From the March 1982 review of this book in the NYT "Two-thirds of the way through the novel the reader becomes thoroughly confused as to what in the world is going on." Yup, that's about where I was about to give up, thinking that I was reading in too short chunks, in a drowsy state before going to sleep, but before giving up I decided to read a couple of reviews to see if I couldn't get a better handle on this story.
I felt better knowing the reviewer for the NYT was also confused, and that Fuentes apparently likes to do that to his readers. So I slogged on. The writing is beautiful and lyrical in places, and I generally enjoyed it. While it's obviously a translation, I felt a little at times like was reading it in French. While Fuentes is, of course, Mexican and speaks / writes in his native Spanish, the story mostly it takes place in France, where Fuentes was ambassador for a few years in the 1970s before he quit in protest over another diplomatic appointment he couldn't countenance.
So Distant Relations is a story inside a story, perhaps inside several other stories. It is a complex intergenerational, international dream-myth that is both personal and cultural, touching on themes of colonialism, slavery, manners, art and culture, historical and personal memory, regret, despair, longing, loving and it is very hard to follow, but worth trying nonetheless.
This would be a great book to teach, as it would allow the rich references and personalities to be explored and understood in more depth. This feels like a masterpiece, but one that I don't quite have the training to fully appreciate.
Toward the end of the narrative, in which it becomes clear that Fuentes himself is a character (or two) we've been close to the whole time, there are several quotes about storytelling and narrative that I had to write down, as I am actively engaged in figuring out how to be a better writer myself. I share them here so that anyone who decides not to take on this book can still appreciate some of what makes it such a dreamy, mysterious, intriguing read.
Fuentes to the old man who is relating his story to the author, who will subsequently write it down for us, the reader: "You know better than I where the chance of human destinies ends and the act of literary selection begins," and his elderly companion replies, "Can they be separated?"
"A true St. Martin's Day" which falls on November 11, and is also Fuentes' own birthday and then after 1918 the Saint had to share the day with the celebration of the end of hostilities in World War I, so it's all very real and symbolic and complex, "is the jewel in the crown, a summer in mid-autumn, an unexpected gift for those of us resigned to numb survival in the glacial burrows of a primeval world, the hostile world of wolf against wolf."
A few pages later, "Oblivion is the only death, the presence of the past in the present is the only life."
And from a Mexican character Hugo Heredia, who formerly aristocratic decided he had to find a real job, as an archeologist it turned out, when fortunes changed in his country, "I, a Creole in search of lost grandeur, could find it only among the monuments of my victims' past," in other words the destroyed civilizations of the Aztecs, Mayans, and Toltecs, not the supposed superior colonial powers of Spain.
Finally, though there is plenty more, and this book bears a second read, perhaps with an historian as an advisor, "Art, you see, and especially the art of narration, is a desperate attempt to reestablish analogy without sacrificing differentiation."
This will take a while to all sink in, and I recommend anyone with patience and a passing familiarity with European history and colonial exploits to give it a try. I think I'll read more Fuentes, something that has been determined by other readers and critics to be more accessible.