I Have Been Teaching Literatures in English for Over Twenty-Five Years at the Universidad Nacional AutóNoma de México (Unam), Mexico's national university, where I received my undergraduate degree. My formative years were marked, undoubtedly, by the universalist ideal that defines the motto of the university, “Por mi raza hablará el espíritu” (“The spirit will speak on behalf of my race”). I cannot recall whether I was aware of the motto's real meaning, or of its cultural and social implications, but I suppose I took for granted that what I was taught as a student was as much part of a Mexican culture as it was of a “universal” one. Reading English literature at the department of modern languages and literatures in the late 1970s meant that I was exposed to a canonical view of literature shaped as much by The Oxford Anthology of English Literature and by our lecturers' (primarily) aesthetic approach to it as by the idea of “universal” literature conveyed in the textbooks for elementary and secondary education in Mexico. This conviction that as a Mexican I belonged to “Western” civilization greatly diminished when in the early 1980s I traveled to London for graduate studies and was almost shattered by the attitudes I encountered while conducting my doctoral research on the image of Latin America in British fiction. I was often asked whether I had ever seen a car (let alone ridden in one), or if there was electricity in my country, and the ambivalent, mostly negative, view of Latin Americans and Mexicans in what I read (authors like Joseph Conrad, D. H. Lawrence, Graham Greene, and Aldous Huxley, as well as more than three hundred adventure novels set in the continent) forced me to question the idea that one ought to read literature merely for the enjoyment (and admiration) of it or to analyze it with assumptions that fall roughly in the category of “expressive,” or “mimetic,” criticism, which was common in those days and often took the form of monographic studies, which relied heavily on paraphrase.