November 2006
When I write, if the corners of my mouth lift up in a smile, if I hum, if my fingers fly over the keys of my computer, then I’m certain that whatever I’m working on will crack up readers. My body tells me that I’m in a groove and reminds me that writing, while often tiring and worrisome, can be fun. I had all of them—smiley face, song, and dazzling finger action—when I wrote The Skirt. I imagined it would entertain a few readers, but I never really thought about the life of the book.
Since its publication sixteen years ago, The Skirt has found readers from the soft beaches of Southern California to the rocky shores of Rhode Island—and in cities, towns, and suburbs in between. Sometimes I think it is because of the main character, namely the spunky Miata Ramirez, a girl with a problem that she created herself: she has lost her ballet folklórico skirt and must retrieve it in time for her dance troupe’s performance, or she’ll just die of shame.
Aside from the main character and the element of dramatic time, The Skirt brings up the anxiety of losing something precious. We adults pat our pants for keys and wallets and push our hands into purses as we check for cell phones. Young people may fear losing bicycles, skateboards, jackets left on playground structures, baseball caps, iPods, Game Boys, jewelry, and what little money they own. Somehow these things get lost, and young people shake with fear at reporting the losses to their parents. But young people aren’t alone. I lose things, or should I say “misplace” things, daily. For instance, I once was certain that I had left my watch on the coffee table, but when I stood very quietly in the kitchen I heard its tick-tick coming from the half-open junk drawer.
The Skirt offers a cast of characters—Miata’s best friend, Ana; the two knuckleheaded boys Rudy and Alex; and Miata’s warmhearted parents. We get to know them, and get to like them—and we may see a little of their likable characteristics in our own friends and parents. In short, this story is realistic, meaning true, meaning it could have happened.
Also, at the heart of the book, the folklórico skirt represents ethnic culture—in this case, Mexican culture. Miata, who speaks English and Spanish, who loves hot dogs and enchiladas, is really pursuing her culture. She wants to honor her heritage by continuing to participate in it—not by losing it!
A scholar once said that happy literature has no history, that literature that bubbles with fun may not last. I think that grouchy person is wrong.
Now, for the fun of it, list all the things you’ve ever lost, while I get back to what I was doing: hunting for my reading glasses.
November 2006