The Impossible Dream, in Two Languages

Yes, I know—it’s quixotic. And we’re doing it anyway.

We’re embarking on the bold adventure of reading the classic, the first modern novel ever written: Don Quijote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes—together, in both archaic Spanish and English.

Darcie with a group of students from California with Don Quijote and Sancho in Madrid.

At DarKha Academy, our Bilingual Book Club meets twice a month to read aloud, share thoughts, and practice both languages in a warm, welcoming environment. It’s a place where English and Spanish learners alike can ask the questions they’re too shy to ask on the street—and know they’ll be met with kindness and camaraderie.

To kick off this incredible feat (yes, the book clocks in at around 1,000 pages!), we watched the 1972 film Man of La Mancha, starring Peter O’Toole and Sophia Loren. The memories it stirred were powerful. I first saw that film as a child, long before I knew Don Quijote was from Spain. My mom, unable to find a babysitter, piled us into the old VW Beetle and off we went to the theater.

At first, I was disappointed. It wasn’t a Disney movie. It felt long and confusing to my young mind. But then—something happened. I got drawn in by the music, and by this poor, strange man who just wanted to help people. Why were they laughing at him? Why were they so cruel to Dulcinea? I thought she was beautiful. I remember feeling angry when his family locked him up, and heartbroken to see him lying on his deathbed—a “sane” but broken man.

“No, Don Quijote!” I wanted to shout. “Wake up! Tell us again to live life not as it is, but as it should be! To fight for the good and the noble! To keep going, even when your arms are too weary! We can do this!”

As a child, I didn’t understand the Spanish Inquisition. I didn’t grasp the weight of injustice or oppression. I just knew I had to do my homework, help with chores, and be kind to my siblings. But somehow, I still understood—deep down—that we must defend goodness, believe in ourselves, and carry on, even when others doubt or mock us.

Watching the film again, now as an adult—someone who’s been knocked down, lifted up, ignored, celebrated—I felt it all come full circle. I was reminded that we must never give up on our dreams, our uniqueness, our inner “madness.” It’s that beautiful madness that makes us human, brave, and alive.

So no, it doesn’t matter if our book club finishes Don Quijote. What matters is that we start. That we show up for each other. That we dare to laugh, cry, stumble through the language—and have a crazy fun time doing it.