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la_vie_noire) wrote2010-11-12 08:21 pm
la_vie_noire) wrote2010-11-12 08:21 pm
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El Beso de La Mujer Araña, Manuel Puig (1976)
Or Kiss of The Spider Woman, as it was translated to English.
I read it in Spanish, of course, I'm going to do my review in English for my own reasons, I guess.
Everybody and their mothers talks about this as a tale of "a gay relationship," "a gay love story." For me, it couldn't be more wrong.
I don't think this shouldn't be a spoiler, but sadly it is. So much I didn't think the book would acknowledge it, until it did. Molina is a woman. As I said, the book acknowledged it towards the end.
The story was about two people prisoner in an Argentina's penitentiary. Valentín, a political convict (with radical, Marxist, far-left views); and Molina, jailed for having a relationship with a minor. Molina narrated almost every night movies she saw in her past to Valentín.
So it was a problematic book. Mind you, the narrative was anything but conventional. Most of the book was dialogue, there was no third-person narrative in between; first-person only happened when the characters were dreaming or talking to themselves, which was only at two points in the book. Well, technically there was a third-person point of view, but it was at the form of a police document; things outside Valentin and Molina's conversations were told in police documents.
So you see, no character besides Molina (except for Valentín by the very end of the book) referred to Molina as other than "he." And you could say, yes, it happened in a prison in 70's Argentina. Of course they didn't. I wonder if part of the peculiar narrative was to exclude "objective" pronouns. The book talked a lot about gender-identity and sexuality. And yes, about homosexuality also.
The book did acknowledge Molina was a trans woman. The first time, in this fragment, almost at the end:
VALENTÍN: Sí, no tenés ningún tipo de inferioridad. ¿Por qué entonces, no se te ocurre ser... actuar como hombre? No te digo con mujeres, si no te atraen. Pero con otro hombre.
MOLINA: No, no me va...
V: ¿Por qué?
M: Porque no.
V: Eso es lo que no entiendo bien... Todos los homosexuales, no son así.
M: Sí, hay de todo. Pero yo no, yo... no gozo más que así.
Translated to something like:
VALENTÍN: Yes, you don't have any type of inferiority. Why then, you don't think of being... acting like a man? I'm not talking about being with women, if you don't like them. But with another man.
MOLINA: No, I'm not like that...
V: Why?
M: Because I don't.
V: That is what I don't understand... not all gay men are like that.
M: Yes, there is everything. But not me, I... don't enjoy it but like this.
But there were also the footnotes in many pages that talk about gender, sexuality and specifically homosexuality in sociology, psychology, medical science (some actual studies, some Puig's inventions). A lot of it was bullshit, Freudian bullshit. There was a lot of conflating sexuality with gender identity. There were some interesting things, like talk about class and social construction. I still don't know how to feel about those footnotes.
It wasn't also without its transmisogynist tropes in Molina's characterization.
By the end, when Molina was already dead, we had Valentín's dream, which was the only part where another character (Valentín) talked about Molina as a woman. It left me wondering who the hell was Martha, did Valentin's high-classed ex-lover exist, or was "Martha" a coded-way he used to talk about Molina? I remember that initials were important because Valentín did mentioned that his partner shared her name's initial with Jane Rudolph (and you, as a writer, don't leave information like that for nothing). Then he called her Martha. Yes, the other lover (the one besides Molina and this Martha-woman, assuming they aren't the same person) may have been the one who shared Jane Rudolph's initials. Who knows. Martha talked suspiciously like Molina in Valentín's dream, even if Molina also appeared as the Spider Woman.
In contrast with Molina (who called him "Valentín," and not "Arregüi"), Valetín never called Molina by her "legal" first name. But it could be easily argued that Molina probably asked him not to.
About Valentín's other lover; the book talked a lot about class, classism, a little about racism. Also falling into racism (or showing the characters racism, but I don't want to make a distinction there; the narrative of the book didn't left much space, it didn't tell the story of indigenous people, or even the black people who played a part in the zombie movie).
Valentín's inner conflicts were very interesting. The way he dealt with his own classism, how he admitted he looked down on the woman who was his actual partner due to her class and probably racial background, even when he was intellectually against classism and social inequalities.
Societal instillation in feelings and preferences was a recurrent theme. Of course, this was more than problematic in some aspects, but it said interesting things about classist, racist views. I don't know how much it talked about Molina's movies and their glamorous protagonists that she obviously idolized.
Those movies were kinda fascinating. As far as I know, only the first one, Cat People (1942) was an actual movie, not changed in any way by Molina. The rest were probably made up by Puig, most of them based and modeled after actual movies. All of them were heterosexual romantic tragedies (the one she told to herself wasn't a tragedy, but it also wasn't a conventional Hollywood love story, that one is the most interesting for me), most of them were Hollywood-like, one was a Nazi propaganda, and the last one was a Mexican movie.
The movie Molina told to herself was not about pretty, glamorous people. It also talked how others disdained non-stereotypically attractive, poor people. It was the only movie she didn't voiced to Valentín.
These movies served mostly as allegories for what was happening, a lot of them gave insights of the protagonists psyches.
With the aforementioned peculiar narration, it went smoothly to its climax, the dialogue was real while letting you know all you needed.
The book, as most queer love stories that are famous in main-stream media, was a romantic tragedy. A straight one. With a trans woman. And an "enigmatic," open ending.
What was remarkable for me was that it was obvious Molina didn't look the way is socially expected and required for a woman to look. Didn't wear dresses, make up, etc. Probably wore stereotypical masculine clothes. (She acted stereotypically feminine though; others characters, as expected in a transphobic environment, viewed her as a "gay man" stereotype). She was born with and still have a penis. And was a woman. Even if no one else would only recognize it but by the end of the book. And most readers probably didn't. Which was also the book's fault.
I read it in Spanish, of course, I'm going to do my review in English for my own reasons, I guess.
Everybody and their mothers talks about this as a tale of "a gay relationship," "a gay love story." For me, it couldn't be more wrong.
I don't think this shouldn't be a spoiler, but sadly it is. So much I didn't think the book would acknowledge it, until it did. Molina is a woman. As I said, the book acknowledged it towards the end.
The story was about two people prisoner in an Argentina's penitentiary. Valentín, a political convict (with radical, Marxist, far-left views); and Molina, jailed for having a relationship with a minor. Molina narrated almost every night movies she saw in her past to Valentín.
So it was a problematic book. Mind you, the narrative was anything but conventional. Most of the book was dialogue, there was no third-person narrative in between; first-person only happened when the characters were dreaming or talking to themselves, which was only at two points in the book. Well, technically there was a third-person point of view, but it was at the form of a police document; things outside Valentin and Molina's conversations were told in police documents.
So you see, no character besides Molina (except for Valentín by the very end of the book) referred to Molina as other than "he." And you could say, yes, it happened in a prison in 70's Argentina. Of course they didn't. I wonder if part of the peculiar narrative was to exclude "objective" pronouns. The book talked a lot about gender-identity and sexuality. And yes, about homosexuality also.
The book did acknowledge Molina was a trans woman. The first time, in this fragment, almost at the end:
VALENTÍN: Sí, no tenés ningún tipo de inferioridad. ¿Por qué entonces, no se te ocurre ser... actuar como hombre? No te digo con mujeres, si no te atraen. Pero con otro hombre.
MOLINA: No, no me va...
V: ¿Por qué?
M: Porque no.
V: Eso es lo que no entiendo bien... Todos los homosexuales, no son así.
M: Sí, hay de todo. Pero yo no, yo... no gozo más que así.
Translated to something like:
VALENTÍN: Yes, you don't have any type of inferiority. Why then, you don't think of being... acting like a man? I'm not talking about being with women, if you don't like them. But with another man.
MOLINA: No, I'm not like that...
V: Why?
M: Because I don't.
V: That is what I don't understand... not all gay men are like that.
M: Yes, there is everything. But not me, I... don't enjoy it but like this.
But there were also the footnotes in many pages that talk about gender, sexuality and specifically homosexuality in sociology, psychology, medical science (some actual studies, some Puig's inventions). A lot of it was bullshit, Freudian bullshit. There was a lot of conflating sexuality with gender identity. There were some interesting things, like talk about class and social construction. I still don't know how to feel about those footnotes.
It wasn't also without its transmisogynist tropes in Molina's characterization.
By the end, when Molina was already dead, we had Valentín's dream, which was the only part where another character (Valentín) talked about Molina as a woman. It left me wondering who the hell was Martha, did Valentin's high-classed ex-lover exist, or was "Martha" a coded-way he used to talk about Molina? I remember that initials were important because Valentín did mentioned that his partner shared her name's initial with Jane Rudolph (and you, as a writer, don't leave information like that for nothing). Then he called her Martha. Yes, the other lover (the one besides Molina and this Martha-woman, assuming they aren't the same person) may have been the one who shared Jane Rudolph's initials. Who knows. Martha talked suspiciously like Molina in Valentín's dream, even if Molina also appeared as the Spider Woman.
In contrast with Molina (who called him "Valentín," and not "Arregüi"), Valetín never called Molina by her "legal" first name. But it could be easily argued that Molina probably asked him not to.
About Valentín's other lover; the book talked a lot about class, classism, a little about racism. Also falling into racism (or showing the characters racism, but I don't want to make a distinction there; the narrative of the book didn't left much space, it didn't tell the story of indigenous people, or even the black people who played a part in the zombie movie).
Valentín's inner conflicts were very interesting. The way he dealt with his own classism, how he admitted he looked down on the woman who was his actual partner due to her class and probably racial background, even when he was intellectually against classism and social inequalities.
Societal instillation in feelings and preferences was a recurrent theme. Of course, this was more than problematic in some aspects, but it said interesting things about classist, racist views. I don't know how much it talked about Molina's movies and their glamorous protagonists that she obviously idolized.
Those movies were kinda fascinating. As far as I know, only the first one, Cat People (1942) was an actual movie, not changed in any way by Molina. The rest were probably made up by Puig, most of them based and modeled after actual movies. All of them were heterosexual romantic tragedies (the one she told to herself wasn't a tragedy, but it also wasn't a conventional Hollywood love story, that one is the most interesting for me), most of them were Hollywood-like, one was a Nazi propaganda, and the last one was a Mexican movie.
The movie Molina told to herself was not about pretty, glamorous people. It also talked how others disdained non-stereotypically attractive, poor people. It was the only movie she didn't voiced to Valentín.
These movies served mostly as allegories for what was happening, a lot of them gave insights of the protagonists psyches.
With the aforementioned peculiar narration, it went smoothly to its climax, the dialogue was real while letting you know all you needed.
The book, as most queer love stories that are famous in main-stream media, was a romantic tragedy. A straight one. With a trans woman. And an "enigmatic," open ending.
What was remarkable for me was that it was obvious Molina didn't look the way is socially expected and required for a woman to look. Didn't wear dresses, make up, etc. Probably wore stereotypical masculine clothes. (She acted stereotypically feminine though; others characters, as expected in a transphobic environment, viewed her as a "gay man" stereotype). She was born with and still have a penis. And was a woman. Even if no one else would only recognize it but by the end of the book. And most readers probably didn't. Which was also the book's fault.