FRUTO: Bearing the Burden of Care - Softcover

Rea, Daniela

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0872869164 ISBN 13: 9780872869165

Verlag: City Lights Publishers, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

Mothering always comes at a price, paid by women regardless of their means.

"Daniela Rea's Fruto is a calm room late at night where women gather to talk: with their stories and their words they take care of each other and then, by sharing that, they care for all of us."—Miriam Toews, author of Women Talking

"This transformative book is the product of eyes that see across generations, ears that truly know how to listen, and a mind that understands the complexity of systemic forms of violence. Daniela Rea's brilliant, polyphonic imagination casts the philosophy of care in an entirely new light."—Valeria Luiselli, author of Lost Children Archive: A Novel

After the birth of her first child, the relentless work of motherhood left award-winning Mexican journalist, Daniela Rea feeling overwhelmed, despairing, and afraid of losing her identity. She took up the tools of her trade and began a series of interviews with other women, some mothers, some caregivers. As she listened to their experiences of providing care for others, sometimes under extreme circumstances, she began to find a place and a meaning for her own story.

Fruto examines the personal and social contradictions of care. Fourteen voices weave in and around Rea's own, punctuated by diary entries from her first days of motherhood and reflections on her upbringing that are sparked by a lengthy interview with her own mother. Throughout, she engages with an international women's chorus of philosophers and feminists, poets and essayists, and the result is a compelling page turner that chronicles a journey of listening in search for meaning.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Daniela Rea (Mexico, 1982) is a journalist, documentary filmmaker, author of three books of narrative non-fiction, and a contributor to various collections of essays. Fruto, published to wide acclaim in Mexico in 2023, is her most recent book. She has received various awards for her work, including Mexico's National Journalism Award (2018); the Gabriel García Marquez Prize (2017, 2019, and 2022); and the Premio Alemán for Journalism (2021). She is interested in the tension between horror and beauty, and recognized for her work on social issues, violence, social justice, and human rights. She is a founding member of the Red Periodistas de Pie; part of the Global Network of Investigative Journalism, and co-editor of Pie de página, a journalism portal created with the support of the European Union. She lives in Mexico City, Mexico.

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When my first daughter was born, and despite the fact that my mother, my sisters, my partner, and my girlfriends all accompanied me, I felt devastated. Raising a child cornered me in a dark place while the outside world demanded that I reclaim my identity as a journalist. To understand my new reality, I did what I know how to do: journalism. How do I interpret the world? Through the experiences of other people, by listening to them and understanding how their individual stories find a place and take on meaning in the world where they live. Hearing other women in order to hear myself and find common ground.

And so, in the midst of this devastation, I began to seek out and interview other women confronting motherhood. Listening to them made me think about how I was mothered, and that lead me to interview my mom. Soon, I came to realize something obvious: that the stories of caring for others cannot be reduced to mothers, they involve all of us women. This is not a book about motherhood. It is a book about being cared for and caring for others born of the premise that not every woman is a mother, but we have all nurtured and been nurtured.

This is a transgenerational book: grandmothers, mothers, daughters, and sisters all participate in it. There's Jenny's story, a teenager who threw a pot of boiling oil on her father's back to save her mother. And Rosalba, trying to raise her daughter free of the abuse with which she was raised. And Avelina, who constantly dreams of an abandoned baby due to the feeling that she didn't take care of her children. And Mónica, who sifted through a pile of worn-out dresses, to choose the one that would clothe her mother's body after she died of suicide.

There's Channi, who became a mother again, when she had to raise the children of her disappeared daughter. And Betsy, who plays with the children of her murdered aunt. And Mariela, who raised the son who was the product of a rape. And Fernanda, who learned to protect herself from abuse through carrying out school pranks. And Laura, whose mother cut off her long braids because she didn't have time to care for her. And Alejandra, who cared for her sick mother as she died.

The book takes place in a Mexico where violence against women is expressed through disappearances, feminicides, endangerment and constant, daily assault on life.

Fruto began as a whisper and then became an incantation by and for women who care for others and have been cared for ourselves.

***

Where does my story begin? I asked Rosario, my mother. This is the story she told me.

To know your story, I should first tell you mine.

I was born in Irapuato, in the mid-fifties. I'm the daughter of Imelda and Luis, also born here in Irapuato.

My parents met in the El Águila cigarette factory, one of the first businesses established in Irapuato. That's where they made the famous Faros brand cigarettes, and that's where they became a couple. They both took part in the employees' attempt to form a union. The company fired my father and a number of other workers, but not my mother. They needed her; she was a very good administrator. Sometime later, they married, and my mother quit the factory and dedicated herself to the home.

My father adored photography and after leaving the factory, he made it his profession. He built a darkroom in the house, which we called the laboratory. It had a photographic enlarger, trays, and chemical solutions. It was a fascinating place that was not off limits to us, his kids. Our fondness for photography started with him. I grew up in a house made of adobe and scrap materials, vines climbing over the walls and flowers filling the porch. It was a big house, with colorful floors, with patios and hallways and a big yard. It was the scene of many adventures and games between me and my brothers, but also with cousins and friends. Pomegranate, American pepper, and zarsigüil trees all grew there. It was paradise, and in the center of it all, there was a grand mesquite tree with a swing where my mother once tied me with a rope so that I would stop misbehaving while she was hanging out to dry the clothes she had washed.

I was the only girl out of seven kids. My mother was very meticulous with how she taught us about women's roles. In other families, girls were taught to mainly serve the men. At dinner, for example, they would serve the men first, and then eat after them. Our house was not like that. My mother was somehow a feminist. She taught my brothers that women were not inferior to them, and they learned to protect and support me. One time, when I was about ten years old, we were playing a restaurant game and one of my brothers said, "Give me some tacos." And my mother, upon hearing that, came downstairs from her bedroom and said harshly, "Don't speak to your sister like that. Your sister is not your slave; she's a woman and you will respect and take care of her."

I was a well-loved and happy girl. Besides being the only girl in the family, I was a pretty, with long hair, black eyebrows, and honey-colored eyes. I was studious, restless, and cheerful. My mom was dark-skinned and my paternal grandmother—a white woman who was very pretty—always reminded her of this. A neighbor suggested that my mom apply Dr. Bell's Skin Ointment to lighten up her complexion, but my mother never paid her any mind. She liked her skin color.

In my adolescence, I developed acne and became shy and withdrawn. My mother always made efforts to take me to the dermatologist and treat me with natural remedies.

Even though we faced hardship at home and my mother had to manage our spending on a day-to-day basis to feed her seven children, she shielded us from the financial difficulties we faced. We took daytrips to the countryside, to the river. We received gifts for Three Kings Day, which we shared among all seven of us, and we celebrated our birthdays. My mother made my dresses, and she never wanted us to work while we were small kids. She had to work as a teenager because my grandfather, who was a railroad worker, went blind. My grandmother stayed home to take care of her husband and four children while my mother, being the oldest, took on the responsibility of providing financially for the household. So, she dropped out of school and got a job at a furniture store when she was fifteen. My mom wasn't as upset about having to work as she was about being forced to quit school. She didn't want the same thing to happen to her children and so, with a lot of effort on her part, she always encouraged us to study. Our education, both at home and in school, was the most important thing for her.

My house was always full of life. With seven kids, one or two of them would stay home while the others went to school. My father worked from home, and we all sat together at the table for lunch and dinner. There was always an extra plate ready for the friend stopping by to say hello or the stranger knocking on the door to ask for a bit of food. The after-dinner conversations were long, and that was when my mother was able to be more her own woman than she was our mother. She debated with our father, shared her points of view, she and rebelled against the supposed submission of the housewife. They woke us up in the mornings with classical music and at night they sometimes played huapangos, sometimes the Glenn Miller Orchestra. I don't remember seeing them kiss in front of me, but they would hug and talk sweetly to each other. She called him Hueso, Bone and he called her Meloncita, Little Melon. They were passionate about discussing history, politics and music. My father played the guitar and my mother sang. That's how we spent our afternoons. As we grew up, we played the guitar and sang together as a family.

I graduated from elementary school at ten and my...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: City Lights Publishers
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0872869164
• ISBN 13: 9780872869165
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 264
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