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A review by mxunsmiley
Monstrilio by Gerardo Sámano Córdova
dark
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
One of the more fascinating recently released novels I’ve read. It missed a great opportunity to delve deeper into disability and its implications regarding concepts of “monstrosity” and acceptance into the fold of dignified life, however; there’s a gaping hole in this regard which, had it been filled, could have made this novel perfect to me.
It is uneven in its presentation besides; after Magos’s point of view, which begins the novel, we go into Lena, who, while compelling, is not nearly as striking as Magos, who oscillates between aloofness, cruelty, wrought passion… a real spectrum of what is deemed unsavory in a woman, and a grieving mother, at that. She makes bizarre and incomprehensible statements and decisions, unfortunately given attention less and less as the narrative moves to Joseph and Peter, and finally, M, who then takes after his mother in intrigue.
It wasn’t exactly clear what M was meant to be—a reincarnation of Santiago, a creature with memories imposed on him through the willing of his birth, who knows—but that lack of definition framed the novel’s exploration of parenthood and children’s autonomy. A struggle to be that which his parents, or his “creator”, so desperately wanted him to be, insisting they can “tame” him, “transform” him, even as it causes him despair, confusion, and shame. Parents have all kinds of expectations for their children before they are even born; in one of Joseph’s chapters, he speaks of how he fantasized a future in which Santiago was thirty, happy beyond belief, while fully admitting that he didn’t have any idea what could have made Santiago so happy. Magos even says, “I know what Monstrilio is. I made him,” imposing all of her desires onto him, her desire which gave him form in the first place; thus, does he have any right to his own personhood? The plea of the child then seems paradoxical, perhaps, though all they long for is love and acceptance for what they choose—or sometimes, are forced—to become.
While there is a clear differentiation in voices, and a wide cast of characters, there aren’t many moments when it feels as though they are truly present in the narrative. Funnily enough, it’s like performance art, and the characters are set pieces, maybe speaking to the fable-like nature of the novel. The author’s Mexican background is obvious here, with the astute symbolism of a deteriorating house, nevertheless patched up frantically to give a show of respectability and dignity, keeping up appearances… Magos rebelling against that image of the Good Mexican Mother/Woman, particularly during the mass, was especially appreciated.
There’s a lot of clumsiness, but overall, the narrative absorbed me and ultimately, I enjoyed how bizarre it all was, despite the ending feeling a bit too rushed;I wish M’s decision to leave the family had been more impactful, given a more mystical or grand veneer to match the strangeness of the novel. There were a few tender moments that caught me off guard, as well; I didn't expect to appreciate Joseph's character as much as I did, particularly after the scene when he gently sets the tarantula free instead of killing it, as Peter insists he does.
It is uneven in its presentation besides; after Magos’s point of view, which begins the novel, we go into Lena, who, while compelling, is not nearly as striking as Magos, who oscillates between aloofness, cruelty, wrought passion… a real spectrum of what is deemed unsavory in a woman, and a grieving mother, at that. She makes bizarre and incomprehensible statements and decisions, unfortunately given attention less and less as the narrative moves to Joseph and Peter, and finally, M, who then takes after his mother in intrigue.
It wasn’t exactly clear what M was meant to be—a reincarnation of Santiago, a creature with memories imposed on him through the willing of his birth, who knows—but that lack of definition framed the novel’s exploration of parenthood and children’s autonomy. A struggle to be that which his parents, or his “creator”, so desperately wanted him to be, insisting they can “tame” him, “transform” him, even as it causes him despair, confusion, and shame. Parents have all kinds of expectations for their children before they are even born; in one of Joseph’s chapters, he speaks of how he fantasized a future in which Santiago was thirty, happy beyond belief, while fully admitting that he didn’t have any idea what could have made Santiago so happy. Magos even says, “I know what Monstrilio is. I made him,” imposing all of her desires onto him, her desire which gave him form in the first place; thus, does he have any right to his own personhood? The plea of the child then seems paradoxical, perhaps, though all they long for is love and acceptance for what they choose—or sometimes, are forced—to become.
While there is a clear differentiation in voices, and a wide cast of characters, there aren’t many moments when it feels as though they are truly present in the narrative. Funnily enough, it’s like performance art, and the characters are set pieces, maybe speaking to the fable-like nature of the novel. The author’s Mexican background is obvious here, with the astute symbolism of a deteriorating house, nevertheless patched up frantically to give a show of respectability and dignity, keeping up appearances… Magos rebelling against that image of the Good Mexican Mother/Woman, particularly during the mass, was especially appreciated.
There’s a lot of clumsiness, but overall, the narrative absorbed me and ultimately, I enjoyed how bizarre it all was, despite the ending feeling a bit too rushed;
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal death, Cannibalism, and Gore