A great deal has been written about José Martí as poet, patriot, and essayist. Much of his life and work has, however, remained almost completely ignored; by some, denied. Relatively little is known about his personal life except that he was Cuban, which for most has been sufficient. But recent research casts fascinating light on his little-known fondness for baccarat, his secret dream of acquiring a Caribbean monopoly of Thom McAn shoe franchises, and his tendency to walk into closed doors. Though all this information is useful and interesting, there has persisted yet another oversight in Martí scholarship, one which has led to an altogether unwarranted and almost totally inaccurate image of him as an inspired but rather inept artist of verse.

“Popular literature” is a term that appears in serious literary context most often as a means of disparaging the unremitting yokelism of the larger reading public and the cynical but uninspired writers who prey on the pocketbooks of yokeldom. The term may also appear in contexts in which its meaning is altogether different, as in the sober studies carried out by anthropologists and folklorists in which the literary manifestations of folk culture are studied. In the latter instance, the term loses its burden of vague antagonism and assumes a scholarly respectability based on the tested relevance and importance of primitive, preliterate, or peasant societies. In literate societies such as ours, the large area between this popular literature and the real literature of the truly cultured minority is dealt with gingerly, if at all. It is tacitly taken to represent the same kind of mindless consumerism that makes such an innovation as the electric canopener an overnight commercial success.