A journey, as most great novels are, into the past, of a mother’s dying wish for her son, to know her father, Pedro Paramo. The twist, either due to the magical incantations of a town full of aberrations, or more likely, the mental illness of her son, Juan Preciado, who is perhaps schizophrenic, we journey back to the history of the Pedro Paramo’s town Comala, and learn about his violent past through the eyes of the characters in Juan’s dreams and delusions. Juan, who is also the narrator, is also dead. Not sure if that’s a spoiler, or a twist, but we are in fact, hearing the story, told by a ghost, which is either completely in line with the journey as it unfolds, or the ultimate twist of plot. Again, it’s possible that some of the impact to this twist is lost in translation, I don’t want to detract from the genius of Rulfo for this literary construct which did, it is claimed, have a huge impact on Spanish literature.
I have asked some of my Spanish speaking friends about the impact this book has had on their lives, and apart from it being required reading in 12th grade Spanish, it’s about the same as high school required reading in English. On par with “The Scarlet Letter”. They remember the title, but not much of the story. Other books, such as “Lord of the Flies” or “Heart of Darkness”, have had more impact.
So off Juan goes to the town of his father, Comala, to be boarded, guided, and buried, by the ghosts along his path. What is revealed about his father, Pedro Paramo, is that he was a wicked man. Godless, evil, selfish, and without any redemptive values whatsoever. This is strange. He is a crook, a killer, a rapist, and quite possibly a pedafile. Why a loving mother would ever want her beloved child to find, meet, or reconcile with an evil father is a mystery to me. Ironically, I was drawn to this book by the initial paragraph that does indeed read, “Attention, great prose to follow”, with the opening of its first line, “I came to Comala because I had been told that my father, a man named Pedro Paramo, lived there. It was my mother who told me.” Beautiful. Then not much more to follow in the way of great prose. So, I’m left in a quandary. I don’t want to be overly critical. Perhaps I need to read the book again. It’s short enough, maybe a different translation, because I struggled with each page, in English. And then once Rulfo begins the metaphysical stuff, it’s extremely difficult to follow. The book is barely 120 pages, with close to 20 separate characters, all of which, including the narrator, appear to be ghosts.
And it is a journey, and most journeys, let alone great journeys, have to be of discovery, or redemption. I find nothing revealing, redemptive, or remotely healing for a child to discover their father was a monster for which, having been revealed to him, he is buried, seemingly alive, for a time, until you realize he is dead. The sins of the father, repaid, perhaps.
Certainly, it’s a brave book. For Rulfo to have written it, I have no qualms. I think, perhaps, when he wrote it, it was merely an exercise in creativity. Never meant to be anything more than a literary experiment. For this, perhaps, he is due props. I think, wrongfully, Spanish authors (such as Gabriel García Márquez) who came later, strapped themselves to Rulfo’s boldness, to point to it as an apologetic for their own sense of creativity. To me this is disingenuous and cowardly use of a so, so, book about a figure, not worth remembering. The author, Juan Rulfo, should be remembered, not the character, Pedro Paramo. Which is not exactly how this worked out for Rulfo, but exactly how it worked out for Marquez. That seems like a nice stroke of marketing. A couple of stars, tops, for this book. Glad I read it, I will not revisit.
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