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“And I think about all the things we could be if we were never told our bodies were not built for them.”
Elizabeth Acevedo, The Poet X
Xiomara–a teenager in Harlem–narrates this book in verse. As readers, we meet her through her words and quickly become intimate with her wants, insecurities, and bold heart. Meanwhile, X struggles to overcome the vision others have of her. Both men and women make assumptions about her personality and values based on her appearance–that she’s easy, or a troublemaker.
When I first read Oscar Wao, I cringed at how women were interpreted. I thought I’d feel differently re-reading the book this summer, but that feeling was only sharper (especially after the controversy around Díaz surfaced last year). In sharing the story of Oscar’s family in its mythological greatness, Yunior also populates it with women of comic book proportions–powerful in personality, and voluptuous to the max. In real life, you don’t need a dictator falling in love with you for your life to be in danger from a man. (See: “Nearly Half of All Murdered Women Are Killed by Romantic Partners,” The Atlantic)
Like the protagonists of Oscar Wao, Xiomara also has Dominican roots. Instead of navigating Paterson, New Jersey, she’s making her way in Manhattan. Xiomara describes the incessant, unwanted attention from her male classmates and strangers. Xiomara uses her fists to fight back. When I lived in New York, I developed a fast pace and a resting bitch face as a defense. You’re not just looking out for words hurled in your direction–you’re waiting for the moment someone turns those words into action and decides they can step into your space. All that battle armor can obscure who you are.
Xiomara’s perspective in Poet X was such a sweet counterpoint to Oscar Wao. The novel explores what it means to be a girl in this culture–by “this culture,” I mean not only Dominican culture but also the broader mainstream culture of the United States; both are poisoned by misogyny. This is a country where mainstream media described Jeffrey Epstein’s victims as “underage women” instead of what they are–girls. We chant “I believe her” and share our collective voice under #MeToo because we still have to shout to be heard.
Spoiler alert! Xiomara does find her voice, in all its vulnerability and range of experience. You know she will, but even so, I gasped back tears at the end. Her triumph is hard-won and beautiful.