With the exceptions of Dorotea and Zoraida, the ladies in the First A part of Don Quixote are weak-willed, subservient animals who rely on the husbands as masters. However, even Dorotea ingratiates and humiliates herself to be able to win back Fernando's affection. Zoraida, on the other palm, at first certainly is the one seeming exception to the model, since she has the will to grab from her dad in order to run away from home with the captive.
Zoraida, or Maria if you prefer, is "a lady figure who is half Moor (your body) and one half Christian (the heart)" and "enters into self-imposed exile from her home culture to be able to actualize a concealed and purportedly Western european home" (Garrett 141). Zoraida abandons her daddy on the deserted island in the process of actualizing her quest for the Christian world (Garrett 141).
As a Moor, she can step outside the bounds of the conventional roles governing the lives of Cervantes's women. However, Zoraida talks only one time, and then it is at animated revision of her name: "No, Zoraida no: Maria, Maria!" (Cervantes 353). Renamed Maria, Zoraida's Moorish personality would be replaced by a Christian ideal of feminine chastity, but her muteness symbolizes her insufficient electric power. Therefore, even though her ethnicity and spiritual interest make her unusual and suggest that she might serve as the model for a fresh kind of female in the novel, she remains as much an object as the other female characters.
The Captive's Tale features a woman's role in "modern" Spain. From first, Zoraida is symbolized as an thing unable to illustrate a feeling of self. In contrast to the captive, who positively interacts with the inn's guests and identifies himself as part of their community, Zoraida is passive and mute and distanced. She becomes obvious to her new companions only following the captive translates on her behalf for a specifically Christian audience. The success of Zoraida's cross-cultural trip depends on the captive. (Garrett 142)
Zoraida enters Cervantes' words as a literal representation of a romantic damsel-in-distress. Her arrival follows Dorotea's impersonation of Princess Micomicona, an imaginary construct devised by the priest and the barber to put an end to Don Quixote's misadventures (Garrett 142). A once great female, the princess is thought to need a knight's service to restore her and her family from the tyrannous hold of an "overgrown giant" (Cervantes 274).
In a fascinating parallel, Zoraida, having become herself a reduced and vulnerable girl, offers a real-life mirror to the princess. A eager expatriate from her home culture, Zoraida enters the storyplot after having been relieved by pirates of her bangles, pearls, and rubies, and appearing a materially impoverished Religious convert (Garrett 142). Her freedom depended on betrayal, and after that betrayal she lost her financial and discursive electricity. In the long run, all that she keeps is her allure as woman woman seeking a new homeland.
Where the imaginary Micomicona is protected by the madly passionate Don Quixote, Zoraida is safeguarded by the Christian captive. Along, Zoraida and the captive reach the inn as reasonable figures of a modern Religious knight and his chastely silent female.
Zoraida signifies the prospect of women's centrality at exactly the same time she reveals the restrictions of women's access to vitality. Both in terms of economics and discourse, she is included after offering herself up for exchange. In Cervantes and the Materials World, Carroll Johnson suggests that "Zoraida journeys from linguistic and monetary empowerment in protocapitalistic Algiers to voicelessness and poverty in feudo-agrarian Spain, where the old order triumphs and Zoraida is promised, at best, a position as a second-class morisca citizen" (126).
Cervantes used masculinist literary models to form his novel, but he employed in an entirely new kind of literary activity that reached out to an evergrowing reading society by "placement Zoraida at the center of the conversation of race, category, and difference in early on modern Spain" (Vollendorf 322). Zoraida cannot annoyed any genre, for hers is the quintessential historical narrative of alteration, displacement, and silence.