His Name was Death

by Rafael Bernal, Kit Schluter (Translator)

A bitter drunk forsakes civilization and takes to the Mexican jungle, trapping animals, selling their pelts to buy liquor for colossal benders, and slowly rotting away in his fetid hut. His neighbors, a clan of the Lacodón tribe of Chiapas, however, see something more in him than he does himself (dubbing him Wise Owl): when he falls deathly ill, a shaman named Black Ant saves his life—and, almost by chance, in driving out his fever, she exorcises the demon of alcoholism as well. Slowly recovering, weak in his hammock, our antihero discovers a curious thing about the mosquitoes’ buzzing, “which to human ears seemed so irritating and pointless.” Perhaps, in fact, it constituted a language he might learn—and with the help of a flute and a homemade dictionary—even speak. Slowly, he masters Mosquil, with astonishing consequences… Will he harness the mosquitoes’ global might? And will his new powers enable him to take over the world that’s rejected him? A book far ahead of its time, His Name Was Death looks down the double-barreled shotgun of ecological disaster and colonial exploitation—and cackles a graveyard laugh.

Genres: Fiction, Magical Realism, Science Fiction, Literature, Fantasy, Novella, Classics

144 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1947

About the author

Poeta, maestro, diplomático, dramaturgo, novelista, cuentista, publicista, historiador y guionista de cine, radio y televisión; su obra de teatro "La carta" fue la primera que se transmitió en la televisión mexicana, en 1950, a través de XHTV, Canal 4. Colaboró en revistas literarias, como Lectura, Tiras de colores, América y Hojas de poesía. Fue corresponsal de los periódicos Excélsior y Novedades durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial. De Europa pasó a Hollywood, donde escribió guiones para cine. Fue singular devoto del mar y los corsarios que no navegaban. Uno de sus grandes proyectos fue la sistematización sobre la historia del océano Pacífico, que culminó en su obra magna El gran océano. Trabajó en el servicio diplomático, en las embajadas de México en Honduras, Filipinas, Perú y Suiza, donde murió en 1972.

Reviews

[Maggie Stiefvater]

The mosquitos this novel are far more fervent Christians than I expected and, almost unbelievably, that is a spoiler.

[Josh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Superb book from New Directions. Loved it throughout, yet the ending was a bit lacking, hence why I gave it a 4 instead of a 5. Definitely worth reading not just for the prose, but for how it makes you think. Sorta reminds me of a more philosophical Brave New World and Animal Farm hybrid.

[Ty · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have never read anything quite like this book. I dived in blindly, simply drawn by the title, not even reading the blurb, and I wouldn't have it any other way. This is my second reading of the book, this time in its original language; porque cada matiz se pierde en la traducción.

The story tells of faith as an existential tool, a freeing thought, forwarding the Kierkegaardian message for leap of faith. It also felt like the perfect Tarkovskyan blend of science fiction, philosophy, and religion.

Initially I gave this book two stars; only because I was furious with the ending. But after a long while, I still can't stop thinking about the story, and that's what I like in a book. I don't have to like everything about it ㅡ it just has to make me think.

[Dimebag · Rating 5 out of 5]

His Name was Death (Su Nombre era Muerte)

Deprived of love and subjected to mockery and ridicules, the unnamed antihero—also a drunkard—voluntarily withdraws from civilization and enters the deep hearts of jungles to live as an outcast. The reason(s) for his retreats is he was treated unjustly by society, so what ensues is that he becomes a pessimistic misanthrope who has nothing to do with mankind. He makes it clear and writes these memoirs ambitiously in the hope of achieving immortality through his pen.

“with one foot already in the stirrup,” I might say along with Cervantes —I am once again entrusting my immortality to my pen.

With all his rants against the civilization, parallelly he’s worried about the mosquitoes who lay in ambush and attack him day in, day out—in accordance with nature—however, one day he decides to learn the ways of mosquitoes and in the process, deciphers their language and starts communicating with them and names this language Mosquil. Before long, he learns that Mosquito society is merciless and totalitarian and can easily wipe out mankind from the face of the earth. So, a misanthrope meeting a deadly force that wants to dominate the earth and enslave mankind. Now, did he strike that terrifying cosmic deal with these insects?

My only torment was the mosquitoes—by night they gorged themselves on my blood and, by day, stalked me until I was forced to flee the shadows of the trees and make for the beaches, where the sun, falling vertically upon my back, burned with the crack of a gargantuan whip from the great, open skies.

First published in 1947, this novella was way ahead of its time in its imagery, style, and contents. Overlaid with satire, it accomplishes its mission, which is to slap the State in its face. The author Rafael Bernal takes the mosquito organization as an example to ridicule the State. Striking similarities with the beloved classic 1984 can also be found in His Name was Death , one could almost say to some degree this is a precursor to it.

A brilliant novella with surreal elements. This is a treat for readers who're interested in magical realism.

[jeremy · Rating 4 out of 5]

there are so many outstanding elements to rafael bernal's his name was death (su nombre era muerte): the fantastical science fictiony setup, an allegorical take ahead of its time (this book was written nearly 75 years ago!), the lively, bustling story equal parts dark and delighting. most impressive is how different this book is from the late mexican author's crime novel, the mongolian conspiracy (yet both so indicative of a great talent). plays, poems, short stories, more than a half dozen other novels, most of bernal's work remains, as yet, untranslated into english. his name was death is as beguiling as its tiny subjects are bothersome.

now, forsaken by everything that had given me my immense power, i feel once more like a human being, a man like any other, terrified by the annihilation looming before me and full of a dumb longing for immortality, for life beyond this petty clay.

*translated from the spanish by kit schluter (schwob, tapiero, kawala, et al.)

[Fernando · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5

That was pretty insane! But in a fascinating way. Major points for originality and still keeping it about the basic philosophical questions.

[Andy Weston · Rating 4 out of 5]

Frustrated with life, the 49 year old unnamed narrator walks into the wildest and most remote part of the Mexican jungle with a sense of despair and defeat.

First published in 1947, Bernal's apocalyptic novel has only recently (November 2021) been translated into English, and is perhaps more relevant now than it was at the time he wrote it. It is a parable about the horrors brought on by human arrogance. In the times we live in the connection between the devastation of natural habitats and the emergence of new disease is a familiar one.

The narrator finds refuge with a Mayan tribe, and even gains their respect, as they refer to him as 'Wise Owl', but before long he falls victim to alcoholism.
After one particularly big session the mosquitoes annoy him sufficiently for their buzzing to become fixated in his mind. He takes eight months to catalogue and learn their 'language', taking it so seriously he comes off the booze.

Before long the narrator is communicating directly with the mosquitoes’ Supreme Council, which spells out their plan, with his help, in due course, they will take their place as the undisputed masters of the world.
Its War of the Worlds or War with Newts with mosquitoes, a hybrid of the alien-invasion paperbacks, but much cleverer, relevant and with well-placed dry humour.
Its apparent simplicity belies the subtlety of its concerns. Though the mosquitoes are planning to invade, so are the loggers, hunters and miners, who encroach further into the jungle by the day; anthropologists seek to incorporate the Mayan tribe into 'civilised culture'.

This short novel comes with a warning more pertinent now than 75 years ago, one of catastrophic global warming..

[Joseph · Rating 5 out of 5]

This will 100% be an A24 movie in 5 years.

[Michael Kuehn · Rating 5 out of 5]

Would that I could have a friendly chin wag with those tiny bringers of disease, death and mild skin irritations, those insufferable skeeters. It would make my summer evenings out of doors here in Wisconsin tolerable, if not downright pleasant. To learn the native 'buzz' of the mosquito, their language, Mosquil, that would be the ticket, to make a pact, a nonaggression accord, to leave me in peace. Of course, I'm sure they'd require compensation of a sort – what could that be? Not so modest an agenda, though, for Rafael Bernal's misanthrope narrator: Nothing short of world domination and human enslavement for the protagonist and his horde of contagion carriers.

Bernal's character, a misanthrope's misanthrope if there ever was one, so reviles the human race that he resides in the remotest of Mexican jungles, his “blessed jungle.” He's found relative peace. His closest neighbors, the semibarbaric Lacandon tribe, trade with him, and provide whatever human contact he requires. There is a tiny problem, however:

My only torment was the mosquitoes – by night they gorged themselves on my blood and, by day, stalked me until I was forced to flee the shadows of the trees and make for the beaches, where the sun, falling vertically upon my back, burned with the crack of a gargantuan whip from the great, open skies. My head, all through the eternal, insomniac nights, pounded with the lines of some poet – I don't know which – who must have also suffered such unremitting torments, a poet well-versed in the jungle's bitterness, aware of his own terror, his own lethargic death.

And so our misanthrope undertakes a bargain with his tormentors, and . . . well, he gets more than he bargained for – never trust a skeeter – but you'll have to find out for yourself.

[David · Rating 5 out of 5]

Apocalypse Mexican style.

I am not much of a fan of science fiction, but this was unique. Published in 1947, Rafael Bernal created a startling story about an unnamed man who heads into the selva of Chiapas, a southern state in Mexico.

He lives with a Mayan tribe making friends and impressing the people with his knowledge. They give him a name: Wise Owl.

Sadly he slowly succumbs to alcohol. While drowning his sorrows and killing mosquitoes every night,he makes a startling discovery - he begins to understand the different intonations of the mosquito buzzing, and creates a dictionary, and so learns to communicate with the lowly mosquito via a music pipe. Sounds far fetched?

It gets better. He befriends a mosquito, called Good Sun, who is part of the great council. The mosquitoes have one voice and all work for the common goal of keeping their race alive. They need blood for their female eggs and humans are a great source. Plus they carry diseases that they can use for their own benefit. Their plan is to take over the world. Sounds like a Cold War story - the battle between communism and capitalism. The time period is about right.

But this is the case, Wise Owl plays sides with the mosquitos and the Mayans. The story takes on an aspect of how power corrupts. Hello Joseph Conrad and Marlon Brando. Add in three scientists who have come to study the Mayan tribe. One of them is a woman, and we know this adds to the incendiary. The selva is figuratively “on fire”.

Today one may say this book is a little dated, involves inert racism towards the tribe, and a little predictable. Agreed. However, as mentioned, the ending is very Mexican Apocalypse Now.

[Adrian Alvarez · Rating 5 out of 5]

Stop everything you are doing and read this book.

Written in 1947 but only translated into English last year (2021) the English speaking world has absolutely slept on Rafael Bernal and this needs to change. This is the story of a broken, desperate drunk losing himself in the jungles of Chiapas until one day, after a period of sobriety, he discovers how to learn the language of mosquitos. He terms it the Mosquil language and sets out to write its first dictionary using a custom flute. What he discovers once he starts to communicate with the mosquitos, however, is daaaaaark. Part science fiction story, part eco-fiction (the first, I believe), part horror story, part adventure story, and all literary (themes of colonialism, globalism, political corruption, and environmentalism, etc) this is 148 pages of narrative you just can't miss out on. I honestly can't believe what I just read.

I'm not sure what kind of promotional budget New Directions can give a book like this but I'm sure it isn't enough, especially for a book I will now recommend, confidently, to any kind of reader I know. It has that kind of cross-over appeal. Read this book!

[Gohnar23 · Rating 5 out of 5]

Major points for the philosophical importance and the Originality of a man, a story of a scientist who can talk to mosquitoes and how he strive to led the oppressed to overthrow the high council, searching for what is known as freedom. Also having to deal with a tribe in a jungle whom such tribesmen considers this scientist to be one of the wisest men in history.

[Oliver Terrones · Rating 5 out of 5]

Novela mexicana de ciencia ficción en sincronía con otras novelas sobre «pueblos indígenas» de la época (c. 1947); sin ser necesariamente 'indigenista' pues el 'indigenismo' fue ante todo una política de Estado de la que esta novela parece no formar parte. Retoma elementos míticos y rituales prehispánicos para volverse extraña al mismo tiempo que con una intención ecológica de registros narrativos quizá superiores a 'El complot mongol' (1969), pero no sé; verdad. No solo no son competencias, sino que no soy científico de Rafael Bernal.

Fascismo, revolución, masa asesina, megalomanía bélica, poder, amor, la selva como misterio y prueba del occidental civilizado; el terror humano de ser animalizado, el hombre como medio para un fin divino, la racionalidad, el libre albedrío divino, la información como control, la banalidad del mal y sobre todo: el terror humano de ser animalizado. La otredad que lxs gringxs imaginan alienígena y extraterrestre en 'Su nombre era muerte' es animal y divina. No estoy conforme con la representación que Bernal hace de lxs lacandonxs, pero en general es un problema de la época.

—

"La selva, la selva terrible y destructora de impulsos, es como la vida del hombre. Durante años cría pacientemente la grandeza de sus árboles y, unto a esa grandeza, el germen destructor que ha de acabar con ella".

"Pero la llegada de los blancos ha traído la tristeza entre nosotros y la muerte ha ocupado el lugar que en nuestras casa tenía la esperanza."

"[...] sin imaginar nunca ninguna cosa nueva, porque ya todo lo han pensado y ya no saben pensar, sino que tan sólo saben resumir y darle vuelta a esos pensamientos viejos".

[Bbrown · Rating 3 out of 5]

What if the first human to communicate with a non-human sentient species wasn't a politician or a scientist, but a Ted Kaczynski-type that hates the modern world and wants to see civilization as we know it destroyed? Why would an alien society choose such a person as their point of contact with the human race, you might ask? Because maybe that's the only person crazy enough to learn how to speak their language.

This premise is a strong hook for His Name was Death, but unfortunately Rafael Bernal's execution of it did absolutely nothing for me. This is hard sci-fi, of a sort, with the main character's journal giving detailed descriptions, not of spaceship engines or terraforming technology, but rather of the language, social organization, and future plans of mosquitoes, which the narrative reveals have a highly developed society hundreds of thousands of years old, but which never managed to communicate with humanity before a crazy guy out in the jungle figured out how to do it with a wooden flute between drunken binges. I'm usually not a fan of hard sci-fi, since I find that the substantial exposition dumped on the reader in the subgenre often comes at the cost of character development and realistic relationships, and His Name was Death was no exception in this regard. However, I suspect that even people that do like hard sci-fi will not love this book, since the last third shifts from describing an alien civilization to exploring the main character’s relationship with God and examining his hatred of Western society (not that it did either in much depth). Thus, His Name was Death splits the baby in a way that I believe will undercut the enjoyment of hard sci-fi fans, and that did little to redeem the book in my eyes.

I very much appreciate New Directions publishing works like His Name was Death, strange works of speculative fiction that otherwise would almost certainly not have come to my attention, and I’ll keep checking out such works. This one just wasn’t for me. It did have the virtue of being short, so even though I found the work to be a bit of a slog it did not overstay its welcome for too long. 2.5/5, rounding up to a 3, though this is one of those books that I rate a 3 that I doubt I’ll ever recommend to anyone.

[Francisco Barrios · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rafael Bernal (autor de una de las más célebres novelas negras mexicanas: «El complot mongol») escribió esta novela en 1947: México se movía con la bonanza económica que había inaugurado el desarrollo estabilizador, la cultura mexicana de la Época de Oro del cine se afianzaba en las pantallas reafirmando los valores tradicionales de nuestra sociedad y nadie suponía, ni de lejos, el choque cultural que serían los sesenta.

En ese momento, tan poco propicio para la exploración, surgió «Su nombre era Muerte». Una novela de ficción científica (o si se prefiere el anglicismo, de «ciencia ficción») que, como atinadamente apunta Alberto Chimal en esta edición, carece de los elementos comunes de que gozaba el género por aquella época —robots, naves espaciales y planetas lejanos— y nos presenta a un misántropo alcohólico que, refugiado en la Selva Lacandona, logra hacer contacto con una inteligencia no humana: Los moscos.

A partir de aquí Bernal construye un relato lúcido, fruto de los valores de su tiempo, que se decanta por el romance trágico y la reflexión teosófica, a la que no escapa una visión colonialista de los lacandones y sus deidades. Estos defectos solo pueden suscitar en nosotros la pregunta de si algún otro desenlace (piénsese en los finales de algunas de las novelas de H. G. Wells, Stanislaw Lem o Philip K. Dick) era posible para esta obra. Con todo, «Su nombre era Muerte» es un libro muy bien escrito, con un ritmo y estructura impecables, que podría enseñarnos más, mucho más sobre el propio Bernal y la sociedad mexicana de esa época («entrañable» para muchos) que ser un dechado de la ficción científica en nuestra literatura.

Pero justamente ser esa clase de espejo en que se refleja un autor y su época es una característica de la ciencia ficción.

(Muy recomendable para los que quieran explorar una faceta diferente a la de «El complot mongol» o acercarse a la obra del precursor del género en nuestro país. También para aquellos que busquen una narrativa «tradicional» con una temática completamente diferente).

[Yahaira · Rating 5 out of 5]

This blew me away. Apocalypse Now meets Animal Farm in the Mexican jungle. This could have collapsed under someone else's writing, but Bernal had complete control.

[Michaela · Rating 5 out of 5]

THIS is why I'm afraid of insects, Benjamin!!

[Nicklembo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ahahahaha yes!! Fuck yeah!!! I love crazy motherfuckers!!!

[Issa Dioume · Rating 5 out of 5]

A lost jewel. What an insane story, in the best way possible.

[Justin H. · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book took me by surprise. An incredibly entertaining story with a plot so unique and borderline outrageous yet so well written that you just can’t put it down. A short quick read that is packed full of endless metaphors and lessons that can be contemplated long after you’ve finished reading it.

[Adam Ferris · Rating 5 out of 5]

"The jungle, the terrible, devastating, impulsive jungle is like man's life. For years, it patiently nurses the majesty of the trees, and alongside that majesty, the very source of its own its destruction. And so comes the day on which all that majesty falls back down to the earth and returns to dust and ash - and not by chance, but from the very devastating seed of destruction, that majesty created by the jungle itself. So is man, so was I, like the jungle: I destroyed my majesty; I, with the very hands with which I am writing these words, case my monumental dreams to the ground."

Disillusioned by society, the main protagonist of His Name was Death escapes to the jungle to live amongst the native tribes. Shortly after the shaman ails his alcoholic tendencies, he is renamed Wise Owl by the indigenous peoples. Wise Owl's curiosity around the language of the mosquitoes then takes over his entire being. After years, he has mastered Mosquil and his ego believes its own hype and his hubris leads to dire consequences far reaching beyond his human capacity of foresight.

"The world was the same as it had always been: humans were beyond salvation. They would have to be annihilated or so thoroughly dominated that they would live like livestock forevermore. Only then would they walk the straight path. Only as slaves of a superior species could they be freed of the burden of their evil."

In less than 150 pages, Rafael Bernal (in 1947 I may add) has made a literary impact that deserving of more attention and increased readership in the English speaking world. It is full of complex yet accessible political, philosophical and spiritual ideas, about our relationship to our environment that are as impactful today as when they were first written. I picked His Name was Death at the bookstore, came home and read it in one sitting. Grippingly mixing magical realism, science fiction, fantasy and literary fiction, I can't say enough about this book. Wise Owl represents the inevitable fallability of humankind and our diseased need to control to environment.

I know there is no way I can properly describe how awesome this book is, so just give it a read. I am speechless and still have the themes and topics swirling around inside my head. And no, I will never look at mosquitoes the same way and wonder if they really do organize themselves as they do in His Name was Death.

"Yes, those were the happiest days of my life. I see it now, and I weep for having ruined it all, for how my crazed ambition for power overcame the kindness that was only just beginning to dwell in my heart, that new, marvelous and selfless love the Lacandon had placed in my soul. And now with death closing in on me as I write this, the book I had wanted to write for the benefit of my friends, I realize that I am still filled with hatred and motivated only by the fear of total annihilation, and I see that those days of poverty, nothingness, were the only happy ones of my life. But it's too late now. I can't turn back and regrets are good for nothing."




"Often I was assaulted by thoughts of God, but I did everything I possibly could to reject them. This was no time to think about God - it was a time to act, and yet I was not acting. I was lying in my hammock, letting the hours meander by, while outside, in the sunlit clearings and the jungle's shadows, the future of the entire human race was at stake."


"We have learned, that many men claim to prefer death, that your poets sing the praises of the few who have died in the pursuit of liberty; but we also know the majority of humans already live in a kind of slavery, often much harsher than the kind we would impose. Keep in mind that wealth and poverty would come to an end under our regime, since we would feed and clothe equally, limiting the population to what can be properly maintained in each region."

[Shawn · Rating 3 out of 5]

A man wanders into the jungle and full of hatred for mankind, he cuts a deal with unlikely would-be enslavers of the human race.

It's a wild idea that comes out of nowhere, but quickly takes on a very convincing and sinister form. It starts to ask bigger questions about God and what sacrifices the narrator was willing to make to secure a horrible type of power for himself, and even becomes a tragic farce in the end.

Plus it justifies my hatred of mosquitos even more.

[Enrique · Rating 4 out of 5]

A wild and insane ride with a premise that's so ridiculous, it wouldn't work if not for Rafael Bernal's intricate craftsmanship and dedication. Hard to believe this was written in the 1940's, and even harder to believe that it wasn't translated into English until now! Massive kudos to Rafael Bernal for tackling something so ambitious, relenting, and morbid... and absolutely sticking the landing.

[Lillian H · Rating 4 out of 5]

this book is like if that chick from the Bee Movie was the Unabomber

all jokes aside, it has flaws (ending was dull, noble savage trope, some plot holes) but it's seriously impressive and i would highly, highly recommend it to anyone interested in Mexican lit and/or science fiction. the narrator of this book is probably the best example of an unsympathetic protagonist i've ever seen

[Giovani BP · Rating 4 out of 5]

Es un libro completamente diferente a lo que esperaba. No es como ningún otro libro de ciencia ficción que haya leído. Me provocó la misma sensación de desasosiego que el relato de Los Pájaros de Daphne du Maurier, no se porque me inquieta leer sobre animales ganando conciencia, o descubrir que siempre la tuvieron xD

Una lectura bastante recomendada.

[ambs! · Rating 4 out of 5]

the book was decent but nothing super fun until the final few chapters + now i am going FERAL! v v impressive take on guilt & power would recommend x

[Marc Nash · Rating 5 out of 5]

Video review https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JihYW...

[Wendy · Rating 5 out of 5]

My, my, my.
Mr. Bernal, total respect.

My favourite writing is writing that enthralls and surprises. Mr. Bernal succeeds in doing both in "His Name Was Death."

If there ever was a book that illuminates the apocalypse that is human being, it is this one; the depravity, vanity, greed, duplicity, thirst for power, and glory of man on full display.
Throw in some inter-species communication, a re-contextualization, and subversion of the fallacy of human supremacy in nature, and you have a total WOW of a book.

A captivating read. Highly recommended.

[Jacob de Lore · Rating 3 out of 5]

I found the concept of this book surreal, Kafkaesque and fantastic. Bernal somehow manages to make sections that are essentially stylised as extended scientific explanations of an absurd regime of authoritarian mosquitoes some of the most engaging/best-written sections of the book. All at the same time, these sections are written in such a way to come across as serious and objective without devolving into pure slapstick (the best way I can describe it is like reading a pop-science book that explores some hair-brained concept from a Thomas Pynchon novel).

That being said, I found some of the nihilistic/religious overtones of the book very hamfisted. The protagonist is written as a fairly cliched alcoholic, life-has-no-meaning type character - which in my view was not explored with much subtlety or originality.

So overall, the book skips along at a fairly fast pace due to the absurdity of its central ideas, but gets weighed down to some extent by cliches and heavy-handedness.

[Leonardo · Rating 4 out of 5]

El encuentro con una civilización extraterrestre es uno de los grandes temas de la ciencia ficción, pero son pocos los casos en que dicha civilización no es antropomórfica (o que al menos se rige por patrones culturales que son comprensibles para los seres humanso) o tan avanzada que prácticamente son dioses (desde una perspectiva humana). No es el caso de Su nombre era Muerte, una exploración de las ambiciones humanas y su encuentro con una civilización "secreta" que funciona bajo parámetros incompatibles con los de los humanos. Uno de los aspectos más interesantes de la novela es que la introducción a esta "nueva" civilización sea a través del desciframiento y aprendizaje de su lenguaje por parte del protagonista humano. Posteriormente, el protagonista se convierte en un traductor de una visión completamente no humana y en traidor a su propia raza y a sí mismo. Guiado por la ambición y el deseo de venganza, este destructor/salvador de la raza humana se ve gobernado por bajas pasiones (alcoholismo, lujuria) e ideales (civilizatorios y religiosos) que palidecen frente a la visión pragmática y eficiente de la civilización no humana a través de cuyo contacto pretende inmortalizar su propio recuerdo. El único punto débil del libro es la visión paternalista sobre la tercera civilización que participa en la trama. Junto a los humanos occidentales y occidentalizados y la civilización no humana, nos encontramos con un grupo de indígenas lacandones, aunque se nos presentan reducidos a una mezcla de buenos salvajes limitados por sus supersticiones y seres decadentes dominados por el alcoholismo traído por los hombres blancos. En un México posteriores al levantamiento zapatista de Chiapas, esta representación podría resultar anticuada, pero también forma parte de la época en que fue escrita la novela y no constituye un impedimento para el desarrollo fluido de la trama. En cierto sentido, al creer que el protagonsita es una especie de reencarnación de los antiguos dioses, ayudan a aumentar el contraste entre sus exorbitantes ambiciones y la mediocridad de su persona. A su vez, este retrato va de la mano con la representación del hombre blanco como un explotador incapaz de entender que, en el gran plano de la existencia (o, al menos, en el plan de dominio de una civilización "superior" a la nuestra), somos apenas un obstáculo y un recurso.