After listening to several New York Times Book Review podcasts last year, I picked out this book for a friend, as it was noted by many as one of the highlights of the year in publishing. As a gift, it was a great success. My friend loved it. He may consider it one of his favorite books, period. After he finished, he insisted on my reading it too, and as is custom, a review on this blog follows.
It is easy to describe the book. It is an historical novel, detailing events from roughly 500 years ago in what is now Mexico City, centering around a crucial encounter between Hernando Cortes and the Emperor Montezuma. It takes place in the course of a single day.
It is not as easy to say how I feel about it. At first blush, I would say I do not agree entirely with my friend (I would not put it in the Best Books category), but I can certainly understand why it has been lauded, and admit that my own knowledge of history and interest in this type of narrative puts me at an unfair bias. In any case, I will do my best to explain.
I am tempted to copy the lyrics from the Neil Young song, "Cortez the Killer," as it rung in my ears throughout my reading. I am actually going to read them now. You may find them here
And yes, Neil is not totally off here, but the song presents a rather one-sided take on the encounter, and is something of an anthem against colonialism. Montezuma is presented as a hero, Cortez as a destroyer. The story Enrigue depicts is far more nuanced.
At a certain point near the very end, there is something of a "twist" that definitely tricked me, and belied my own lack of knowledge about this general period in world history. So now, I need to do some wikipedia research. Forgive me.
And now, I believe, the twist here is a twist on history, and I'm trying to avoid spoilers, but my initial thoughts while reading were correct--the dream is the reality, and the reality depicted is perhaps Tarantino-esque, a la Inglorious Basterds or Once Upon a Time in Hollywood--an alternate conclusion that might have changed the course of history between these two nations.
All that being said, the overarching impression was one of anti-climax. Arguably, the book opens with its climax, or at least its greatest intrigue. The book (and day) plays out towards another climax, which ends in rather tentative and odd psychedelic fashion, and is in keeping with one of the major themes of the novel. Maybe I am speaking so generically because I am dreading spelling out the names of these characters, but unfortunately it must be done.
***
Enrigue does open the book with a letter to his editor, Natasha, which contains an explanation for the spelling and usage of various words deployed for both historical accuracy and readability. This was not particularly helpful and it might have been better had I flipped back to it for reference--but I think I got the gist of things, which Enrigue also anticipates in the letter.
First of all, it's not Montezuma--it's Moctezuma. And I've overstated the complexity of things here, because there aren't many characters. Perhaps the lingo washed over me in such a way that up to 20% of text per page felt borderline nonsensical to me, but again I think I got the gist.
Obviously the main characters are Cortes and Moctezuma, but this is definitely focused more on Moctezuma, and Moctezuma's wife (and sister! as the text highlights several times early on--in title only, symbolic and not incestuous), Atotoxtli. Beyond those 2, there is Tlilpotonqui, the mayor of Tenochtitlan, and some other incidental figures that may be in line to be emperor or mayor.
On the Spanish side, Jazmin Caldera is arguably focused on just as much as Cortes, along with the translators Aguilar and Malinalli. Cortes is the captain, but Caldera is third in command. Alvarado is second in command, but only mentioned a few times--once while saying the Lord's Prayer and polishing his shoes with a grease made by rendering fat....in one of the most gut-wrenching chapters in the book, which I wanted to excerpt but my friend insisted was a spoiler.
It's not a spoiler to say this book is gross, and describes horrible smells somewhat often. It also describes the cuisine of Tenochtitlan in a rather charming way. The writing about food is great. There is also a lot of drug material in this book. These were arguably my favorite parts.
The period detail here is peerless, and Enrigue's research is marvelous. In terms of historical novels, it's very difficult to put on a better clinic than this. In reading it, you will be transported back in time 500 years, and guided by Enrigue on all facets of daily life that feel unfamiliar and strange. This element of pitch-perfect historical accuracy probably accounts for the majority of its acclaim.
***
Plot, briefly: Cortes and his crew have arrived in Tenochtitlan, and have been invited to the royal palace of Moctezuma, who remains unseen by them for the majority of the novel. The opening scene of the novel is instantly iconic, and is probably the part that most reviews would excerpt, as it gives a preview of the "sensory" experience in store for the reader. I would not say the rest of the novel is downhill from there, but that it is rather more concerned with backroom political intrigue than "action." The main action here is that Caldera is disgusted by the options and situation, and that Cortes does not care, and demands compliance:
"Cortes took a generous swallow of soup and bellowed his delight. He smiled at Princess Atotoxtli, seated next to him. With a pleasant expression still on his face but with his fists clenched on the linen cloth--his knuckles white with rage at Caldera's insubordination--he said quietly, almost in a singsong: Shut up and eat the soup, son of a bitch; we are the empress's guests. Caldera smiled. I can't, he replied; if only you knew what they smelled like, Hernan, this one here must have eaten mashed-up babies for breakfast. The captain general returned his smile and, as if commenting on the sweetness of the chocolate, said: You think you smell of roses? Shut up and eat, then vomit later all you want. Malinalli, the Nahua translator, raised her eyes from her plate. In Maya, she asked Aguilar, the Spanish translator, whether they should translate what Caldera and Cortes were saying for the benefit of the princess and the nobles and priests crowded around the table. He whispered in her ear, also in Maya, that he didn't think so, it was just conquistador chatter." (6-7)
It's unclear whether Cortes and Moctezuma are going to become allies (or conquered), and the potential result of their encounter is contemplated throughout the novel to the point that it becomes the actual main plot--what do they want from one another? At a certain point it becomes obvious: the Spanish have brought horses, "deer without antlers," and those might be very useful to Moctezuma, though his exposure to the creatures feels rather distant (Atototoxtli is the one that recognizes the advantages they provide). In fact, Moctezuma is distant the entire time, and it's soon clear that he is on magic mushrooms pretty constantly.
Small note: just in revisiting this section of this first chapter, my understanding is much deeper the second time around, and so this book probably would probably benefit enormously from a total re-read. It's a strange setting filled with strange words and complicated feelings for most of the characters, but after generally processing how the events unfold, it seems to be more straightforward.
***
I'm not sure if there's anything I can add here, beyond another excerpt. My feelings should be clear. I am only not putting it on the Best Books list because historical fiction generally does not make the list. It is not my favorite genre. I can certainly appreciate it, sometimes, and I know this should stand as a prototypical masterpiece of the genre.
It certainly has a purpose, beyond straight non-fiction history. It allows us to go beyond the facts, as we are often told that history is written by the victors. It is good and useful to imagine an alternative history that might have been written if the defeated could provide their account.
And it is also amusing to insert wild fantasy that breaks the 4th wall and crosses over into experimental literature. Such is the mystery of life, and Kurt Vonnegut would likely approve:
"I love this room, said Moctezuma, you can't imagine how I miss being a priest. Where there were splotches of blood, he saw sprays of flowers. The withered fingers of the hands of great warriors sacrificed during the year's festivals swayed pleasingly like the branches of a small tree to the beat of some music he couldn't place, though in a possible future we would have recognized it. It was T. Rex's 'Monolith.'
The priest was also up to his ears in whatever he had taken to carry out his temple duties, so he bent his magic powers of hearing to the music and caught the sexy crooning of Marc Bolan. He smiled. That's good stuff, he said. Moctezuma swung his hips to the beat. It's nothing I've ever heard before, he replied, but I like it. He pulled his elbows in tight and shimmied, moving his head gravely from side to side, transfixed by pleasure. The priest, swaying his own ass to the beat--he was nearly eighty, but on mushrooms he was a jaguar--said, I was thinking about you, believe it or not; look at this. He carefully lifted the clay basin in which the blood of doves sacrificed that afternoon had yet to coagulate--their decapitated bodies sensually dancing to 'Monolith,' all around the priest and emperor--and showed him the image forming in it. It took Moctezuma a while to bring it into focus because it came from very far away. When it was finally sharp and clear, it made no sense to him: It was me writing this novel in a yard on Shelter Island. Uh, he said, strange, and he was seized by laughter. Is that what will happen if I wait for the new year, or if I don't wait? The priest shrugged. The calendar says you should wait, but the calendar has been wrong lately; let me ask the boss. Moving to the beat of the emperor's internal music, he walked to the giant sculpture of Huitzilopochtli that loomed over the place. His skull-embroidered cape swished like the train of a contented queen. As always, the god was covered with a veil." (176-177)
If one is traveling to Mexico City, one should read this book. Because it is just as much about the founding of that place as anything else. I think Enrigue also perceives something in the character of its people that is more ancient, and through this literary alchemy has created what must be one of the most beautiful statements about this city (and the country of Mexico) as there has been. I know at least that it will make me look at the city rather differently, whenever I am so lucky to return for more than a 6 hour layover, and hopefully less ill than I was when there 8.5 months ago.
Finally, the world did not end in 2012, but to many of us perhaps, it was the beginning of the end. Those that want to believe in such supernatural prognostication should also find much here to appreciate. Maybe they will even discover the key to quelling global unrest, and better advise all those putting on suits of armor to go to battle against hot-fudge sundaes.
