Figuring gender in the picaresque novel: from Lazarillo to Zayas.
Lazarillo de Tormes sets up one of the genre's main characteristics by drawing attention to the child's degraded family origins: born to a thief and a prostitute, Lazarillo attempts to cover up his parents' behavior by ironically portraying them in the best possible light. The father's death is ambiguously ascribed either to his service in the war against the Turks at Djerba or to his desertion of his post as muleteer, a job traditionally assigned to moriscos, who often sided with the enemy. His widowed mother takes up with Zaide, a Moor who feeds the starving family by stealing from his employer. By handing over the young boy to the blind man, she launches Lazarillo on his picaresque career, "Hijo, ya se que no te vere mas. Procura de ser bueno y Dios te guie. Criado te he y con buen amo te he puesto; valete por ti" (25). Her illicit relations with the heretic Moor, a thief like her previous partner, further corroborate her debased nature, significantly prefiguring all women's dissoluteness. The mother's negative portrait, in fact, is mirrored in the novel's last tratado in the image of the Archpriest's servant and lover, whom Lazaro takes as his wife, as the picaro's desecrated marriage to the adulterous servant ensures the novel's circular structure by linking her with his own prostitute mother.
Lazaro's faithless wife substitutes metonymically for Lazarillo's absent mother, since the adult picaro receives from the former the food and shelter that as a child he had been denied by the latter. (1) It is well to remember, however, that his wife had previously abandoned three children (133). By conflating the wife's sexuality with her desertion of her progeny, the narrative retraces the mother's behavior: both women assume the dual roles of prostitute and unnatural mother. Because the wife's continuing service at the Archpriest's house ensures the picaro's welfare, when he is interpellated by Vuestra Merced, Lazaro shields her false honor by swearing on the holy host that she is virtuous (134). Yet Vuestra Merced's interrogation--the letter on which Lazarillo's "case" is famously centered--is meant to uncover the truth about the ongoing sexual liaison between his wife and the churchman. The shadowy inquisitor is scarcely interested in a humble town crier's cuckoldry. To the degree that Vuestra Merced wishes to investigate the cover-up the marriage provides for the Archpriest's illicit sexual transgressions, Lazaro's purported innocence will nonetheless be seriously questioned by him. The wife's misconduct, as well as Lazaro's corrupt complaisance, threatens to return the picaro to his original status by replicating the mother's early abandonment. Having learned that telling the truth places him always in grave danger of losing his material benefits, Lazaro defends himself brilliantly by equivocating in his response. In that it both discloses and disclaims his knowledge of his wife's affair with the Archpriest, Lazaro's ambiguous rhetoric implicitly blames them both while protecting himself. The narrative substantiates its intranscendent circular structure by ending as it began: Lazaro emphasizes--by repressing --both his mother's and his wife's moral lack.
The picaresque novel's gender-inflected plot brings to the fore the misogynist attitudes expressed toward women in early modern Spain, and the debased value given relations between the sexes by these novels extends to the amoral unions arranged by the picaresque protagonists. The critique of marital unions by depicting them as cases of female predation on vulnerable males, while obvious in all canonical picaresque novels, is made most explicit in Aleman's Guzman de Alfarache. Similarly to the Lazarillo, the Guzman de Alfarache commences its account of women's wiles with Guzman's maternal prehistory. After losing both her looks and her money, the mother cannot continue to support her parasitic son, who blames her vanity for not prostituting herself after forty with lower-class clients. Guzman not only applauds his mother's dubious relations with his two fathers, he extols his grandmother's ability to trick men into believing that each was her daughter's biological father: "Si mi madre enredo a dos, mi abuela dos docenas.... Con esta hija enredo cien linajes, diciendo y jurando a cada padre que era suya; y a todos les parecia" (143).
Guzman's pride in his genealogical descent from a whorish grandmother highlights his concept of a male world maintained by women's sexual labor. Having been spoiled by his mother as a child, he wishes for a female sibling to continue to support him, since his mother no longer desires to prostitute herself: "si como naci solo, naciera una hermana, arrimo de mi madre, baculo de su vejez, columna de nuestras miserias, puerto de nuestros naufragios, dieramos dos higas a la fortuna" (145). Following the typical exploits of the picaro, Guzman is tricked by numerous women who replicate his mother's and grandmother's sexual misdeeds. Yet Guzman's narrative combines his picaresque adventures with a moralistic sermon addressed to two different levels of readers. Rather than select an ironic register and craft an ambiguous message for the reader to decipher, as was the case with Lazarillo's anonymous author, Aleman exposes the culture's misogynist ideology by having his protagonist warn explicitly of women's various unscrupulous reasons for marrying.
Guzman elides the arguments of the conventional praises and defenses of women to side instead with numerous misogynist treatises, highlighting women's sexual and material insatiability and, in the process, encouraging the reader's own misogyny by describing in full detail the self-serving motives subtending their marriages. Lecturing immediately after he is abandoned by a spendthrift wife, Guzman propounds a series of negative patterns of female behavior based on covetousness. Ungrateful women who marry men thinking they are rich and find out that they are poor, end up holding their noses and yelling that the husband smells like a dead man (782). Others, Guzman continues, assume the married state with no other intent than to gain their freedom from their parents (784). Still others, who have no fathers, marry to escape their tutors, believing that they are robbed by them. Instead, they fall prey to men who take their money and enrich themselves, leaving the woman and their children without a cent (785). Focusing mainly on women's economic motives, Guzman continues the list by censoring women who seek wealthy partners solely to show off their married state or because they fear losing their property.
The picaro also criticizes women whose reasons for marrying are due to lust or vanity, especially those whose looks do not justify the attentions heaped by lovers who dedicate love songs to them: "Es mas negra que una graja, mas torpe que tortuga, mas necia que una salamandra, mas fea que un topo ... Anda, vete, loca! Que no se acordaba de ti el que las hizo y, si te las hizo, mintio, para enganarte con adulacion" (786). The picaresque's moral purpose is adduced by the picaro's attacks on women who read fiction and spend their money on pastoral romances and novels of chivalry, since unlike his own narrative, this literature, for entertainment only, awakens lascivious desires: "Ellas estan como yesca. Saltales de aqui una chispa y, encendidas como polvora, quedan abrasadas" (787). Guzman's diatribes give proof of Constance Jordan's statement that, in the early modern period, the Christian marriage between rational man and passionate woman was perceived as a less than perfect union (54). Passion, moreover, stirred as often outside marriage as within it. Echoing the adulterous wife's motivation described in the Lazarillo, Guzman chastises women who hide their immoral wrongdoings behind a husband, "Casanse otras para que con la sombra del marido no sean molestadas de las justicias ni vituperadas de sus vecinas o de otras cualesquier personas ... Son libres, deshonestas y sin honra" (790-91).
Guzman's condemnation of married women also implies a critique of unions unauthorized by parents, as was the case with clandestine marriages (Jordan 55). His disapproving view, which proceeds from the Counter-Reformation decrees that prohibited these unions, emphasizes his belief in women's innate inferiority. Even when given the opportunity to choose their partners, women confirm his misogynist perceptions. As Jordan states of the portraits of virile Renaissance women, Guzman's depictions lack "an affirmation of the positive character of woman, of femininity as opposed to effeminacy" (137). In early modern Spain, women's masculinization had as its negative counterpart the feminization of men. This notion underscores Guzman's disparagement of the kind of man that some women select for a spouse: "Otras hay que ... vieron un mocito engomado y aun quiza lleno de gomas, como raso de Valencia con mas fuentes que Aranjuez, pulidetes mas que Adonis, aderezados para ser lindos y que se precian dello, como si no fuesen aquellas curiosidades visperas de una hoguera" (788). Guzman here strongly criticizes the effeminate male, whose courtly ruffles and gallant manner serve to cover up his ulcerous body and whose sodomitic activities will lead him to be burned at the stake. In one of his most direct statements about gender difference, he pronounces "Sea la mujer mujer, y el hombre, hombre. Quedense los copetes, las blanduras, las colores y buena tez para las damas que lo han menester y se han de valer dello. Bastale al hombre tratarse como quien es. Muy bien le parece tener la voz aspera, el pelo recio, la cara robusta, el talle grave y las manos duras" (788).
Guzman's dimorphic injunction that women should be women and men, men belies the fluctuating status of gender in the early modern period, where the "other"--whether Jews, Arabs, Italians, or new world indigenous--easily shifted into the category of woman. (2) The tendency for men to dress effeminately was already a theatrical trope; in the language of the comedia, the lindo (pretty boy) on stage was simultaneously cultivated and castigated. Gender ambiguity has negative resonance in the Guzman, given that the picaro describes his biological father in just such effeminate terms, pointedly enumerating his physical characteristics before he discusses the hermaphrodite monster of Ravenna, whose assemblage from various animal parts and dual sexual organs symbolized the sin of sodomy: (3) "Era blanco, rubio, colorado, rizo, y creo de naturaleza ... Traia copete y sienes ensortijadas ... que se valia de untos y artificios de sebillos, que los dientes y manos, que tanto le loaban, era a poder de polvillos, hieles, jabonetes y otras porquerias" (121-22). Like the monster of Ravenna, Guzman's father is not only a converso, he is described as transgressing all religious and social norms as simultaneously a womanizer, a sodomite, a Muslim, and a Christian renegade.
The tensions created by the "other" had serious social consequences, since these marginalized minorities served as scapegoats for the ills that befell Spain. From the inquisitional autos de fe to which heretics and sodomites were condemned to the expulsion of the moriscos in 1609, Spain's minorities were increasingly persecuted as society in general became progressively more controlled. Despite the strictures against such transgendered activities as cross-dressing--indeed, against transgender itself, as in the hermaphrodite monster of Ravenna and the infamous case of Elena/Eleno--men continued to be associated with women's biological
functions in order to marginalize and insult them. (4) Menstruation had long been ascribed to male Jews, while male pregnancy assumed comedic proportions in the theater, denoting the conflicts that arose from patriarchal control of reproduction. (5) Moreover, from the late sixteenth to the seventeenth century, as Spain began its decline, the soldiers whose earlier heroic exploits had been celebrated in literature were excoriated by arbitristas for taking on effeminate characteristics. The slippage from essentialized female roles to cross-gendered categories occurs often in the picaresque, as we can see in Quevedo's Buscon, in the jail episode where Quevedo's picaro Pablos comes into contact with several sodomites (204). Yet, while Quevedo makes it clear that Pablos stands for what society despises, he is shielded from participating in the prison's male sexual commerce. From the beginning, however, he is victimized by women: his mother, graphically described as a conversa, a witch, and a hymen-mender, sends him off to school where the school-master's wife asks favors of him. Later, wearing a plumed hat, he is mistaken for his mother by the vegetable sellers, who throw turnips at him. Because the feathers symbolize the punishment for conversos as well as witches, by rejecting his mother, he attempts to reject both his femininity and his Jewish origins. If, as some critics have averred, Quevedo's writings reveal his latent homosexual tendencies, the author's misogyny and apparently negative views of sodomitical behavior ironically uncover his fear that the "other" remains internalized not only within the social body, but within his own, unwilling and unable to be dislodged. (6)
As in the case of Lazarillo and Guzman, therefore, Pablos's maternal imago remains throughout the novel, which ends with the impasse of the picaro's social climbing, since he is recognized and denounced by the novel's other converso, Diego Coronel. The picaresque narrative's circularity is emphasized yet again in the care given to Pablos by his old landlady, whose dubious occupations loudly echo his mother's: "Enlucia manos y gargantas como paredes, acicalaba dientes, arrancaba el vello. Tenia un bebedizo que llamaba Herodes, porque con el mataba los ninos de las barrigas ... Y en lo que ella era mas estremada era en arremendar virgos y adobar doncellas" (232). The landlady is threatened by the sheriff with three thousand consecrated turnips, a bishop's mitre, and enough feathers to adorn her. While the terms all play on the public punishments condemned conversos had to endure, their purpose is to return the reader to the initial thread of Pablos's narrative, to bring to mind how Pablos's mother was persecuted for being a Jew and Pablos pelted with turnips for being mistaken for his mother. In the final episode, Pablos wakes up in the Toledo cathedral to find himself dressed by his new lover Grajales in her prostitute's clothing. As the ultimate insult hurled by Quevedo at his protagonist picaro, Pablos's decision to take off with a prostitute and to prostitute himself in the process, is to admit yet again that he is unable to abandon his maternal origins and marry above his station. In contrast to his claims to the vegetable vendors, he has indeed been transgendered into his mother and his lover. The narrative's circularity is not only confirmed by Pablo's concession of the failure of his plans to abandon Spain for a new world, it is reaffirmed by his symbolic, as much as his literal, cross-dressing.
The male picaresque's unbreakable bonds with its degraded past, which leaves the picaro constantly threatened by his return to what has been repressed in the text, is simultaneously paralleled and challenged in the female picaresque novel. Among such novels may be counted Francisco Lopez de Ubeda's La picara Justina (1605); Alonso de Salas Barbadillo's Elena y la hija de la Celestina (1612; 1614); La sabia Flora malsabidilla (1621); Teresa de Manzanares (1632); and La garduna de Sevilla (1642); Alonso de Castillo Solorzano's Las harpias en Madrid y el coche de las estafas (1631); and the anonymous La madre Andrea (c.1650). Whether this gender change may be due to the authors' desire to entertain their male readers or chastise women's behaviour--or both--the picaras' experiences as tricksters certainly expand our notion of the genre and enrich our understanding of early modern gender. Rather than relying mainly on their wits to survive, as do the picaros, the young women depend mostly on their sexual appeal. The episodes narrate the picaras' various encounters with men in their efforts at seduction in order to sustain themselves in style. Thus, although the genre gives the woman top billing, it continues to serve as an ironic literary vehicle for the social expression of male dominance through women's corporeality.
Unlike the male picaresque, whose progenitor is undoubtedly the Lazarillo, the female picaresque has as its literary mothers both Fernando de Rojas's La Celestina (1500) and Francisco Delicado's La lozana andaluza (1528). Less than thirty years apart, these novels in dialogue form focus on the sexual exploits of lower-class women. The lives of the old bawd and the attractive Andalusian embody the life story of a picara: beginning with her successful commerce with male customers, like the young Lozana, and ending with her manipulation of others' sexual desires, like the old go-between Celestina. Hymen-mending, the go between's labor that undoes the damning proof of female sexual activity, consents the continued circulation of young girls among a series of male clients just as it allows for the continued circulation of picaresque tales (Gossy 42). Their lives replicate the reading of the novels: as the reader moves from chapter to chapter, the picaras' adventures lead them through the cities and towns they must cross before settling down to business. In a reversal of the social worth of chastity, and because the sooner they lose their virginity, the faster they can begin to prosper, young girls are frequently aided by a go-between and even their birth mothers in overcoming this economic impediment. Evidently, the sale of sexual favors places the picara at a higher social hierarchy than the picaro. Moreover, although the state enforced the control of prostitution through enclosure, prostitutes were not marginalized, since their service depended on the exchange of money for pleasure. Similarly to their protagonists, the popular novels intended to entertain their primarily male readers, yet their social message follows the moral conclusion of its gendered matrix, as La Celestina's tragic ending and Lozana's retreat to the island of Lipari help chart the picara's final downfall.
The literary characterization of the picara as a prostitute offers a means of understanding the attitudes held toward women by their male authors (Zafra 22). The scorn with which Lopez de Ubeda describes his talkative female protagonist in La picara Justina, reveals the low opinion he holds of all women, as their irrepressibly loquacious nature has long been associated with their loose morals: "Y de aqui les vino a las mujeres que, como la primera iba pregonando ellas salen vocineras, y como nunca acaban de hallar quien tenga una costilla de mas, nacen inclinadas a andar en busca de la costilla y viendo si hallan hombres con alguna costilla de sobra" (Justina I.247). The novel not only criticizes women's sexually errant nature, as they go about looking for male ribs, but like the Guzman de Alfarache, with which it has many similarities, it censures women's motivation for marriage. Because none of her three marriages (the last to the picaro Guzman de Alfarache) manages to reform her, the author doubts the institution's effectiveness in protecting society from women's moral weakness. Defending her freedom, some critics take Justina's liberated rhetoric and her enjoyment of language to mean an analogous sense of liberty savored by the picara (Davis, "Breaking" 157). David Castillo convincingly argues that the different critical views stem from the novel's dialogism, the protagonist's double voice that competes for narrative space with its authorial presence (57). In this interpretation, the female-gendered voice created by the male author escapes from his control to subvert any intention of male domination.
The numerous novels written by Salas Barbadillo and Castillo Solorzano rely less on the rhetorical structure of what Castillo calls a "duality of perspectives" (64) when depicting their female protagonists. Instead, these narratives, some of which are in dialogue form, all partake of the adventurous and ironic spirit of the picaresque from the viewpoint of their male authors. As professional writers, the authors frequently include hilarious jokes at the expense of their protagonists, since their principal goal is to entertain the urban middle-class reading public. Yet the moral message subsuming some of the plots is revealed through the violence visited on the picaras. In Salas Barbadillo's La hija de la Celestina (which includes the extended version, La ingeniosa Elena and is narrated partially in the first person), the literary and historical connections to the canonical male picaresque are clearly established, since the mother, fittingly named Celestina, is a Moor, a washerwoman, and a witch. The form of child abuse she selects is to mend her daughter's hymen in order to sell her three times as a virgin, first to a rich ecclesiastic, then to a nobleman, and finally to a Genoese. The novel further criticizes the picaras' mothers' cynical actions by comparing them to pimps:
Siete anos cumplio Fabia. Al rostro bello, Celia, su madre, aplica sucio afeite Y torpes artificios al cabello Para que ocupe con el vil deleite A los ociosos ojos del mancebo Que solo con miralla se deleite. (50)
Salas Barbadillo's novel in dialogue, La sabia Flora malsabidilla, mixes cross-dressing with transgendered acting and cross-racial passing. Flora is a Gypsy prostitute whose sole interest is marrying for money and social position, yet despite her own tendencies, she often criticizes loose women (38). Divided into three acts, the novel's dramatic structure and Flora's constant role-playing calls attention to Salas Barbadillo's interest in theater, and it may be due to this hybridity that the plot ends in a favorable marriage, but with a picaresque-like twist, since at the end, she reveals her true identity to her aristocratic lover: "Ni yo soy prima de vuestra merced ni me llamo Flora. Segun esto nuestras bodas no podran celebrarse, porque mi nombre es Gabriela y mis padres unos gitanos humildes" (264). Flora's reward for admitting the truth is an offer by her husband to move to the new world, where her lower-class origins will not be questioned. Assuming the novel's redemptive spirit, Flora's nickname will also change, as her friend, the former prostitute Camila, states "pues tan bien has sabido valerte de tu entendimiento para tu bien, no te llamen la Malsabidilla, pues con esto te apartas de todo mal, sino la sabia y prudente Flora" (264). Although Flora's final trick is to tell the whole truth about herself, reversing Lazarillo's lesson only to reveal that which is absolutely necessary, the honor she gains from her marriage to a nobleman relies on the young girl's sexual skill and not on any repentance on her part. This ironic denouement creates a telling tension between the author's moral concerns about women's dishonor and the picara's pride in her profession.
To a greater extent than other female picaresque novels, La sabia Flora malsabidilla wears its misogyny lightly: because the picaras' male clients fall madly in love with them, the novel's didactic purpose tends to be directed toward the men, whose foolishness fully deserves the women's deception. This lesson was quickly learned and applied by Salas Barbadillo's female colleague, Maria de Zayas in El castigo de la miseria, one of her ten Novelas amorosas y ejemplares (1637). As a professional writer of popular fiction in the urban settings of Madrid and Barcelona, Zayas benefitted from having read the male-authored novels and from knowing several of their authors personally, including Castillo Solorzano and Lope de Vega. A member of the literary academies frequented by these writers, she took part in the poetic competitions and took up the novelistic genre popularized by them (and earlier by Cervantes) to produce two impressive collections of short stories that not only proffer her feminist views, but, especially in her 1647 collection, Desenganos amorosos, reveal in graphic and grotesque detail the conflicted relations between men and women.
Of all her novels, El castigo de la miseria comes closest to the conventional picaresque genre in that its picaro-protagonists are from the lower classes, and its ironic and often hilarious plot disguises the author's social critique. Yet what is admirable about this tale is how well Zayas appropriates convention to strike out against what she considers the unfair treatment of women, especially as regards their lack of education. She takes an even firmer step, however, by asserting that it is not only education and writing that count, but a woman's ability to publicize her writings by having them circulate in print. In her introduction "To Whoever Will Read," Zayas notes that since publishing is the only way to ensure a work's true worth, it is even more awe-inspiring when the work is by a woman, particularly when so many are quick to judge her incapable of such a feat: "Quien duda, digo otra vez, que habra muchos que atribuyan a locura esta virtuosa osadia de sacar a luz mis borrones, siendo mujer, que en opinion de algunos necios es lo mismo que una cosa incapaz" (159).
Combining her excellent writing skills with her broad knowledge of literary genres, Zayas's novella takes its cue from Cervantes's El casamiento enganoso. As in Cervantes's exemplary novel, Zayas utilizes the folkloric motif of the "trickster tricked" to punish don Marcos, the miser of the title, for pursuing an older woman whom he believes is rich (Cruz, "Zayas" 91). Having been tricked by him into believing he will support her in style, Estefania tricks him into a marriage of convenience, pretending to be an honorable widow, while living with a young lover whom she passes off as her nephew. Zayas one-ups Cervantes in the novel's denouement: if the greedy soldier's punishment in Cervantes's short story will be to contract venereal disease from the trickster prostitute, in Zayas, the avaricious miser falls dead from the devious wife's intense desire for revenge. (7) Moreover, her tale does not end there: after robbing don Marcos, Estefania loses his money to her servants and her young lover. Zayas doubly appropriates Cervantes's plot not only by having the woman dupe the husband, but by having her two young women servants ultimately dupe him and the older woman as well.
As the sole female author of a picaresque novel, Zayas grants her women protagonists far more agency than the picaros. In the maleauthored picaresque, women are either punished or serve as background for male adventures. Even the mothers, whose role is far more significant than previously acknowledged, end by relinquishing their role as they do their offspring. In Zayas's novel, however, the women servants will have the last laugh and the last of don Marcos's monies. Yet Zayas does not fully reject the picaresque's penchant for social critique, since both the miser and Estefania are punished: the one for withholding his capital, contributing through his avarice to Spain's ruined economy, and the other for expending her energies in a style unsuited to her age. And we may believe that Estefania's servant Ines and her young lover Agustinico will continue to play out the role of pimp and prostitute typical of the picaresque genre: "Y llegados a Napoles, el asento plaza de soldado, y la hermosa Ines, puesta en panos mayores, se hizo dama cortesana, sustentando con este oficio en galas y regalos a su don Agustin" (290).
By appropriating the female picaresque to suit her literary and social purposes, Zayas demonstrates the extent of her feminism. Nina Cox Davis rightly states that the writer's discourse "establishes her legitimacy and authority as an author in a male-dominated literary world" ("Reframing" 331).
In her introduction, Zayas defends women's position as absolutely necessary to society, admonishing the reader: "Con mujeres no hay competencias: quien no las estima es necio, porque las ha menester; y quien las ultraja, ingrato, pues falta al reconocimiento del hospedaje que le hicieron en la primer jornada" (161). Just as they are necessary to the social order, mothers, wives, and women servants all form an integral part of the picaresque novel. In Zayas, however, the novel's true picaras are the two young women who await their turn as their mistress tricks the trickster, then joyfully trick them both to reap the rewards. Earlier in the novel, both young women had brashly broken from the confines imposed on them by both don Marcos and society. In an equally bold move, by reversing the punishment meted women for deceiving men, Zayas's picaresque tale breaks the mold of the male-authored novels to instead condemn men's deceit and celebrate women's sexual desire.
UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI
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Burshatin, Israel. "Written on the Body: Slave or Hermaphrodite in Sixteenth-Century Spain." Queer Iberia: Sexualities, Cultures, and Crossings from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance. Josiah Blackmore and Gregory Hutcheson, eds. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1999. 420-56.
Castillo, David. (A)wry Views: Anamorphosis, Cervantes, and the Early Picaresque. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue UP, 2001.
Cruz, Anne J. "The Abjected Feminine in the Lazarillo de Tormes." Critica Hispanica 19 (1997): 99-109.
--. "Maria de Zayas and Miguel de Cervantes: A Deceitful Marriage." Tradition and Innovation in Early Modern Spanish Studies: Essays in Memory of Carroll B. Johnson. Sherry Velasco, ed. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2008. 89-106.
Davis, Nina Cox. "Breaking the Barriers: The Birth of Lopez de Ubeda's Picara Justina." The Picaresque: Tradition and Displacement. Giancarlo Maiorino, ed. Hispanic Issues 12. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1996. 137-58.
--. "Re-framing Discourse: Women before their Public in Maria de Zayas." Hispanic Review 72 (2003): 325-44.
Delicado, Francisco. La lozana andaluza. Claude Allaigre, ed. Madrid: Catedra, 1985.
Garza Carvajal, Federico. Butterflies will Burn: Prosecuting Sodomites in Early Modern Spain and Mexico. Austin: U of Texas P, 2004.
Gossy, Mary S. The Untold Story: Women and Theory in Golden Age Texts. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1989.
Iffland, James. Quevedo and the Grotesque. Vol. II. London: Tamesis, 1982.
Jordan, Constance. Renaissance Feminism: Literary Texts and Political Models. Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1990.
Lazarillo de Tormes. Francisco Rico, ed. Madrid: Catedra, 1987.
Martinez-Gonzalez, Julia. "La madre del picaro: la gran desconocida." HiperFeira. Web. 9 Oct. 2009.
Mirrer, Louise. Women, Jews, and Muslims in the Texts of Reconquest Castile. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1996.
Niccoli, Ottavia. Prophecy and People in Renaissance Italy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1990.
Quevedo, Francisco de. El buscon. Pablo Jauralde Pou, ed. Madrid: Clasicos Castalia, 1990.
Salas Barbadillo, Alonso de. La sabia Flora malsabidilla. Dana Flaskerud, ed. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2007.
Velasco, Sherry J. Male Delivery: Reproduction, Effeminacy, and Male Pregnancy in Early Modern Spain. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt UP, 2006.
Vollendorf, Lisa. The Lives of Women: A New History of Inquisitional Spain. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt UP, 2005.
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(1) Lazaro's unnamed wife also substitutes for the paternal figures, with whom Lazaro repeats his primary maternal relations (Cruz, "Abjected" 103).
(2) New world indigenous, Italians, and Muslims were derided for their homosexual activities; see Garza Carvajal and Berco.
(3) The hermaphrodite monster's birth in 1512 was attributed to Italian immorality; for the legend's circulation in Spain, see Niccoli 35-37.
(4) For the case of Elena/Eleno, see Burshatin and Vollendorf.
(5) Jews were believed to menstruate (Mirrer 73); see Velasco for examples and social meanings of male pregnancy.
(6) Iffland (234) speculates on Quevedo's possible homosexual tendencies.
(7) Similarly to Cervantes's El celoso extremeno, Zayas y Sotomayor's El castigo de la miseria offers two different endings; the first edition ends with Marcos's suicide, pushed by the devil in the guise of Gamarra, a death that according to Olivares, may have weakened the protagonist's tragic flaw and may oppose the view of a kind devil proposed in her other novels (Olivares, "Introduction," Zayas 98).
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|Author:||Cruz, Anne J.|
|Date:||Sep 22, 2010|
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