From Latin America’s literary prankster Mario a novella that puzzles from the first page with its liminal, Lynchian atmosphere.
In an unnamed country by the sea, a grieving kleptomaniac known only as Our Woman is determined to reach the House. There, she will be able to listen to her childhood voice. As she winds her way through a day replete with odd choices and unresolved conclusions, the losses that define Our Woman take clearer shape, while the circumstances of her world turn more opaque. Inhabitants form poetry salons and line up for measly food distributions. Authoritarian landladies maintain an iron-grip on their complexes, men in blue overcoats roam the streets, and train stations remain deserted. Perpetual Law thwarts convention, casting a mysterious pallor over typical narrative what is happening here, and why?
A patron to all that is subversive and unruly, Mario Bellatin’s work beckons to engage with the reality of borders, linguistic exile, and the types of self-estrangement that can barely be articulated. Translated into English by Stephen Beachy, Perpetual Law is familiar as it is disturbing; enrapturing as it is challenging. It is an important key to Bellatin’s complex body of work.
Mario Bellatin grew up in Peru as the son of Peruvian parents. He spent two years studying theology at the seminary Santo Toribio de Mogrovejo and graduated from the University of Lima. In 1987, Bellatin moved to Cuba, where he studied screenplay writing at the International Film School Latinoamericana. On his return to Mexico in 1995, he became the director of the Department of Literature and Humanities at the University of the Cloister of Sor Juana and became a member of the National System of Creators of Mexico from 1999 to 2005. He is currently the director of the School of Writers Dynamics in Mexico City.
"One morning the phone rang. To Our Woman, the sound didn’t make sense. When she answered, a voice she didn’t know began speaking to her. It claimed to be a representative of the House where Our Woman had supposedly put in a request to hear her childhood voice. The petition had been accepted. The voice went on to say that she could come by the House tonight and hear it for herself."
A dreamy, floaty novella, with the atmosphere of a warm, breezy evening, where Our Woman drifts from one situation to the next, the main connection being Our Woman herself and that's in the same city. Full of strange details, but never becoming confusing (which can quickly happen in weird fiction). One of those books you just let yourself get carried away on the words and imagery.
"The metallic voice went on talking. It said that since an error had been made by the House, they’d do her a special favor. They proposed an exchange between her adult voice and that of her childhood. Our Woman could leave what she now possessed with the House and take away her voice as a little girl. Going forward, she would have to maintain in her daily life the rhythm of her earliest babbling. It would give her a sensation of being surprised each time she pronounced the words."
What does it all mean? Still thinking about that, which to me is a good sign.
3.5 stars
(Thanks to Deep Vellum Publishing for providing me with an ARC through Edelweiss)
I can’t help but feel like i’ve missed something in this book. Maybe it was the author’s intention for us to not know what was going on, or to understand fully. Some passages were beautifully written, other passages were random asf. It was an enjoyable read though.
I haven’t a clue what just happened. It made me think tho, and I’m pretty sure I really enjoyed it.
Thank you bunches to Deep Vellum for the gifted copy ❣️ After loss of the NEA grant, it’s more important to support indie pubs now than ever. You make it easy w the quality of work you publish.
This is a novella where the world presented to the reader does not seem to want to make sense. Some parts seem familiar enough: people have jobs and marriages, apartment complexes have landlords, there's a government (?) that ensures food rations are given out, there are hospitals and modes of public transport, and there is a divide between the city and the countryside. But there are elements in this story that make it absurdist, possibly dystopian. It could be post-war, post-apocalyptic, post-pandemic or just post-. A poet wants to invent a new language just for poetry but can't even sit through one reading. The citizens fear men in uniform. Something made the city and its people this way, but we never know what. How postmodernist.
The protagonist is a woman known only to us as "Our Woman" and her living conditions sound terrible but that's her normal. Her mother was a hero who created an important vaccine—for?—so some of that inherited glory has shielded her from violence, but she's no one special. She had a family, but her husband took their son and ran away—from?—so she's been alone since. She had a job, but she got fired when she compulsively stole something and stayed in a hospital (psych ward implied) for six months.
Our Woman upturns her own life in the span of one day, all for the opportunity to hear the voice of her childhood, if such a thing is even possible. She attempts theft of the bucket—why?—and kills her landlady, but her thoughts and motivations are omitted entirely from the narrative. Even though the mysterious entity hints at knowing she's responsible, she somehow gets away with manslaughter—but not petty theft?—and is offered the chance to exchange her adult voice for her baby voice. Would she be censoring herself, or is this about disavowing the symbolic for the semiotic? Honestly, this book resists any kind of interpretation.
Similar reads: - 'The Iliac Crest' - 'Shezlez the Self-Proclaimed'
Bellatin walks us through a dystopian world that may be closer than we know. With the flip of a switch, we could all be transformed into Our Woman as we carefully make our way along the malecon, each glancing over our own shoulders. His theme of reconstructed voices speaks to our unworldly ability to create AI voices which, sadly, are more real than any reality.
a strange little novella. I read it after reading a book on immigration which maybe colored my interpretation of the odd goings on. but that kind of double exposure of books made this one more enjoyable and meaningful.
Perfect for a cozy afternoon. The world building makes you fearful for where we all could be headed. The characters come in and out, leaving you with just enough but also wanting more. In every scene I wanted to stay longer, learn more. The writing kept me close and moved me along.
A strange woman does some strange things. I'm sure it's an allegory for something. Not an unpleasant read, but any deeper meaning eludes me. Will last in my memory for approximately a week.
A day in the life spent in the mindset of one quirky woman. In her surrealist landscape, she is the main character. This would be true even if nothing had ever been written about her.