
In a hypothetical “most used copies” category for novels, Rudolfo Anaya’s Bless Me Ultima would stand among heavyweights like Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, Jon Steinbeck’s Of Mice & Men, James Hilton’s Lost Horizon, and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. Scott Fitzgerald. Every time I’m in a used bookstore, those five novels have multiple copies on the shelf. The indication is that these novels are required reading in high school, and subsequently, students take them to the used bookstore after completing them.
Within the realm of modern American fiction classics, all those novels hold a significant place, with Bless Me, Ultima being perhaps the most distinctive tale among them. Anaya tells a coming-of-age in rural New Mexico where Antonio Marez is growing up with his parents and two sisters. His grandmother, Ultima, comes to live with him and the family. She is a curandera, one who cures with herbs and magic. Antonio learns from Ultima about her power and the ways of humankind.
There is an evil presence by the name of Tenorio who is determined to get rid of Ultima by any means necessary, and his pursuit of that goal will change Antonio’s life. As the story folds, Anaya intertwines Latin American Catholicism, Paganism, and American Southwest culture into a thoughtful novel. He shows that loss of innocence can happen in a blink of eye and alter a family’s dynamic easily.
An experienced reader could anticipate the conclusion of Bless Me, Ultima, but it did not detract from the overall reading experience. I first encountered Anaya’s most famous novel almost thirty years ago while living in Albuquerque, and it wasn’t until I reread it I realized how profoundly Catholic its narrative is. Catholicism deeply embeds itself in New Mexican culture, making it unavoidable.
I will admit that I prefer his novel Alburquerque and the excellent short story collection, Serafina’s Stories over Bless Me, Ultima. Still, I’m pleased I revisited this contemporary classic and can understand its significance in post-World War II American Literature.
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