[In the following essay, Duncan finds elements of magic realism, which are based on Mexican folklore, in Garros’ story “Perfecto Luna.”.]

Nowhere is the Mexican fascination with death more evident than in the folklore of that country. For example, the notion that the dead sometimes remain among the living as almas en pena [suffering souls] is a familiar one that appears in countless songs, stories, and legends. These unfortunate spirits are said to wander the countryside of Mexico paying penance for the wrongs they committed in their lifetime or seeking revenge for wrongs committed against them. Many of the rituals performed on the Day of the Dead (2 November) are intended to help almas en pena find peace and return to the grave. Throughout the year in the Mexican countryside, any unusual happening or sudden twist of fate is interpreted by folk belief as the interference of one of these unhappy souls. According to legend they are as numerous and omnipresent as the fireflies in the dusk with which they are sometimes identified. They may roam about as disembodied spirits or take on corporeal form, and they may even be mistaken on occasion for living persons. They may be playful or threatening, kindly or hateful. Their reasons for returning to the mortal world are diverse and not always easily discernible. Sometimes their presence among the living is not an act of their own volition, for even those who have no specific purpose to their wanderings may find that they simply are unable to rest in peace due to inadequately performed burial ceremonies or a lack of prayer for their souls. Blatant disrespect or mockery directed toward the dead can cause the most docile spirit to rise up in wrath. There are many folktales and legends about the avenging dead, and according to popular belief, anyone who tampers with a corpse or skeleton faces the possibility of horrible retribution from the alma en pena of the offended party.

“Perfecto Luna” by Elena Garro is the story of such a vindication for, if we are to believe what we are told, the character who gives the narrative its title is murdered by a dead man. It is not a traditional ghost story, however, nor can it be classified as an example of the fantastic.¹ Although events in the narrative may strike the reader as unlikely or supernatural, they will not produce fear. The third person, omniscient narration, which provides the external framework of the story, neither confirms nor denies the main character's interpretation of events. No attempt is made to cast doubt on the incidents described in the narrative or to produce hesitation in the reader, since the question of reality versus unreality does not enter into the tale. Instead, the story validates the relationship between reality and folklore, and underlines the notion that myths and legends are based upon subconscious truths.

The information that the reader needs in order to interpret Perfecto's behavior in its cultural context is provided in the text itself. In a brief dialogue, Perfecto's employer and guardian, don Celso, explains to him that a person who is buried in a dismembered state returns to look for his or her parts: “Pues se vuelve loco, muchacho, buscando sus pedacitos” (183). [Well he goes crazy, boy, looking for his parts.] The degree to which don Celso truly believes this is not known. He offers the information as if it were an established fact, but at the same time, it is understood to be based on folklore, which is not always to be taken literally. Perfecto rejects these ideas at one level, assuring himself that almas en pena do not really exist, but on another level, he acknowledges the truth of these concepts that are deeply ingrained in his culture. This exchange of information marks the turning point in the narrative, for it causes Perfecto to reevaluate his past behavior in a new light, and it influences his thoughts and actions during the remainder of his life.

Unknown to don Celso or anyone else, Perfecto some time earlier had found the skeletal remains of a human body while working on Celso's property. The body had been buried in an open grave without its head, a macabre situation that appealed to Perfecto's typically Mexican sense of humor about death. Speaking irreverently to the skeleton, he declared, “Ya que te hicieron el favor de enterrarte separado, yo te lo voy a hacer completo” (180). [Since they did you the favor of burying you separated, I'm going to make you complete.] Perfecto removed the bones from their resting place and buried them individually in adobe bricks, which he then used to construct new dwellings on Celso's property. Each bone was put inside its own “tumbita” [little tomb], which bore a special mark to indicate the location of the dead man's parts. Eventually, bone by bone, the skeleton found its way into the walls of various rooms in the new buildings. According to Perfecto, at this point he did not truly believe in the existence of almas en pena; nevertheless, his behavior indicated that he did believe in them to some degree. For example, he directly addresses the dead man on numerous occasions and at times shows signs of expecting an answer to his questions. The practical joke he plays on the skeleton is directed against no one but the dead man who, Perfecto assumes, is capable of appreciating the prank. It is significant that Perfecto does not share the joke with other living persons in the village. His mockery of the dead is a very intimate act that, if put on public display, could bring him shame or remorse. His secrecy is indicative of the conflicting emotions that characterize the Mexican attitude toward death. When Perfecto learns that the dead return to the mortal world in search of their bodily parts, his initial reaction is laughter. He is still not totally convinced that such an occurrence is likely to happen, but he does admit that it is possible. He imagines that the skeleton will haunt the future inhabitants of the rooms, and he indulges in humorous fantasies about the situation: “Ojalá y que vengan a vivir los Juárez, y que en la noche ‘el sin cabeza’ les jale las patas” (183). [I hope the Juárezes come to live here, and that in the night ‘the headless one’ pulls on their feet.] Perfecto's fantasies suddenly become reality, however, when he is asked to occupy the empty rooms and act as caretaker until the regular tenants can move in. He can no longer laugh at the thought of the dead man's bones buried in the walls of a room where he must sleep. The presence of one of the “tumbitas” in the room completely transforms the setting into a threatening environment and, within a single night, the situation loses its humor and becomes sinister and dangerous.

The familiarity of the room that Perfecto had constructed with his own hands disappears and is replaced by an overwhelming sense of emptiness, darkness, and timelessness.

El cuarto se volvió tan oscuro que perdió la vista a la ventana. ‘¿Quién oscureció la noche?’ Buscó a tientas la vela que había dejado junto al petate. Estiró el brazo y sintió que se le había hecho muy corto; en cambio el cuarto había crecido enormemente y la vela estaba lejos, fuera de su alcance. Su corazón empezó a golpear con tal fuerza que le pareció que iba dentro de un río muy crecido. Sintió que se quedaba sordo. No le quedaba sino esperar a que amaneciera. Pero la noche se alargó en muchas noches.

(184)

[The room became so dark that he lost sight of the window. ‘Who darkened the night?’ He searched by touch for the candle that he had left next to the mat. He stretched out his arm and felt that it had gotten short while the room had grown enormously and the candle was far beyond, outside his reach. His heart began to pound so violently that it seemed to him that he was in a swollen river. He felt as if he were deaf. He could only wait for dawn. But the night stretched out into many nights.]

The sensation of being in a void, in a limitless space where time does not exist, where darkness prevails and solitude is overwhelming, obviously is linked to the concept of death. Not surprisingly, Perfecto reacts to the environment of the room by rapidly acquiring the physical attributes of a dying man. He believes that he is visited by “el sin cabeza” on five consecutive nights; after each experience, there is a notable change in his physical and mental condition.

—¿Qué te pasa, Perfecto? Andas muy desencajado.

(184)

—Agarraste frio, Perfecto, le dijeron.

(185)

—¿Qué te pasa, muchacho? ¿Por qué hablas así? Parece que tienes la lengua amarrada.

(186)

—¿Qué te pasa, muchacho? Si sigues así, no vas a tardar en entregar tu alma.

(187)

—Ahí te veo mañana, si amaneces, porque ya te está poniendo cara de difunto. …

(188)

[—What's wrong, Perfecto? You look ill.

—You caught a cold, Perfecto, they told him.

—What's wrong, boy? Why are you talking that way? It seems like you're tongue-tied.

—What's wrong with you, boy? If you go on this way, you'll soon hand over your soul.

—I'll see you there tomorrow, if you get up, because you're looking like death.]

Perfecto himself notes: “Mire como me he quedado, en los puros huesos” (178). [Look how I've become, all skin and bone.] And the narrator confirms this with, “se estaba quedando flaco y se le había muerto la risa” (186). [He was getting thin and had lost his sense of humor.] Perfecto loses his ability to communicate with others, to think clearly, and to control his movements. He also experiences a loss of bodily warmth. The accumulation of these details clearly foreshadows Perfecto's death and suggests that he is only one step away from the realm of “el sin cabeza.”

Perfecto's fear is not an abstract dread of the supernatural or unknown that so often permeates fantastic fiction but rather, it is a concrete terror born out of the certainty that his life is in danger because of a dead man's wont for revenge. For this reason, his fear is not contagious, and the reader is not affected by it. The avenging spirit is a threat only to one person, to the man who tampered with his bones. There is no conscious attempt in the narrative to instill a sense of horror or send shivers down the reader's spine, as one might expect in a traditional ghost story. The reader's security is never jeopardized. But it is difficult to view the work as a tale of pure fantasy, because it is grounded in a cultural context that lends itself to a degree of realism. Regardless of whether the reader chooses to believe the story, Perfecto has faith in his interpretation of events and holds it to be truth. The omniscient narrator generally supports Perfecto's point of view, thus creating the illusion that the incidents actually occurred as described by the main character of the story.

The narration of the story is of fundamental importance because it influences reader reaction. For example, it offers both subjective and objective viewpoints by speaking in both the first and third person. The reader, who may distrust the emotional outpourings of a first person narrator, is given the opportunity to see events from a more impartial point of view whenever the story begins to take on supernatural overtones. At times, Perfecto speaks aloud in the first person, telling his own story to a stranger he has met on the road. The dialogue that takes place between them is understood to occur in the present moment, and it provides the outer framework of the story. Their conversation appears in the text both with and without commentary from the third person narrator. Occasionally tags such as “preguntó Perfecto” [Perfecto asked] and “respondió el otro” [the other replied] are included to indicate who is speaking, and observations about the movements and gestures of the two parties are reported. On other occasions, however, the dialogue takes place without intervention from the narrator, thus allowing Perfecto to function as the principal narrator. The nameless interlocutor, who takes part in the dialogue with Perfecto, contributes very little to the conversation other than his ear. For this reason, the dialogue frequently lapses into monologue, sometimes spoken aloud and sometimes internalized. The topic of conversation in the present is the series of events from the past that has brought Perfecto to a crisis point. The two time frames, past and present, are therefore juxtaposed throughout the text as Perfecto and the narrator simultaneously recall key incidents.

As Perfecto relives certain moments in his mind in the form of flashbacks, dialogues that took place in the past between Perfecto and other villagers are reported from the first and third person points of view and incorporated into the dialogue or monologue that takes place in the present. Perfecto's primary concern is to clarify for his own benefit certain events from the past; therefore, he speaks to himself as often as he speaks to his listeners, and it is sometimes difficult to know if he is speaking aloud to others or only within himself. His thoughts, memories, and perceptions constantly are reinforced by the narrator, and the shifts in perspective are so subtle that they are scarcely felt. Frequently, in a single paragraph, the two points of view are present, and only the verb endings indicate who is the narrator. For example: “Después de comer envolví los huesitos en mi cobija y me los llevé a mi cuarto ‘¡Vas a ver, muerto cabrón!’ le dije. Llegó el día en que me vi haciendo los adobes … y Perfecto se volvió a ver revolviendo el lodo con las hierbas secas y silbando” (180). [After eating I wrapped the bones in my blanket and I carried them to my room. ‘You'll see, you dead bastard!’ I told him. The day came when I made the bricks … and Perfecto went back to mixing mud with dry grass and whistling.] It is not immediately apparent that the narrator shares Perfecto's interpretation of events. Only in retrospect does it become clear that the two narrative voices work together to create harmony and balance, rather than to establish a conflict in the tale. The supposed impartial and objective narrator, in the closing paragraphs of the text, suggests that Perfecto has been telling the truth all along, thereby validating an interpretation that the reader has probably rejected as being implausible or impossible. By using multiple viewpoints that complement rather than contradict one another, the story is given an aura of truth, because the portrayal of unlikely events seems less open to question and doubt when it is offered from more than one perspective.²

The structure of the story is the element that gives it originality and freshness, for the theme of the avenging dead is an old one in Mexico and the tale could easily become a literary cliché in less talented hands. Because the story is not told in a straightforward, chronological manner, the reader is not aware initially of the nature of Perfecto's problem. It is clear that he is in a dangerous position, that he is fleeing for his life, and that he is ill and frightened. There is also the suggestion that he has had some sort of contact with the supernatural or with death, because he knows that “en el otro mundo no había sino chiflones de aire frío” (175) [in the other world there were only drafts of cold air]. This comment creates an air of mystery and builds tension into the narrative, but because the exact details are not known, the reader is not forced to make an immediate decision about whether Perfecto's experience is based on reality or fantasy. First, one is given an opportunity to learn more about Perfecto and the cultural context that shapes his world view.

The possible existence of almas en pena is not questioned until the story is well past its midpoint, but the importance of folk belief is identified immediately. As the story begins, Perfecto is attempting to escape the bad fortune that follows him by changing his name and his identity. According to folk tradition, a man's name is a powerful totem, and he must take great pains to keep it secret from his enemies. This concept is not usually related to the idea of almas en pena, but in “Perfecto Luna” they work well together to move the story along toward its denouement. With both concepts, Perfecto is unable to fully accept the truth of folk belief until personal experience provides proof. When he meets a stranger on the road, he forgets his resolve to conceal his name and puts his life in the hands of the unknown man by telling him. “yo fui Perfecto Luna hasta esta noche” (178). [I was Perfecto Luna until tonight.] Ironically, it is the stranger who conceals his identity from Perfecto (and the reader) until the concluding paragraphs of the story, when it is revealed that he is “el sin cabeza”—the same alma en pena from whom Perfecto is fleeing. The final joke is on Perfecto, who has unwittingly confessed to the dead man who he had wronged. Escape is no longer possible, and the following day, Perfecto is found dead on the road a short distance from his village, where his conversation with the stranger took place.

Perfecto's death is not actually described in the text, which leaves the reader in a curious predicament. It is clearly implied, both by Perfecto and the narrator, that “el sin cabeza” is responsible for the man's death; yet, because no one in the village is aware of the circumstances that motivated Perfecto's behavior or of the existence of “el sin cabeza,” Perfecto's death remains a mystery to other characters in the text. The reader knows more than they, since he or she has been privy to the conversation that took place the night of Perfecto's death between Perfecto and the stranger, and because he or she has access to Perfecto's inner thoughts. Indeed, the reader is the only one who is in a position to interpret accurately the cause of Perfecto's death since he or she is the only one who knows all the facts surrounding the event. The problem, however, is that the facts do not lend themselves to logical analysis, and the reader is left with the impression that there must be another, more rational explanation for the situation. At the end of the story, one may find oneself grasping at straws while trying to ground the events described in a more recognizable reality. The narrator seems to have disappeared, and the only character who attempts to explain Perfecto's death is don Celso, who originally supplied the information about the wrath of the avenging dead. Unfortunately, Celso does not know about the prank Perfecto played on the skeleton, nor is he aware that Perfecto was visited nightly by the angry spirit, since Perfecto has kept these details secret from everyone in the village. Therefore, Celso is not an informed narrator, and he is only left to speculate. “¡Se endemonió! … Me soltó todo el maíz y murió en medio de la huizachera. ¡Caray! ¡Y parecía tan buen muchacho el tal Perfecto Luna!” (189). [He was possessed! … He spilled grain all over my storeroom and then ran out into the cornfield to die. Caramba! And that Perfecto Luna seemed like such a good boy!] Although his theory is logical and quite plausible, there is no indication in the text that Celso's interpretation is the correct one. At first, his remark seems to contradict the information provided by Perfecto and the narrator, offering an alternative viewpoint. Upon closer reading, however, it becomes apparent that he is totally unaware of the circumstances surrounding Perfecto's death and that his remark is merely a mistaken conjecture about reality based on a lack of information. The reader knows more than Celso about the event because the reader has “witnessed” it and Celso has not; for this reason, the reader is less likely to regard him as a reliable narrator, even though his explanation may be more rational.

A further irony in the story is that the perceptive reader is probably aware before Perfecto of the identity of the stranger on the road. There are a number of clues provided by the narrator that point toward the fact that the nameless interlocutor is “el sin cabeza.” For example, the stranger rarely speaks, and when he does, his voice is weak and distant. Perfecto never sees the stranger's head during their conversation because of the darkness and because the stranger has been searching in the bushes for a lost object. The stranger is obsessed with his search for this mysterious lost object, just as “el sin cabeza” is persistent in his search for his bones in the walls of Perfecto's room. And, as Perfecto himself notes, it is unusual to encounter an unknown man in such an isolated spot in the middle of the night. All of this information hints at the identity of “el desconocido” [the stranger] long before Perfecto becomes aware of it. This increases the tension in the narrative, since the reader is forewarned of the danger but is powerless to communicate it to Perfecto. The reader must stand by and watch the young man walk into a trap, knowing that Perfecto has been duped by his own naiveté. Oddly enough, even after Perfecto has had direct personal contact with an alma en pena, he does not really understand the nature of these beings. He assumes that they exist only in spirit form and does not suspect that they may also take on corporeal form. The reader, on the other hand, is probably not so innocent. Because the reader has a better understanding of the situation, or at least a stronger intuition about it, than the main character of the tale, the reader is easily manipulated at an unconscious level into acknowledging the truth of this bit of folklore. While reading the story, there can be no doubt in one's mind that Perfecto Luna is talking to an alma en pena, even though the reader may be hesitant to admit that such things exist if asked directly about them. The boundaries between fiction, folklore, and reality are less clearly discernible when the reader is caught up in the world of the characters and made to feel a part of it. For this reason, Garro makes every effort to involve the reader in the interpretation and the development of the tale by giving him or her access to information that the characters themselves lack.

By the time the theme of the avenging dead is introduced in the narrative, it is abundantly clear that folk belief plays a powerful role in shaping the world view of the characters. Even if they do not always take it at face value, folklore exerts an influence over their thoughts and behavior. Perfecto describes the process he underwent to change from skeptic to believer and establishes that the transformation occurred as a result of real life experience rather than legend or hearsay. His ultimate conviction that almas en pena do exist is unshakable, since it reaffirms the relationship in his mind between reality and folklore and shows that basic truths can be expressed in the form of legends and myths.

Throughout the story, Perfecto is portrayed as an autonomous being who presents himself directly to the reader in his own words, showing both strengths and weaknesses of character that make him appear human and real. There are no disparities of language or point of view in the tale; as the characters speak and think, so speaks and thinks the omniscient narrator. Vocabulary, syntax, and imagery capture the essence of rural Mexico without reducing the story to a parody of Indian dialect, and they lend substance to the character of Perfecto Luna by allowing him to express himself with warmth, grace, and humor.

The narrator of the story does not remain distant and aloof from the world he describes but rather, enters into it and adopts the point of view of the characters. He expresses faith in their vision of reality by permitting it to stand on its own merit, without intervention or interpretation from a “rational-minded” outsider. There are no attempts to logically explain or apologize for things that seem impossible to the reader, since no one in the narrative doubts that the events occurred as described. Seen from within the cultural context of the characters, there is an explanation for the appearance of “el sin cabeza”: Perfecto's irreverent treatment of the dead man brought him back from the grave. The reader may choose to accept or reject this information, but the interpretation of reality in the text is not dependent on the reader's willingness to believe it. Instead, the principal character of the story is allowed to view reality in ways that are meaningful to him. The folklore presented in the narrative is not included merely for decorative effect; it is the foundation upon which the story is built. For this reason, “Perfecto Luna” must be regarded as more than an amusing tale about a ghost seeking revenge. It is a statement about the power of folk belief and man's ability to believe in the seemingly impossible.

Without an understanding of the cult of death and the mythology that supports it, “Perfecto Luna” may seem like an exercise in the macabre or an example of the fantastic. In fact, it is neither. If a label must be found for this type of literature, Garro's story might be termed magical realist. Despite the confusion that has surrounded this term since its introduction to Latin American literary criticism in the late 1940s, it continues to be valuable because it sets apart a particular kind of narrative that does not fit comfortably into any other mode.³ Magical realism is not pure fantasy, because it contains a substantial amount of realistic detail and is based on a popular folk belief that many people hold to be true. Neither is it fantastic, since it does not cause the reader to feel that his or her own world is being torn apart by supernatural forces. The attitude and approach in magical realist fiction is quite different. While the fantastic writer invents a world, the magical realist observes and penetrates one. The latter kind of literature is not a mimetic type, however, for the magical realist writer does not stop at superficial documentation. The goal is not that of the fantastic writer; the reader is not to feel fear, doubt, or hesitation but, rather, to come to believe in the marvelous nature of the new world experience. The degree to which the magical element surprises, startles, or unsettles the reader may vary to a large extent, depending on how greatly it differs from the reader's own perception of what is “normal,” “logical,” or “real.” Some magical realist fiction, like “Perfecto Luna,” may seem to border on the fantastic, since events described in the narrative strike the reader as impossible; but, when seen from within the world view of the characters, these “impossible” occurrences are accepted as ordinary happenings because they are firmly grounded in religion, myth, legend, or historical tradition.

The magical realist text does not challenge the reader to enter into a “game” in the same sense that the fantastic one does. Instead, it attempts to recreate convincingly a world in which magic and reality exist simultaneously and are equally powerful in the formation of a people's world view. One system of reference or one set of beliefs does not attempt to explain the other and to dominate. Instead, a balance is established between them, which gives the characters of magical realist fiction a unique point of view. Unlike the fantastic, magical realism does not negate reality; it simply portrays it from an expanded perspective, which sometimes carries it beyond the realm of logic and reason.

As some critics have observed, the fantastic tends to be cultivated today in societies where people no longer believe in magic.⁴ In Mexico, belief in magic does exist, not only among “primitive” peoples, but also among all those who are aware of the magical qualities inherent in Mexico's unique culture, geography, and history. As Mexicans have discovered more about themselves and about their heritage, they have experienced a reawakened interest in the myths and legends that shaped their nation's growth. Elena Garro uses Mexico's bicultural folklore, in which European beliefs merged with indigenous ones, to explore the possibility that reality may be more complex and more mysterious than what is traditionally portrayed in her country's literature. She attempts to use uncharted zones of myth and legend in the same way that others have portrayed everyday life in Mexico—without surprise, fear, or doubt. The reader, who may not share the same world view as the characters in Garro's tales, might initially react to the situations she describes as if they were flights of fantasy. However, because they are presented in a cultural, historical, or mythical context of deeper meaning, the reader must ultimately see that the stories contain some essential truths. Garro's themes are often related to Mexico and its people, but these regional experiences are elevated to a universal plane, because they are inevitably linked to fundamental issues regarding man's existence. In the hands of writers like Garro, magical realism has become a highly effective, artistic tool with which one may explore the traits that make Mexico unique, while at the same time, reinforcing the notion that all men, everywhere, share similar concerns.

Notes

1. H. P. Lovecraft, Peter Penzoldt, and Roger Caillois name fear as a key ingredient in the fantastic. According to Tzvetan Todorov, however, the most characteristic feature of the fantastic is not fear, but hesitation (31). It is clearly not the intention of Elena Garro to produce fear or hesitation in the reader. She does not attempt to convince the reader of the possibility of the existence of the living dead. She presents the existence of almas en pena as a fact in her story, and the fact is not altered by the reader's acceptance or rejection of it. Therefore, “Perfecto Luna” should not be regarded as an example of fantastic literature. See Roger Caillois, “The Fantastic,” trans. Will McLendon, Forum (Houston, Tex.) 2, no. 2 (May 1958): 51-55; Peter Penzoldt, The Supernatural in Fiction, (New York: Humanities Press, 1965); H. P. Lovecraft, Supernatural Horror in Literature, (New York: Ben Abramson, 1945); Tzvetan Todorov, The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, trans. Richard Howard, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975); and Rosemary Jackson, Fantasy, the Literature of Subversion, (London: Methuen, 1981), for more on the fantastic as a mode of expression.

2. A similar technique is used by Garro in her short story, “La culpa es de los tlaxcaltecas,” which also falls into the category of magical realism. See Cynthia Duncan, “‘La culpa es de los tlaxcaltecas’: A Reevaluation of Mexico's Past Through Myth.” Crítica hispánica 7, no. 2 (Fall 1985), 105-20.

3. In 1973, the 16th Congreso del Instituto Internacional de Literatura Iberoamericana met to discuss the theme, “La fantasía y el realismo mágico en la literatura iberoamericana.” At this conference, Peter Earle dramatically declared that magical realism was dead. (See articles in the proceedings volume, Otros mundos, otros fuegos.) Since then, several convincing critics have revived the original term and restored its validity by defining it in a more specific way than many early critics had done, and by using it to refer to a fairly limited body of works rather than to all types of new fiction. James Irish, Lorraine Elena Ben-Ur, and Jaime Alazraki are three scholars who have contributed to a clearer and more meaningful usage of the term. For a concise definition, see p. 18 of Jaime Alazraki's “Para una revalidación del concepto realismo mágico en la literatura hispanoamericana,” in Homenaje a Andrés Iduarte, ed. Alazraki et al. (Clear Creek, Ind.: The American Hispanist, 1976): 9-21; Lorraine Elena Ben-Ur, “El realismo mágico en la crítica hispanoamericana,” Journal of Spanish Studies. Twentieth Century 4, no. 3 (1976): 149-63; and James Irish, “Magical Realism: A Search for Caribbean and Latin American Roots,” Literary Half Yearly (University of Mysore) 2, no. 2 (1970): 127-39 for more information on magical realism.

4. Roger Caillois, in “The Fantastic,” and Franz Rottensteiner, ed., in The Fantasy Book (New York: MacMillan, 1978), are two critics who make this observation. Caillois states: “Only those cultures which have arrived at the concept of a constant, objective and unalterable order of all phenomena have been able to give birth, by contrast, as it were, to the particular form of imagination which expressly invalidates so perfect a regularity: supernatural fear. In the culture where fairyhood triumphs, all is marvel or portent of marvel. The fright which springs from the violation of natural laws has no place in such a system: it has as yet no natural laws fixed or well-defined enough for the phenomenon which violates them to arouse a sort of mental panic. The fantastic is posterior to the image of a world without miracle and under the law of a rigorous causality” (53).

Works Cited

Caillois, Roger. “The Fantastic.” Translated by Will McLendon. Forum (Houston, Tex.) 2, no. 2 (May 1958): 51-55.

Garro, Elena. “Perfecto Luna.” La semana de colores. Xalapa, Mexico: Universidad Veracruzana, 1964.

Jackson, Rosemary. Fantasy, the Literature of Subversion. London: Methuen, 1981.

Lovecraft, H. P. Supernatural Horror in Literature. New York: Ben Abramson, 1945.

Penzoldt, Peter. The Supernatural in Fiction. New York: Humanities Press, 1965.

Rottensteiner, Franz, ed. The Fantasy Book. New York: MacMillan, 1978.

Todorov, Tzvetan. The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre. Translated by Richard Howard. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975.

Yates, Donald A., ed. Otros mundos, otros fuegos: Fantasía y realismo mágico en Iberoamérica. Memoria del XVI Congreso Internacional de Literatura Iberoamericana, 1975.