The Noise of Infinite Longing

After reading other reviews, I felt I had to jump in. I'm fascinated by the readers who found the memoir detached and passionless, noiseless, and even classist. First, the detachment. Yes, there is detachment in the book, and it is not only essential--it would be very difficult to write such a painful and extensive memoir, or any memoir for that matter, without a certain amount of detachment--but referenced repeatedly by the author herself--she is painfully aware of her own detachment, catches herself in the lies she tells in order to perpetuate it, is self-aware enough to show remorse but not to change. It feels very real to me; without that detachment, she would be a very different woman, writing a very different memoir. Second, the so-called classism. I think the people who felt Terregrosa was classist in her writing are completely missing the subtle (was it even subtle? seemed apparent to me) irony with which she writes about her mother's comments and the history of her parents' families. It is her mother, perpetuating her own generation's sense of the world, who makes the comments about the Peurto Ricans who must have had a better life back home, in the sun, not the author. And Terregrosa makes a point of speaking in her mother's voice when talking about her in-laws 'being from good families,' etc. Her mother's lack of class consciousness, like her lack of self-awareness or awareness of her children's needs, was all part of her inability to take responsibility for her mistakes, to see the reality of any situation. And the noiselessness. I suppose this criticism stems from the title. First of all, the 'noise of infinite longing' suggests a kind of hum, a quiet creeping in of memory. But as far as noise--or sound--in the book as a whole, there is plenty--the sounds of 'The Island' are described in vibrant detail, as are the comparable sounds in the Phillipines, as is the too-quiet of Texas, as are the varying volumes--sometimes whispering, sometimes shouting, often simultaneous--of family life. And finally, the lack of passion. I have to wonder whether the passion would be questioned, indeed if the book itself would be so questioned, if it were strictly heterosexual. Setting aside Torregrosa's own relationships for a moment, the passions and sometimes anti-passions between the author's mother and father, between her siblings and their partners, are unmistakable. If the author's relationships seem less passionate, which I'm not agreeing they do, perhaps it is because they are, as far as her family (and perhaps certain readers) is concerned, not appropriate, not legitimate, not acceptable, not even truly discussable. I think the memoir is a brilliant representation of how we continue to love and be haunted by those who hurt us the most, how distance (or detachment) can only muffle the pain, how family molds, shelters, and even betrays.

A must read for educated immigrants who find themselves constantly having to jump loopholes in order to win over stereotypes!Torregrossa narrates her and her mother's story as puertorrican women in search of identity, self realization and ultimately happiness in difficult social circumstances. Torregrossa depicts and honors the memory of her mother and illustrates how this pioneer tries to open barriers for herself and her family despite a wrongful marriage and a society that cannot figure her out and wants her back in the household between her social barriers.I personally found many passages in which the author spells out truths about being a successful woman in a biased, and sometimes racist environment to be the absolute unspoken truth for professional women with an accent.I also like the fact that she intends to depict herself and her family for who they really are, regardless of how some may interpret their actions as signs of weakness.This is a book I intend to read again.