The Thrill of the Kill:
Pushing the Boundaries of Experience in the
La antigua relación entre
víctima y victimario, que es lo único que humaniza al crimen, lo único
que lo hace imaginable, ha desaparecido. (. . .) Para nosotros el
crimen es todavía una relación — y en este sentido posee el mismo
significado liberador que la Fiesta o la confesión—. De ahí su
dramatismo, su poesía y — ¿por qué no decirlo? — su grandeza. Gracias
al crimen, accedemos a una efímera trascendencia.
(Paz, El laberinto
55)
Nada como matar a un hombre.
Oler la sangre ajena, sentirla en la piel; probarla con la punta de la
lengua es la mayor conquista
(Parra 2002:
210)
Within the
span of the last ten years, the contemporary Mexican writer Eduardo Antonio
Parra has established himself as the author of a particularly
visceral and brutally explicit prose.(1) His
texts faithfully portray bleak urban environments, grim US-Mexican
border towns, and desolate rural areas, where resentment and loneliness
prevail above all other sentiments. Just as he reveals a predilection
for nocturnal settings in his fiction, Parra seems to be drawn to the
dark side of the human mind; his fascination with shadowy emotions such
as erotic fury, aggression, blood thirst, and the pleasure found in
pain— both one’s own and that inflicted upon others— is the key
building block of his entire work. His protagonists’ quests for the
ultimate ‘high’ and the lowest ‘low’ translate into what Albert Camus
called ‘metaphysical rebellion’ (26), when referring to crimes executed
as deliberate acts of protest against the human condition. In other
words, these transgressive yearnings always appear against the
background of an omnipresent violence, invariably envisioned in Parra’s
poetics as part and parcel of the human condition.
Studies
devoted to Parra’s work have sought to privilege his trademark
symbolism of limits: be it the spatial frontier between two countries
or the existential bounds of man’s actions.(2) Likewise, this essay will foreground the very
antipodes of experience by exploring the topic of death, the ultimate
boundary par excellence. I will focus on Parra’s novel Nostalgia
de la sombra (2002) and the short
story “El placer de morir” from Los límites de la noche
(2000), in which dark instincts play themselves out with a particular
force and where murder, the ultimate taboo, becomes the common
denominator. These texts are also bound by an implicit misogyny and an
outright gendered violence, where a woman, the erotic other, is the
object of man’s destructive pleasures. In both cases, it is also
woman’s corporeality where the drama of transgression is played out,
thus conferring a particularly literal relevance to the expression
‘over her dead body.’ Through the grid of
George Bataille’s philosophy of the extreme and his celebration of
self-ruin as a divine or sovereign inspiration, I will examine Parra’s
male protagonists as they embark upon an unbridled pursuit of ecstatic
experiences in search of the raison d’être of their own existence. I
will argue that, ironically, this very moment of final self-realization
is a double-edged sword of an almost mystical illumination and
self-inflicted, irreversible condemnation.
Under the
Rubric of Death, or Where Parra and Bataille Converge
Parra’s
gritty world of tormented individuals is violent, but not gratuitously
so. Rather, it appears that its destructive tendencies are an inherent
human condition making coexistence with others so much more
challenging. In an interview with Eduardo Castañeda, Parra articulated
his interest in humanity’s evil side and his belief in its strong
influence over the choices we make. He stated that all are capable of
most violent reactions and it is often coincidental whether kindness or
cruelty predominates in a given situation:
cuando
estás en convivencia siempre hay una chispa de ira. La violencia está
en todos lados, entonces, lo que yo he tratado de hacer es cuestionarme
por qué. Creo que en mis textos hay una cierta perplejidad, una
fascinación y una intención de desentreñar esos orígenes. No sé, no
quisiera irme al lado metafísico, este de que el mal está en todas
partes, pero yo creo que de alguna manera sí. El ser humano es
totalmente contrastante; todos traemos lo maldito adentro y lo bendito
también. La cosa es cuál te domina más.
Who better
to illustrate this aforementioned exuberance of forces than a
spontaneous murderer? A common citizen who becomes capable of executing
the most horrific crimes under extreme circumstances, thus achieving a
previously unimagined sense of control and freedom? Parra’s characters
often flirt with danger but none of them undergoes such a complex
metamorphosis as Ramiro Mendoza Elizondo, the protagonist of Nostalgia de la sombra. His transformation from a
harmless family man to a ruthless killer does not impugn his
circumstances but rather points to the latent death instinct hidden in
many individuals. Ramiro’s life can be divided into three fundamental
stages, where first, he discovers his aggressive potential, in order to
embark on a career of killing and lastly, to return to his native
Ramiro is a
compliant, law-abiding citizen. Caught up in a dead-end, paper-pushing
job at a local newspaper in
As a
consequence, the obedient and emasculated editor who “nunca había hecho
nada aparte de dar media vuelta y retirarse” (2002: 48), unleashes his
anger and pent-up frustration, responding to nothing but his survival
instinct: “De cuando en cuando lograba atrapar un miembro, una cabeza y
la molía con puños y rodillas, con la frente, mordía la carne hasta
arrancarla y después escupía la sangre” (2002: 53). When
everyone collapses under his raging fists, he finishes off one of the
attackers with the obvious pleasure and dexterity of a professional:
Adelantó su rostro hacia el
This
unexpected massacre becomes a rite of passage for the killer who, as
Parra would concur with Bataille, is secretly living in everyone:
“There is a potential killer in every man, the frequency of senseless
massacres throughout history makes that much plain” (1986: 72). From
this moment on, Parra’s protagonist is a different man, no longer
attached to worldly concerns or worried about his future. In a strange,
twisted way, he becomes free, liberated from his fears and obligations
(“El miedo se había esfumado para siempre” [55]). In the past, in his
respectable life, Ramiro only fantasized about transgression,
translating his destructive desires onto a film script whose hero was a
merciless but a justified killer: “La venganza fría y absoluta (…)
representaba el éxtasis. El hecho de
tener una sola misión en la vida, y cumplirla desdeñando lo demás,
significaba que venir al mundo no había sido un desperdicio” (2002:
32). Now, he
enthusiastically embraces the lifestyle of an outlaw, at the same time
revealing that he has secretly craved this status all along: “El
demonio. Cada uno de
nosotros lo carga escondido en las entrañas. Queremos que salga porque
cuando se agita retorciéndose nos sentimos hinchados, a punto de
reventar” (2002:
27). By crossing
the boundaries of what is permissible and by putting his own life in
danger, Ramiro has finally found the way to feel truly alive and
empowered.
On a
parallel note, Bataille observes that only by the use of reason do we
control the future, grasping instead the significance of pure
instantaneity through the realm of our passions (1994: 88). Similarly,
Ramiro abandons what reason has always dictated to him as morally
right, deciding to live in and for the moment only, in the vertigo of a
continuous risk. As Miguel
G. Rodríguez Lozano rightly notes, “Aquí se trata en todo caso de
exterminar y gozar, disfrutar con ello. Por esto,
la idea del mal vinculado con la violencia vibra como discurso
zigzagueante”
(70). No longer
subjugated to work or the law, Ramiro discovers within himself a new
man who does not have to respond to anyone for his actions. He begins
an existence on his own terms, far away from his previous family;
first, as a homeless man, than, as a prison inmate, and finally, as an
assassin for hire who does what he likes best, namely, to play with
death for the mere thrill of the moment. He knows that sooner or later
he will have to pay for this transgression with his own life, yet he
does not fear death, for he has lived what Bataille would describe as
an experience ‘freed from all constraints, including and especially the
constraint of duration’ (1994: 115).
While
Ramiro’s transformation into a killer is presented retrospectively in
alternate chapters throughout the novel,(5) the
first section of the book marks the beginning of an end: the
protagonist’s return to his native city with the assignment of
eliminating his first female victim. The reader suspects that this
murder will coincide with the protagonist’s change of heart or perhaps
even his downfall, because Ramiro has completed a full circle by
returning to his hometown, and because his current mark goes beyond the
usual elimination of other men. What gives the story another twist is
his unexpected infatuation with the person he had agreed to murder.
While following his female victim Maricruz Escobedo around town, Ramiro
becomes fascinated with his charismatic prey. Her mature beauty, her
inner resolve, the impenetrable veneer and fearlessness with which she
strikes business deals with influential men, all make Ramiro esteem and
desire her. Such a turn of events makes us suspect that Ramiro might
give up his mission and decide to save the targeted woman in the name
of love. Nonetheless, far from an idyllic solution, the novel embraces
instead a sublime combination of love and death, thus augmenting
Ramiro’s final transgression. Just as for Bataille, “[t]he anguish of
death and death itself are at the antipodes of pleasure” (1986: 102), Ramiro comes to experience the ultimate vertigo
by loving and annihilating what he grew to love. Bataille believes that
there is an indelible connection between eroticism and death because
the momentarily upsurge of life, attributed primarily to the instant of
imminent death, can also be experienced in supreme erotic encounters.
Likewise, Parra’s protagonist comes to the point where death and
eroticism converge, where the sensuality of crime opens for him yet
another mystical climax.
This hit
promises to be very special; it is where the protagonist truly
submerges himself in his mission, where he grows to desire the same
individual he has every intention of eliminating. Solitary and detached
from society by choice, Ramiro realizes that he has found an equal in
this woman who, like him, has grown to control her circumstances by
playing tough and by sacrificing most of her personal life. Doing what
infatuated people tend to do, Ramiro watches Maricruz’s every step,
repeatedly looks at her photograph, and inwardly talks to her, trying
to comprehend her unforeseen appeal. In his mind, he will finally
communicate with his victim through an act of the ultimate wounding,
while sinking his knife in her chest. Penetrating her with the weapon
and imagining her hapless body softening in his arms, he achieves a
feeling of being swept off his feet, of falling headlong as if in the
greatest erotic episode. Unlike previous lovemaking with his wife or
dispassionate sexual acts with prostitutes, this encounter promises
what Bataille described as an intoxication of existence, where for a
moment, he can lose himself in another being: ‘If love exists at all it
is, like death, a swift movement of loss within us, quickly slipping
into tragedy and stopping only with death’ (1986: 239).
Clearly,
the violence underwriting Parra’s novel is highly eroticized, because
woman’s desirability is configured as that of an oblivious target to
man’s attack. However beautiful she may be as an object of desire, this
desire always takes on the trappings of pure fetishism. Ramiro indulges
in a sexualized cat-and-mouse-game, where only he knows about his
victim’s imminent end. Exercising the role of omnipresent narrator in
his own, real-life criminal script gives him an additional thrill,
continuously echoing Bataille’s belief in the intrinsic connection
between love and death: ‘Possession of the beloved object does not
imply death, but the idea of death is linked with the urge to possess’
(1986: 20). The day of the planned execution Ramiro fantasizes about
their encounter, as if it were a rendezvous between two lovers:
Pensó
en Maricruz Escobedo recién despierta, desnuda en la orilla de la cama,
acariciándose la piel de los pechos. (…) ¿Eres tú? Sí, soy yo, Maricruz
(…) Ramiro, te hablo para recordarte,…hoy debemos encontrarnos antes de
que anochezca.¿No lo has olvidado? No, Maricruz, desde hace más de una
semana no pienso en otra cosa. Qué bueno. A mí me pasa lo mismo. Ardo
en deseo de conocerte (…) Quiero saber lo que es capaz de hacerle un
hombre como tú a una mujer como yo. (2002: 279)
True, there
is something morbidly sensual in his planned act of femicide, since
Ramiro will consummate the ultimate possession of this woman’s body.
Parra’s novel strongly suggests that seeing her life slipping away will
be the most intimate act the protagonist can perform on her, the
supreme sacrifice and the
But
Bataille’s poetics of justice projects a dramatic end as the only
possible denouement for an unrepentant transgressor: “The modern rebel
exists in crime: he kills, but in his turn he accepts that his crime
consecrates him to death: he ‘accepts dying and paying for a life with
a life’. In human terms there is a curse on all sovereignty, as on all
revolt. Anyone who does not submit must pay, for he is guilty” (1994:
171). Similarly, as Ramiro returns to his car amidst the sounds of
sirens and a general tumult, he realizes that annihilating Maricruz has
led to his own downfall. The initially unnoticed gun wound, inflicted
on him by Maricruz’s driver during their brief fight, turns out to be
lethal. After all, “at the summit the unlimited negation of otherness
is the negation of self” (Bataille 1986: 173), and Ramiro had
exterminated what he had grown to respect the most. Having reached the
zenith of his rebellion against the world, he now lets go of it all,
confronting his most intimate desire for (self) annihilation. As he
sits in the car, oblivious to the world around him, Ramiro bleeds to
death, thereby paying for his wild detour from the mundane existence of
a middle-class family man. Having reached the limits of evil, he
quickly fades away, no longer fearing his own imminent end. Behind him,
the female character who never served any other purpose than to be the
target of man’s eroticized violence, fades into the background again.
Unlike
Parra’s novel, where carnal pleasure is suppressed, and the erotic
emerges only half way through the text and exclusively at the spiritual
level, the short story “El placer de morir” is all about the orgy of
the senses. From the onset, the text stands out as deliberately
disturbing and controversial, as it tracks the vicissitudes of
Roberto’s erotic development and his rapid descent into a decadent
world of perverse carnal pleasures. The story brings Sade and Bataille
together, as Roberto’s lifestyle faithfully mirrors Bataille’s
observations about the father of sadism, whose life “was the pursuit of
pleasure, and the degree of pleasure was in direct ratio to the
destruction of life” (1986: 180). Unabashedly perverse, Parra’s
protagonist is intent on satisfying his utmost desires starting at the
early age of twelve. Nightly escapades to the maid’s quarters, where he
finds alcohol, cigarettes, and a nascent sexuality, give him a taste
for the forbidden, a penchant that only grows with every passing year.
His vocation is simple but uncommon: ‘tener lo indispensable y
dedicarse a fabricar deseos y satisfacerlos’ (2000: 22). He does not
crave the usual riches, power or fame but, instead, dedicates himself
to the pursuit of what he holds in the highest esteem: “el placer:
exprimir el máximo goce que la vida pueda ofrecer a un hombre” (2000:
22).
His
parents’ death in a car accident enables him to descend into the
X-rated world, where he can dispose of his inheritance with impunity.
Though still under-aged, Roberto secretly acquaints himself with local
brothels in order to satisfy his curiosity about the intricacies of
sex. This self-proclaimed “buscador de placer” and “huérfano libertino”
(2000: 25, 27) explores manifold means of sexual gratification,
invariably intent on learning how to maximize his pleasure beyond what
he has experienced so far. Fully corrupt and debauched, the protagonist
engages voyeurism rather than rapport in the reader, since his only
motivation is nothing other than pure, selfish pleasure. His aloofness
notwithstanding, Roberto, just as Ramiro in Nostalgia de
la sombra, represents Bataille’s sovereign rebel, an explorer of
all that can be explored in his quest for the extreme. Ignoring the
risk of eventual poverty once his parents’ money runs out, he refuses
to subjugate his life to work, which in his mind, would make him bear
the same weight overwhelming all the socialized others.
Roberto’s
early predilection for transgressive practices takes him one step
further when he meets his first long-term girlfriend, a wealthy virgin
who submits to his growing sexual demands in order to keep him
attached. Their unequal experience with sex causes Roberto to become
the girl’s tutor, manipulating both her body and mind to keep himself
entertained. Gradually, his games escalate to a pre-calculated sadism
in which, in the sense of Bataille, “Cruelty and eroticism are
conscious intentions in a mind which has resolved to trespass into a
forbidden field of behavior” (1986: 79-80). Having already experimented
with the pleasures and varieties of sexual intercourse with local
prostitutes, he craves something superior to the mere usual.
Consequently, the story demonstrates that the allure of their bond does
not build itself upon his love or her willingness to fulfill his
desires, but on the humiliation and the depravation that Roberto can
inflict upon the compliant and utterly devoted debutant:
Vencida
por el amor, no se atrevió a poner reparos a los deseos de Roberto, que
experimentaba con ella todas las fantasías que brotaban de su
mentalidad de sádico en ciernes. La sodomizó, la flageló. La obligó a
representarle las más descabelladas comedias, la llevó a todos los
límites imaginables para una muchacha como ella. (2000: 30)
When we
meet Roberto in the story, he is a mature man who has finally
squandered his entire inheritance. Ensconced in a seedy hotel, he is
engaged in a night of sex and drugs with an unidentified woman. As his
companion dozes off from partying, Roberto sips leftover wine in the
dark and reminisces about his whole life, thereby providing us with
flashbacks of his sordid adolescence. Once his partner wakes up, they
return to their drug-enhanced orgy, maximizing their pleasure by
rubbing cocaine on their gums and on each other’s genitalia. A repeated
focus on sexual organs in states of arousal and in coition situates the
story deep in the realm of the senses, exploring the purely physical
disconnected from any pretense of sentimentalism. However, while the
orgy seems to satisfy his partner, who moans in response to Roberto’s
automatic caresses, the protagonist is overcome by an acute sense of
insufficiency. In fact, he has wanted more his entire life, and only
now the idea of what he envisages as “la máxima creación, la obra
maestra” (2000: 32) slowly materializes in his mind.
Bataille
has stated that ‘at the basis of human life there exists a
principle of insufficiency (1985: 172). Haunted by
the reality of death, we seek to provide ourselves with a security that
would somehow cheat the inevitable end. For Bataille, this desired
refuge can occur in erotic communication between two individuals,
where, albeit only momentarily, I and otherness merge into one. The
motivation for such a longing is that, in the process, it will offer a
glimpse into an ephemeral, cosmic continuum. Likewise, Roberto seeks
tirelessly to surpass his own limited condition in order to return to
the comfort of undifferentiation and universal communion. Yet he is
doomed to be unsatisfied, for desire is by definition insatiable: “El
placer se agota porque es uno mismo: por eso es necesario acumularlo,
atesorarlo como riqueza debajo del colchón de la memoria. Si
no, es semejante al dolor, propio o ajeno: hay un momento en que se
desvanece”
(2000: 31).
When the
protagonist exhausts the pleasures of life, he begins to suspect that
the supreme transgression—the supreme orgasm—may indeed come from
living the pleasure of death, the ultimate boundary bracketing human
experience: “[Roberto] ha comprendido que la tentación de la muerte es
irresistible
As Roberto
approaches his climax while the entranced woman begs for more brutal
caresses, he reaches for a knife buried in the sheets and frantically
stabs her without withdrawing his organ. Unconcerned about the
consequences of his action— the woman’s death, his own long-term
incarceration or other inevitable repercussions— Roberto finally feels
accomplished in his search for the ultimate, knowing that he could
never top what he has just experienced: “Y Roberto ya no piensa ni
imagina nada cuando las contracciones internas de la muerte son dos
fauces que atrapan su miembro hasta exprimirlo por completo, antes de
desplomarse sobre un cuerpo húmedo y pegajoso, temblando en la
satisfacción de haber experimentado la última frontera del placer”
(37). His controversial quest for the supreme orgasm finally dissolves
in the erotic experience of murder, in what he has envisaged as the
intimate communion between slayer and slain. Envisioning himself as an
artist—a man who by definition makes and unmakes things—and not the
cold-blooded killer that he is, Roberto, as Black would say,
domesticates ‘the most aberrant, sociopathic behavior—of converting a
moral transgression into an amoral, aesthetic digression’ (111).
There is no
doubt that the most fundamentally tragic feature of life is its
finiteness; to live is to march steadily towards death. While most
individuals retreat within their daily routine to eschew the anguish of
the inexorable end, Parra’s protagonists choose to confront this truth
through unconventional and pathological means, probing the very core of
who they are and what they have become in the process of their
tumultuous search. Rejecting any moral standard that could prevent them
from crossing over into the abyss, they push beyond the systems that
reassure and insulate others, deciding instead to face the consequence
of their rebellion against the existential yoke. But in this brief
moment of insurgence, they live fully their evilness, confronting life
in an open way and accepting responsibility for their role in the
journey. In the end, Parra’s most unsettling provocation lies, I think,
not in his insistence on exploring the darkest human side but in
demonstrating that there is something intriguingly alluring in
transgressing and accepting one’s own evil. In the end, even if the
results of their actions are disastrous, his protagonists make the
choice to live their rebellion against all prescribed moral values
rather than to accept the burden of living that was placed upon them.
(2). See Diana Palaversich’s ‘Espacios y
contra-espacios en la narrativa de Eduardo Antonio Parra,’ Miguel G.
Rodríguez Lozano’s ‘Sin límites ficcionales: Nostalgia de
la sombra de Eduardo Antonio Parra,’ and Pablo Brescia’s ‘Los
límites
(3).
See Bataille’s Eroticism and Parra’s short stories,
especially ‘El Cristo de San Buenaventura’ from the collection Tierra de nadie ([México: Ediciones Era, 1999] 109-141),
which amply explores the theme of infinite cruelty.
Bataille,
George, 1985. Visions of Excess. Selected Writings,
1927-1939, ed. Allan Stoekl, transl. Carl R. Lovitt and Donald M.
Leslie, Jr. (
---,
1986. Erotism: Death and Sensuality. Trans. Mary
Dalwood (
---,
1994.The Absence of Myth. Writing on Surrealism. Intr.,
ed. and trans. Michael Richardson (
Black,
Joel, 1991. The Aesthetics of Murder: A Study in Romantic
Literature and Contemporary Culture (
Brescia,
Pablo, 2002. ‘Los límites de narrar: primeras propuestas cuentísticas
de David Toscana y
Eduardo Antonio Parra,’ Cuento bueno, hijo ajeno: La
ficción en México, ed. Alfredo
Pavón, 151-173 (Tlaxcala: Universidad Autónoma de Tlaxcala).
Bronfen,
Camus,
Albert, 1956. The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt.
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Castañeda,
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(accessed July 4, 2005)
Lozano, Miguel Rodríguez G,
2003. ‘Sin límites ficcionales: Nostalgia de la sombra
de Antonio
Eduardo Parra’, Revista de Literatura Mexicana
Contemporánea, 9, no. 21: 67-72.
Palaversich,
Diana,2002. ‘Espacios y contra-espacios en
la narrativa de Eduardo Antonio Parra’,
Texto crítico, 6, no. 11: 53-74.
Parra,
Eduardo Antonio,2000. El placer de morir,’ Los límites de la noche, 22-38 (México:
Joaquín Mortiz).
---,2002. Nostalgia
de la sombra (México: Joaquín Mortiz).
Paz, Octavio. EL
laberinto de la soledad. México: Colección Popular,
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Richardson,
Michael, 1994. ‘Introduction’, The Absence of Myth.
Writing on Surrealism, ed.and trans. Michael Richardson, 1-28 (