Any Small Goodness

“Even though she’s feisty, God guides her life. She closes most conversation with an after-breath of ‘Dios Mediante,’ God willing. Since Grandfather died, she lives with us. She came all the way from Aguascalientes, Mexico, on a Norteño bus, with only her prayer book, a photograph of Grandfather, and her molcajete.”

As Arturo first characterizes Abuelita, he mentions her hometown of Aguascalientes, Mexico, which literally translates to “hot waters”—an appropriate beginning, considering Abuelita’s fiery temper. In mentioning how Abuelita has traveled to the US—on a bus, with only a few personal effects—Arturo suggests Abuelita’s simplicity. Her life can be grounded in three sacred concepts: faith, family, and food.

“We’re all waiting when five police come. Armed for a world war. They dump the poor, dazed-out possum from the garbage drum and severely tell Mami about using the 911 code, set up for emergencies only. Then they leave. Mami’s still convinced of the wrong of this. For her, it’s a textbook case of 911. To this day, she huffs. ‘What do police know, in their blue uniforms?’”

This is the first appearance of the Los Angeles police, foreshadowing their appearance after the attack on the Rodriguez home. This early episode—though comedic—explains the disconnect between the Rodriguez family and the American police, noting that their values and assessments of danger often don’t align. Though the situation is relatively innocent, the police arrive in full tactical gear, but they fail to respond similarly later in the novel when real danger is present. This conundrum works to explain Arturo’s distrust in the Los Angeles police force: They’re not often available when disadvantaged communities need them.

“Rhythms rush through his blood with such force, side by side with him I seem half asleep. Flairless, while he puts flair on everything. He’s always snapping his fingers to some inside beat, swaying his body like a dazed snake.”

Music is central to Luis’s character: He creates a band, plays trumpet, and moves with an instinctual rhythm. Here, Arturo expresses his admiration for Luis’s musical “flair” but also offers insight into their dynamic. As a younger brother, Arturo considers himself in relation to Luis, noting his own faults by comparison.

“It’s two weeks since we’ve seen her. Now a little silence moves through the house, as if filling Huitla’s space. […] Rosa’s the one most desolate. She sometimes crawls into my lap and says nothing, just sucks her thumb.”

After Huitlacoche’s disappearance, Rosa seeks out Arturo for comfort, sheltering in his lap. This sibling dynamic is opposite to that which Arturo shares with Luis; as Rosa’s older brother, suddenly Arturo is the protector, and he takes responsibility for Rosa’s safety. Later, after the shooting, Arturo will approach Rosa similarly, eager to keep her safe.

“The day flames out in a smog-sunset, a wild gift of L.A.”

This imagery of a smog-sunset is unique to an urban landscape, referencing the pollution that often clogs LA’s skies. Though Papi has yet to verbalize this lesson, here Arturo seems to already accept the value of “any small goodness” (103): This sunset may not be perfect, but it’s still beautiful, in its own way.

“Our school colors are orange and green. Our mascot’s the tiger. What menso-heads thought these things up? Tigers don’t exist in that color combination. Tigers don’t exist in L.A.”

Here, Arturo uses one of his favorite slang phrases, “menso-head,” a Spanish-English mix that roughly translates to “silly head.” As Arturo is considering his school mascot, the tiger, he’s struck by the awkwardness of the choice. Tigers are popular mascots for American schools, meant to demonstrate ferocity but not necessarily to reflect American wildlife. Though Arturo has been participating in more American pastimes, like basketball, his criticism suggests a unique, honest perspective on American culture.

“An NBA basketball player once so famous he made Santa Claus seem like a total unknown. He’s been out of the game a while, but any true fan knows him. […] What I notice most about this guy is his eyes. Like owls’. It seems there are deep things in them. Deep and mysterious.”

Animal imagery is common in this chapter, beginning with Arturo’s confusion about the team mascot. Here, as Arturo first meets Coach Tree, he directs his attention to his eyes, noting their similarity to owl eyes. As before in the novel, eyes offer insight into a person’s character, unaffected by appearance. Owls, traditionally, represent wisdom, and in describing Coach Tree thus, Arturo identifies a deep intelligence and caring.

“One night Alicia comes over. To do homework. And snack on Mexican cooking. Crunchy chicharrón, with lime juice squeezed on. We gouge into guacamole, while we’re sort of studying. ‘Sort of’ because immediately concentration slips away. The air feels as crackly as the pork rinds. Like Alicia’s got something to say.”

The motif of food appears frequently throughout the novel, often amidst important plot points or character development. As she snacks and works, Alicia prepares to express her concerns about her brother, José. This draws a parallel to earlier in the novel, when Alicia, Arturo, and their mutual friends reclaimed their Mexican names, also in the Rodriguez kitchen. Representing warmth and comfort, kitchens appear throughout the novel as a source of safety in vulnerable times, allowing characters to confront their fears and true selves.

“I like to read the L.A. Times. Anything from weather ads to hair replacement. […] Sometimes you glean (Raúl’s word) most from the shorter articles. Two-paragraphers about Bigfoot or a dinosaur hatchery in what’s now Argentina or a man who collects flat tires. These satisfy some thirst for weirdness in me.”

In reading the L.A. Times, Arturo demonstrates his sophistication: He’s mature, ambitious, and eager to learn about the outer world. However, Arturo still has room to grow; following Raúl’s example, Arturo misuses the word “glean,” assuming that it means simply learn or understand. In actuality, to glean means to gather relevant bits of information, little by little. Though Arturo (and Raúl) are on the right track, they still have a lot to learn.

“As if by the power of suggestion, my eyes skip to the obituary page. I do that anyhow sometimes. Creepy, I guess, but there are all kinds of interesting people mentioned in there. Like this article today about Leona Scott. A black lady who grew up in the barrio and never moved away.”

Self-consciously, Arturo wonders if his fascination with the obituary page might seem morbid. However, this habit only speaks to a cultural respect for death and the departed. For instance, Abuelita talks to Arturo’s grandfather and dresses in black mourning clothes, while the whole family participates in the Mexican Day of the Dead, an annual remembrance of lost loved ones. In Mexican culture, death is as much a cause for celebration as it is for sadness.

“The L.A.’s a swindle of a river. Most years it’s nonexistent, a bed of concrete parched as an old scroll. […] Today, on my way home from school, I’m walking beside this ‘river.’ Alone. I like to come here and forget the rush of L.A. To let my thoughts just fly. […] I don’t feel lonely a bit. I just sit and think and watch the driftweeds pass […] Here, what’s important stands big. What’s not, shrinks. I learn a lot from silence.”

The LA River represents a rare oasis in urban life—a little like the smog-sunset, it is unglamorous but oddly comforting. This is also one of the few moments in which Arturo is alone. Though he narrates his own story, Arturo always exists alongside family, friends, and community members. In this opportunity for quiet, Arturo drifts back into memory—another rarity, as most of Arturo’s stories reflect his life as it unfolds.

“Our school becomes a gossip factory. The chisme is, Ms. Cloud has had no proper credentials all these years. To some, this is a Garden-of-Eden-class sin…So Ms. Cloud’s fired. […] ‘Que barbaridad!’ That’s Papi’s reaction, and as high as he goes on the harsh-language scale. ‘What a barbarity is this, to release a person from service of great love, and great value. All for a piece of paper. There is such a thing as lenience. There is such a thing as flexibility.’”

Papi is incensed that the school district has decided to terminate Ms. Cloud, after realizing that she lacks the proper certification. Characteristically, Papi values action and love over something superficial, like a piece of paper, and he argues that Ms. Cloud’s record of community service should weigh more significantly. This emphasizes the novel’s ideas about True Character Versus Appearance and suggests that the culture in LA frequently values appearance.

“Valentín’s guacamole green. With a long, snubbed nose. It looks like a monster dragonfly that has no wings. Because of its age, the car has a top speed of forty miles per hour. So it doesn’t do freeways. Because of its design, dragonfly slim, its passenger load is small. I don’t care. I hope when I get my license I can drive it.”

Papi’s car, Valentín, seems a lot like him: slow, steady, and dependable. Arturo notes that Valentín is too slow to navigate freeways, a high-traffic roadway typical of Southern California. Though Papi works to integrate himself within American life, he, like Valentín, is too careful and old-fashioned for mainstream America.

“‘Thanks, Papi,’ I say quietly. I hope he knows I also mean be careful. ‘Thanks, Señor Rodriguez,’ say the rest of Mega Mango respectfully, barely above Valentín’s buzz. Papi lifts a hand. He’ll be back after the dance.”

After the run-in with the gang, Arturo leaves Papi in Valentín, joining the other students in the gym. Arturo has always idolized Papi and turned to him as a role model, but his gentle “be careful” suggests a deep anxiety that highlights Arturo’s gradual coming-of-age. As Arturo realizes, the gang doesn’t discriminate in their harassment, targeting good people just as eagerly as bad people. Suddenly, it seems like Papi’s quiet strength might not be enough to save him.

“Soon everyone’s got the fever. Even the football players who’ve wandered in. Wide, invincible hulks. They dance like they’re still at football practice, like they’re swimming in refried beans—but, hey, at least they dance. The whole place’s thrashing with motion.”

Music brings everyone together in the novel. Like a fever, it spreads throughout the crowd, encouraging people to enjoy themselves—even the clumsy football players. Mega Mango plays mostly Mexican favorites, but at this point, lyrics and meaning seem irrelevant; all that matters is that people have come together to dance.

“Some dancers, including the linemen, pick up on this and form a barrier of bulk between the punks and the rest of us. Then comes the big staredown. Like at the OK Corral.”

Arturo describes the face-off between the gang and the students as the OK Corral, a notorious Wild West gunfight between law enforcement and renegade cowboys. The Wild West is a popular arena of American myth, characterized by cowboys, ranching, shoot-outs, and the opportunity of Western expansion. However, such legends draw inspiration from Mexican culture—particularly the vaqueros, or Mexican ranchers who thrived in the American West. It’s unclear whether Arturo is aware of this history, but his allusion nevertheless identifies a link between Mexican and American culture.

“Maybe it’s not such a hot idea, but I’m attempting The Count of Monte Cristo, the all-time payback book. If she knew, Ms. Cloud would be in full-twinkle over this choice. It’s a major reading struggle for me, but worth every sweat bead. Man, this Edmond Dantés character’s expert at dealing out venganza.”

Here, Arturo reads The Count of Monte Cristo, an epic novel by French author Alexandre Dumas. The novel’s protagonist, Edmond Dantés, is wrongfully imprisoned. Upon his escape, he disguises himself as the “Count of Monte Cristo” and seeks revenge against those who have wronged him. This novel proves an especially relevant choice for Arturo after the attack on his family and presents an unconventional, less optimistic role model in Edmond Dantés. Before, Arturo had turned to role models like Coach Tree and Mama Dulce to encourage a sense of community, but now, he seeks only revenge. Furthermore, The Count of Monte Cristo’s impressive length and complicated themes—vengeance, jealousy, and intrigue—underscore Arturo’s maturation.

“Tonight will be forever tattooed in the skin of my mind.”

Typically, tattoos are associated with gangs, used to place individuals within different or even rival organizations. It is fitting, then, that Arturo should apply this metaphor to the gang’s attack and his resulting trauma. Like a gang member, Arturo undergoes his own kind of initiation, losing his innocence as he catapults, unwillingly, into adulthood.

“Well, they got their revenge on us, so they won’t be back. That’s how it works. I wish I could hurt them—real bad. But I can’t. They’re gone. We form a ring, a ring of Rodriguezes. Like a kind of prayer. No one says so, but I think we all know, right here we’re holding all that matters in the whole world. We’re holding each other.”

Standing together in their kitchen, with shards of glass and plaster around them, the Rodriguez family seeks each other for comfort. They form a ring—a symbol of unity and continuity—to restore their sense of safety. Family, at this point, is their most important resource.

“In class today I’m a fantasma, a ghost. There, but not really. I’m floating somewhere else, brooding. About good and bad. The point of things.”

Though no one had been harmed during the attack, Arturo’s description of himself as a “ghost” suggests that the events have caused psychological wounds. As a ghost, Arturo hovers between two worlds, mourning his innocence while also plotting his next steps. This eerie imagery heightens the suspense of the ensuing chapter, prompting readers to consider how Arturo will proceed and if he will resort to violence.

“December’s the sucker month. Raúl fell on that name after reading some poem in English class about a wasted land.”

Here, again following Raúl’s example, Arturo references The Waste Land, a 1922 long-form poem by British American writer T. S. Eliot. Arturo and Raúl are likely referencing the poem’s famous first line, “April is the cruellest month,” though their execution is colloquial and slightly inaccurate (Eliot, T. S. “The Waste Land.” Selected Poems, Faber and Faber, 1954, p. 41). Arturo hasn’t read the poem, but its themes nevertheless reflect his life’s tensions. The Waste Land was written in the aftermath of World War I, a large-scale conflict that presented an industrial method of warfare. The poem mourns Western culture, unsure how it might adjust to a new, violent world. Arturo stands at a similar juncture, reconsidering his culture and values in the wake of a gang attack.

“When the actual opening of presents happens, it’s usually as obvious as a fire truck in snow who gave what to whom. But we all play totally bobo, like we’re perplexed out of our minds.”

In their Christmas tradition, each member of the Rodriguez family secretly selects a gift recipient, taking care to prepare their gift anonymously. Though Arturo acknowledges that everyone can identify their gift-giver, they protect the ritual of secrecy, careful not to undermine their gesture by seeking recognition. Ultimately, the act of giving is its own reward, more valuable than shows of gratitude.

“After each present’s revealed, after the ay’s and sighs, comes the cry, ‘Atole break! Atole break!’ Then we stop, clink mugs, and sip a gluggy drink as old as the gods themselves.”

Atole is a hot, masa-based beverage traditional in Mexican culture. As the Rodriguez family celebrates Christmas in Los Angeles, they drink atole to stay close to their Mexican roots, honoring a long, proud past. Interestingly, Arturo refers to “gods,” a departure from the monotheistic religion of Christianity. Abuelita often evokes the Aztec gods, and here Arturo seems to follow her example. The Aztecs were an Indigenous Mexican civilization that reigned in central Mexico until the Spanish invasion in the 17th century. In alluding to the Aztecs, Arturo reaches back to a distant past, when Mexican culture was untouched by Western influence.