Tzvetan Todorov, in his landmark study The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre [1975], offers one of the most restrictive definitions of the fantastic to date. Unlike some others who have bandied this term about and contributed to a vague and ambiguous usage of it, Todorov insists on limiting the type of literature which can properly be called fantastic. Perhaps for this reason, his interpretation has met with great favor among today's scholars and his conception of the fantastic has become the model against which many works of fiction are judged. It is somewhat ironical to note, however, that in an age when fantastic literature is appreciated and studied as an art form by greater numbers than ever before, Todorov claims that it no longer exists as a genre. According to this structuralist critic, the fantastic is confined to a specific moment in historical time: it existed only from the end of the eighteenth century through the end of the nineteenth. As he puts it, "literature of the Fantastic is nothing but the bad conscience of this positivist era."

Contemporary readers can, of course, enjoy and even identify with characters and situations out of the past, but in order for the fantastic to be most effective, it must recreate the world of the reader as faithfully as possible. The fantastic is the irruption of the unreal, the inexplicable, into the real world which is governed by certain laws of nature and logic. When these laws are violated, leaving no rational explanation for what has occurred, the fantastic comes into being. Todorov sees this condition as "the very herart of the fantastic." He states:

In a world which is indeed our world, the one we know, a world without devils, sylphides, or vampires, there occurs an event which cannot be explained by the laws of this same familiar world. The person who experiences the event must opt for one of two possible solutions: either he is the victim of an illusion of the senses, of a product of the imagination—and the laws of the world remain what they are; or else the event has indeed taken place, it is an integral part of reality—but then this reality is controlled by laws unknown to us.

Clearly, the fantastic event would give rise to greater doubt and hesitation in the reader if it were to occur in a contemporary setting rather than in a musty nineteenth century drawing room where literary convention leads us to expect ghosts and goblins. According to Todorov, the reader's vacillation between rejection and acceptance of the inexplicable as part of reality is the sine qua non of the fantastic. Therefore, it stands to reason that the twentieth century should be capable of producing some of the best fantastic literature, since it would call into question the reader's own world rather than that of past generations.

Todorov's claim that the fantastic is a dead genre overlooks the abundance of fiction that has emerged in recent decades in Latin America, where the fantastic is undeniably alive and flourishing. Writers such as Jorge Luis Borges, Julio Cortázar, and Adolfo Bioy Casares have achieved universal recognition as masters of this genre. In Mexico, the fantastic has never had the immense popularity it has enjoyed in the River Plate region, yet it is an important vehicle of self-criticism and self-examination for the Mexican writer who challenges the narrow conception of reality that has come to characterize our century. It is not merely a literary game, but an alternative view of the world. Carlos Fuentes, who is today one of Mexico's most famous and prolific authors, began his career as a writer of fantastic tales in this vein. Of them, "Chac Mool," has become a classic in Mexican literature. It is also a classic example of the fantastic as defined by Todorov and clear proof that the genre is still cultivated by talented writers in our century.

Todorov sums up his conception of the fantastic by stating:

First, the text must oblige the reader to consider the world of the characters as a world of living persons and to hesitate between a natural and supernatural explanation of the events described. Second, this hesitation may also be experienced by a character; thus the reader's role is so to speak entrusted to a character, and at the same time the hesitation is represented, it becomes one of the themes of the work—in the case of naive reading, the actual leader identifies himself with the character. Third, the reader must adopt a certain attitude with regard to the text: he will reject allegorical as well as 'poetic' interpretations. These three requirements do not have an equal value. The first and third actually constitute the genre; the second may not be fulfilled. Nonetheless, most examples satisfy all three conditions.

A close examination of "Chac Mool" will reveal how the story meets these three fundamental requirements.

Fuentes's tale is set in modern-day Mexico City and features as its protagonist a seemingly ordinary inhabitant of the capital who blends in with the thousands of educated, middle class Mexicans who are his neighbors there. One finds passing references to immediately recognizable, real places, such as the "Lagunilla," a famous flea market in Mexico City, and to other cities such as Acapulco, Tlaxcala and Teotihuacan. The daily routine of Filiberto, the lonely middle-aged bureaucrat who is the central character and narrator during most of the story, is described in detail. His unrewarding office job, his nightly outings to cafes where he searches for companionship but rarely finds it, his petty interests and preoccupations, and his solitary existence in a spacious but shabby old house are outlined for the reader in Filiberto's diary. Like most fantastic stories, "Chac Mool," begins with the complete absence of fantastic elements but, once Filiberto's character has been clearly drawn and an appropriate setting has been created, inexplicable events begin to occur.

Filiberto is an avid collector of indigenous Mexican art and one day he is delighted to find a life-size replica of Chac Mool, a pre-Colombian rain god, in the marketplace. He is able to buy it at a modest price because it appears to be a modern reproduction. He humorously records in his diary that the vendor had anointed the stomach of the god with tomato catsup "para convencer a los turistas de la autenticidad sangrienta de la escultura." Filiberto installs the statue in the basement of his home, but it seems to bring him bad luck. The plumbing in the house stops working, the pipes constantly break, and the basement is always flooded. The idol quickly becomes covered with mildew and mold, which gives him an uncanny human look. Filiberto begins to experience the first subconscious tremors induced by the incursion of the fantastic when he writes "Le da un aspecto grotesco, porque toda la masa de la escultura parece padecer de una erisipela verde . . . ." Thus, Todorov's conditions for the fantastic are met when the central character begins to experience hesitation about the nature of events portrayed in the tale, and the reader shares this feeling. Because the story is set in the recognizable world, poetical and allegorical interpretations do not influence the reader's attitude, and he is able to experience the full impact of the fantastic.

Fantastic elements gradually enter the story, creating a mood of doubt and tension for both the main character and the reader. For example, Filiberto's diary slowly changes tone and style after the acquisition of Chac Mool. Previously, he had dwelled on anecdotes about his daily life, and the passages tended to be long, elegantly written, and marked by strong currents of loneliness and nostalgia for the past. After Chac Mool comes into his possession, Filiberto begins to feel uneasy, and the entries in his diary are characterized by short, choppy sentences which hint at strange happenings but, at the same time, attempt to explain them rationally. Filiberto becomes increasingly divided: intellectually he rejects the possibility that a statue can come to life, but emotionally, he fears that such a thing could happen. The style of his diary reflects his state of mind as he tries to deal with this internal conflict. For example, Filiberto first describes Chac Mool as a lifeless statue, but as the narrative progresses, he attributes more and more human qualities to the idol until, finally, he is convinced that the rain god actually lives. In the beginning, he relates that he collects "ciertas formas del arte indigena mexicano" and that he spends his free time searching for "estatuillas, ídolos, cachorros." He has a possessive attitude toward Chac Mool and the other pieces in his collection: he calls them "trofeos" and speaks of the rain god as "mi Chac Mool." He considers all of his belongings in the same light; when the basement floods, Filiberto records: "El Chac Mool resiste la humedad, pero mis maletas sufrieron . . .", as if these items had equal importance to him. Filiberto calls Chac Mool "una pieza preciosa", a "simple bulto agónico" and "una figura", all inanimate terms, but he also begins to see human characteristics in the status as soon as he installs him in his home. He writes, after he has placed the statue in the basement, "su mueca parece reprocharme que le niegue la luz." The verb parecer, commonly used throughout the first part of the narrative, is important. As long as Filiberto believes that Chac Mool cannot possibly come to life, he is hesitant to commit himself in writing by using a more concrete and definite verb. Rather than stating emphatically that an event did happen, Filiberto says that it "seemed" to have happened. He continues to think of Chac Mool as "la escultura" while at the same time he visualizes the stone as skin: "parece padecer de una erisipela verbe." He is confronted with daily indications that the statue of Chac Mool is coming to life, yet the stronger the proof, the more inclined he is to deny it. He states, "No quiero escribirlo: hay en el torso algo de la textura de la carne, lo aprieto como goma, siento que algo corre por esa figns to hear strange noises in the night, he dismisses them as fantasy, but his diary entry reveals nervous strain: "Desperté a la una: había escuchado un quejido terrible. Pensé en ladrones. Pura imaginación." When rain-water floods his house, he writes, "Es la primera vez que el agua de las lluvias no obedece a las coladeras y viene a dar en mi sótano. Los quejidos han cesado: vaya una cosa por otra." The water motif, which always accompanies Chac Mool in the text, appears in various forms throughout Filiberto's narrative and provides clues for the reader that something inexplicable is taking place: Filiberto mentions the broken water pipes, the rain, the water he carries from a near-by fountain, and finally, the ocean, which is the scene of his death. Most of the water images are related to Filiberto's growing doubt and hesitation. For example, he covers the statue with rags to protect it from water damage, but a short time later, he discovers, "Los trapos estan en el suelo." His only comment is "Increible", which shows his reluctance to reach a decision about the nature of events he is witnessing. Nevertheless, his perception of Chac Mool has changed. He is no longer a statue—he has become a god: "Chac Mool blando y elegante, había cambiado de color en una noche; amarillo, casi dorado, parecía indicarme que era un Dios, por ahora laxo, con las rodillas menos tensas que antes, con la sonrisa más benévola."

As Todorov points out, the hesitation induced by the emergence of the fantastic is usually of a limited duration. Once the doubt is resolved in the narrative, it moves into a neighboring category: if there is a logical explanation for the phenomena described, it belongs to the uncanny, and if the phenomena is accepted as a natural occurrence, it belongs to the marvelous. In "Chac Mool," Filiberto attempts to explain events with rational arguments, but they fail to resolve his doubts. Eventually, he must admit that the seemingly impossible has come to pass. He writes, "No cabe duda: el Chac Mool tiene vello en los brazos." This is the first time Filiberto does not preface his remarks with the verb parecer. Significantly, this same night, Filiberto awakens to find a living Chac Mool hovering over him. The scene is reminiscent of one from a gothic horror tale. The senses are on edge, sharpened by fear, and doom seems to hover in the air. However, the scene ends not with death, but with a sudden rain storm, which temporarily dissolves the spell of the fantastic:

El cuarto olía a horror, a incienso y sangre. Con la mirada negra, recorrí la recámara, hasta detenerse en dos orificios de luz parpadenate, en dos flámulas crueles y amarillas.

Casi sin aliento encendí la luz.

Alli estaba Chac Mool, erguido, sonriente, ocre, con su barriga encarnada. Me paralizaban los dos ojillos, casi bizcos, muy pegados a la nariz triangular. Los dientes inferiores, mordiendo el labio superior, inmóviles; sólo el brillo del casquetón cuadrado sobre la cabeza anormalmente voluminosa, delataba vida. Chac Mool avanzó hacia la cama; entonces empezó a llover.

This is a turning point in the story, for the reader must now come to a conclusion that will account for Filiberto's experience and once a conclusion is reached, the story is no longer fantastic. The reader may choose to believe that Filiberto is mad, that he has imagined the episode, or that it is some kind of fantasy, but the story is not structured to allow the reader to believe, for more than an instant, that Chac Mool has indeed come to life. Parenthetical statements, made at the beginning and the end of this entry in the diary by a second narrator, encourage the reader not to trust Filiberto. This other, seemingly objective narrator voice offers a temporary refuge of sanity and calm and allows the narrative tension, which Filiberto's revelation had created, to dissipate. The reader grows wary of Filiberto's remarks and the remainder of the story is understood to be the product of Filiberto's imagination.

The narrative moves into the marvelous when Filiberto overcomes his terror and accepts Chac Mool as a companion. He notes, "Chac Mool puede ser simpático cuando quiere . . .", yet Filiberto comes to resent the rain god's interference in his life. He neglects his work and is dismissed from his post, he loses contact with his friends, and he becomes the prisoner of Chac Mool when a role reversal takes place and Filiberto is forced to act as a servant in his own home. When an opportunity arises to escape the watchful eye of the rain god, Filiberto runs away to Acapulco. where he drowns. His diary ends a few days before his death, and one of the last entries contains a reference to a threat made by Chac Mool to kill him should he try to flee.

If Filiberto were the only narrator in the story, the fantastic would cease to exist when Chac Mool comes to life, since this supernatural event is portrayed without further doubt and hesitation on the part of the main character. At the same time, the reader's uncertainty comes to an end when he is confronted with Filiberto's startling revelation. The tension, which had been steadily building in the narrative, is diffused by the marvelous descriptions of the living rain god and his relationship with the hapless Filiberto. However, there is a second narrative voice introduced into the story when a nameless friend travels to Acapulco to collect Filiberto's body and discovers the diary. Through this new narrator, the reader is exposed to a series of logical explanations that counterbalance Filiberto's allegations, and a new feeling of doubt and hesitation arises as the story once again wavers between a natural and supernatural explanation of the events described in the diary. In this way, Todorov's three conditions for the fantastic are met a second time in the story, although tension is purposely kept at a minimum now so that the reader will be off guard when the story reaches its true climax.

As the friend reads Filiberto's diary, his reactions mirror the process which Filiberto had undergone when confronted with the fantastic. At first, he tries to analyze the situation logically: "No supe qué explicación darme; pensé que las lluvias excepcionalmente fuertes, de ese verano, lo habían crispado. O que alguna depresión moral debía producir la vida en aquel caserón antiguo, con la mitad de los cuartos bajo llave y empolvados, sin criados ni vida de familia." Because there is no clear explanation, he dismisses the problem—"No quise volver a pensar en su relato"—but he becomes obsessed with what he does not understand. This narrator, more so than Filiberto, is characterized by a detached, logical attitude toward life. He raises a number of questions about Filiberto which make the reader hesitant to believe anything written in the diary, but confident in the friend's ability to sort out the truth. Excerpts from Filiberto's diary reveal that he lost his grip on reality, but the second narrator's comment remain cool and analytical. He notes: "La entrada de 25 de agosto, parecía escrita por otra persona. A veces como niño, separando trabajosamente cada letra; otras, nerviosa, hasta diluirse en lo ininteligible." This narrator assumes the task of putting Filiberto's story in proper perspective. He says, "Pretendí dar coherencia al escrito, relacionarlo con exceso de trabajo, con algún motivo psicológico", but despite his efforts, he fails: "Aun no podía concebir la locura de mi amigo."

Unlike Filiberto, who gradually came to accept the inexplicable as part of reality, the second narrator leads the story toward the realm of the uncanny by explaining the fantastic events described in the diary as "madness." Indeed, this explanation would be perfectly acceptable to the reader, as well, and the fantastic could be dismissed were it not for the final, unexpected scene of the story, where the second narrator comes face to face with a character who may or may not be Chac Mool. When the friend arrives at Filiberto's house with the corpse, he is greeted at the door by a stranger. Doubtlessly, this stranger closely resembles the description of Chac Mool in the diary, yet the final image is vague and ambiguous. The narrator is taken aback by him: "Su aspecto no podía ser más repulsivo; despedía un olor a loción barata; su cara, polveada, quería cubrir las arrugas; tenía la boca embarrada de lápiz labial mal aplicado, y el pelo daba la impresión de estar teñido." This scene differs markedly from the one in which Filiberto discovered Chac Mool leering at him in his bedroom, in the middle of the night. There is less overt horror, but much greater hesitation on the part of the character and the reader. The concluding lines of the story are highly suggestive, but open to various interpretations: "Perdone . . . no sabía que Filiberto hubiera . . ." / "No importa; lo sé todo. Digales a los hombres que llevan elcadáver al sótano." Thus, the reader is left to form his own opinion about this final turn of events, but he will undoubtedly experience hesitation between natural and supernatural explanations; as long as he hesitates, he is in the presence of the fantastic.

In Latin America, where fiction is often judged by its social content rather than its form, the fantastic has sometimes been criticized as "escapist" literature because it is not always grounded in socio-political issues. "Chac Mool," however, is part of an important new trend that began around mid-twentieth century: it is a fantastic story with a clear social message. For Fuentes and others, the fantastic is not a way of escaping reality but, rather, of penetrating it and uncovering new dimensions. "Chac Mool," for example, reminds the Mexican that the past is not dead, that indigenous Mexico has not been smothered and buried under the mask of European culture and that it will come back to haunt him until he confronts it and learns to deal with it in a more direct and honest way.

Chac Mool is portrayed by Filiberto as a character who is bitterly resentful of the present. He was once a god, a highly respected deity but, in the intervening centuries, he has been desecrated and forgotten. He resents the attitude of modern Mexicans who have abandoned their nation's indigenous heritage and are ignorant of their cultural history. Filiberto is guilty of this crime: he has purchased Chac Mool as a curiosity piece, and has treated him irreverently. He has no real knowledge of the culture that Chac Mool represents and he feels no spiritual bond to him. Ironically, as Chac Mool gains vitality and becomes a living being, he loses the immortality he had as a statue and grows old and corrupt. He loses his dignity and divine poise, and develops bourgeois tastes. The humanization process is one of corruption, for when Chac Mool gave up his ancient ways and adapted to the twentieth century, he lost his identity. At the end of the story, he is a culturally hybrid character who, rather than benefitting from the blend of two heritages, adopts and maintains the worst characteristics of both. He is treacherous, despotic and fickle, a pathetic imitation of something totally alien to his essential being.

"Chac Mool" is not an allegory, but it does have a symbolic interpretation. The rain god of the story's title can be seen as the representative of many contemporary Mexicans. Like them, he turns his back on his indigenous heritage, and comes to have the same values as those he earlier criticized for disparaging the importance of native cultures. The transformation which Chac Mool undergoes is not unlike the change millions of Mexicans have experienced since the Conquest: it is an act of self-deception and self-denial which has crippled the Mexican psyche and blocked the emergence of an authentic national identity.

The fantastic clearly does exist in the twentieth century, but it has changed to meet the needs and tastes of a modern society. Today's reader, who is familiar with the literary conventions and cliches of earlier fantastic tales, must be caught off guard if he is to experience hesitation between the natural and supernatural. Therefore, the fantastic has developed into a more subtle, more sophisticated art form, and has acquired more symbolic and metaphysical implications. For many writers like Fuentes, it is also an excellent vehicle for expression of social concerns and an effective tool with which to reshape Latin American reality.