Thirteen Senses by Victor Villaseñor. Rayo/HarperCollins: 505 pages. $26.00.
“The Drums were Beat, BEAT, BEATING, POUNDING in Unison with the Heartbeat of the Universe!”
If Victor Villaseñor’s 1991 “Rain of Gold,” as one critic said, made one feel “like a family member quietly watching from a corner stool,” then “Thirteen Senses”—an astonishing and bold book--gives one the feeling of dancing at a loud, loving party, full of lusty shouts, singing, and gifts of food. With the sensual volume turned way up, “Thirteen Senses” makes “Rain of Gold” seem tentative in comparison.
“Was it love?” are the book’s first words. The rest of the book is a “YES” that resounds from the heavens as if answering all questions. This portrait of the early married life of the author’s parents, Lupe and Salvador, is a study in passion. However, Villaseñor does not satisfy himself with a narrow definition of romantic love—“Thirteen Senses” considers love of God, of children, of nature, of one’s people. Even greeting Lucifer with love is not out of the question.
The tale opens with Lupe and Salvador renewing their vows, after 50 years. The moment seems merely romantic and touching, until Lupe hesitates at the word “obey.” Why should she have to promise to obey her husband while he is let off the hook? The nervous priest looks to her husband who responds, “I know you’ve never been married, Father, so you don’t really understand what’s going on. But believe me, to tell any woman, who’s alive and breathing, that she must obey is so ridiculous that only men who’ve never married in one hundred generations would have ever come up with such an ignorant idea! Of course, she doesn’t have to obey me! She never has in fifty years, so why in the hell would I be stupid enough to think that it was going to be any different now?”
After the ceremony, Lupe still finds it hard to acknowledge that she would do it all over again. “Would you?” ask the couple’s daughters and granddaughters. And so the story spirals back to 1929, to Lupe and Salvador’s beginnings as a couple.
Villaseñor sets his family history mainly in Carlsbad (“the barrio de Carlos Malo”), a world populated by bootleggers, smugglers, and various outlaws, yet a world also in complete tune with nature. In Villaseñor’s lush world, God and the Devil battle in human hearts, but are inextricably connected to Father Sun and Mother Moon, and, as in the time of Villaseñor’s “Indian-European ancestors,” “Ancient Powers” flow through “the Great Open River of Papito Dios.”
Eighteen, innocent, and sincere, Lupe has married Salvador, who is, unbeknownst to her, a bootlegger. And there are some who believe he is the devil, due to his exploits—mostly calculated efforts to frighten his enemies terribly (in one scene, he castrates two young pigs as his victim sits tied to a chair, led to believe he is next). Young and handsome Salvador has such a powerful reputation that “people now said that his blood ran backward from his heart and his earth-body cast no more shadow in the full Moon, for his soul was now at one with the Devil, himself!”
Tasked with not only learning to communicate and negotiate with each other, the newlyweds must also learn their own identities. For example, Salvador must eventually reveal his bootlegging work to Lupe, who thinks he works as a fertilizer mover (which is, after all, part true: he uses manure to hide his barrels of whiskey). In turn, Lupe becomes stronger, more womanly, discovering her own powers of honesty, anger, sexuality, and courage. And she learns to use her God-given “Thirteen Senses”--the full range of senses a man and a woman acquire in their union. The senses include balance, intuition, and shape-shifting (Villaseñor’s grandmother, Doña Margarita often changes into a hawk or fox in order to watch over her son). From Doña Margarita’s point of view, the European five senses model is the flat world model.
Lupe and Salvador’s mothers, Doña Guadalupe and Doña Margarita, are like spiritual teachers to their children. Doña Margarita, in particular, is a powerful survivor, a “crafty old She-Fox,” who watches over her son, and helps his wife remember the strength within her. She also spearheads a campaign to reunite God and the Devil, and in her spare time, consults with Moses on a revision of the Ten Commandments. Doña Margarita, both Curandera and Catholic, irreverent and faithful, ancient and strong, is the book’s superior character.
Villaseñor might not call what he does magic realism—I’m guessing he might call it, to use a word that appears frequently in the text, corazon realism (in capital letters with exclamation points). “Thirteen Senses” reads like an oral history, grown just a little larger with each retelling, the language vibrant, bright, and honest. Villaseñor believes strongly in the basic truth of his world, a world in which his grandmother can swing the devil by the tale and fling him into the sky.
If the spirituality of the book seems a stretch, or a little naïve, or if the way Villaseñor has defined gender roles runs a little on the rigid side, his vision is nevertheless hard to resist (after all, women are portrayed as clearly the stronger, smarter, and more reasonable sex, if a little taxed from the endless work of getting men out of binds). Villaseñor calls to our most basic urges to feel that we are not alone, seducing us to believe that God just might listen to advice, that rules aren’t firm, that spirituality is democratic, or could be, if we just had full command of our Thirteen Senses. Yes, the book seems filled with dogma, but perhaps it’s not so much dogma, but Villaseñor’s expanded, flexible, negotiable vision of a glorious mix of Christian and ancient spirituality.
What stops the characters from becoming too mythical, too far removed from readers is their own stubbornness, their own refusal to be co-opted into myth. In fact, Lupe destroys the myth before it is even made, with her refusal to romanticize or gloss over 50 years with Salvador. And this refusal only makes her marriage shine brighter as a reminder of our capacity to survive pain.
Villaseñor is a native of Carlsbad, a beloved local figure, known for his faith and generosity. In 1991, Putnam offered him a large advance for “Rain of Gold,” on the condition that he allow it to be marketed as fiction. Villaseñor refused, standing by his belief that, however fantastic his tales, they still remained true representations of his family and the deep spiritual and actual events of their lives. Villaseñor then took “Rain of Gold” to a small publisher, Arte Publico, who gave him an advance of just $1500. Villaseñor deserves a medal for integrity. He has also gotten the last laugh with a large publisher like Harper Collins.
Every Thanksgiving, Villaseñor puts on a huge party for world peace, the Snow Goose Global Thanksgiving, named after a vision he had of snow geese flying in formation. In a Union-Tribune interview, he said, “Those are birds that never fight or hurt each other. . . . They are the angels of ourselves.”
Villaseñor’s so values his ancestors’ lives and philosophies, as well as the power of a good story that his charming, colorful, and powerful renderings become monuments to his heroes. Villaseñor takes his father’s words to heart: “a good story could save our life,” and the proof is his people, survivors of tragedy, oppression, and racism--culture and sense of humor intact.
Wendy L. Smith teaches English at San Diego Mesa College.