Quinto Sol’s Chicano Archive:

Reading Anaya’s Bless Me, Ultima through Romano’s Don Pedrito Jaramillo


Joseph Morales

     University of California, Irvine


Many critics have pointed to the role of Quinto Sol Publications in the establishment of a Chicano literary canon.(1)  One way of reworking this statement might be, How to understand the role of Quinto Sol in the production of a Chicano archive?  This article aims to demonstrate that the concept of an “archive” – in this case, Quinto Sol’s Chicano archive – is indispensible for Chicana/o literary and cultural studies.(2)  I perform a close reading of Octavio Romano’s PhD dissertation in Anthropology, Don Pedrito Jaramillo: The Emergence of a Mexican-American Folk Saint (1964), and the winner of the second Quinto Sol Prize, Rudolfo Anaya’s novel Bless Me, Ultima (1972).  To what extent did Romano’s doctoral work on “healing and folk medicine” inform editorial criteria at Quinto Sol Publications? (3)  In an editor’s note to Bless Me, Ultima, Romano and his co-editor Herminio Ríos C. write about Anaya: “He shares and respects the collective intellectual reservoir that is manifest in his profound knowledge of a people and their relationships to the cosmos and its forces.  It is only with this deep respect for a people that Anaya has been able to create in literary form a person such as the curandera Ultima, la Grande” (Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima ix).  I contend that Romano’s PhD dissertation is essential to rereading Anaya’s novel and by extension to the project of opening up Quinto Sol’s Chicano archive.

Today, Anaya is one of the most widely acclaimed Chicana/o writers.  Bless Me, Ultima, his first novel, is a classic bestseller and is also the basis for a 2013 film of the same title.  But, Anaya’s work has not always been part of the mainstream.  East coast publishers originally rejected Bless Me, Ultima (Anaya, “Autobiography” 379).  Anaya’s success came only after he won the Second Premio Quinto Sol literary award, and Quinto Sol subsequently published Bless Me, Ultima in 1972 (380).  Quinto Sol was co-established as an independent Chicano press in Berkeley during the 1960s by Romano and Nick C. Vaca.(4)  Between 1967 and 1974, Quinto Sol developed a publishing profile that sought to combat negative images of Mexican Americans.  This is evident in Romano’s own contributions to Quinto Sol’s quarterly journal, El Grito: A Journal of Contemporary Mexican-American Thought.(5)  But this goal of countering “the distortion of Mexican-American history” is also evident in his PhD dissertation.  Romano received a PhD in Anthropology from University of California, Berkeley in 1964.  His doctoral dissertation Don Pedrito Jaramillo sought to combat the “stereotypic shackles” of social scientific research on “folk-medicine” among Mexicans and Mexican Americans (Romano 1).  As John Alba Cutler has argued: “The history of Quinto Sol demonstrates the pivotal role the university has played in the development of the field of Chicano/a literature” (Cutler 57).  However, what is less understood is the extent to which Romano’s research on Mexican American spirituality shaped his view of literary value.  Why did Anaya win the Premio Quinto Sol literary award?  No doubt, Anaya’s work exhibits literary skill.  On the other hand, did Romano also view Anaya’s work as countering those “stereotypic shackles” of mainstream social scientific research?  Did Romano find a Chicano theory of religion in Anaya’s novel Bless Me, Ultima?  Stated otherwise, is it possible that in Romano’s hands Chicana/o literature becomes not only a form of counter-history but also a theory of the archive?(6)

My use of the term “archive” here refers not to traditional, physical archives but rather to a conceptual repository.  In the same way that Edward Said analyzes orientalism as an archive; in the same way that Jacques Derrida analyzes psychoanalysis as an archive; I am attempting to analyze the archives that comprise Chicano and Latino studies.(7)  No doubt, psychoanalysis and orientalism manifest in the world as physical spaces – the Freud Museum in London; the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago – the same that Chicano and Latino studies comes to life in the Ethnic Studies Library at University of California, Berkeley.  But, I look first and foremost to cultures of scholarship and their corresponding politics of organizing information.  In this sense, Chicana/o literature is an archive.

Roberto González Echevarría’s Myth and Archive: A Theory of Latin American Narrative (1990) is one of the earliest and most influential works to explore how the concept of the archive relates to literary and cultural studies.  He writes: “It is my hypothesis that the novel, having no fixed form of its own, often assumes that of a given kind of document endowed with truth-bearing power by society at specific moments in time” (González Echevarría 8).  Building on the work of Michel Foucault, González Echevarría regards “the Archive” as “the law of what can be said.”(8)  For example, Inca Garcilaso de la Vega’s Comentarios reales de los Incas (1609) assumes the form of “notarial rhetoric” (i.e., it is “a simulacrum of the order of the Empire, an order that is itself a simulacrum of the authority invested in the figure of the King”) (González Echevarría 70); Domingo Faustino Sarmiento’s Facundo (1845) and Euclides da Cunha’s Os Sertões (1902) both bear the stamp of 18th and 19th century scientific travelogues (e.g., like Alexander von Humboldt’s Voyage aux régions équinoxiales du Nouveau Continent [1805-1834], Sarmiento and Euclides employ scientific models to relate “Latin American historical uniqueness”) (96); and lastly, works such as Jorge Luis Borges’ “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius” (1940) and Miguel Barnet’s Biografía de un cimarrón (1966) both develop self-reflexive narratives that mimic the “literariness” of anthropological discourse (153).  “Latin America, like the novel,” González Echevarría contends, “was created in the Archive” (30).  “A myth of myths,” the Archive contains all the “phantoms” of original authority (174).  It is a repository of “master-stories” (3) and also is “something between a ruin and a relic” (180).

For González Echevarría, the archive constitutes “the story” of Latin America’s narrative potentialities.  Yet, as José Rabasa has observed: “According to this view [i.e., law as rhetorical formula], individuals writing relaciones faced the task of literally writing their ‘selves’ into the dominant discourse” (Rabasa 86).  What’s more, Foucault himself might counter González Echevarría.  For Foucault, “it is not possible for us to describe our own archive, since it is from within these rules that we speak . . .” (Foucault 130).  That said, what stands as a significant contribution in González Echevarría’s seminal study is the proposition that “archival fictions” constitute the “current mode” of narrative (González Echevarría 144).  If, as he suggests, Alejo Carpentier’s Los pasos perdidos (1953) and Gabriel García Márquez’ Cien años de soledad (1967) assume the figure of the archive, then what remains after Carpentier and García Márquez is “opening up . . . the Archive or perhaps only the story about the opening of the Archive . . .” (González Echevarría 18).

We might wonder if González Echevarría had read Jacques Derrida’s Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (1996), would he have conceived of his theory of Latin American narrative differently?  (Derrida’s work came out after the release of Myth and Archive.)  Whereas the Foucauldian concept of the archive stresses “the law of what can be said” (Foucault 129), the Derridean highlights “the question of a politics of the archive” (Derrida, Archive Fever 4).  In Derrida, the concept of the archive designates two principles of order: not only the jussive (e.g., “the law, there where men and gods command”) but also the sequential (i.e., there where things commence”) (Derrida, Archive Fever 1).  Conversely, Derrida argues that such “order is no longer assured” (5), given “the archive always works . . . against itself” (12).  Derrida regards the “archive” as indissociable from the “death drive” (11-12).  In the past,” he contends, “psychoanalysis would not have been what it was . . . if E-mail, for example, had existed.  And in the future it will no longer be what Freud . . . anticipated, from the moment E-mail, for example, became possible” (17).  The archive produces more archive.  It opens toward “times to come” (36).  Thus, “what will have been and ought to or should be in the future” (44) suspends in the conditional “the very possibility of knowledge” (37).

Had González Echevarría read Derrida on the archive would he still have argued that the novel – like the archive – hoards knowledge?  As I read González Echevarría’s seminal work, the proposition that archival fictions are focused on “opening up . . . the Archive” (González Echevarría 18) is consistent with Derrida’s thesis that the archive suspends “the very possibility of knowledge” (Derrida, Archive Fever 37).  Like Derrida, González Echevarría shows how the archive “anarchives itself” (Derrida, Archive Fever 91).  It is this aspect of González Echevarría – the proposition that what remains is “the story about the opening of the Archive” (González Echevarría 18) – that I find most compelling for an analysis of the formation of Chicana/o literature.  What types of knowledge might Chicano/a literature hoard?  And by extension, how might Chicana/o literature suspend “the very possibility of knowledge” in the conditional (Derrida, Archive Fever 37)?

I read two relatively recent studies of Quinto Sol as interrogations of the Chicano archive.  In “Good-Bye Revolution – Hello Cultural Mystique: Quinto Sol Publications and Chicano Literary Nationalism” (2010), Dennis López explores Quinto Sol’s role in “the consolidation of a dominant Chicano Movement aesthetic ideology and cultural politics” (López 185).  Of particular interest, he considers “roads taken and not taken” by Quinto Sol (185).  In “Felix beyond the Closet: Sexuality, Masculinity, and Relations of Power in Arturo Islas’s The Rain God” (2009), Yolanda Padilla highlights Islas’ critique of Quinto Sol’s hetero-normative editorial criteria.  Padilla suggests that Islas’ novel The Rain God had been rejected for publication because his representations of sexuality did not match Quinto Sol’s “ethnonationalist” criteria for “‘positive images’ of Chicanos” (Padilla 11).  López and Padilla ask us to consider (borrowing Derrida’s words), How might it have been otherwise (Derrida, Geneses 87)?  For example, how might it have been had Quinto Sol looked to the internationalism of Luisa Moreno instead of the territorially bounded, male grammar of ethnic nationalism (Schmidt Camacho 152-92)?  Likewise, how might it have been had Quinto Sol published Islas’ novel?  How might our understanding of Chicana/o literature have been otherwise had Quinto Sol had different publishing criteria?

What we do know is this: Quinto Sol created the Big Three – Rivera, Anaya, Hinojosa – by way of the Premio Quinto Sol.  In 1990, Bruce-Novoa wrote:

What we do not know is which novels, if any, were rejected by the Quinto Sol Prize committee.  We would have to read them to know what was excluded from the canon.  As a matter of fact, it would be interesting to know how many losers competed against the prize winners so as to know the state of the field at that time.  And if there were any other novels in the running, what became of them? (Bruce-Novoa 136)


According to Theresa Delgadillo, Latina/o literature in the 21st century displays a “preoccupation with the female healer, saint, shaman, clairvoyant, or visionary” (Delgadillo 244).   Might it have been otherwise had Anaya’s story of a boy’s coming-of-age with the help of the curandera Ultima not been awarded the Quinto Sol Prize?  Might it have been otherwise had one of the “many losers” (as we know now) such as Arturo Islas’ novel or Alejandro Morales’ Caras viejas y vino nuevo (1975) become part of the Quinto Sol archive?(9)  If Morales’ story of two youths living a violent existence in the inner city had won, might Latina/o literature in the 21st century have displayed instead a preoccupation with religion as a site of surveillance and of guidance in a poor, racialized, urban environment?

One of the earliest and most influential studies of religion in Chicana/o literature is Davíd Carrasco’s 1982 article “A Perspective for a Study of Religious Dimensions in Chicano Experience: Bless Me, Ultima as a Religious Text.”  Carrasco defines Bless Me, Ultima as a “religious text.”  In his view: “The patterns of sacred space and the sacred human . . . motivated the plot and its meanings” (Carrasco 301).  By focusing on the protagonist’s “initiation into sacred knowledge,” Carrasco suggests “the shamanic paradigm” (in an Eliadean sense) illustrates “the religious paradigm for the Chicano experience” (Carrasco 316).(10)  The protagonist Antonio undergoes “spiritual transformation” (Carrasco 303) under the guidance of the “religious virtuoso” Ultima (316) and also in an “ecstatic,” apocalyptic dream (320).  Antonio becomes a “spiritual conduit” while he assists Ultima with the “curing” of his “bewitched” uncle Lucas and goes through a “religious pattern of decay, destruction, dismemberment and regeneration” during a nightmare about “the apocalypse of the world” (Carrasco 319-20).  The “gift of Ultima” is “a form of religious wisdom,” and more specifically, “knowledge that the integration of his [Antonio’s] diverse and conflicting elements [e.g., his names] and the cultivation of sacred forces within a human being [e.g., ‘shamanic imagination’] can lead to a life full of blessings” (Carrasco 323).

Carrasco aims to reimagine the Chicana/o novel as a locus of religious meaning.  At the same time, it is important to note that Carrasco’s argument partakes of a specific universe of belief, the field of comparative religions.  In The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature (1993), Pierre Bourdieu considers “not only the material production but also the symbolic production of the work, i.e. the production of the value of the work or, which amounts to the same thing, of belief in the value of the work” (Bourdieu 37).  Besides “social conditions” that contribute to the production of works (i.e., race, gender, etc.), he takes into account how “social agents” (e.g., museums, publishers, disciplines, et al) help to produce and sustain belief in the value of art, literature, and scholarship (164, 37).  Though Carrasco’s critical essay appears in Aztlán, a scholarly journal committed to Chicana/o studies, it appears one of his main objectives is to acquaint “Chicano students and scholars” with “the Chicago School of the History of Religions” (Carrasco 302).(11)  Indeed, it is arguable that Carrasco’s “affiliation”(12) serves as the foundation for an emergent field of study known as Mexican American or Chicana/o religions.(13)  Luis León’s “The Poetic Uses of Religion in The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez” (1999) is a case in point.  León writes: “I recuperate Carrasco’s project, arguing that some Mexican American novels can be valuable textual sources for uncovering religious meaning” (León 206).  What Carrasco calls “the lyrics of Chicano spirituality” (Carrasco 312) is re-imagined in León as “religious poetics” (León 206).(14)  For example, just as Carrasco reads Chicana/o literature as an allegory of faith, so, too, León approaches the novel as a “mimetic” vehicle that portrays “a realistic account” of Chicana/o religious experience (León 207-08).

In this regard, one might ask how Anaya’s novel emerged as a representative portrait of Chicana/o experience.  Again, as Carrasco notes, in reference to the relationship between the protagonist Antonio and his mentor Ultima: “The shamanic paradigm . . . illustrates the religious paradigm for the Chicano experience” (Carrasco 316).(15)  In particular, to what extent might Romano be responsible for producing “the shamanic paradigm” as the prototype of Chicana/o religious experience?  In fact, Romano’s dissertation involves “the anthropological study of a folk-saint [Don Pedrito Jaramillo] in connection with healing and folk-medicine among Mexican-Americans in South Texas . . .” (Romano 2).  More precisely, to what extent did Romano’s doctoral research shape editorial criteria for Quinto Sol Publications?

I read religion and spirituality as concepts that vary in meaning at different moments. These varying concepts can be viewed as key to the formation of Chicana/o literature. One approach to the study of religion and Chicana/o literature is to ask how Chicana/o literature represents religion and spirituality.  In this first approach, religion can be read as an essence (e.g., as “the soul of a people,” as “the soul of the artist and the soul of the pueblo” etc.).  A second approach might ask instead how religion has contributed to the formation of the thing we call Chicana/o literature.  In this scenario, religion can read as a signifier for social conflict (i.e., the meaning of religion changes in response to different political struggles).  In “A Perspective for a Study of Religious Dimensions in Chicano Experience,” Carrasco seems to read Anaya’s novel as a representation of religion.  In his words: “We are witnessing in Anaya’s novel a Chicano variation of an archaic pattern of spiritual creativity; what I would call the lyrics of Chicano spirituality” (Carrasco 312).  In my approach, I ask how a concept such as “the lyrics of Chicano spirituality” betrays a specific moment of political struggle; that is, how a concept such as “spiritual creativity” might shape Chicana/o literary production at a specific moment.  In what follows, I try to develop this approach by reading Anaya’s novel through Romano’s PhD dissertation.

Though there are many ways to group representations of religion in Anaya’s novel, I like to follow Quinto Sol’s lead: I rely on picture inserts in the text’s earliest editions.  This approach stems from my belief that a literary work’s “meaning” is not restricted to the text itself.  Rather, a literary work’s meaning is comprised of a number of circumstances that speak to its “life” in the world – from writers and editors to marketers and librarians, among many other factors.(16)  The earliest editions of Bless Me, Ultima call attention to at least four foci: La Virgen de Guadalupe (Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima 40-41); the Golden Carp (106-07); Antonio; and Ultima (249).  Whereas the existential dilemmas of Antonio can be read as the focus of the bildungsroman (they make resolution of the plot possible), the curanderismo of Ultima is likewise essential to the novel’s closure.  As she is about to die, Antonio begs her in desperation: “Bless me, Ultima” (247).  And before he runs out to fulfill the destiny hinted at since the outset of the novel, Ultima’s last words are: “I bless you in the name of all that is good and strong and beautiful, Antonio.  Always have the strength to live.  Love life, and if despair enters your heart, look for me in the evenings when the wind is gentle and the owls sing in the hills, I shall be with you–” (247).  As in the beginning of the novel – when Ultima’s arrival provokes an awakening to the “beauty of the llano” (1) – the final chapter pushes Antonio to move out into the “darkness” of the llano and ultimately to move beyond his childhood (247).

Romano’s PhD dissertation also focuses on a healer, Don Pedrito Jaramillo.  Of particular interest is his intent to study Don Pedrito Jaramillo (1829-1907) as a “folk-saint . . . in the context of Mexican-American life in South Texas” (Romano i).  Though Romano’s study will ultimately link Don Pedrito’s success as a healer to his charisma (in a Weberian sense), Romano does not reduce Don Pedrito’s efficacy to Max Weber’s theories but rather opts to bring Don Pedrito’s case into conversation – that is to say, on equal footing – with Weber  (Of course, this foreshadows his well-known critical work on the historical and intellectual presence of Mexican Americans).  Romano’s doctoral project aims “to relate in a meaningful manner the ideal culture and the world of South Texas Mexican-American healing with the historically specific case of Don Pedrito Jaramillo, a man who moved from an original position of rustic roustabout into the hierarchy of healers and from there went on to be ultimately acclaimed a folk-saint” (Romano 148).  Key here are three concepts: the “ideal culture” of Mexican Americans – a concept he defines as “raza” (“‘the race of the people’”); the hierarchy of healers in the community; and Don Pedrito’s ascendancy from “folk-healer” to “folk-saint” (iii-iv).  Don Pedrito’s role as “curandero is as much a social role as it is one of healing” (141) and, ultimately, “the position of folk-saint . . . represents the personification and the recognition of . . . [community] ideals” (3).  That is, Don Pedrito’s success (i.e., his charisma) rests in part on his “rigid adherence to those aspects of the ideal culture which pertain to communality and cooperativeness . . .” (152).  Though, as Romano acknowledges: “The present study concerns the male world primarily . . ..  The . . . category of respected females has been omitted” (135).

In a sense, Anaya’s novel completes Romano’s study: Ultima is the “omitted” curandera.  She is “la Grande,” the “respected” yet nevertheless “omitted.”  My aim here is not to assess the success or failure of his representation of “la raza” (Though, let’s be clear; it’s incomplete without a consideration of gender).  Rather, my aim is to consider how a particular concept of religion might have shaped expectations for Chicana/o literature. Ultima is a healer; she teaches Antonio to search for “plants and roots in the hills” (Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima 115); she provides Antonio with a scapular against the evil of Tenorio (118); and she cures Antonio’s uncle Lucas after “the power of the doctors and the power of the Church had failed” (92).  At the same time, her “magic” is ambiguous.  She is simultaneously revered as a “curandera,” as “una mujer que no ha pecado”; and regarded as a “bruja,” as a “hechicera” (Anaya, Bless Me, Ultima 96). In this sense, she is a personification of the community’s struggle to manage “good” and “evil,” a struggle that is also central to Antonio’s coming-of-age.  Again, as Quinto Sol’s editors observe at the outset of Bless Me, Ultima: Anaya “shares and respects the collective intellectual reservoir that is manifest in his profound knowledge of a people and their relationships to the cosmos and its forces. It is only with this deep respect for a people that Anaya has been able to create in literary form a person such as the curandera Ultima, la Grande” (ix).  Ultima, like Don Pedrito Jaramillo, personifies “a people.”

Romano’s doctoral research set the stage for Anaya’s success at Quinto Sol.  This is not to disparage Anaya’s literary achievements in Bless Me, Ultima. Rather, it is to suggest that Romano saw the extension of his own work in Anaya.  Bless Me, Ultima affirms “the collective intellectual reservoir” that Romano sought to produce and distribute via Quinto Sol Publications.  The knowledge that Quinto Sol’s Chicano archive sought to hoard was a Chicano theory of religion, a theory that could counterpose “positive” images against the distortions of late 1960s social science. At the same time, no archive is complete.  Religion could have been manufactured otherwise.  We will have to wonder how it might have been and, thus, continue to seek out those stories that tell of an “opening up” of the archive.  Bless Me, Ultima is but one beginning among others for founding a theory of Chicano/a religion. We will have to wonder how it might have been and how it will be in times to come.

The question of how it might have been otherwise runs the risk of sounding superfluous. Yet, my aim – my ultimate goal – is simply to consider the possibility that what we have may not be what we could have had.  Had Anaya’s novel not won the Quinto Sol Prize, what other kinds of representations of religion or spirituality might have emerged?  How might those concepts have become an integral part of Chicana/o literature?  And how might religion and spirituality have shaped Chicana/o literary production otherwise?


(1). By way of illustration, see Padilla, López, and Cutler 56-85.


(2). The structure and aim of my inquiry here builds on Shetty and Bellamy 25-26.


(3). This line of inquiry first emerged in conversation with José David Saldívar.


(4). Quinto Sol’s records have yet to be uncovered.  For an early study of Quinto Sol, see Espinoza.  Contemporary scholars seem to differ on the specifics of Quinto Sol’s history.  For example, compare López 187 and Cutler 60-61.


(5). Among others, see Romano, “The Anthropology and Sociology of the Mexican-Americans.”  Also, see García 293-96.


(6). Here, I build on Derrida.  For example: “The theory of psychoanalysis . . . becomes a theory of the archive and not only a theory of memory” (Archive Fever 19).  Extending this line of inquiry further: How has religion contributed to the formation of Chicana/o literature?


(7). See Said, Orientalism and Derrida, Archive Fever.


(8). See González Echevarría 33 in connection with Foucault 129.


(9). Personal communication from Alejandro Morales.

(10). Here I quote from the 1982 version of Carrasco; the 2001 version has been altered slightly from “the religious paradigm” to “a religious paradigm.”


(11). According to Kitagawa, Joachim Wach established the history of religions at the University of Chicago circa 1945.  The history of religions is to be distinguished from three prior notions of comparative religion at Chicago as evident in George Stephen Goodspeed, George Burman Foster and Louis Henry Jordan, and A. Eustace Haydon (xiv-xxi).  More recently, Wedemeyer has suggested:

Regarding the existence of a Chicago School encompassing both Wach and Eliade, I would argue that this notion (if not the moniker) seems to have been almost entirely the product of Joseph Kitagawa’s affection for . . . his beloved mentor Wach, preserving a place for him in the history of the school and the “discipline” . . ..  The distinctive panoply of concepts characteristic of what has been called the hermeneutical or phenomenological approach – religious experience, understanding, antireductionism (in fact, in some respects the very idea of the history of religions itself) – and . . . the curriculum that was the basis for socializing scholars in the field was the legacy of Wach, communicated through his chief disciple, Kitagawa (xix-xx).

(12). Said defines “affiliation” as “that implicit network of peculiarly cultural associations between forms, statements, and other aesthetic elaborations on the one hand and, on the other, institutions, agencies, classes, and amorphous social forces” (The World, the Text, and the Critic 174).


(13). In particular, see Espinosa 36-37.

(14). For example, León argues:

The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez . . . portrays the conditions under which religious poetics emerge and function . . ..  In narrating the character of Amalia Gómez, Rechy sets religion to a poetic meter, delineating the choreography of religious movement replete with details that are virtually unrepresentable in other forms of writing.  Each event in the story registers the meter, building to an epiphanic moment of experience that is key to understanding Amalia’s story and religious poetics in general.  Inasmuch as the novel creates a realistic account of one woman's religious expression, set to the rhythms of everyday life, it provides structured access to the ways some underclass Mexican Americans reimagine and reorder their perceptual worlds through various physical, psychological, and symbolic movements (208).

(15). Here, it is important to qualify Carrasco’s assertion.  In his words: “I am suggesting here not that Ultima and Antonio are shamans, but that their relationship reflects some characteristics of the initiation scenario typical of shamanic ecstasy” (312).


(16). For example, see Gruesz 485.

Works Cited

Anaya, Rudolfo A. Bless Me, Ultima: A Novel. Berkeley: Quinto Sol Publications, Inc., 1972. Print.


----. “An Autobiography.” Rudolfo A. Anaya: Focus on Criticism. Ed. César A. González-T. La Jolla: Lalo Press, 1990. 359-89. Print.


Bourdieu, Pierre. The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature. Ed. Randal Johnson.  Cambridge: Polity Press, 1993. Print.


Bruce-Novoa, Juan. RetroSpace: Collected Essays on Chicano Literature, Theory, and History. Houston: Arte Publico Press, 1990. Print.


Carrasco, Davíd. “A Perspective for a Study of Religious Dimensions in Chicano Experience: Bless Me, Ultima as a Religious Text.” Aztlán: A Journal of Chicano Studies 13.1-2 (1982): 195-221. Rpt. in The Chicano Studies Reader: An Anthology of Aztlán, 1970-2000. Ed. Chon A. Noriega, Eric R. Avila, Karen Mary Davalos, Chela Sandoval, and Rafael Pérez-Torres. Los Angeles: UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center, 2001. 301-26. Print.


Cutler, John Alba. Ends of Assimilation: The Formation of Chicano Literature. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2015. Print.


Delgadillo, Theresa.  “Spirituality.” The Routledge Companion to Latino/a Literature. Ed. Suzanne Bost and Frances R. Aparicio. New York: Routledge, 2013. 240-50. Print.


Derrida, Jacques. Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression. Trans. Eric Prenowitz. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1996. Print.


----. Geneses, Genealogies, Genres, and Genius: The Secrets of the Archive. Trans. Beverley Bie Brahic. New York: Columbia UP, 2006. Print.


Espinosa, Gastón. “History and Theory in the Study of Mexican American Religions.” Mexican American Religions: Spirituality, Activism, and Culture. Ed. Gastón Espinosa and Mario T. García. Durham: Duke UP, 2008. 17-56. Print.


Espinoza, Rudolph L. The Fifth Sun Quinto Sol: A Recovery of Chicano Writing 1967-1972. Unpublished ms., 1983. Ethnic Studies Lib., U of California, Berkeley. Print.


Foucault, Michel. The Archaeology of Knowledge and the Discourse on Language. Trans. A. M. Sheridan Smith. New York: Pantheon Books, 1972. Print.


García, Richard A. “The Origins of Chicano Cultural Thought: Visions and Paradigms – Romano’s Culturalism, Alurista’s Aesthetics, and Acuña’s Communalism.” California History 74.3 (1995): 290-305. Print.


González Echevarría, Roberto. Myth and Archive: A Theory of Latin American Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1990. Print.


Gruesz, Kirsten Silva. “Authors, Readers, and the Mediations of Print Culture.” The Routledge Companion to Latino/a Literature. Ed. Suzanne Bost and Frances R. Aparicio. New York: Routledge, 2013. 485-94. Print.


Kitagawa, Joseph M. Introduction. Essays in the History of Religions. By Joachim Wach. Ed. Joseph M. Kitagawa and Gregory D. Alles. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1988. ix- xxii. Print.


León, Luis. “The Poetic Uses of Religion in The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez.Religion and American Culture: A Journal of Interpretation 9.2 (1999): 205-31. JSTOR. Web. 9 May 2015.


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