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3.61 AVERAGE
3.61 AVERAGE
‘These days we walk past a body on the street, and we have to stop pretending we can’t see it.’
A plague has overtaken an unnamed city when The Redeemer--a hero with a hardness to rival any hard-boiled noir protagonist coupled with a philosophical soft-spot for humanity--is called to broker the exchange of kidnapped children from rival crime families. The Transmigration of Bodies by Yuri Herrera (translated by [a:Lisa Dillman|681182|Lisa Dillman|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png]) is a tight little noir with a lot of power and heart. It is as if Herrera read [a:Raymond Chandler|1377|Raymond Chandler|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1206535318p2/1377.jpg] and asked is this all you’ve got? I’ll show you hard-boiled. This novel is a feast of tone that alone could sustain enjoyment through the brief 101 pages, however Herrera treats the reader to a well-nuanced and lived-in, gritty narrative that is sheer delight. Drawing on the violence of the drug wars and Shakespeare’s [b:Romeo and Juliet|18135|Romeo and Juliet|William Shakespeare|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1572098085l/18135._SY75_.jpg|3349450], Herrera plunges the reader into a dark ride alongside the Redeemer as he navigates a world fraught with meanness while still holding on to a belief that people can be good if you only find the right methods of persuasion.
‘The scene had the innocence of all unsettling things that take place in silence.’
The stage for Herrera’s hard-boiled noir is an unnamed city that manages to both be a microcosm of Mexico while still offering an eerie universality to remind the readers that this world lurks all around them no matter where they are. A deadly airborne plague has swept in and everyone is holed up in their homes creating a tense and horrific silence in the once-busy streets. ‘There was no one, nothing, not a single voice, not one sound on an avenue that by that time should have been rammed with cars.’ Those who go out are encouraged to wear masks lest they fall victim to the unknown pandemic. Reading this in the summer of 2020 while wearing my own mask due to our current pandemic, this book hits home right away, particularly the way Herrera shows compliance with masks as a character trait. Tough guys like the Neeyanderthal scoff at them and openly refuse to wear them, but the truest of tough guys like the Redeemer wear one because it makes others feel safe doing so. 'The Redeemer was embarrassed to be wearing a mask and considered taking it off for a minute, but opted to leave it on.'
The virus itself works as a metaphor for the Drug Wars and the randomness of violence which is well paired with several passing scenes of police checkpoints demonstrating police brutality against random civilians such as a solitary punk kid who has his piercings torn from his face by the cops just to give them a laugh. The real horror isn’t the unseen pandemic, though it quietly casts a tense shadow over every scene, but the visible harm people will do to each other.
Herrera is a masterful prose stylist that brings this world to life, and Lisa Dillman expertly renders this into English in a way that retains the quirks of his language. As in his incredible novel Signs Preceding the End of the World, Herrera has a very stylized prose that brings the language of the underworld and street life alive like poetry. Dillman captures this in ways such as writing ‘tho’ instead of ‘though’, or the repeated line ‘fuckit’ that is practically the mantra of the novel (if you are like me your mind rushes to this classic scene). While this doesn’t reach the fever pitch of apocalyptic terror found in Signs, there is still an epic and myth-like quality to the characters, each only being identified through their street names ie. the Unruly, the Dolphin, etc. which Herrera waxes poetic about in one particular passage that shines a cutting, critical eye on the toxic aspects of the underworld culture. There is a subtle poking of fun at the toxic masculinities that tend permeate a lot of noir fiction, with lines such as the gem 'two badasses emerged, with faces that confirmed they were indeed very big badasses' which reads like an tongue-in-cheek eyeroll towards 'tough guys'.
The Redeemer exists to keep events ‘from escalating to a major shitstorm.’ He is a fixer. ‘That was what he knew, how to efface set-in-stone truths.’ There is a beautifully tone-setting scene right at the beginning when the currently unnamed protagonist has his day interrupted by a phone call asking who they are speaking to. ‘Who’s this? the man asked, like he didn’t know what number he’d just dialed.
Who do you think, replied the Redeemer. It’s me.’ And end scene. Immediately the reader knows they are dealing with a badass; you can practically hear the theme song pumping into a movie theater as the title credits wash in and some teenage boy chokes on his popcorn in the front row while yelling “oooooooh shiiiiit!” As previously mentioned, Herrera takes hard-boiled noir, mixes it with some of the dark grit signature to [a:Roberto Bolaño|72039|Roberto Bolaño|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1617204588p2/72039.jpg], and then cranks it all up to an unimaginably awesome level.
The Redeemer, however, isn’t some cold-hearted action hero. He figures himself as someone who helps ‘the man who let[s] himself be helped.’ He believes people are good, but can be led astray by rage, grief, misplaced loyalty, booze, you know, all the classic bad decision makers.
This hero with a heart for humanity is set loose into a pandemic because two crime families each have the other’s child, and, to make matters worse, both are now corpses. How did they get this way, and why is one body being stored in a mansion that mysteriously belongs to one family. Herrera leans into the Shakespeare reference to the Montagues and Capulets by having one child quite literally named Romeo while the other faction are the Castro family.
Despite the dark and horrific tone of the novel, it shines a ray of hope. The deaths, it would seem, are accidental (one by plague) and other teenage children are less kidnappers and more those just trying to help but caught in a bad situation. This is a toxic climate imposed upon them by their fathers and the mythos of a blood feud they aren’t all that interested in actively engaging in beyond playful chiding. Sure, the Castro’s jibe Romeo but ‘There’s just some people you mess with, that’s just the way it is.’ Even the fearsome sister, the Unruly, calls out the patriarchal society for only referring to the rival family’s daughter as Baby Girl. ‘I have a name, that’s what she said the day I took her home with me, don’t call me Baby Girl. And she told me her name.’ As they say, the kids are alright. It is the parents placing them into violence holding a grudge, ‘fighting over ashes.’
‘Unhappy people aren’t the problem. It’s people taking their unhappy out on you.’
This is a brief yet really compelling novella that manages to create a more intense and detailed underworld than most noir novels thrice it’s length. There is even a humorous side-plot threading through the novel of the Redeemer earnestly trying to buy condoms--and failing--so he can honorably make it with the girl he likes. Even the worst of characters, like the crass Neeyanderthal, are humanized and looked at as a product of their sadness. Everyone is judged by their ability to keep going despite the horrors of the world and, as the Redeemer finds, many are able to be decent people if given the right assistance. While this does not compare to the epic quality of his formerly translated novel, Herrera delivers a well-crafted and utterly engaging novella that certainly made my weekend blissful. There is a beautiful heart beating here beneath all the exciting grit.
3.5/5
‘The truth is, the Redeemer said, maybe we’re damned from the start.’
A plague has overtaken an unnamed city when The Redeemer--a hero with a hardness to rival any hard-boiled noir protagonist coupled with a philosophical soft-spot for humanity--is called to broker the exchange of kidnapped children from rival crime families. The Transmigration of Bodies by Yuri Herrera (translated by [a:Lisa Dillman|681182|Lisa Dillman|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png]) is a tight little noir with a lot of power and heart. It is as if Herrera read [a:Raymond Chandler|1377|Raymond Chandler|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1206535318p2/1377.jpg] and asked is this all you’ve got? I’ll show you hard-boiled. This novel is a feast of tone that alone could sustain enjoyment through the brief 101 pages, however Herrera treats the reader to a well-nuanced and lived-in, gritty narrative that is sheer delight. Drawing on the violence of the drug wars and Shakespeare’s [b:Romeo and Juliet|18135|Romeo and Juliet|William Shakespeare|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1572098085l/18135._SY75_.jpg|3349450], Herrera plunges the reader into a dark ride alongside the Redeemer as he navigates a world fraught with meanness while still holding on to a belief that people can be good if you only find the right methods of persuasion.
‘The scene had the innocence of all unsettling things that take place in silence.’
The stage for Herrera’s hard-boiled noir is an unnamed city that manages to both be a microcosm of Mexico while still offering an eerie universality to remind the readers that this world lurks all around them no matter where they are. A deadly airborne plague has swept in and everyone is holed up in their homes creating a tense and horrific silence in the once-busy streets. ‘There was no one, nothing, not a single voice, not one sound on an avenue that by that time should have been rammed with cars.’ Those who go out are encouraged to wear masks lest they fall victim to the unknown pandemic. Reading this in the summer of 2020 while wearing my own mask due to our current pandemic, this book hits home right away, particularly the way Herrera shows compliance with masks as a character trait. Tough guys like the Neeyanderthal scoff at them and openly refuse to wear them, but the truest of tough guys like the Redeemer wear one because it makes others feel safe doing so. 'The Redeemer was embarrassed to be wearing a mask and considered taking it off for a minute, but opted to leave it on.'
The virus itself works as a metaphor for the Drug Wars and the randomness of violence which is well paired with several passing scenes of police checkpoints demonstrating police brutality against random civilians such as a solitary punk kid who has his piercings torn from his face by the cops just to give them a laugh. The real horror isn’t the unseen pandemic, though it quietly casts a tense shadow over every scene, but the visible harm people will do to each other.
Herrera is a masterful prose stylist that brings this world to life, and Lisa Dillman expertly renders this into English in a way that retains the quirks of his language. As in his incredible novel Signs Preceding the End of the World, Herrera has a very stylized prose that brings the language of the underworld and street life alive like poetry. Dillman captures this in ways such as writing ‘tho’ instead of ‘though’, or the repeated line ‘fuckit’ that is practically the mantra of the novel (if you are like me your mind rushes to this classic scene). While this doesn’t reach the fever pitch of apocalyptic terror found in Signs, there is still an epic and myth-like quality to the characters, each only being identified through their street names ie. the Unruly, the Dolphin, etc. which Herrera waxes poetic about in one particular passage that shines a cutting, critical eye on the toxic aspects of the underworld culture. There is a subtle poking of fun at the toxic masculinities that tend permeate a lot of noir fiction, with lines such as the gem 'two badasses emerged, with faces that confirmed they were indeed very big badasses' which reads like an tongue-in-cheek eyeroll towards 'tough guys'.
The Redeemer exists to keep events ‘from escalating to a major shitstorm.’ He is a fixer. ‘That was what he knew, how to efface set-in-stone truths.’ There is a beautifully tone-setting scene right at the beginning when the currently unnamed protagonist has his day interrupted by a phone call asking who they are speaking to. ‘Who’s this? the man asked, like he didn’t know what number he’d just dialed.
Who do you think, replied the Redeemer. It’s me.’ And end scene. Immediately the reader knows they are dealing with a badass; you can practically hear the theme song pumping into a movie theater as the title credits wash in and some teenage boy chokes on his popcorn in the front row while yelling “oooooooh shiiiiit!” As previously mentioned, Herrera takes hard-boiled noir, mixes it with some of the dark grit signature to [a:Roberto Bolaño|72039|Roberto Bolaño|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1617204588p2/72039.jpg], and then cranks it all up to an unimaginably awesome level.
The Redeemer, however, isn’t some cold-hearted action hero. He figures himself as someone who helps ‘the man who let[s] himself be helped.’ He believes people are good, but can be led astray by rage, grief, misplaced loyalty, booze, you know, all the classic bad decision makers.
often, people were really just waiting for someone to talk them down, offer them a way out of the fight. That was why when he talked sweet he really worked his word. The word is ergonomic, he said. You just have to know how to shape it to each person.
This hero with a heart for humanity is set loose into a pandemic because two crime families each have the other’s child, and, to make matters worse, both are now corpses. How did they get this way, and why is one body being stored in a mansion that mysteriously belongs to one family. Herrera leans into the Shakespeare reference to the Montagues and Capulets by having one child quite literally named Romeo while the other faction are the Castro family.
Despite the dark and horrific tone of the novel, it shines a ray of hope. The deaths, it would seem, are accidental (one by plague) and other teenage children are less kidnappers and more those just trying to help but caught in a bad situation. This is a toxic climate imposed upon them by their fathers and the mythos of a blood feud they aren’t all that interested in actively engaging in beyond playful chiding. Sure, the Castro’s jibe Romeo but ‘There’s just some people you mess with, that’s just the way it is.’ Even the fearsome sister, the Unruly, calls out the patriarchal society for only referring to the rival family’s daughter as Baby Girl. ‘I have a name, that’s what she said the day I took her home with me, don’t call me Baby Girl. And she told me her name.’ As they say, the kids are alright. It is the parents placing them into violence holding a grudge, ‘fighting over ashes.’
‘Unhappy people aren’t the problem. It’s people taking their unhappy out on you.’
This is a brief yet really compelling novella that manages to create a more intense and detailed underworld than most noir novels thrice it’s length. There is even a humorous side-plot threading through the novel of the Redeemer earnestly trying to buy condoms--and failing--so he can honorably make it with the girl he likes. Even the worst of characters, like the crass Neeyanderthal, are humanized and looked at as a product of their sadness. Everyone is judged by their ability to keep going despite the horrors of the world and, as the Redeemer finds, many are able to be decent people if given the right assistance. While this does not compare to the epic quality of his formerly translated novel, Herrera delivers a well-crafted and utterly engaging novella that certainly made my weekend blissful. There is a beautiful heart beating here beneath all the exciting grit.
3.5/5
‘The truth is, the Redeemer said, maybe we’re damned from the start.’
I finished this buuuuut I was bored. It’s saying things about Covid and senseless violence, but I didn’t really care about any of it or find Redeemer humorous like I think I was supposed to.
Gritty, atmospheric tale that creates an uneasy underworld populated by multi-layered characters. This unique novella achieves quite a lot in just a few pages.
No where near the depth and quality of Signs, but a unique play on Romeo & Juliet, during a plague.
Short but gripping - think Fear and Loathing in Mexico City crossed with the Contagion movie
dark
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
Loveable characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
First read 07/2024. Picked it up in a charity shop for £2. Overpriced.
Desperately wanted to be cool and sexy. The pandemic angle and the corpse exchange storyline were pretty good; unfortunately the overall effect was insufferable. Our narrator is misogynist but no so much as to be alienating - the modern noir hero denouncing violence in favour of deescalation and navel-gazing.
Desperately wanted to be cool and sexy. The pandemic angle and the corpse exchange storyline were pretty good; unfortunately the overall effect was insufferable. Our narrator is misogynist but no so much as to be alienating - the modern noir hero denouncing violence in favour of deescalation and navel-gazing.
dark
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
A stunning short work by the Mexican writer. Working within hardboiled conventions, but with an apocalyptic feel and terrific prose.
It was alright. Bit confusing, plot wise, but the parts discussing a fictional pandemic were fun to read post-COVID.
challenging
dark
emotional
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes