By John Rechy
Gore Vidal has hailed John Rechy as one of the few unique American writers of the final century,” and Michael Cunningham has referred to as him an writer whose lifestyles is nearly as fascinating, and significant, as his work.” Rechy’s long-awaited memoir,About My lifestyles and the saved Woman, is the author’s first open remedy of his lifeand a testomony to the ability of delight and self-acceptance. Raised Mexican-American in El Paso, Texas, at a time whilst Latino teenagers have been generally segregated, Rechy used to be frequently assumed to be Anglo as a result of his mild epidermis, and had his identify changed” for him by means of a instructor, from Juan to John. As he grew olderand as his fascination with the reminiscence of a infamous saved lady in his formative years deepenedRechy turned acutely aware that his adjustments lay not only in his background, yet in his sexuality. A relocating, robust tale of a lifestyles that bears witness to a few of the main riotous adjustments of the past...
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Extra info for About My Life and the Kept Woman. A Memoir
He referred to a powerful man and his kept woman? Who else would be involved in such a sordid story but de Leon and that woman? ” piped up the other aunt. “Hundreds of rich políticos,” my mother offered with a chuckle. ” From such occasional references—including my father’s that he thrust out in judgment of my mother’s family—I had pieced together that the two rich uncles in Juárez, one of whom we had visited the day of the women’s duel, were involved in shady political trafficking—large sums of money and favors.
The kept woman! Those words resonated from what I overheard. I tried to envision her, shape her. Nothing I could conjure satisfied the extravagant title. I knew only that being a kept woman had created scandal; and so I imbued all the secrecy and whispers about her with a glow of glamorous wickedness. I begged God: Please let the kept woman come. The time of the ceremony arrived. The church had been adorned with as much opulence as limited funds allowed, including paper flowers intermixed with real flowers gathered that very morning from outlying fields.
I knocked on the door. Sounds inside stopped. I knocked insistently. Nothing. I jumped, high, trying to reach the slightly open transom to see whether she was there, asleep in her bedroom. I fell with a thud. Did I hear giggles? I waited long, longer at the door. When the noises resumed, I left bitterly. Señor died soon after the wedding. His wife astonished us by appearing to convey the news calmly. She wore a new hat with a flower and had put on a few pounds. “Yes, he’s gone. ” She tilted her hat.