The Sad Passions

Posted by @ 11:00 am on August 12th, 2013

9781584351207The Sad Passions
by Veronica Gonzalez Peña
Semiotext(e) / Native Agents, May 2013
344 pages / $17.95  Buy from Amazon or MIT Press

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The cover of Veronica Gonzalez Peña’s novel, The Sad Passions keeps changing on me.  It’s a Francesca Woodman photo—a woman or an apparition. She is suspended in air or hanging on for dear life. She is a martyr or a demon. She is in pain or in the realm of the sublime. She is being crucified or being exorcised or being made a martyr. I keep approaching the possibilities of this puzzling image and watch the figure grow porous the longer I look. She is an unstable subject and as I make my way through the novel, it’s the chair that grows more present, more formed than the person. Something in it’s gaping emptiness, the carelessly draped cloth suggesting a body, now gone. I like the way the image moves with this novel, the way the absence becomes the presence. Veronica Gonzalez Peña does not write absence as a form of lack, her absence froths and grows agitated, it fills up the page with pulsing need.

Francesca-Woodman-RISD

The Sad Passions follows four sisters, their lives punctuated by their mother’s mental illness, by an inheritance of cumulative ancestral pain. The sisters, while distinctly different from one another, all grapple with the fear that their mother’s madness might become their own, that their identities might slip quietly, at any trigger. One gets a sense that at the turning of the page one sister might become the other or that they might all become their mother or they might all melt into a composite figure.

It’s precisely this plurality, this repetition/duplication of identity that is at the center. In a chapter told from the perspective of the 2nd eldest sister Julia, Gonzalez Peña writes,

“The tiny motion, the rubbing in earth, the repetitive mark, a symbolizing of something that otherwise seems impossible to define, impossible to take grasp of, a making of meaning through some small action, an insistence on the voicing of something which can provide at the very least a de-centered understanding…” (Gonazlez Peña, 76)

Each chapter is told from the perspective of a different character, often retelling the same traumatic events but with startling different sentiment. There is something in the retelling process, the approaching of truth by making different angled entries but never quite locating truth, dancing towards it—if only to say that understanding trauma, by nature is a process of de-centering, that understanding must be choral.

The same sense of de-centered truth is mirrored in the trope of twinning. Two sisters, Julia and Sandra are more than sisters, they are reincarnations—Sandra stepping in and out of Julia’s identity in turns. All the sisters are twinned version of their mothers, or at least fear being versions of their mother, ingesting her madness and metabolizing in various way. Fathers look like lovers and lovers look like each other and mothers look like sisters and the only thing that seems clearly distinct is geography-the characters traversing between New York, Mexico City, Spain, Los Angeles, and Long Island.

There’s an anxiety of slippage, a fear of losing singularity and Gonzalez Peña writes fear without panic. She writes fear softly which makes the effect all the more devastating as the sisters navigate, side-step, tumble around their family legacy of sadness, only to come back to the idea that is it this melting of identity that makes them whole in the first place.

***

Saehee Cho holds a MFA from The California Institute of The Arts. Her work has been featured in Out of Nothing, decomP, Sidebrow,  BAP, Pank,  Eleven Eleven, RECAPS, and is forthcoming in Black Clock.  She was a finalist for 2012 The White Pine Press Poetry Book Contest and has contributed to the Enter>Text Performance Series, Area Sneaks at LAXART, and Not Content at Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions.  She co-hosts The Unkindest Cut, a reading series and lives and writes in Los Angeles.

 

Tags: , , ,