wait to explore the rest of her novels because if they’re anything like this or better I will have nothing but more good things to say.
In the Name of Salome is a novel that takes the reader through a journey of 100 years of Caribbean history – featured are real historical people and events so you get a good dose of history lessons. The book is told in 2 perspectives, opening with Camila Henriquez Ureña, age 60 in 1960 as she leaves her job teaching in Vassar College to travel to Cuba were young revolutionary Fidel Castro is urging people to come and join him. Camila is the daughter of famed poetess, Salome Ureña – the national poet of Dominican Republic. The second perspective is from Salome’s POV which is narrated in 1st person. Salome’s story is told in linear form from 1858 to the moment of her death. Camila’s story starts in 1960 and goes back in time so that both women met when Salome dies and Camila is born. That’s the technical aspect of this novel but it’s about so much more.
There are 2 overarching themes in this novel – the first and the most impactful for me was the love of patria. Patria would be most easily translated to ‘love of country’ – relating it to the English word of ‘patriot / patriotism’. It’s that deep rooted love towards your country of birth, it calls to you through your life and the love for it is as passionate as the love for a significant other or a child. Both women are affected by it in different ways. Salome, who never leaves the island and whose poetry inspired a nation to seek freedom from oppression and create a just and free land and Camila who left Dominican Republic at age 3 and was raised in Cuba but still yearns for her country. The second theme is the love found in family – be is sisters, fathers, brothers, mothers, etc. We explore different relationships through the novel and Alvarez really zooms in on the connection of a daughter who never knew her mother and her life-long quest to feel close to her.
Other themes done very well are racism and colorism within the Caribbean community along with feminism, religious themes and homosexuality.
Needless to say, I fell in love with this novel and I think it’s because it resonated very deeply with me, it became personal. I grew up in the Caribbean and I wrote poetry about the love of my island as a child. The description of how the mind of a poet works was so relatable to me that I highlighted the crap out of this book.
The two main characters are Salome, who is strong-willed, passionate, and spunky. She spends her life being the matriarch to a country in ruins, in her 40 years of life there are a total of 33 revolutions within in the island. Her father teaches her poetry, tells her to save her tears because the tears are a poet’s ink. We watch her grow up, we watch her fall in love with a man who disillusions her, we watch her relationship with her sister and her children and to her country. Then we have Camila who became motherless at the age of 3 and spends her life trying to grasp at the straws of her past while life as the daughter to an exiled president. Camila who questions her sexuality in a time where having feelings for a woman was considered the greatest taboo. Camila, who is painfully shy and is constantly living in the shadows of her other more successful family.
It is an incredibly moving story and one I will highly recommend. This is my first piece by Alvarez and I cannot wait to explore the rest of her novels because if they’re anything like this or better I will have nothing but more good things to say.
November 1, 2011
Once again the book club selection this month took me to a place that I know very little about, the Dominican Republic. This is a historical fiction novel based on real people, with literary liberties taken by Ms. Alvarez for a bit of interest.
The story follows Salome Urena, the national poet of DR during its early days of independence from Spain, and her only daughter, Salome Camila. The book begins with Camila in her sixties, retiring from her teaching position at a university and trying to figure out what to do with her life. She looks to her mother's poems, who died when she was only three years old, for clues. Her story line continues to go backwards, as far back as her earliest memories just before her mother's death. Salome's story starts from her earliest memories as a child and goes forward to her death.
At first, this unusual time shift in the novel was unsettling and difficult for me to adjust to, but as the story continued and I got to know the women better, it made absolute sense and was in fact, quite touching when their stories met. I thought it was a wonderful and creative way to show how we are connected to our past, even as we move forward into our future.
The characters themselves are interesting and I love that Ms. Alvarez is giving a female perspective to historical incidents, which tend to be dominated by male points of view. She highlights the women's great accomplishments and activism, things that could not have been easy, especially given the time and cultural norms, however, I felt like she portrayed them as rather weak and uncertain about themselves. Like they sort of stumbled upon history making and I suspect that there was a lot more intention and strength. Perhaps Ms. Alvarez wanted to showcase their humanity, their frailties, despite their accomplishments, which I can appreciate because its something we can all relate to.
Overall, a really good read and one I would recommend.
The story follows Salome Urena, the national poet of DR during its early days of independence from Spain, and her only daughter, Salome Camila. The book begins with Camila in her sixties, retiring from her teaching position at a university and trying to figure out what to do with her life. She looks to her mother's poems, who died when she was only three years old, for clues. Her story line continues to go backwards, as far back as her earliest memories just before her mother's death. Salome's story starts from her earliest memories as a child and goes forward to her death.
At first, this unusual time shift in the novel was unsettling and difficult for me to adjust to, but as the story continued and I got to know the women better, it made absolute sense and was in fact, quite touching when their stories met. I thought it was a wonderful and creative way to show how we are connected to our past, even as we move forward into our future.
The characters themselves are interesting and I love that Ms. Alvarez is giving a female perspective to historical incidents, which tend to be dominated by male points of view. She highlights the women's great accomplishments and activism, things that could not have been easy, especially given the time and cultural norms, however, I felt like she portrayed them as rather weak and uncertain about themselves. Like they sort of stumbled upon history making and I suspect that there was a lot more intention and strength. Perhaps Ms. Alvarez wanted to showcase their humanity, their frailties, despite their accomplishments, which I can appreciate because its something we can all relate to.
Overall, a really good read and one I would recommend.
April 9, 2009
I'm finally done with this book! It didn't take that long to read, but it felt like forever, because I really want to give my attention to Called Out of Darkness. Randy told me to read this because he is teaching it, so Randy if you have some insights, I 'd love to hear them.
Alternating between the stories of two women, a mother, national poet of the Dominican Republic, (that's the title I give her) and her daughter who never knew her mother except through legends, letters and her mother's poetry. Mom, Salome, died when daughter, Camila was 3. Salome's life was heartbreaking I thought, mainly because her husband was a cad and more in love with causes than he ever was with her.
Camila's life was harder to pin down, mainly because the chapters about her life seemed like glimpses, tantalizing ones, but then you'd just get into her story and it would be back to Salome's story again. The other thing about Camila is the book starts at the end of her life and works backward, for Salome's life it is simply working from her childhood to her adulthood and finally her death.
I don't know why I felt restless and unsatisfied through the whole book? Was I supposed to feel that way b/c that's how both Camila and her mother felt? Camila because she is in her mother's shadow, chasing it, trying to make her life feel as big and as earth-shaking as she imagines her mother's was? The truth is, that Salome was just as unsatisfied, she gave up her poetry to teach a school for girls and to raise her children and ultimately she never had the love she needed from her husband. Wow. The more I write about this, the more depressed I feel.
Alternating between the stories of two women, a mother, national poet of the Dominican Republic, (that's the title I give her) and her daughter who never knew her mother except through legends, letters and her mother's poetry. Mom, Salome, died when daughter, Camila was 3. Salome's life was heartbreaking I thought, mainly because her husband was a cad and more in love with causes than he ever was with her.
Camila's life was harder to pin down, mainly because the chapters about her life seemed like glimpses, tantalizing ones, but then you'd just get into her story and it would be back to Salome's story again. The other thing about Camila is the book starts at the end of her life and works backward, for Salome's life it is simply working from her childhood to her adulthood and finally her death.
I don't know why I felt restless and unsatisfied through the whole book? Was I supposed to feel that way b/c that's how both Camila and her mother felt? Camila because she is in her mother's shadow, chasing it, trying to make her life feel as big and as earth-shaking as she imagines her mother's was? The truth is, that Salome was just as unsatisfied, she gave up her poetry to teach a school for girls and to raise her children and ultimately she never had the love she needed from her husband. Wow. The more I write about this, the more depressed I feel.
June 18, 2009
As much as I loved her other books, Julia Alvarez let me down a bit on this one. She writes historical fiction of Latin American culture, revolution and struggle. In The Time of the Butterflies was a fabulous example of seamless writing and fully fleshed out characters. In her book, In The Name of Salome, her characters are muddy and difficult to keep apart. There are so many different layers of struggles and switches back in forth in time, that it is difficult to keep separate who is who and when things are taking place...until much later in the novel. I wish I liked "In The Name of Salome" as much as her previous books, but alas, I can't say that I do.
July 15, 2010
In my opinion, this book was not as good as "In the Time of the Butterflies" "How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents" and "Yolanda". I loved all of those books. This one was still good, but I didn't enjoy it as much. It is based on the life of Salome Uren~a - a Dominican Poet who had a huge impact on her country. It was really interesting to learn about her, I hadn't heard of her before. The author, Julia Alvarez trades off each chapter, writing one in the voice of Salome (the mother), and the other with Camila (Salome's daughter). I liked the chapters more about Salome, I almost skipped the chapters written in Camila's voice, but I didn't. The book is also sort of depressing in some parts (then agan I'm pregnant right now and the littlest things make me cry, lol). So, the book is fine. I would just recommend the others I listed above before recommending this one to anyone.
December 2, 2012
This is my second favorite book from one of my favorite writers. I love the concept of how she presents the mother and the daughter and moving both forward and backward through their individual stories until they meet. Like the book of hers that utterly wowed me, "In the Time of the Butterflies," this book delves into history while keeping the characters fresh and vivid and realistic, and it deals with a difficult time in the Dominican Republic and strong women who stood up for what they believed in--all themes that can get me stirred up, haha. This is well done and enjoyable.
July 23, 2017
A pensive book, seen through the lens of a daughter who lost a famous mother at a young age. Having known a couple people like that (minus the famous part of the mother), I found the character true to reality, having that nebulous uncertain quality that seeks to entwine her identity with the ungraspable mother. Usually, I like stronger characters, bold and decisive ones. But, situated against a backdrop of revolutions with passion pouring out of everyone else's ears, the contrast of the character was subtle and beautiful.
June 19, 2008
I was very disappointed with this book, especially after loving "In the Time of the Butterflies" and "How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents." I think that the problem with this book is that unlike her other books, the female characters were not memorable or strong. Even though they were going through difficult situations and identity crises, I didn't feel empathy for the characters, they were just kind of boring to me. Maybe someone else would like this book though?
May 17, 2010
The story itself was perfectly decent and all, the changing of the two narratives was...interesting, but the language was tedious. It took me close to a month to finish this book because the language was just too thick and boring. It may have had something to do with the smattering of random Spanish words throughout the book, I don't speak Spanish so it didn't work so well in my mind. Either way, this was a worthy story if not a good book.
August 10, 2010
I wish I knew more of the actual history of the DR & Haiti. This is a historical fiction based on a real-life family. I had glimpses of what I could learn from the book, but didn't know enough to pick up on the measure of what happened.
I had a hard time following the format - It alternates between chapters about one generation to chapters of another generation, one story goes forwards, the other goes back....
I had a hard time following the format - It alternates between chapters about one generation to chapters of another generation, one story goes forwards, the other goes back....
August 11, 2009
A novel based on the life of a real patriotic poet of the Dominican Republic & her family. It has an unusual structure, with chapters alternating between the first-person voice of the poet telling her story chronologically and that of her daughter telling her story in reverse. It started with a lot of promise, but didn't live up to its promise: too repetetive & too politically correct, perhaps.
November 19, 2011
This is by far my least favorite book by Julia Alvarez, who is one of my favorite writers. The characters and plot were not very interesting and the writing seemed uninspired. Go read How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents instead!
April 6, 2013
I became particularly fond of this book near the end. Salome was engaging from the first, but it took the full novel to get a feeling and fondness for Camila.
February 18, 2015
Took me awhile to get into it. Salomes story kept me wanting more, but the back & Forth with Camilas story made it hard to push thru. It wasn't horrible, but something was missing. Not sure what.
November 13, 2017
I read this for a book club and didn't realize until the end that it was based on a true story. I think I would have been less annoyed by some of the storyline if I had known that up front. In the Name of Salome is written about a famous poet from the Dominican Republic and her daughter.
My favorite thing about this book is its unique structure. The chapters alternate between the mother's story (told in the first person) and the daughter's story (told in the third person), but they also mirror each other from front to back both in timeline and chapter title. For example, the first chapter for the mother ("El ave y el nido") is about the mother when she is born, whereas the last chapter of the book "Bird and Nest" is about the daughter when she is born. The book progresses as the mother ages and as the daughter's story is told in reverse (starting when she is an elderly woman and working toward her birth). The chapter titles reveal this up front as the Spanish chapter titles for the mother's story are bookended by the English chapter titles for the daughter's story. This is more of a clue for people familiar with Spanish (most of the book club members didn't notice this), however the years are also listed at the beginning of each chapter so it's easy enough to catch the pattern after a few chapters. I thought it was a really compelling way to tell the stories and enjoyed the culmination as these two women "meet" at the end with the birth of the daughter.
If I could rate based on structure, I would probably rate this a 4.5 and the format was really what captivated my interest throughout. Switching back and forth between stories (and moving forward and backward in time depending on whose story it is) can be a little disorienting. I found myself pausing with each new chapter to get my bearings and it took a few pages to really get into each chapter as my brain adjusted to the stories. Since the stories obviously overlap, the characters, places and events are mentioned from both perspectives which can make it difficult to keep everything straight but the challenge was fun for me. I had a short amount of time to read the book so I think it helped to read large portions of the book at once. Others mentioned that they had a hard time following the book which may have been partly due to reading small chunks here and there.
I also enjoyed the use of Spanish language throughout. With a Spanish background is was not difficult at all to follow the very limited Spanish that was incorporated. Many of the Spanish words that were used were followed up with an English translation nearby (although if you aren't familiar with Spanish you don't necessary know that, as members of my book club noted). The use of Spanish helped set the context and gave a sense of familiarity or authenticity to the story. I almost wish there would have been more.
The writing itself was quite beautiful. It held my interest and often surprised me with incredibly poetic and insightful descriptions and metaphors. Various styles were used (like a whole chapter that consisted of brief letters written back and forth between husband and wife that really engaged the emotions). You got what felt like an insider's look from the writing with phrases and vocabulary and cultural references that made it seem like you were listening to your grandmother telling about her youth. I really enjoyed the author's style of writing.
The content itself was good, but there were some elements that I didn't like. Being based on a true story, it's hard to know if it was the author or the source material that influenced any particular theme. In the Acknowledgements the author admits that "all inventions, opinions, portrayals, errors in this book are my sole responsibility," but it's impossible to know which parts of the story fall into those categories. Not being familiar with really any of the actual history of the poet or the nation, I dislike the tension of not knowing what is true and what isn't and would have to error on the side of considering this to be a work of (mostly) fiction.
Fiction or not, I was a little annoyed with the negativity toward the U.S. and North Americans that was referenced several times even though almost half of the story takes place in the U.S. There was also quite a bit of adultery and illicit relationships including a homosexual relationship between the daughter and her best friend that never really goes anywhere (both have relationships with men also), though I appreciated that the author was very tactful in her writing dealing with these themes and refrained from being graphic or explicit in any sense.
I also disliked the secular catholicism represented in the book. The title is derived from an alteration of the sign of the cross that an aunt teaches the daughter in order to remember her mother: "In the name of the Father, Son and in the name of Salome." Its flippant creation and frequent use throughout the book without any hint as to the significance of such an alteration was grating. Although not Catholic, I disliked the overarching ethics of the family which were more focused on politics and "la patria" than anything. Religion, when referenced, was either a hinderance or merely a cultural norm to be adapted to their purposes.
Even family took a backseat to political and cultural ambition. The dysfunctional family inflicts one wound after another on each other as they strive for what comes to seem as the entirely impossible dream of peace in their country. Indeed the concept of "patria" is never defined though it is the driving force (or nagging tie) of the characters. Everyone seems to be miserable as they pursue the elusive goal with various tactics and incredibly fleeting successes.
Lastly, I struggled to keep up with the places and characters involved in much of the plot. The family itself had many members but political, religious and societal figures where also talked about frequently and it was hard for me to keep them straight, though it didn't seem super necessary to do so. My own ignorance of the relevant geography made it a little difficult to keep track of where the family was at any given time. Due to political exiles and other reasons the family member spent time in at least France, the U.S., the Dominican Republic, Haiti, Cuba, Argentina, Mexico which were sometimes referenced by the cities in which someone lived which were sometimes unfamiliar to me.
This was an interesting story, creatively told. I appreciated learning about the history of the Dominican Republic (which is the main goal of the book club for which I read it - to enjoy "traveling" through reading) and I really loved the structure of the book, the writing, and the Spanish language that was incorporated here and there. The characters, though, did not impress me. They seemed misguided and mostly unhappy, constantly searching and striving for something that would not bring them real peace or joy (and wrecking relationships with each other along the way). True meaning/purpose/significance were not found, at least from how they characters are portrayed and it seemed like the "legacy" of the mother and her poetry is all but forgotten. It ultimately made me sad for them - that they spend their lives chasing something that left them empty in the end.
My favorite thing about this book is its unique structure. The chapters alternate between the mother's story (told in the first person) and the daughter's story (told in the third person), but they also mirror each other from front to back both in timeline and chapter title. For example, the first chapter for the mother ("El ave y el nido") is about the mother when she is born, whereas the last chapter of the book "Bird and Nest" is about the daughter when she is born. The book progresses as the mother ages and as the daughter's story is told in reverse (starting when she is an elderly woman and working toward her birth). The chapter titles reveal this up front as the Spanish chapter titles for the mother's story are bookended by the English chapter titles for the daughter's story. This is more of a clue for people familiar with Spanish (most of the book club members didn't notice this), however the years are also listed at the beginning of each chapter so it's easy enough to catch the pattern after a few chapters. I thought it was a really compelling way to tell the stories and enjoyed the culmination as these two women "meet" at the end with the birth of the daughter.
If I could rate based on structure, I would probably rate this a 4.5 and the format was really what captivated my interest throughout. Switching back and forth between stories (and moving forward and backward in time depending on whose story it is) can be a little disorienting. I found myself pausing with each new chapter to get my bearings and it took a few pages to really get into each chapter as my brain adjusted to the stories. Since the stories obviously overlap, the characters, places and events are mentioned from both perspectives which can make it difficult to keep everything straight but the challenge was fun for me. I had a short amount of time to read the book so I think it helped to read large portions of the book at once. Others mentioned that they had a hard time following the book which may have been partly due to reading small chunks here and there.
I also enjoyed the use of Spanish language throughout. With a Spanish background is was not difficult at all to follow the very limited Spanish that was incorporated. Many of the Spanish words that were used were followed up with an English translation nearby (although if you aren't familiar with Spanish you don't necessary know that, as members of my book club noted). The use of Spanish helped set the context and gave a sense of familiarity or authenticity to the story. I almost wish there would have been more.
The writing itself was quite beautiful. It held my interest and often surprised me with incredibly poetic and insightful descriptions and metaphors. Various styles were used (like a whole chapter that consisted of brief letters written back and forth between husband and wife that really engaged the emotions). You got what felt like an insider's look from the writing with phrases and vocabulary and cultural references that made it seem like you were listening to your grandmother telling about her youth. I really enjoyed the author's style of writing.
The content itself was good, but there were some elements that I didn't like. Being based on a true story, it's hard to know if it was the author or the source material that influenced any particular theme. In the Acknowledgements the author admits that "all inventions, opinions, portrayals, errors in this book are my sole responsibility," but it's impossible to know which parts of the story fall into those categories. Not being familiar with really any of the actual history of the poet or the nation, I dislike the tension of not knowing what is true and what isn't and would have to error on the side of considering this to be a work of (mostly) fiction.
Fiction or not, I was a little annoyed with the negativity toward the U.S. and North Americans that was referenced several times even though almost half of the story takes place in the U.S. There was also quite a bit of adultery and illicit relationships including a homosexual relationship between the daughter and her best friend that never really goes anywhere (both have relationships with men also), though I appreciated that the author was very tactful in her writing dealing with these themes and refrained from being graphic or explicit in any sense.
I also disliked the secular catholicism represented in the book. The title is derived from an alteration of the sign of the cross that an aunt teaches the daughter in order to remember her mother: "In the name of the Father, Son and in the name of Salome." Its flippant creation and frequent use throughout the book without any hint as to the significance of such an alteration was grating. Although not Catholic, I disliked the overarching ethics of the family which were more focused on politics and "la patria" than anything. Religion, when referenced, was either a hinderance or merely a cultural norm to be adapted to their purposes.
Even family took a backseat to political and cultural ambition. The dysfunctional family inflicts one wound after another on each other as they strive for what comes to seem as the entirely impossible dream of peace in their country. Indeed the concept of "patria" is never defined though it is the driving force (or nagging tie) of the characters. Everyone seems to be miserable as they pursue the elusive goal with various tactics and incredibly fleeting successes.
Lastly, I struggled to keep up with the places and characters involved in much of the plot. The family itself had many members but political, religious and societal figures where also talked about frequently and it was hard for me to keep them straight, though it didn't seem super necessary to do so. My own ignorance of the relevant geography made it a little difficult to keep track of where the family was at any given time. Due to political exiles and other reasons the family member spent time in at least France, the U.S., the Dominican Republic, Haiti, Cuba, Argentina, Mexico which were sometimes referenced by the cities in which someone lived which were sometimes unfamiliar to me.
This was an interesting story, creatively told. I appreciated learning about the history of the Dominican Republic (which is the main goal of the book club for which I read it - to enjoy "traveling" through reading) and I really loved the structure of the book, the writing, and the Spanish language that was incorporated here and there. The characters, though, did not impress me. They seemed misguided and mostly unhappy, constantly searching and striving for something that would not bring them real peace or joy (and wrecking relationships with each other along the way). True meaning/purpose/significance were not found, at least from how they characters are portrayed and it seemed like the "legacy" of the mother and her poetry is all but forgotten. It ultimately made me sad for them - that they spend their lives chasing something that left them empty in the end.
May 30, 2024
so beautiful! I loved the way Alvarez told their stories in such a hauntingly beautiful way! would definitely read more of her again!
January 23, 2024
Every piece I read by Alvarez further solidifies her place as one of my all time favorite authors. This book vocalized so many complex and deep emotions so profoundly and simply. There were paragraphs I read over and over again just to engrain the feeling of reading them in my head. I love when a novel strategically plays with passage of time and this novel did that as it worked toward the joining of two people, a legacy, and a name.
November 29, 2020
Mothers and daughters, sisters
Here we are all together. Bundled up, arms linked
Down the road we march. Some get on the platform.
Some just stand to the side.
Here we are all together. Bundled up, arms linked
Down the road we march. Some get on the platform.
Some just stand to the side.
February 14, 2019
In the Name of Salome’ by Julia Alvarez is unique because it is told in two voices. One voice is that of Salome’ who was a famous poet in the Dominican Republic. The other voice is that of her daughter, Camila (Salome’ Camilla) who cleaves to her mother’s spirit through her poems.
When the book opens, Camila is leaving her post at Vassar College to go to Cuba in 1960. She wants to participant in its literary revolution. Her family once lived there after fleeing The Dominican Republic whose governments changed on a regular basis.
Her mother, Salome’ wrote patriotic poems over the years to keep her people encouraged as they faced constant upheaval. Salome’ was as a teacher and poet who waited until after her fame to marry a young man eight years her junior. The unhappy marriage caused her much grief due to his selfishness and philandering. They had three sons and in her grave illness with consumption she gave birth to her only daughter, Salome’ Camila.
Camila, a Spanish professor, taught and recited her mother’s poems to her students. Her mother died when she was three but even during those years, Salome’ had an incessant cough and was often kept away from the family. Camila struggles to understand her philandering father who loved her mother’s mind but possibly did love her. She also tries to love her step-mother who had been one of her mother’s students.
In the Name of Salome’ shares many little-known facts about the struggles of the Dominican Republic and how its many governments affected the people. Some fled; many died, and some stayed. But Salome held fast and wrote poetry and became the voice of the people. Her rhyming father told her that “Tears are the ink of the poet.” In her last days, she held on until she gave birth to her only daughter, Salome’ Camila, who would become the protector of her mother’s poems and the keeper of the flame!
When the book opens, Camila is leaving her post at Vassar College to go to Cuba in 1960. She wants to participant in its literary revolution. Her family once lived there after fleeing The Dominican Republic whose governments changed on a regular basis.
Her mother, Salome’ wrote patriotic poems over the years to keep her people encouraged as they faced constant upheaval. Salome’ was as a teacher and poet who waited until after her fame to marry a young man eight years her junior. The unhappy marriage caused her much grief due to his selfishness and philandering. They had three sons and in her grave illness with consumption she gave birth to her only daughter, Salome’ Camila.
Camila, a Spanish professor, taught and recited her mother’s poems to her students. Her mother died when she was three but even during those years, Salome’ had an incessant cough and was often kept away from the family. Camila struggles to understand her philandering father who loved her mother’s mind but possibly did love her. She also tries to love her step-mother who had been one of her mother’s students.
In the Name of Salome’ shares many little-known facts about the struggles of the Dominican Republic and how its many governments affected the people. Some fled; many died, and some stayed. But Salome held fast and wrote poetry and became the voice of the people. Her rhyming father told her that “Tears are the ink of the poet.” In her last days, she held on until she gave birth to her only daughter, Salome’ Camila, who would become the protector of her mother’s poems and the keeper of the flame!
May 8, 2019
This is the third Julia Alvarez book that I've read so I knew coming into this that if anything, I am familiar with and can get through her writing style. The narration alternated between Camila and Salome and the timeline went in opposite directions. I think when it comes to Salome's storyline, I would have liked to have seen more of her life as a revolutionary poet. The reader knows that Salome's poetry have caused a stir and that she is revered by her fellow people, but we're not given glimpses into the specific effects her poetry have caused or how her poetry has specifically affected certain people. We're told you was the national poet but not given too much context outside of that. As for Camila's story line, the love stories between her former lovers weren't fully fledged out. We know Camila doesn't end up with them and that things didn't work out, but we're not given an insight as to how that journey went. I understand that her story is more than just her former partners, but her failed relationship with others is such a constant theme throughout her story and had they been fully exposed it would have added more depth to her story line. I enjoyed reading the story, but it wasn't as political as her other work. I kept comparing it to In the Time of the Butterflies and maybe that's why I was a little disappointed.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 233 reviews