Book Talk
By Lia Mantilla Tanzi, June 22, 2007

A long convalescence from a childhood illness resulted in a veritable shower of presents – puzzles, paper dolls, sketch books, colored pencils and story books. After exhausting all of the toys, I turned to the story books and much to my family’s surprise, I found that I was able to read, first the words, then sentences and soon whole paragraphs.

Much to my surprise, I understood what I was reading, and from that moment, books became my great and dear friends.

I remember the very first book I held in my hands, I remember the feel of the paper, the smell, its weight and texture – and its name: The Ugly Duckling. So many titles, Sleeping Beauty, was another favourite, one of many kept carefully stacked on the small bookshelf in my room, home to all the toys of my early childhood.

During adolescence I was crazy about romance novels and mysteries, but as I grew up, I discovered the great European writers – Balzac, Victor Hugo, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky – I had caught up with my mother and we could share our passion for literature. With her help and advice I learned to be more selective in my choices.

We are experiencing a long literary awakening in Latin America which has allowed us to explore and understand ourselves and our culture. These are my favourite writers, the Latin Americans: Márquez, Bolaño, Vargas Llosa, Rulfo, Castellanos and dozens more, any of whom I might run into at a book fair or in a library, awed by their work as writers and their ability to guide us in our efforts to become true and dedicated readers.

Up and running 

The Biblioteca Pública proudly introduces Absys, our new computerized library system. We encourage one and all to give it a try. You can consult the catalog, reserve titles by logging on to www.bibliotecasma.com and you will find the search process much simpler – the program indicates availability of books, the status of one’s library account and all of this is can be done in Spanish, English or French.

We welcome your questions and look forward to familiarizing everyone with this new system.

Robin’s Picks 

The Biblioteca Publica has added a lot of memoirs in the last two years, thanks in part to a generous donation from a library benefactor who loves biography and autobiography.

Here’s a list of ten of my favorites—both old and new. I’ve included the call numbers to make your searching a tad bit easier!

Robin Velte



All Over But the Shoutin’ by Rick Bragg, 1988. Alabama born ‘n raised, Rick Bragg, goes on to win the Pulitzer Prize for feature writing in 1996. This account of his writing career and the tragedies he encounters is riveting. 92 BRA

American Chica: Two Worlds, One Childhood by Marie Arana, 2002. Marie, whose father is Peruvian and mother, American, lived her childhood between the two countries. The reader is treated to the reality, sometimes comical, of a person straddling two cultures. 92 ARA

Are You Somebody? The Accidental Memoir of a Dublin Woman by Nuala O’Faolain, 1999. A journalist recounts the trials of her growing up, her love affairs and her work. 92 O’FA

Breaking Clean by Judy Blunt, 2003. The rural Montana raised author gives us a woman’s view of life on a ranch beginning in the 1950s. You’ll find here an interesting underlying feminist take on the male viewpoint. 92 BLU


A Drinking Life: A Memoir by Pete Hamill, 1995. I remember the way Hamill described his Brooklyn neighborhood as a youth. I wasn’t raised in a city, but I understood it and saw it.. This grand writer suffered from drinking problems, just as his father did. 92 HAM

It’s a mystery
By Nancy Blake-Bohné, June 22, 2007

In this world of diminishing mysteries, Secrets revealed and arrogant certainty, I take heart in the as yet unfathomable essence of San Miguel. Down any street, on any corner, from the merely curious to the profoundly perplexing, the sights, sounds and smells of this town continue to mystify and delight, even after all these years.

The bells for instance, I’m told they mark time, but whose idea of time is anybody’s guess. Scientific certainty is sure to be an illusion. Of course there are those who claim they know, just as there are those who think they know the words of Padre Hidalgo’s Grito on that momentous night. I’ve heard said it was Viva Mexico! Not likely since there was no Mexico as yet, just New Spain and Viva New New Spain sounds just plain silly. 

More likely, the Grito was just that, a strangled cry of panic, anguish and fear - the conspiracy discovered, the conspirators scattered throughout the Bajio. Where was Doña Josefa when she heard they’d been discovered? In a café? Her bedroom? What words were spoken between her and her mayor husband? 

“What?! Conspiracies?! I thought you were at the shops woman!” Did he really manage to lock her in her room? One thing is certain, if she’d had a cell phone, she would surely have been out of minutes.

What was Ignacio Allende doing that night? Having a smoke maybe; leaning over the balcony of that house we walk past every day - many miles between him and Hidalgo. Yet somehow, between September 15 and 16, a movement was born that would indeed lead to a grito of Viva Mexico!

It’s a mystery - one almost as perplexing as the enigma of why Mexican women can run downhill on cobblestone streets, wearing high heels, not even watching where they’re going, and still arrive at their destination intact and unscathed; while gringas, eyes glued to the sidewalk ahead and wearing a sturdy pair of Rockports, so often end up in an undignified sprawl. 

If you haven’t worked here and joined the early morning “commute” you may have missed sharing the sidewalks with the stream of uniformed children heading to school. No buses, no traffic at that hour and never alone. They walk with their mothers, often their fathers, who carry their mochilas and hold their hands - talking, mostly laughing - which is the true national pastime. Where does it come from, this quickness to laugh? At each other, at themselves, the weather, at the roller coaster of life’s vicissitudes. Perhaps from the Mexica, that culture, so steeped in fatalism that bore the responsibility of the rising sun The Spanish maybe, womb of that knight errant, that lovable, laughable and tragic hidalgo of impossible dreams Maybe the Moors? The Africans? The gypsies - or all of the above. I suspect it is simply a profound understanding of the absurdity of history; particularly their own.

After work on Fridays, when I’m heading home, tasks yet undone drumming a litany in my mind, I walk up Hidalgo, take that leap of faith over the blinding footlights into the Jardin and instinctively look to the twinkling cross that tops the Parroquia The opening fanfare of mariachi brass splits the air filling me heart and soul and I know it is a sound that will thrill me till the day I die. The benches are full, couples are strolling, tiny kids hurl cometas high into the sky, laughing when they come down on someone’s head, down a shirt or best of all, when they don’t come down at all. Another mystery to enjoy.

It’s the music, the food, the smiles, the warmth of the people, but perhaps the biggest mystery of all is why, after all these years and all these changes, they still welcome extranjeros into their midst - and if you just snorted something about money, about dollars, you’ve missed the point, you’ve wasted your years. But if not, then take a moment, count your blessings and whisper Viva Mexico.. . 

Letters to the Editor,
June 22, 2007



Dear Editor,



In one of her songs, Joni Mitchell sings, “..saying something doesn’t make it so.” In the 11 years I’ve lived in San Miguel de Allende I’ve seen Atención getting thicker and thicker, with less and less news(worthy) stories. Which is all fine and good, as long as we remember that it is basically an advertising medium and not really a newspaper. And I think this is why we see, in bold type-face, “The opinions expressed in Atención are the responsibility of the authors.” Perhaps many of us don’t even notice the disclaimer, but the reader is being warned to read with a healthy bit of skepticism. Maybe the general public doesn’t know that many of the articles aren’t even penned by someone on the staff; that they are sent in by third parties? The result is a periodical with ads and “articles” which are, basically, advertisements dressed as stories. A musician may write an “article” to promote his concert, and in it he purports to be a prodigy, not unlike Mozart, who composed his first atonal composition as he suckl
ed at his mother’s breast. Uh, yeah, right, how is it nobody else in the world has ever heard of him? Healers, shamans, therapists, metaphysical light and energy workers, etc. make claims of miraculous healings which cannot be substantiated. Some years back, I had the worst massage of my life (and I’ve had many) from a woman who, after I questioned her credentials, told me she moved to San Miguel and, needing money to stay, simply printed up cards saying she was a massage therapist. Then she placed an ad with Atención. Why is it that SO many establishments claim they are “the best” in their field? How many best steaks, best drinks, and best stores can there be? Superlatives are too often used by the mediocre. Who crowns these businesses “the best”? Usually, it’s the very same, self-promoting people who, more often than not, tend to be legends in their own minds. (I’ll take the liberty to add a line to a quote attributed to Groucho and Woody: “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can’t teach, teach gym. Those who can’t teach gym, become the best in their fields.”) So, who am I? I’m Paul Voudouris, the best Feldenkrais Method® practitioner that ever was or will be, a multi-platinum recording artist who has written songs for the Beatles, an internationally celebrated four-star chef and restauranteur, owner of a multi-national record company, publishing company, and recording studio, and the manufacturer of zumbador! fly swatters, the BEST of the BEST. I’ve also created a health supplement made of cow dung and snail slime which, when taken orally, helps restore hair to the bald. (There may be some unwanted side-effects.) Did I mention that I have land for sale near the hot springs? Or that Gurdjieff was MY student? Saying something doesn’t always make it so... 

Paul Voudouris




Dear Editor,

In response to Mr. Villaseñor’s letter of June 8 I would like to express my point of view as a citizen of San Miguel and ask him—accepting the fact that we do not have the resources to manage the enormous number of people who come for the sanmiguelada—whether cancellation is the best possible solution? No one has said the blame should be placed on those “young people who come, eager to enjoy San Miguel and spend the kind of weekend their hometowns might not offer,” behaving like louts and doing what they wouldn’t dream of doing in “back home”—could this possibly be because no one in their right mind would permit it? Why should we put up with their drunken disorderliness? Because they spend money?

Well I suppose they do, and you’re correct in saying that not just any town can afford to cavalierly dismiss 50,000 tourists in one fell swoop, providing these tourists behave in a civilized manner, but, unlike you, I do believe that San Miguel is “magical” enough to rebuff this crowd of ill-mannered savages who seem to think their money entitles them to scoff at the law and in general show a complete lack of respect for the town and its residents. Don’t we try to present ourselves as a cultured and civilized place? Is it civilized to brutalize animals, stagger drunkenly through the streets, relieving themselves anywhere and anytime?

If we cannot control this, isn’t it far better to cancel or even replace this event with something a bit more enlightened? We don’t want this kind of tourist even if we have to struggle to make ends meet without an influx of smokestack industries, but still with dignity?

We are blessed to receive many excellent tourists and I agree that hopefully efforts are being made to develop further cultural programs that will bring these worthy visitors who respect and enjoy our town. Far from being “authoritarian,” I consider it the obligation of our government to maintain order. And if that isn’t so, “will somebody please tell me why?!”

Maruja Gonzalez