As Cruz eloquently conveys in her interviews, her artistic mission is to illuminate the lives and tales of Puerto Rican women. The tapestry of voices in Telling Tales is predominantly woven from Latino threads, with a vivid cast of characters steeped in their cultural milieu. Except for the family portrayed in "Sky," the monologues echo with the rhythms of Puerto Rican descent. These narratives are steeped in the hardships and legacies of the South Bronx: Tati, for instance, endures the scourge of lead poisoning—a plight more common among children from impoverished backgrounds. The stories unveil immigrants who bravely snare rats with their bare hands for a meager twenty dollars, and even midget wrestlers who add texture to this vibrant community.

Cruz’s tales do not shy away from the raw and violent history of the South Bronx: a man who commits the unspeakable act of raping and murdering a child, tearing her "open with his teeth"; sixth-grade girls exacting brutal revenge on a classmate who thwarted their theft of a bus pass; and a prostitute who falls victim to a brutal gang attack. Yet amid this brutality, her characters find strength in their non-Caucasian identity. They reach out to embrace and understand other minority experiences in America. In "Sky," Native American characters come to life, while in "Parcheesi," the narrator forges a deep bond with an African American friend. Meanwhile, "Loose Lips" offers admiration for Asian traditions of ancestor veneration.

The most poignant racial commentary emerges in "Rats," where the narrator cleverly highlights the absurdity of the WASP-y women's behavior, who glorify her simply for her Bronx origins. Through such narratives, Cruz crafts a vivid landscape filled with struggle, resilience, and cultural pride.

Cruz confides in Leonora Inez Brown that her characters embark on profound quests, seeking a sanctuary where the sacred and the ordinary intersect—a realm where mortals may converse with the divine. In Cruz's monologues, faith is not merely a theme, but a cornerstone. Her mothers entrust their hopes to the celestial embrace of God and Christ. In the tale of "Jesus," a mother gifts her toddler a portrait of Jesus, urging her to beseech him in prayer, believing, "Tati would get better if only I did this."

Meanwhile, in "Fire," the mother braves the peril of a returning blaze to retrieve an almost life-sized statue of Jesus from their building. When one character rightly notes that safety would prevent the firemen from allowing her re-entry, her daughters remain unaware of this reality; the narrator swiftly accepts the neighbors' grim news of her mother's demise. Here, the mother's quest for her spiritual token eclipses her children's emotional needs. In "Rats," the narrator unveils the depth of the mother's religious devotion. Instead of succumbing to anger or resentment over the marginalization and struggles in the South Bronx, she finds solace in her religious practices—lighting candles at church, seeking peace. As Cruz remarked to Brown, “my characters use religion to figure stuff out.”

Faith and Narration

The narrators feel the embrace of faith, albeit less intensely. In "Sand," the narrator, witnessing the apprehension of her friend's assailant, reflects, "That's when I thought there must be a God, because there was justice." In "Fire," the rescuer who delivers her and her sisters from danger resembles an angelic figure, appearing miraculously, as though offering salvation. In "Rats," the narrator discloses a brush with a religious calling, nearly becoming a nun, yet her passion for literature and storytelling clashed with the Church's expectations.

Within the pages of Telling Tales , a tapestry of monologues unfurls, each thread weaving through the...