Fruit of the Drunken Tree

Though Petrona’s voice occupies less of the text than Chula’s, her first-person perspective is critical. Her narrative style is different from Chula’s. For example, Petrona expresses herself indirectly, provides few details, and does not clearly betray her emotional state. The oblique quality of her narrative voice reveals her fear of knowing too much or saying too much, which are fears formed by her lived experience of loss and exploitation.

From the start of the novel, Petrona embodies the principle of silence as protection; silence is the strongest tool she has to protect herself and her loved ones. Because Petrona is responsible for her family as her family’s sole breadwinner, the reader can easily forget that she is 13 years old at the story’s beginning and 15 years old at the time of her assault. Petrona’s susceptibility to Gorrión reflects her inexperience as well as her emotionally starved state. Gorrión is Petrona’s first love, and he fulfills a deep-seeded need for care and attention; at the time at which they meet, Petrona’s family members are treating her exploitatively even though she is only a child.

Petrona’s narration employs a distinctive style for dialogue. Direct quotes are formatted in italics within unbroken narrative paragraphs. This unique formatting blends external dialogue into Petrona’s internal monologue, creating the impression that Petrona is locked in her own thoughts and cut off from the real world around her—a telltale symptom of trauma. 

Mamá, like the author’s own mother, was raised in poverty and ascended to affluence. Her character embodies the uncomfortable cultural and socioeconomic differences between her past and her present. Mamá’s desire to hire a maid who reminds her of herself showcases her sense of obligation to help others overcome adversity as she did. Under the threat of danger, however, this benevolent urge clashes with Mamá’s impulse to protect herself and her family. When the kidnapping of her husband and the attempted kidnapping of her daughters test Mamá’s altruism, Mamá’s self-preservation instincts prevail.

Mamá’s decision to plant the poisonous Drunken Tree in the family’s front yard is evidence of her subversive nature. The tree’s presence discomfits her affluent neighbors, setting the Santiago household apart from others in their privileged community. The tree and its fruit, which can be weaponized, function paradoxically as both shield and threat: Mamá preserves it to intimidate and ward off others, but Chula notes, “we ourselves were afraid of it” (7). Mamá’s subversive nature is also evident in her affairs and flirtations with men other than her husband. These dalliances betray her discomfort in her domesticated role of upper-middle-class housewife and her urge to assert her own agency. Although Chula describes her home life as “a kingdom of women, with Mamá at the head” (7), the fact that the family depends on Papá’s financial support proves that Mamá and her daughters are not actually independent. 

The character of Cassandra is rendered through Chula’s perspective. Less complex than Chula, Cassandra serves primarily as a foil to Chula. In her displays of authority over Chula and occasional mild bullying, Cassandra plays the archetypal role of the big sister. Cassandra is Chula’s main sounding-board for musings, questions, and fantasies, and she offers confident answers and assurances even when she has no substantiating knowledge. She appoints herself as emissary between Chula and her parents, delivering the diagnosis that Chula is “traumatized” (77) and warning her that her parents might “find a psychologist who would do a pro bono” on her (117).

Cassandra’s air of authority blinds Chula to the foolishness of so many of her claims. Chula looks up to her older sister and follows her lead even when the risk of danger is grave, as when they secretly pursue Petrona and narrowly escape being kidnapped. Cassandra has less empathy than Chula, as demonstrated by their different coping strategies upon arriving to the United States. Chula shuts down emotionally while “Cassandra complie[s] perfectly and automatically with the rules of forgetting and moving on” (279). Living without empathy and sentimentality proves to be a winning strategy for Cassandra, who excels academically and professionally in her new life.

Gorrión is one of only two named male characters in the novel. He, like Papá, is rendered in broad and sketchy strokes. Gorrión and his love exert a powerful force over Petrona. Petrona is susceptible to his influence because he provides her with care and affection. Gorrión’s morality seems flimsy in contrast to Petrona’s careful grappling with her conscience. His expressions of his liberal politics sound halfhearted which suggests that his betrayal of Petrona to the violent left-wing guerrilla is motivated by fear and weakness rather than genuine ideological allegiance. Gorrión appears immature, self-centered, and manipulative when compared to Petrona, who is driven by devotion, responsibility, and prudence.