One of the beautiful things about being in a book club is that sometimes we end up reading books I would have never bothered to read. Books that I don't think I will identify with, or books that I have literally judged the cover of and prematurely decided I would not like. Well, the cover of this book definitely triggered that upward flick of my nose. It's loud. It's so very cuban. And having the black and white picture of the author in his infantile stage just seemed so...tacky. But, it's what we do: we pick a book, together, and we read it. Together.

And the most unexpected thing happened: I found something of myself in it. To deny that this book touched me would be to deny self-love. I don't think anything Blanco talks about, any of the bittersweet moments in his life he regales us with, is particularly special or unique. But that's what made it so powerful. I'm not cuban. I'm not a man. I'm not gay. But, I am human.

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together

I found myself in his frustration with his grandmother. The way he pines for her love and understanding and at the same time reviles her for her meanness. I found myself in understanding why his mother is the way that she is; a foreigner in strange lands, trying to maintain some false sense of control however best she can because she misses her life, her past, her tierra. I found myself in his older brother--sometimes a hero, often a villain--with whom Ricardo had to fight for his parents' affectations and favoritism. I found myself in Ricardo's obsession to find where 'Home' is for someone like him. As a first generation American, I often wonder: am I American? Am I Nicaraguan? Can I be both? And with a gentle pat on the cheek, Blanco's words softly whisper: I am all this. I am all that you are.


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An autobiographical foray into how family can be a blessing but also hold us back. Growing up in Miami, Blanco describes growing up in a Cuban family that wants him to conform to their macho expectations. The weight of family and the "village" that he lives in conspire to make growing up a rather stressful adventure that makes Blanco feel like an outsider. Fighting against familial and societal norms is a challenge and Blanco describes how he manages to make his way. Traveling in a car with the family that includes an older brother rings true as do so many of Blanco's anecdotes. ( )

Recently I had the chance to attend a reading by Richard Blanco, who was the inaugural poet for President Obama in 2012. He was the first Latino, gay person, and immigrant to ever hold this position. I loved his reading so much, that I immediately rushed off to get two books of his poetry and his memoir on his childhood, The Prince of Los Cocuyos.

Richard Blanco was born in Cuban exiled parents and entered the United States of America when he was only forty-five days old. Most of his childhood was spent in a Cuban neighborhood in Miami, in a house his parents shared with his paternal grandparents.

Always beautifully written, The Prince of Los Cocuyos veers in tone from amusing family antecedents to more serious incidents, often relating to the very homophobic environment he grew up in. In a large part, the memoir is a reflection on cultural identity and being between cultures. As a child, he never could figure out if he was American and Cuban, and he didn’t know if it was possible to be both.

For instance, the first chapter is one of the more humorous. In it, his elementary school aged self is trying to convince his largely dubious family to have an American style Thanksgiving (or Sans Giving as they called it) through the means of the local Winn Dixie grocery store. The chapter starts with him using the low prices of chicken to try and convince his frugal abuela to venture into the horrors of the Winn Dixie.

Overall, The Prince of Los Cocuyos is a book I highly enjoyed. I also recommend trying some of his poetry. His inaugural poem, “One Today” is available online.

Review originally posted on The Illustrated Page. ( )