Read the passage from "Names/Nombres" by Julia Alvarez.I was too afraid we wouldn't be let in if l corrected the man's pronunciation, but I said our name to myself, opening my mouth wide for the organ blast of the a, trilling my tongue for the drumroll of the r, All-vah-rrr-es! How could anyone get Elbures out of that orchestra of sound?
Read the passage from "Names/Nombres" by Julia Alvarez.When we moved into our new apartment building, the super called my father Mister Alberase, and the neighbors who became mother's friends pronounced her name Jewlee-ah instead of Hoo-lee-ah. I, her namesake, was known as Hoo-lee-tah at home. But at school I was Judy or Judith, and once an English teacher mistook me for Juliet.
Which choice is a theme?
Which passage from "Names/Nombres" best supports the inference that Alvarez started to write at a young age?
Read the passage from "Names/Nombres" by Julia Alvarez.She was plain Anne – that is, only her name was plain, for she turned out to be the pale, blond “American beauty” in the family. The only Hispanic thing about her was the affectionate nicknames her boyfriends sometimes gave her. Anita, or as one goofy guy used to sing to her to the tune of the banana advertisement, Anita Banana.Later, during her college years in the late sixties, there was a push to pronounce Third World names correctly. I remember calling her long distance at her group house and a roommate answering.“Can I speak to Ana?” I asked, pronouncing her name the American way.“Ana?” The man’s voice hesitated. “Oh! You must mean Ah-nah!”
Read the passage from "Names/Nombres" by Julia Alvarez.By the time I was in high school, I was a popular kid, and it showed in my name. Friends called me Jules or Hey Jude, and once a group of troublemaking friends my mother forbade me to hang out with called me Alcatraz. I was Hoo-lee-tah only to Mami and Papi and uncles and aunts who came over to eat sancocho on Sunday afternoons – old world folk whom I would just as soon go back to where they came from and leave me to pursue whatever mischief I wanted to in America. JUDY ALCATRAZ, the name on the "Wanted" poster would read. Who would ever trace her to me?
Personal experiences, family, and culture
Read the passage from "Names/Nombres" by Julia Alvarez.My mother blushed and admitted her baby's real name to the group. Her mother in-law had recently died, she apologized, and her husband had insisted that the first daughter be named after his mother, Mauran. My mother thought it the ugliest name she had ever heard, and she talked my father into what she believed was an improvement, a combination of Mauran and her own mother’s name, Felicia.“Her name is Mao-ree-shee-ah,” my mother said to the group of women.“Why, that’s a beautiful name,” the new mothers cried. “Moor-ee-sha, Moor-ee-sha,” they cooed into the pink blanket. Moor-ee-sha it was when we returned to the States eleven years later. Sometimes, American tongues found even that mispronunciation tough to say and called her Maria or Marsha or Maudy from her nickname Maury. I pitied her. What an awful name to have to transport across borders!
Read the passage from "Names/Nombres" by Julia Alvarez.Introducing them to my friends was a further trial to me. These relatives had such complicated names and there were so many of them, and their relationships to myself were so convoluted. There was my Tía Josefina, who was not really an aunt but a much older cousin. And her daughter, Aida Margarita, who was adopted, una hija de crianza. My uncle of affection, Tío José, brought my madrina Tía Amelia and her comadre Tía Pilar. My friends rarely had more than a “Mom and Dad” to introduce.
Read the passage from "Names/Nombres" by Julia Alvarez.When we arrived in New York City, our names changed almost immediately.At Immigration, the officer asked my father, Mister Elbures, if he had anything to declare. My father shook his head no, and we were waved through.I was too afraid we wouldn't be let in if l corrected the man's pronunciation, but I said our name to myself, opening my mouth wide for the organ blast of the a, trilling my tongue for the drumroll of the r, All-vah-rrr-es! How could anyone get Elbures out of that orchestra of sound?At the hotel my mother was Missus Alburest, and I was little girl, as in, "Hey, little girl, stop riding the elevator up and down. It's not a toy."
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