AUTHOR: Franco Félix
PUBLISHER: Sextopiso
GENRE: Autobiographical novel
READER’S NAME: Alisa Newman
DATE: : August 8th, 2023

Lengua dormida is an autobiographical novel about the author’s attempts to understand the life of his mother, Ana María, who fled an abusive husband in Mexico City and started a new life in northern Mexico.  In addition to her husband, she left behind three young sons, returning only for the eldest child, a daughter.

This is an intriguing premise, but the novel has several serious shortcomings. Given Ana María’s traumatic past, the reader might expect Franco Félix to explore the factors that would drive a woman to make such a wrenching decision, and the societal forces that made other avenues of escape impractical or inaccessible.  Ultimately, however, he offers little insight into his mother’s abandonment of her sons, one of whom was just an infant at the time, or the options available, or not available, to her in the 1970s Mexico.  Her husband’s abuse had acquired sexual overtones, which makes it understandable that rescuing her daughter would be her priority.  But, except for a few references to a photo she keeps of her eldest son, Félix does not explore his mother’s motives for severing all ties with the boys.  After her death, he speaks to a few relatives of her first husband, who tell him that the family has always considered her a monster for leaving the children.  Without further glimpses into her rationale for doing so, it is hard not to sympathize with their point of view.

Another difficulty is Félix’s preoccupation with the inadequacy of language to capture and convey emotion.  “Movies or literature are built on languages, and languages are always two or three steps behind the reality they depict. No other language yet exists that can capture the world.  At best, it manages to capture very brief scenes, clips of time and space, of that organic essence that escapes all ownership.  This is a sad certainty we all face, even me, right now, as I write this book about my mother.  However much I write, I won’t succeed in saying anything about her, I will be unable to even sketch her outline” (p. 168). This is hardly a novel concept; the limitation of language is a theme that has long been explored in literature and song. Furthermore, dwelling on the shortcomings of the written word is a perplexing decision for an author working in that medium.  Lengua dormida is a well-written and often beautiful book, but it does not play with language in innovative or creative ways that test the boundaries of its limitations.

Lastly, the author, who was 38 when his mother’s died, spends an excessive amount of time dwelling on her death and his grief.  At the risk of sounding insensitive, returning over and over to the scene of her deathbed becomes tedious for the reader. 

Unfortunately, Félix confirms his musings about being unable to convey a true portrait of his mother through words.  Interestingly, he does a far better job of portraying his father, a warm and deeply sympathetic character who plays a decidedly supporting role in the events recounted in this book.