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Mandíbula
Una adolescente fanática del horror y de las "creepypastas" (historias de terror que circulan por internet) despierta maniatada en una cabaña en medio del bosque. Su secuestradora no es una desconocida, sino su maestra de Lengua y Literatura, una mujer joven a quien ella y sus amigas han atormentado durante meses en un colegio de élite del Opus Dei. Pero pronto los motivos de ese secuestro se revelarán mucho más oscuros que el "bullying" a una maestra: un perturbador amor juvenil, una traición inesperada y algunos ritos secretos e iniciáticos inspirados en esas historias virales y terroríficas gestadas en Internet.
"Mandíbula" es una novela sobre el miedo y su relación con la familia, la sexualidad y la violencia. Narrada con una prosa llena de destellos líricos, símbolos desconcertantes y saltos en el tiempo, toma rasgos del "thriller" psicológico para desarrollar el juego mental que se produce entre alumnas y maestras, y escarbar en las relaciones pasionales entre madres e hijas, hermanas y "mejores amigas", recreando un mundo de lo femenino-monstruoso que se conecta con la tradición del cine de terror y la literatura de género.
"Mandíbula" es una novela sobre el miedo y su relación con la familia, la sexualidad y la violencia. Narrada con una prosa llena de destellos líricos, símbolos desconcertantes y saltos en el tiempo, toma rasgos del "thriller" psicológico para desarrollar el juego mental que se produce entre alumnas y maestras, y escarbar en las relaciones pasionales entre madres e hijas, hermanas y "mejores amigas", recreando un mundo de lo femenino-monstruoso que se conecta con la tradición del cine de terror y la literatura de género.
288 pages, Paperback
First published March 12, 2018
About the author
Mónica Ojeda
21books748followersMónica Ojeda was born in Guayaquil, Ecuador, in 1988. She has published novels, short stories, and poems, earning her nominations and accolades in various literary contests. In 2017, she was listed in Bogotá39 by the Hay Festival as one of the best Latin American fiction writers under forty. In 2019, she received the Prince Claus Next Generation Award in the Netherlands. In 2021, Granta magazine named her one of the best Spanish-language authors under 35.
Ojeda stands out as one of the leading figures in contemporary Latin American fiction literature. The author is renowned for her skill in crafting intense and unsettling narratives that delve into the darker aspects of human psychology. Her stories often explore themes such as abuse, obsession, emotional decay, while intricately portraying femininity within complex and challenging contexts.
----
Mónica Ojeda (Guayaquil, Ecuador, 1988). Máster en Creación Literaria y en Teoría y Crítica de la Cultura, dio clases de Literatura en la Universidad Católica de Santiago de Guayaquil. Actualmente vive en Madrid.
Ha publicado las novelasMandíbula(Candaya, 2018),Nefando(Candaya, 2016) que tuvo una espectacular recepción crítica yLa desfiguración Silva(Premio Alba Narrativa 2014). En 2017 publicó el relatoCaninosy otro de sus cuentos fue antologado enEmergencias. Doce cuentos iberoamericanos(Candaya, 2013). ConEl ciclo de las piedras,su primer libro de poemas, obtuvo el Premio Nacional de Poesía Desembarco 2015.
Forma parte de la prestigiosa lista de Bogotá 39-2017, que recoge a los 39 escritores latinoamericanos menores de 40 años con más talento y proyección de la década.
Ojeda stands out as one of the leading figures in contemporary Latin American fiction literature. The author is renowned for her skill in crafting intense and unsettling narratives that delve into the darker aspects of human psychology. Her stories often explore themes such as abuse, obsession, emotional decay, while intricately portraying femininity within complex and challenging contexts.
----
Mónica Ojeda (Guayaquil, Ecuador, 1988). Máster en Creación Literaria y en Teoría y Crítica de la Cultura, dio clases de Literatura en la Universidad Católica de Santiago de Guayaquil. Actualmente vive en Madrid.
Ha publicado las novelasMandíbula(Candaya, 2018),Nefando(Candaya, 2016) que tuvo una espectacular recepción crítica yLa desfiguración Silva(Premio Alba Narrativa 2014). En 2017 publicó el relatoCaninosy otro de sus cuentos fue antologado enEmergencias. Doce cuentos iberoamericanos(Candaya, 2013). ConEl ciclo de las piedras,su primer libro de poemas, obtuvo el Premio Nacional de Poesía Desembarco 2015.
Forma parte de la prestigiosa lista de Bogotá 39-2017, que recoge a los 39 escritores latinoamericanos menores de 40 años con más talento y proyección de la década.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,870 reviews
October 25, 2021
As some of you may know I like to embrace weird fiction but sometimes a book is even too weird for me to properly appreciate. I won't spend a long time on this review because I have no idea what it is I just read or what the author was trying to convey. All I really took notice of was all the *ick* between these pages. Let me give you a couple of examples: a six year old girl that furiously masturbates. 🤢 A woman that slips her mother the tongue while she lay on her death bed. 👀 Not to mention the writing is incredibly pretentious. I was hoping the ending would have brought some clarity but nope! I am still just as confused as I was during this entire book. I can't, in good conscience, recommend this book to anyone. 1 star!
Thank you (I think) to Edelweiss and Coffee House Books for my complimentary copy.
Thank you (I think) to Edelweiss and Coffee House Books for my complimentary copy.
January 1, 2023
Estoy por ponerle 5 estrellas sólo por el ensayo tan BRILLANTE acerca del miedo, que es, en mi muy particular punto de vista, el clímax del libro.
Pero me calmé jeje y quedó en 4 por varios detalles.
Es una novela perturbadora e inquietante desde el inicio, explora las raíces del miedo, las relaciones entre mujeres: madres e hijas, amigas y como pueden pasar de la ternura a la violencia, incluso a la perversión.
Le quité media estrella porque tardé un poco en sumergirme en su prosa. Pero vamos, es un libro que no puedes soltar, aunque varias veces te preguntes ¿qué demonios estoy leyendo?
Sin embargo, te atrapa, asfixiante y yo creo que no voy a olvidar esta novela en un buen rato.
No es para todo mundo, y no es fácil de leer por su narrativa, por la trama, pero si te atreves a leerlo, que sepas que te va perturbar pero no podrás abandonarlo.
Pero me calmé jeje y quedó en 4 por varios detalles.
Es una novela perturbadora e inquietante desde el inicio, explora las raíces del miedo, las relaciones entre mujeres: madres e hijas, amigas y como pueden pasar de la ternura a la violencia, incluso a la perversión.
Le quité media estrella porque tardé un poco en sumergirme en su prosa. Pero vamos, es un libro que no puedes soltar, aunque varias veces te preguntes ¿qué demonios estoy leyendo?
Sin embargo, te atrapa, asfixiante y yo creo que no voy a olvidar esta novela en un buen rato.
No es para todo mundo, y no es fácil de leer por su narrativa, por la trama, pero si te atreves a leerlo, que sepas que te va perturbar pero no podrás abandonarlo.
April 25, 2020
La verdad ultimamente me encuentro leyendo mucho relato medio siniestro, más que de terror.
Y la verdad no es que el género me atraiga mucho, pero veo que muchas escritoras latinas últimamente se inclinan por lo oscuro.
Y ese universo también tiene algo interesante, más que nada por el giro que da a las historias que andan dando vueltas por ahí. Porque no se trata de terror como tal, no es solo ese género, como en el caso de Mariana Enriquez, quien para mí es la reina de las chicas siniestras.
Este libro se mueve en ese mundo. un que es solo femenino, un mundo de madres e hijas, de maestras y alumnas, de amigas que se eligen hermanas. Y el mundo en el que se mueven, ya no es un mundo en donde buscan el amor, etc etc. De hecho, algo que me parece interesante de todo este libro es la poca presencia que hay de hombres.
Aparecen unos chicos guapos, mayores que las protagonistas, y solo aparecen para presenciar un poco de el terror que a ellas les atrae, y lo hacen con miedo, y horror.
Eso me parece de alguna manera divertido, porque es una historia que se mueve de los mundos típicos, heteronormados, en donde el guapo es al que todas las adolescentes quieren. Acá les atrae más un "dios blanco" inventado por una de ellas, o les atrae descubrir cosas que les den miedo, porque el miedo es un elemento importante acá, pero no porque te de a ti, por lo cual no me parece un libro de terror típico, sino porque ellas son atraídas por tener miedo.
Y el mundo madre-hija es tremendo, oscuro también, una madre que le tiene miedo a su hija, una hija que intenta matar a su madre, en fin, la verdad es que es oscuro, pero me parece interesante que esto sea un tema actual en las novelas latinas.
Y algo buenísimo que le veo es que es la primera vez que leo a una autora Ecuatoriana, bueno, la primera vez que leo autora o autor ecuatoriana.
Otra cosa que me gusta y que rescato, pero esto es por fines prácticos, es que tengo una hija a quien le gustan los personajes de terror de internet, que le gustan los creepypastas, y todas esas nuevas leyendas de miedo que los niños actuales tienen hoy para asustarse, y que bueno, me pude hacer la conocedora con ella, y quedé como mamá cool.
No se si es un libro que le va a gustar a la gente que le gusta el terror como género, de hecho, me pareció ver a mucha gente casi ofendida con el libro, pero claro, no es de terror, para mi, que no leo mucho terror la verdad, sino que revela un mundo femenino oscuro, y bueno, es otra forma supongo. Porque no maneja la tensión del estilo la-va-a-matar, sino que lo que ocurre dentro de las cabezas de las personaras es lo realmente terrible. Le pongo solo tres estrellas, porque no se si es un libro que amé realmente, más bien me pareció interesante, y no se si es una buena referencia o no. Por ahora me cansé un poco de las mentes retorcidas que se mueven en esta historia, pero si creo que la autora tiene un mundo bien vivo ahí en su cabeza, sus personajes sí son creíbles, y eso siempre es buena señal.
Mención especial merece la escena de las mamás, medio aquelarre, medio orgía, medio borrachera, que está muy buena. Todo ese mundo femenino inexplorado creo que tiene mucho para dar.
Y la verdad no es que el género me atraiga mucho, pero veo que muchas escritoras latinas últimamente se inclinan por lo oscuro.
Y ese universo también tiene algo interesante, más que nada por el giro que da a las historias que andan dando vueltas por ahí. Porque no se trata de terror como tal, no es solo ese género, como en el caso de Mariana Enriquez, quien para mí es la reina de las chicas siniestras.
Este libro se mueve en ese mundo. un que es solo femenino, un mundo de madres e hijas, de maestras y alumnas, de amigas que se eligen hermanas. Y el mundo en el que se mueven, ya no es un mundo en donde buscan el amor, etc etc. De hecho, algo que me parece interesante de todo este libro es la poca presencia que hay de hombres.
Aparecen unos chicos guapos, mayores que las protagonistas, y solo aparecen para presenciar un poco de el terror que a ellas les atrae, y lo hacen con miedo, y horror.
Eso me parece de alguna manera divertido, porque es una historia que se mueve de los mundos típicos, heteronormados, en donde el guapo es al que todas las adolescentes quieren. Acá les atrae más un "dios blanco" inventado por una de ellas, o les atrae descubrir cosas que les den miedo, porque el miedo es un elemento importante acá, pero no porque te de a ti, por lo cual no me parece un libro de terror típico, sino porque ellas son atraídas por tener miedo.
Y el mundo madre-hija es tremendo, oscuro también, una madre que le tiene miedo a su hija, una hija que intenta matar a su madre, en fin, la verdad es que es oscuro, pero me parece interesante que esto sea un tema actual en las novelas latinas.
Y algo buenísimo que le veo es que es la primera vez que leo a una autora Ecuatoriana, bueno, la primera vez que leo autora o autor ecuatoriana.
Otra cosa que me gusta y que rescato, pero esto es por fines prácticos, es que tengo una hija a quien le gustan los personajes de terror de internet, que le gustan los creepypastas, y todas esas nuevas leyendas de miedo que los niños actuales tienen hoy para asustarse, y que bueno, me pude hacer la conocedora con ella, y quedé como mamá cool.
No se si es un libro que le va a gustar a la gente que le gusta el terror como género, de hecho, me pareció ver a mucha gente casi ofendida con el libro, pero claro, no es de terror, para mi, que no leo mucho terror la verdad, sino que revela un mundo femenino oscuro, y bueno, es otra forma supongo. Porque no maneja la tensión del estilo la-va-a-matar, sino que lo que ocurre dentro de las cabezas de las personaras es lo realmente terrible. Le pongo solo tres estrellas, porque no se si es un libro que amé realmente, más bien me pareció interesante, y no se si es una buena referencia o no. Por ahora me cansé un poco de las mentes retorcidas que se mueven en esta historia, pero si creo que la autora tiene un mundo bien vivo ahí en su cabeza, sus personajes sí son creíbles, y eso siempre es buena señal.
Mención especial merece la escena de las mamás, medio aquelarre, medio orgía, medio borrachera, que está muy buena. Todo ese mundo femenino inexplorado creo que tiene mucho para dar.
January 9, 2022
“L’adolescenza ha un che di pericolosamente indefinito, un vuoto, un potenziale che può esplodere in qualunque direzione e che la rende molto diversa, addirittura opposta, a tutte le altre età”.
Il genere è quello de leragazzesonolepeggiori, l’adolescenza un’età crudele e spaventosa e chi la vive è famelico, pronto a divorare se stesso e gli altri, vittima di una bramosia indefinita di trasformarsi, di diventare. Diventare cosa? Le potenzialità sono immense e forse per questo motivo spaventose. La linea d’ombra dell’adolescenza è età liminale tra innocenza e corruzione (per una declinazione dello stesso concetto vedi Igiene dell’assassino di Amelie Nothomb).
Proprio il bianco è il colore che predomina la narrazione, il colore che contiene tutte le possibilità, è al contempo assenza e presenza di tutti i colori, di tutti gli scenari, tela bianca che preannuncia la sua corruzione e la sua macchia. La leader del gruppo di adolescenti problematiche è ossessionata dall’idea di un Dio bianco, abbagliante e onnipotente, una cantastorie moderna che scrive le sue su creepypasta e si nutre di racconti sull’orrore bianco, ciò che è sconosciuto e non si può comprendere. Lo stesso bianco che attraversa la letteratura del perturbante di Shelley, Melville, Lovecraft.
La struttura del romanzo è estremamente porosa, quasi molle nel suo ondeggiare delirante tra passato e presente, incapace di tenere la tensione fino in fondo. Le ragazzine sono terrificanti però dovremmo anche riuscire a rimanere svegli fino in fondo per capire fino a che punto lo siano, invece naufraghiamo in un oceano troppo vasto di frasi ad effetto. Nel bel mezzo del libro c’è un tema di italiano cattedratico a metà strada tra saggio letterario sul perturbante e spiegone che ci rivela le vere intenzioni della protagonista/antagonista (altrimenti a livello narrativo, intellegibile). Francamente non mi aspetto di leggere in un romanzo provocatorio sull’autolesionismo e la scoperta della propria sessualità, un distacco così totale dalla materia trattata, si rompe il patto con il lettore.
Fortunatamente, quando le protagoniste non scrivono, il linguaggio è particolarmente audace, misto tra slang giovanile, poetica del grottesco, lessico viscerale. Purtroppo il risultato finale è un’accozzaglia di buone intuizioni che non restituiscono un manufatto valido. La scrittura è promettente ma mal direzionata, un tono di voce ruvido ma che è sommerso da troppi cori che si rincorrono tra le pagine (infatti ci sono continui shift di narratori, specialmente nelle scene corali che diventano, a tratti, incomprensibili talmente rumoroso è il vociare).
Fin troppe suggestioni infarciscono un panino troppo spesso per essere gustato, persino da chi possiede mandibole molto forti.
Il genere è quello de leragazzesonolepeggiori, l’adolescenza un’età crudele e spaventosa e chi la vive è famelico, pronto a divorare se stesso e gli altri, vittima di una bramosia indefinita di trasformarsi, di diventare. Diventare cosa? Le potenzialità sono immense e forse per questo motivo spaventose. La linea d’ombra dell’adolescenza è età liminale tra innocenza e corruzione (per una declinazione dello stesso concetto vedi Igiene dell’assassino di Amelie Nothomb).
Proprio il bianco è il colore che predomina la narrazione, il colore che contiene tutte le possibilità, è al contempo assenza e presenza di tutti i colori, di tutti gli scenari, tela bianca che preannuncia la sua corruzione e la sua macchia. La leader del gruppo di adolescenti problematiche è ossessionata dall’idea di un Dio bianco, abbagliante e onnipotente, una cantastorie moderna che scrive le sue su creepypasta e si nutre di racconti sull’orrore bianco, ciò che è sconosciuto e non si può comprendere. Lo stesso bianco che attraversa la letteratura del perturbante di Shelley, Melville, Lovecraft.
La struttura del romanzo è estremamente porosa, quasi molle nel suo ondeggiare delirante tra passato e presente, incapace di tenere la tensione fino in fondo. Le ragazzine sono terrificanti però dovremmo anche riuscire a rimanere svegli fino in fondo per capire fino a che punto lo siano, invece naufraghiamo in un oceano troppo vasto di frasi ad effetto. Nel bel mezzo del libro c’è un tema di italiano cattedratico a metà strada tra saggio letterario sul perturbante e spiegone che ci rivela le vere intenzioni della protagonista/antagonista (altrimenti a livello narrativo, intellegibile). Francamente non mi aspetto di leggere in un romanzo provocatorio sull’autolesionismo e la scoperta della propria sessualità, un distacco così totale dalla materia trattata, si rompe il patto con il lettore.
Fortunatamente, quando le protagoniste non scrivono, il linguaggio è particolarmente audace, misto tra slang giovanile, poetica del grottesco, lessico viscerale. Purtroppo il risultato finale è un’accozzaglia di buone intuizioni che non restituiscono un manufatto valido. La scrittura è promettente ma mal direzionata, un tono di voce ruvido ma che è sommerso da troppi cori che si rincorrono tra le pagine (infatti ci sono continui shift di narratori, specialmente nelle scene corali che diventano, a tratti, incomprensibili talmente rumoroso è il vociare).
Fin troppe suggestioni infarciscono un panino troppo spesso per essere gustato, persino da chi possiede mandibole molto forti.
May 21, 2024
Real Rating: 4.75* of five, rounded up because risk-taking like this earns the benefit of the doubt
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
My Review:White. Menacing, toothy, bony white. You'll need to recalibrate your horror-meter away from the endless dark.
I think many people are a little skittish about reading books that have truly, deeply dysfunctional women and girls as the predators as well as prey in a "human is wolf to human" tale. It seems to skeeve the Sanctity of Motherhood crowd the most, which is predictable and unsurprising. What it isn't is realistic. The three characters in this English-language debut horror/psychological thriller-adjacent story are actors in psychodramas they both inherited and participated in perpetuating...they are not, not one of them, victims.
I'd give Author Ojeda a gold medal for that, if I had one. I am mortally sick of sending women and girls the unending message that if uterus, then victim is a) immutable fact 2) a good dodge to avoid personal responsibility and accountability and iii) a necessary precondition to discovering one's agency. Anna/Annelise is, plain and simple, a stunningly effective manipulator. She is absolutely in control of her fate. She orchestrates everything around her to suit a narrative she builds, changes, improves to get more of the oxygen she craves: Attention. Fernanda, oh the poor thing I can hear readers thinking, is totally tuned in to her needs: she seeks extremes, she wants to defy and thus define her limits. And when we meet her, she is at last smashed against the hard limit of being immobilized. Fernanda, deeply and darkly aware of her young body's power to seduce, reward, pleasure her victims in motion and action, is never more completely the center of her captor's world than when she is rendered incapable of movement.
But Miss Clara, the nominal adult whose tenuous leash on her id has snapped, the possessor of power over her students as their guardian and cicerone, is utterly unable to exercise even a shadow of that power because she is so cracked and broken by her past. Her charges, like those things that prosecutors level at malefactors, like those vessels of energy that impart their essential power to a needy receptacle for it, are charged with the true nature of the quest in this polyphonic Passion Play: Boundaries.
Miss Clara has immobilized Fernanda to remove her from the harm she causes and is caused by Anna. In so doing, she creates the most brazen crucible for Horror among the "innocent" I've read in a solid decade or more. I've read that other reviewers, as well as some critics, conjure the shade of H.P. Lovecraft in describing the affect of this story. There is an element of the eldritch horror miasma inherent in any book entitled Jawbone wherein that word is used without distancing irony. But I myownself think this is horror of the Our Lady of the Flowers ilk, of the Juliette, or Vice Amply Rewarded strain. The events herein aren't of the explicit-conduct variety. They are sexual, these women, and they are absolutely sure that sexual is what they mean their acts to be, thus Genet; they are psychologically subtle, they are seeking and thirsting for subtler refreshment than just vaginal wetness, thus de Sade.
It is anxiety-crippled Miss Clara's terrible, terrible luck to meet privileged perverted Annelise. The young mistress of domination's most brilliantly subtle expression, the psychic force of the story on the unbalanced, determines to make of her youth a supreme weapon, the myth of purity. The White God she invents and that god's immediate claim on the unwavering attention of all with whom Annelise shares the words, is so carefully inflected that Miss Clara does not see but feels with blinding intensity the repeated reiterated regurgitated violations that broke her to begin with, that made with White no purity but putridity. No nobility and cleanliness and finality of bone. There is only the powder of mold as it rots flesh in wetness. There is the liminal space of menstrual cloth not yet used as a blood-dam. Annelise conjures the cruel capable whiteness of teeth, hardest objects in a body, necessary to rip and mangle the very stuff Humanity must have or simply lose all power and cease. Die. Though perhaps not entirely, if there is will and enough lust to use it.
As an act of Literature, translation is alchemical. Take this gleaming, golden thing, this extant object of crafted and intended meaning, and use the solvents and reagents of a different meaning-regime to produce gold. Again. In Jawbone, Translator Booker explains her kerotakis and its subtle distillates in a note before one reads the novel. I understand that impulse to assist the mainly monoglot US audience. It feels to me, at least, more like a way to emulate Annelise: I will take all the pain, hurt me and make me bleed, that I may give your dark input of uninterest or unwillingness to work for this experience of distillation into a finer, lighter, more potent Enlightenment its ashes and sands, its heats from sources not like the results. Not for this translator the mere bain-marie. Its coddling of like fluids to make of one the best and most palatable form it can take is too bland for this alchemy of hers. No custard of double-boiled entertainment comes from here. It is the hottest ash, the slowest heat exchange of crater-hot sand that takes the already intoxicating vodka into Everclear, into its superlative...but brutally unforgiving of misuse...form.
It is a high-wire act, as I would guess translating Joyce's Ulysses into hieroglyphics would be. Surviving tweaks to reality like multi-hyphenated English terms, which would make a Spanish-speaking ear and eye agog with Otherness, aren't readily apparently Othered. I fully understand and support the editorial decision not to use italics to indicate foreignness. For Spanish. But permaybehaps some of these oddities could be italicized for the Othering of English as it would be in an Ecuadorian ear? As it is, they just stub my reader's toe on their odd height and unyielding hardness.
It can feel, in the course of the read, humid to be in the abandoned spaces and the wildlands. I mean this in a visceral way. The reading of the games that Fernanda enacts, at huge, huge existential risk to Annelise, calls forth actual sweat from my reader's brow. In the stories, the words spun to whip the parties to Dionysian ecstasy and Pan-ic from the god itself work. That is not always to the benefit of Author Ojeda's actual novel. Overall, minding my place as bystander and accomplice but not perpetrator, I can't give the entire reading experience a perfect score because of those very few points where The Story showed herself from behind the obscuring mask.
Make no mistake, though, this is Literature and big, big fun entertainment caught in the slick, wet act of making passion real. Read it without your lady-gloves on. Read it with your speed turned lower than usual but used longer. Read it while you're avoiding something Social, some obligation that couldn't be said no to.
But read it now.
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
My Review:White. Menacing, toothy, bony white. You'll need to recalibrate your horror-meter away from the endless dark.
I think many people are a little skittish about reading books that have truly, deeply dysfunctional women and girls as the predators as well as prey in a "human is wolf to human" tale. It seems to skeeve the Sanctity of Motherhood crowd the most, which is predictable and unsurprising. What it isn't is realistic. The three characters in this English-language debut horror/psychological thriller-adjacent story are actors in psychodramas they both inherited and participated in perpetuating...they are not, not one of them, victims.
I'd give Author Ojeda a gold medal for that, if I had one. I am mortally sick of sending women and girls the unending message that if uterus, then victim is a) immutable fact 2) a good dodge to avoid personal responsibility and accountability and iii) a necessary precondition to discovering one's agency. Anna/Annelise is, plain and simple, a stunningly effective manipulator. She is absolutely in control of her fate. She orchestrates everything around her to suit a narrative she builds, changes, improves to get more of the oxygen she craves: Attention. Fernanda, oh the poor thing I can hear readers thinking, is totally tuned in to her needs: she seeks extremes, she wants to defy and thus define her limits. And when we meet her, she is at last smashed against the hard limit of being immobilized. Fernanda, deeply and darkly aware of her young body's power to seduce, reward, pleasure her victims in motion and action, is never more completely the center of her captor's world than when she is rendered incapable of movement.
But Miss Clara, the nominal adult whose tenuous leash on her id has snapped, the possessor of power over her students as their guardian and cicerone, is utterly unable to exercise even a shadow of that power because she is so cracked and broken by her past. Her charges, like those things that prosecutors level at malefactors, like those vessels of energy that impart their essential power to a needy receptacle for it, are charged with the true nature of the quest in this polyphonic Passion Play: Boundaries.
Miss Clara has immobilized Fernanda to remove her from the harm she causes and is caused by Anna. In so doing, she creates the most brazen crucible for Horror among the "innocent" I've read in a solid decade or more. I've read that other reviewers, as well as some critics, conjure the shade of H.P. Lovecraft in describing the affect of this story. There is an element of the eldritch horror miasma inherent in any book entitled Jawbone wherein that word is used without distancing irony. But I myownself think this is horror of the Our Lady of the Flowers ilk, of the Juliette, or Vice Amply Rewarded strain. The events herein aren't of the explicit-conduct variety. They are sexual, these women, and they are absolutely sure that sexual is what they mean their acts to be, thus Genet; they are psychologically subtle, they are seeking and thirsting for subtler refreshment than just vaginal wetness, thus de Sade.
It is anxiety-crippled Miss Clara's terrible, terrible luck to meet privileged perverted Annelise. The young mistress of domination's most brilliantly subtle expression, the psychic force of the story on the unbalanced, determines to make of her youth a supreme weapon, the myth of purity. The White God she invents and that god's immediate claim on the unwavering attention of all with whom Annelise shares the words, is so carefully inflected that Miss Clara does not see but feels with blinding intensity the repeated reiterated regurgitated violations that broke her to begin with, that made with White no purity but putridity. No nobility and cleanliness and finality of bone. There is only the powder of mold as it rots flesh in wetness. There is the liminal space of menstrual cloth not yet used as a blood-dam. Annelise conjures the cruel capable whiteness of teeth, hardest objects in a body, necessary to rip and mangle the very stuff Humanity must have or simply lose all power and cease. Die. Though perhaps not entirely, if there is will and enough lust to use it.
As an act of Literature, translation is alchemical. Take this gleaming, golden thing, this extant object of crafted and intended meaning, and use the solvents and reagents of a different meaning-regime to produce gold. Again. In Jawbone, Translator Booker explains her kerotakis and its subtle distillates in a note before one reads the novel. I understand that impulse to assist the mainly monoglot US audience. It feels to me, at least, more like a way to emulate Annelise: I will take all the pain, hurt me and make me bleed, that I may give your dark input of uninterest or unwillingness to work for this experience of distillation into a finer, lighter, more potent Enlightenment its ashes and sands, its heats from sources not like the results. Not for this translator the mere bain-marie. Its coddling of like fluids to make of one the best and most palatable form it can take is too bland for this alchemy of hers. No custard of double-boiled entertainment comes from here. It is the hottest ash, the slowest heat exchange of crater-hot sand that takes the already intoxicating vodka into Everclear, into its superlative...but brutally unforgiving of misuse...form.
It is a high-wire act, as I would guess translating Joyce's Ulysses into hieroglyphics would be. Surviving tweaks to reality like multi-hyphenated English terms, which would make a Spanish-speaking ear and eye agog with Otherness, aren't readily apparently Othered. I fully understand and support the editorial decision not to use italics to indicate foreignness. For Spanish. But permaybehaps some of these oddities could be italicized for the Othering of English as it would be in an Ecuadorian ear? As it is, they just stub my reader's toe on their odd height and unyielding hardness.
It can feel, in the course of the read, humid to be in the abandoned spaces and the wildlands. I mean this in a visceral way. The reading of the games that Fernanda enacts, at huge, huge existential risk to Annelise, calls forth actual sweat from my reader's brow. In the stories, the words spun to whip the parties to Dionysian ecstasy and Pan-ic from the god itself work. That is not always to the benefit of Author Ojeda's actual novel. Overall, minding my place as bystander and accomplice but not perpetrator, I can't give the entire reading experience a perfect score because of those very few points where The Story showed herself from behind the obscuring mask.
Make no mistake, though, this is Literature and big, big fun entertainment caught in the slick, wet act of making passion real. Read it without your lady-gloves on. Read it with your speed turned lower than usual but used longer. Read it while you're avoiding something Social, some obligation that couldn't be said no to.
But read it now.
March 10, 2022
Let me start by saying there's a good chance many will not feel this book is for them for the same reasons I assumed it wouldn't be for me. It's slow-simmering, psychological horror with a writing style that many might label as "pretentious". But that's okay. To each their own. If you are that person, skip this book.
But if you are a reader who loves their horror novels to unnerve them while simultaneously having the senses bombarded with symbolic imagery and writing that is both beautiful and vicious: this might be for you.
JAWBONE follows a clique of wealthy, bored, teenage girls who spend a lot of their free time after school hanging out in an abandoned building, telling each other scary stories and testing the group's durability with dangerous dares—jumping from high places, punching each other in the stomach, strangling one another until unconscious--ya know, normal teen girl stuff. The leader of this clique is Annelise and she is a fearsome creature to behold. A lover of cosmic horror and “creepypastas”, Annelise invents what she calls the White God— "white" representing an unsoiled canvas, the possibility of corruption, a fathomless fear— and she gets her friends to “play along” in her strange rituals of worship (again…just your everyday teen girl stuff). There is also another story happening with Annelise’s best friend Fernanda, who has been kidnapped and being held captive by their literature teacher, Miss Clara.
I loved this book, and was surprised when I realized this fact because horror with this sort of writing style--lyrical with very little dialogue--is rarely my cup of tea. I tend to space out or get lost. Shockingly that wasn’t the case with JAWBONE. I was unsettled the entire time, questioning the sanity and reliability of each character’s perspective, and found myself wondering if Annelise’s imagination could have power not only over her friends, but the readers as well. I was fully intrigued by this anti-heroine who is manipulative and intelligent and terrifying. Author Monica Ojeda weaves a very raw, dark tapestry of themes: female sexuality, girlhood, mother/daughter relationships, religion, purity, and adolescence. Seeing as this book was translated from Spanish to English, I truly hope Ojeda’s other works of horror make it to the States so I can read more. She has gained a new fan!
But if you are a reader who loves their horror novels to unnerve them while simultaneously having the senses bombarded with symbolic imagery and writing that is both beautiful and vicious: this might be for you.
JAWBONE follows a clique of wealthy, bored, teenage girls who spend a lot of their free time after school hanging out in an abandoned building, telling each other scary stories and testing the group's durability with dangerous dares—jumping from high places, punching each other in the stomach, strangling one another until unconscious--ya know, normal teen girl stuff. The leader of this clique is Annelise and she is a fearsome creature to behold. A lover of cosmic horror and “creepypastas”, Annelise invents what she calls the White God— "white" representing an unsoiled canvas, the possibility of corruption, a fathomless fear— and she gets her friends to “play along” in her strange rituals of worship (again…just your everyday teen girl stuff). There is also another story happening with Annelise’s best friend Fernanda, who has been kidnapped and being held captive by their literature teacher, Miss Clara.
I loved this book, and was surprised when I realized this fact because horror with this sort of writing style--lyrical with very little dialogue--is rarely my cup of tea. I tend to space out or get lost. Shockingly that wasn’t the case with JAWBONE. I was unsettled the entire time, questioning the sanity and reliability of each character’s perspective, and found myself wondering if Annelise’s imagination could have power not only over her friends, but the readers as well. I was fully intrigued by this anti-heroine who is manipulative and intelligent and terrifying. Author Monica Ojeda weaves a very raw, dark tapestry of themes: female sexuality, girlhood, mother/daughter relationships, religion, purity, and adolescence. Seeing as this book was translated from Spanish to English, I truly hope Ojeda’s other works of horror make it to the States so I can read more. She has gained a new fan!
September 15, 2022
Reseña de la segunda lectura:
Volví a leer este libro con mi club de lectura y, en lugar de escuchar el audiolibro, ahora sí leí el libro. La verdad es que lo disfruté muchísimo más. Pude tomar notas y encontrar detalles que en el otro formato se me escaparon por completo. Si bien la prosa de Mónica no es mi estilo favorito, reconozco que es muy bella, se nota su background en poesía. Lo que más disfruté esta vez fue el ensayo de Annelise en donde describe al "horror blanco" y lo compara con el horror cósmico, es un agasajo lleno de referencias que todos los fanáticos del género van a amar.
En mi primera reseña dije que no me creí la forma en que estas chicas hablaban... esta segunda vez no sentí eso. Los personajes se sintieron mucho más reales y cercanos. Este es uno de los libros más audaces que he leído en cuanto a como retrata las relaciones madre-hija, pero también las amistades entre mujeres durante la adolescencia: su intensidad, el autodescubrimiento y sus límites.
"Las Voladoras" sigue siendo mi favorito de Mónica, pero creo que Mandíbula es imperdible.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Un libro que me provocó sentimientos encontrados. En principio, su contenido es genial; hay referencias a grandes obras clásicas del horror pero al mismo tiempo es una historia completamente original. Otra cosa que me encantó, es que ésta es la primera vez que encuentro las creepypastas utilizadas de una forma efectiva para perturbar. La exploración de las relaciones madre-hija, su complejidad y el llevarlas a un extremo grotesco y siniestro es sin duda un tema que incomoda, causa escozor y miedo. Lo mismo sentí con cómo la autora aborda la adolescencia femenina y la amistad entre chicas.
Mi problema con el libro es que no me gustó la forma. Aunque conforme fueron pasando los capítulos me fui acostumbrando a la prosa de Ojeda, hubo algo que simplemente no me acabó de hacer clic. En cierto punto recordé la serie Dawson's Creek en la que adolescentes de 15 años tenían unos diálogos inverosímiles para gente de su edad. No digo que las adolescentes no puedan tener conversaciones profundas y hablar sobre "ejercicios funambulistas" y hacer unas reflexiones filosóficas densas, pero a ratos me costaba creerme los diálogos y los personajes.
Quizá la experiencia hubiera sido diferente si hubiera leído "Madíbula" en vez de escuchar el audiolibro. Me resultó insufrible el Spanglish y me hizo cuestionarme si así sueno yo cada vez que lo uso, jajaja. En fin, un libro que recomiendo por su originalidad, sin duda, pero cuyo estilo puede llegar a ser pesado y que en un momento me hizo llegar a cuestionarme si mejor lo abandonaba. Al final del día me da gusto no haberlo hecho y haber terminado. Quedo intrigada y con ganas de leer más de la autora para formarme una opinión más clara.
Volví a leer este libro con mi club de lectura y, en lugar de escuchar el audiolibro, ahora sí leí el libro. La verdad es que lo disfruté muchísimo más. Pude tomar notas y encontrar detalles que en el otro formato se me escaparon por completo. Si bien la prosa de Mónica no es mi estilo favorito, reconozco que es muy bella, se nota su background en poesía. Lo que más disfruté esta vez fue el ensayo de Annelise en donde describe al "horror blanco" y lo compara con el horror cósmico, es un agasajo lleno de referencias que todos los fanáticos del género van a amar.
En mi primera reseña dije que no me creí la forma en que estas chicas hablaban... esta segunda vez no sentí eso. Los personajes se sintieron mucho más reales y cercanos. Este es uno de los libros más audaces que he leído en cuanto a como retrata las relaciones madre-hija, pero también las amistades entre mujeres durante la adolescencia: su intensidad, el autodescubrimiento y sus límites.
"Las Voladoras" sigue siendo mi favorito de Mónica, pero creo que Mandíbula es imperdible.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Un libro que me provocó sentimientos encontrados. En principio, su contenido es genial; hay referencias a grandes obras clásicas del horror pero al mismo tiempo es una historia completamente original. Otra cosa que me encantó, es que ésta es la primera vez que encuentro las creepypastas utilizadas de una forma efectiva para perturbar. La exploración de las relaciones madre-hija, su complejidad y el llevarlas a un extremo grotesco y siniestro es sin duda un tema que incomoda, causa escozor y miedo. Lo mismo sentí con cómo la autora aborda la adolescencia femenina y la amistad entre chicas.
Mi problema con el libro es que no me gustó la forma. Aunque conforme fueron pasando los capítulos me fui acostumbrando a la prosa de Ojeda, hubo algo que simplemente no me acabó de hacer clic. En cierto punto recordé la serie Dawson's Creek en la que adolescentes de 15 años tenían unos diálogos inverosímiles para gente de su edad. No digo que las adolescentes no puedan tener conversaciones profundas y hablar sobre "ejercicios funambulistas" y hacer unas reflexiones filosóficas densas, pero a ratos me costaba creerme los diálogos y los personajes.
Quizá la experiencia hubiera sido diferente si hubiera leído "Madíbula" en vez de escuchar el audiolibro. Me resultó insufrible el Spanglish y me hizo cuestionarme si así sueno yo cada vez que lo uso, jajaja. En fin, un libro que recomiendo por su originalidad, sin duda, pero cuyo estilo puede llegar a ser pesado y que en un momento me hizo llegar a cuestionarme si mejor lo abandonaba. Al final del día me da gusto no haberlo hecho y haber terminado. Quedo intrigada y con ganas de leer más de la autora para formarme una opinión más clara.
January 19, 2024
Nunca voy a poder ver el blanco de la misma manera… creo que me he quedado un poco traumatizada.
No es solo que la historia que cuenta sea realmente terrorífica sino que la forma en que está narrada es súper original y hace que la novela sea tan perfecta.
No es solo que la historia que cuenta sea realmente terrorífica sino que la forma en que está narrada es súper original y hace que la novela sea tan perfecta.
December 29, 2020
Así conocí a Mónica Ojeda, un camino de ida. Actualmente estoy leyendo Las voladoras, y estoy fascinada con el estilo de la autora. Bien visceral y turbia.
November 2, 2021
Mónica Ojeda’s an Ecuadorian poet and writer who’s developed a reputation for unflinching, boundary-pushing work,Jawbone’sclearly no exception. Ojeda’s story’s focused on a group of schoolgirls attending an exclusive school run by members of Catholic sect Opus Dei. Headed by Fernanda and Anneliese, the girls spend their free time in an abandoned building owned by Fernanda’s father. This setting rapidly takes on the attributes of a sacred space, possessing a beauty that lies in its"insinuated horrors.”But time spent here, isolated from the constraints and conventions of their society, unleashes something almost primal. At first, the girls are content to playact within its walls, but the realisation that this place’s free from adults, subject to none of their imposed rules or limits encourages them to take things further. It's a stark contrast to their homes in rigidly-policed, gated communities where they’re required to be demure and quiet. The group gradually develop their own form of religion, a white god who requires sacrifice, rituals of appeasement that become ever more elaborate and brutal. And the bonds between Fernanda and Anneliese result in the most violent rites of all. But their connection will attract the attention of traumatised teacher Miss Clara, whose deeply troubled mind perceives a pressing need for Fernanda to be corrected in the most visceral sense.
Set against the backdrop of an Ecuador that Ojeda’s highlighted as unsafe for women, this is a sinister, memorable variation on the rite-of-passage narrative. Ojeda explores themes around cultural prohibitions, gender, violence, the mortification of the flesh and tortured relationships between women - girls and their friends, mothers and their daughters. It’s a ferociously intense novel, although Ojeda’s style shifts between mundane and extravagant as she moves between characters and timeframes. It’s also a highly referential piece drawing extensively on popular culture fromStranger Thingsto online creepypasta. There are hints of Cocteau’sLes Enfant Terriblesand explicit reworkings of concepts drawn from Lovecraft, Poe and Machen. It’s a perverse, unsettling, macabre story. It’s also quite uneven and, I thought, overly long. I was impressed by the first third, the inventive concepts, the insightful characterisation, the precision of Ojeda’s prose. But as this progressed it seemed Ojeda abandoned any semblance of subtlety, show became tell, and her points felt as if they were being repeatedly, hammered home. The final sections, with their shades of Stephen King’sMiserymeets elements ofCarrie,are very much in the Grand Guignol tradition. And there was something a little too obscenely, lovingly, gruesome for my taste about the final scenes between Miss Clara and Fernanda.
This edition's carefully translated by Sarah Booker.
Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher Coffee House Press for an arc
Rating: 3.5
Set against the backdrop of an Ecuador that Ojeda’s highlighted as unsafe for women, this is a sinister, memorable variation on the rite-of-passage narrative. Ojeda explores themes around cultural prohibitions, gender, violence, the mortification of the flesh and tortured relationships between women - girls and their friends, mothers and their daughters. It’s a ferociously intense novel, although Ojeda’s style shifts between mundane and extravagant as she moves between characters and timeframes. It’s also a highly referential piece drawing extensively on popular culture fromStranger Thingsto online creepypasta. There are hints of Cocteau’sLes Enfant Terriblesand explicit reworkings of concepts drawn from Lovecraft, Poe and Machen. It’s a perverse, unsettling, macabre story. It’s also quite uneven and, I thought, overly long. I was impressed by the first third, the inventive concepts, the insightful characterisation, the precision of Ojeda’s prose. But as this progressed it seemed Ojeda abandoned any semblance of subtlety, show became tell, and her points felt as if they were being repeatedly, hammered home. The final sections, with their shades of Stephen King’sMiserymeets elements ofCarrie,are very much in the Grand Guignol tradition. And there was something a little too obscenely, lovingly, gruesome for my taste about the final scenes between Miss Clara and Fernanda.
This edition's carefully translated by Sarah Booker.
Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher Coffee House Press for an arc
Rating: 3.5
February 28, 2023
National Book Award Finalist for Translated Fiction 2022
Ecuadorian experimental horror in which the monster is.... the female experience? Yes, please! Set in a private Catholic school attended by the kids of the wealthy and influential, we meet Miss Clara, a teacher who has modeled herself as a kind of doppelgaenger of her abusive mother. Clara is also traumatized because at her former school, two girls took her hostage. But the threat of uninhibited teenage mischief still looms large, as a clique of six girls around Fernanda and Annelise meets in an abandoned house where the teenagers outdo themselves with questionable dares and challenges. Then, Miss Clara abducts Fernanda...
The novel is infused with references to classic horror lit - fromEdgar Allan PoetoH.P. Lovecraft- and with urban myths as well as creepypastas, but what makes the book so unusual is that it works with the fear of female sexuality, of the female body, which is experienced by the girls and Miss Clara. The many doppelgaengers are almost a dialectic devices, while the exploration of mother-daughter as well as teacher-student relationships in all their dependency and emotional starkness are effectively portrayed. The text also dives into questions of female friendship and power dynamics between women, as Fernanda and Annelise don't only partake in power play with Miss Clara, but also with each other.
The whole thing is told in what reads like a cut-up arrangement, jumping back and forth between time frames, characters, and places: We get the perspective of Miss Clara, changing vignettes that drive the plot, the point of view of Fernanda as a hostage, way too hilarious conversations between Fernanda and her therapist, and a fantastic essay by Annelise about "white horror" (think absence of color, purity, fear of the void) and "cosmic horror" in connection with the female experience.
So all in all, this is unusual, captivating literature, even though I was a little let-down by the ending. We need more artsy horror novels that smartly discuss relevant topics - just like this one.
Ecuadorian experimental horror in which the monster is.... the female experience? Yes, please! Set in a private Catholic school attended by the kids of the wealthy and influential, we meet Miss Clara, a teacher who has modeled herself as a kind of doppelgaenger of her abusive mother. Clara is also traumatized because at her former school, two girls took her hostage. But the threat of uninhibited teenage mischief still looms large, as a clique of six girls around Fernanda and Annelise meets in an abandoned house where the teenagers outdo themselves with questionable dares and challenges. Then, Miss Clara abducts Fernanda...
The novel is infused with references to classic horror lit - fromEdgar Allan PoetoH.P. Lovecraft- and with urban myths as well as creepypastas, but what makes the book so unusual is that it works with the fear of female sexuality, of the female body, which is experienced by the girls and Miss Clara. The many doppelgaengers are almost a dialectic devices, while the exploration of mother-daughter as well as teacher-student relationships in all their dependency and emotional starkness are effectively portrayed. The text also dives into questions of female friendship and power dynamics between women, as Fernanda and Annelise don't only partake in power play with Miss Clara, but also with each other.
The whole thing is told in what reads like a cut-up arrangement, jumping back and forth between time frames, characters, and places: We get the perspective of Miss Clara, changing vignettes that drive the plot, the point of view of Fernanda as a hostage, way too hilarious conversations between Fernanda and her therapist, and a fantastic essay by Annelise about "white horror" (think absence of color, purity, fear of the void) and "cosmic horror" in connection with the female experience.
So all in all, this is unusual, captivating literature, even though I was a little let-down by the ending. We need more artsy horror novels that smartly discuss relevant topics - just like this one.
May 12, 2023
Intense is the word to describe this book. An intense, heavy psychological horror with lots of molestation, manipulation, menstruation...
There is a lot going on here; a brutally playful take on relations between women in different roles, especially between mothers and their daughters; an interesting and convoluted look at Lovecraftian horror; a depraved game, told in dense language. I personally enjoyed reading about language teacher Clara, she kept my undivided attention with her interesting inner world and her obsession with her mom. In particular the glance at Lovecraft come across as a little didactic and spoon-fed, but other than that I thought this was a pretty good read I enjoyed.
There is a lot going on here; a brutally playful take on relations between women in different roles, especially between mothers and their daughters; an interesting and convoluted look at Lovecraftian horror; a depraved game, told in dense language. I personally enjoyed reading about language teacher Clara, she kept my undivided attention with her interesting inner world and her obsession with her mom. In particular the glance at Lovecraft come across as a little didactic and spoon-fed, but other than that I thought this was a pretty good read I enjoyed.
January 30, 2023
"Mandíbula" fue la última lectura que hice durante 2022 y probablemente fue la más perturbadora de todo el año. No puedo decir que me sorprendiera lo que encontré, ya que leí el año anterior "Las voladoras", una colección de cuentos, en los que la autora deja claro que no es ni para todos los públicos, ni para todos los estómagos. Lo que también me dejó claro es que sí es una autora para mí, y sabía que en algún momento volvería a ella, pues ese algo perturbador me conquistó.
"Mandíbula" comienza con una adolescente atada y atrapada en una casa de campo. sin saber como ha acabado allí. La sorpresa llegará cuando descubra que su secuestradora no es una desconocida, sino su profesora de Lengua. Las razones por las que esta maniática mujer la ha apresado van mucho más allá del acoso que ha recibido por parte de un grupo de estudiantes ricas y mimadas que creen poder hacer todo lo que quieran. Las razones serán incluso más oscuras. En todo este entramado donde seguiremos a la alumna, Fernanda, y a la profesora, Clara, la verdadera protagonista es Annalise, la íntima amiga de la primera.
Creo que lo que más me ha gustado de este peculiar y extraño thriller es no saber en ningún momento de donde viene, ni hacia donde va, ya que te mantiene alerta y atento todo el tiempo. Mónica Ojeda tiene un don natural para crear tensión y mantenerte en vilo, mientras las situaciones se vuelven cada vez más grotescas. Podríamos entender que el tema central de todo el libro es el propio miedo, el terror en sí mismo. De hecho parece un largo ensayo donde las protagonistas "filosofan" sobre lo que es, mientras buscan exponerse a él para superarlo. Me ha parecido especialmente interesante y revelador todo el concepto del "miedo blanco".
La relación de Fernanda y Annalise es una de las más perturbadoras que he leído en los últimos tiempos, y, pese a todo, es lo que más he disfrutado de la historia. Me tenía intrigadísimo. Hay momentos en la relación de ambas que me hizo recordar la gran película que es “Crueles intenciones”, sobre todo por ese tira y afloja constante, por ese violento “amor” que sabes que en cualquier momento puede estallar en pedazos. La violencia es una constante en toda la novela, esa violencia que parece contenida, pero que solo está esperando el momento oportuno para explotar.
Otro tema que me ha gustado mucho ver en esta historia es el de relaciones entre madres e hijas, uniones que destacan por ser dependientes y retorcidas. La toxicidad de estas relaciones personales es una de las grandes protagonista de la novela, ya sea entre madres e hijas, entre alumnas y profesoras, entre amantes o entre amigas, todas mantienen ese algo complejo, ese algo turbio de relaciones asentadas en lugares equivocados. Sobra decir que quiero leerlo todo de Mónica Ojeda, y desde ya la recomiendo a todos los que, como yo, disfruten de lo turbio, de lo perturbador, de lo terrorífico. ¡Una maravilla!
"Mandíbula" comienza con una adolescente atada y atrapada en una casa de campo. sin saber como ha acabado allí. La sorpresa llegará cuando descubra que su secuestradora no es una desconocida, sino su profesora de Lengua. Las razones por las que esta maniática mujer la ha apresado van mucho más allá del acoso que ha recibido por parte de un grupo de estudiantes ricas y mimadas que creen poder hacer todo lo que quieran. Las razones serán incluso más oscuras. En todo este entramado donde seguiremos a la alumna, Fernanda, y a la profesora, Clara, la verdadera protagonista es Annalise, la íntima amiga de la primera.
Creo que lo que más me ha gustado de este peculiar y extraño thriller es no saber en ningún momento de donde viene, ni hacia donde va, ya que te mantiene alerta y atento todo el tiempo. Mónica Ojeda tiene un don natural para crear tensión y mantenerte en vilo, mientras las situaciones se vuelven cada vez más grotescas. Podríamos entender que el tema central de todo el libro es el propio miedo, el terror en sí mismo. De hecho parece un largo ensayo donde las protagonistas "filosofan" sobre lo que es, mientras buscan exponerse a él para superarlo. Me ha parecido especialmente interesante y revelador todo el concepto del "miedo blanco".
La relación de Fernanda y Annalise es una de las más perturbadoras que he leído en los últimos tiempos, y, pese a todo, es lo que más he disfrutado de la historia. Me tenía intrigadísimo. Hay momentos en la relación de ambas que me hizo recordar la gran película que es “Crueles intenciones”, sobre todo por ese tira y afloja constante, por ese violento “amor” que sabes que en cualquier momento puede estallar en pedazos. La violencia es una constante en toda la novela, esa violencia que parece contenida, pero que solo está esperando el momento oportuno para explotar.
Otro tema que me ha gustado mucho ver en esta historia es el de relaciones entre madres e hijas, uniones que destacan por ser dependientes y retorcidas. La toxicidad de estas relaciones personales es una de las grandes protagonista de la novela, ya sea entre madres e hijas, entre alumnas y profesoras, entre amantes o entre amigas, todas mantienen ese algo complejo, ese algo turbio de relaciones asentadas en lugares equivocados. Sobra decir que quiero leerlo todo de Mónica Ojeda, y desde ya la recomiendo a todos los que, como yo, disfruten de lo turbio, de lo perturbador, de lo terrorífico. ¡Una maravilla!
October 14, 2022
I didn't expect this.
Annelise Van Isschot and Fernanda Montero Oliva are students at an all-girl Opus Dei Catholic school in Ecuador. Clara López Valverde is a new teacher at the school, running from a tormented past suffering from a crippling anxiety. Annelise and Fernanda see each other as sisters, or possibly something more. Together with their friends Fiorella, Natalia, Ximena, and Analía they start to hang out at an abandoned building. There they do all kinds of things that adolescent teenage girls do--but then Annelise and Fernanda start doing more dangerous things. Such as painting a room entirely white where Annelise can read out creepypastas and prayers to a mysterious White God, while Clara tries to exorcise herself (metaphorically-speaking, or perhaps literally) the control of her dead mother's influence as she watches the female students around her. Meanwhile, in the not very far future, Clara has broken down and kidnapped Fernanda, taken her to a remote cottage in the country to do...something to her. And between all these moments, Fernanda speaks with Dr. Aguilar to divulge a tormented yet frightening psyche.
Jawboneis not your typical horror novel. It is a mosaic of Lovecraftian horror, creepypastas, the horror of adolescence, weird fiction, religious symbolism, and Freudian psychoanalysis and subsequent feminist reinterpretations of it. To explain that last part, the book has imagery and dialogue that is reminiscent of Barbara Creed'sThe Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis.I have no evidence that Mónica Ojeda has read Creed's book, though I don't doubt the possibility. The prose in general, translated from the original Spanish, is atypical and may even resemble the prose of certain literary fiction. Disorientating may be the best word to describe the prose. It feels like we are reading something that is both someone's dream, someone's collapsing mental state (especially in Clara's perspective), someone's fanfiction (or creepypasta), and someone's confession. Dare I say, it's utterly indescribable. The prose is not only unique in terms of voice, but also in structure. For one, the most standout thing about it is that it does not follow traditional rules of writing. There are massive paragraphs that often do not break when characters are talking and sometimes characters talk within the same sentence. Ojeda very often repeats certain phrases and words, many of them hyphenated, in sequence; for Clara's perspective this made perfect sense due to her crumbling mental state, other times though it felt a bit excessive. Translator Sarah Booker explains in her endnote that Ojeda does this to add emphasis to the words and what they represent and to add to the adolescent voice of the book. I do think that this accomplishes its job, but as I said it feels a bit excessive at times.
Nonetheless, Ojeda's prose adds toJawbone's slow-burn, building dread, Lovecraftian atmosphere, and deteriorating mental states. We see these strange and contradictory perspectives primarily through Fernanda and Clara's eyes, though Annelise's eyes are occasionally there. As stated before, Clara is running from a dark past. At her previous teaching job two students broke into her house to find some test scores and tied her to a chair as they tormented her and riffled through her house. In addition to that, Clara's dead mother haunts her mind, or possesses it; you don't really ever know. Clara's mother was a teacher of literature, the same position Clara has taken up much to her late mother's ire and bitterness, and she was emotionally, verbally, and physical abusive towards Clara. Nonetheless, the child Clara, much like any child of abuse, still sought her mother's love and recognition. At one point, she even tried to kiss her mother while she was sleeping and her mother awoke and beat her. It is both sad and odd. Clara witnessed a couple in a romantic movie kissing each other and, wanting to show that she loved her mother like any daughter should, decided to kiss her to same way, leading to her mother's revulsion. Now, no one should kiss their mother like they would their lover, however, the kiss in the movie was the first kiss Clara had ever seen and her intentions toward her mother were genuinely innocent and familial. It is this domineering mother, this mother, to quote the book itself, that Clara cannibalized (not literally) and now whose advice guides her among the many wild students of the school. It is both this dead mother and Clara's anxiety that "navigates" her throughout the school and the course of the plot. She's very afraid, but wants to be good. At the same time, she wants to retreat from everything. Clara's anxiety that gets worse and worse overtime, so much worse than in the perspective where she has kidnapped Fernanda, her once fragile mind has completely devolved into some sort of primal, unhinged, and indescribable hunger for both vengeance and unbirth.
If this doesn't make any sense, I can understand why.
Fernanda is just as troubled as Clara, and this shows with her relationship with Annelise. When she was little, Fernanda's little brother Martín died when they were in the pool together. Everyone told her not to blame herself. The question is though, did Martín die by accident, or did Fernanda actually, intentionally kill him? Much like Clara's mother, Martín remains a sort of necromantic influence on Fernanda especially in her views of the White God of Annelise's creepypasta cult--but we'll get to that. Unlike Clara's mother, we have no real depiction of Martín or dialogue from him (he died very young), only Fernanda's memory of his dead body and pictures of him where he looks...very white. Fernanda also has issues with her own mother; she feels that her mother doesn't notice her or is afraid of her ever since her brother's death. She feels that her mother does blame her for his death and like Clara she too tried to earn her love back. Fernanda both loves and hates her mother, she wants to cannibalize her mother too, however the emergence of Annelise's veneration of the White God alters this maternal desire in significant ways. Fernanda has also been interested in sex since a very young age; the book tells us quick matter-of-factly that she began touching herself at age six, which may be an extension of of her guilt about what happened to Martín. It is through Annelise that Fernanda gets to express these repressed parts of herself, through both their stories they have to tell to their friends at their gatherings in the building, through her therapist Dr. Aguilar, and through her feelings towards Annelise. Fernanda and Annelise's relationship is one of friendship, sisterly love, romantic and sexual love, near-religious devotion, and...something else entirely.Jawbonein general focuses a lot on repressed and hidden female queer desires. Annelise and Fernanda clearly feel this way, or some way like this, about each other and there are other female students who are implied to have relationships with each other who are afraid of them being exposed--remember it's a Catholic school. Clara shows some confusion and acute fear towards these sapphic relationships and given what occurred with her mother one could argue that she is repressing similar such feelings. I don't completely discount this interpretation, however, I am also not entirely sure it's the driving point for Clara. She shows no interest in any women (nor men) throughout the book. Anyway, Fernanda and Annelise's "love" for each other goes to dark places. They do things to each other that aren't sexual, but are still strange and disturbing. Fernanda enjoys it, and so does Annelise. However, much like Clara's anxiety and her dead mother's voice, Fernanda's enjoyment and her fear of both Annelise and her enjoyment of their dark love war over her mind.
And then there's what Fernanda did to Annelise that Annelise took a picture of on her phone...OH BOY!Fernanda says that at first she enjoyed doing that, but when Annelise shows the picture to some college boys, but us the readers and the other friends are left in the dark during that point, in true Lovecraftian fashion, Fernanda and the boys become mortified and one of the boys attempts suicide. I am putting the reveal under spoilers, don't read unless you really, really,reallywant to know.It is turning point for Fernanda in which she has to confront her feelings and what she desires.
Overall, although their perspectives were intentionally unclear, Fernanda and Clara were interesting yet disturbing perspectives to guide us through this story. Slowly, they unravel the themes ofJawboneand the horror lurking beneath.
But now we must discuss Annelise's limited perspective. And the White God and white horror.
Like, Fernanda and Clara, Annelise has a troubled relationship with her mother. Her mother is outright cruel and monstrous towards her behind closed doors. Annelise wants love, but unlike the other two she apparently, at least from what I saw, had no desire to cannibalize her mother. She is a bridge, in a way, between Clara and Fernanda, but also a student, classmate, daughter, sister, and priestess to them in one way or another. Despite her troubled past and depraved desires, Annelise is more stable than either Clara or Fernanda. She transitions into the dark love with Fernanda, the confronting with Clara about her fears, and the devotion to the White God and into the writing of creepypastas more seamlessly than them. Although Annelise is an important character who is very well developed, I do feel like sometimes she merely existed for exposition sake. Like I said, she isn't underdeveloped nor is she flat, but as the story went out, past certain important revelations, her importance compared to the other two characters seemed to dwindle.
It is with Annelise that we truly learn what the White God is and what white horror is. If I could, I would quote the entirety of Annelise's essay to Clara here, but due to length limits I cannot. The essay is the crowning achievement not only of the plot and the investigation of its themes, but also of Ojeda's talent as a writer. In her essay, Annelise explains her fascination with the color white. White can be a simply of purity and sublime, but also occultation, ambiguity, and putrefaction. Taking inspiration from Ishmael's obsession with the titular white whale inMoby-Dick or, the Whale,Annelise states that white is fearful because of its total absence, its potential to be either corrupted or made whole. This is white horror. White horror is adolescence, the ages between childhood and adulthood where one can mature or become repugnant. White horror crosses over with cosmic horror due to its mysticism and reliance on eldritch god things, but where it differs is this: cosmic horror is indescribable, white horror is without description totally. It sounds confusing and pretentious at first, but let me explain, as Annelise did. H.P. Lovecraft's eldritch gods and abominations though often rendered as so horrifying they're indescribable are still technically being described. We even get mention of some eyes, tentacles, and teeth on certain deities and creatures. The White God cannot be described, and is never described, because They can be anything. Referred to as They but called mother-God-of-the-wandering-womb, the White God's gender is truly unknown to us. Given all the themes of mothers and daughters, one can guess. The wandering womb was w theory developed by the ancient Greek that a women could become sick due to a displace or floating uterus. Hysteria is the Greek word for uterus, guess why, and was often believed only to afflict women (since disproven). It was Sigmund Freud that brought this concept into psychoanalysis as the mind within the mind and who has influenced Ojeda and who she is somewhat subverting.
To Annelise, the White God may have started out as a simple creepypasta invention, a product of her easily influenced adolescent mind. The White God was probably her mother's cruelty and savagery projected and deified, but then became a real thing. A real thing that may have actually possessed Annelise (something completely my own theory) and something she began to genuinely worship. For Clara, the White God was her fear of teenage youth resurrected and the ambivalent feelings towards her mother. For Fernanda, the White God (again this is my theory) was her love for Annelise, but also the lingering spirit of Martín following her; the ambiguity of what really happened in that pool years ago, never known to us, and the ambiguity of what Martín could've been had he lived.
Whether we're religious or not, we all seem to have a White God. We all fear white horror.
Some final comments. The start of the book is rather slow, though it helps us ease into the story's tone and themes. Sometimes the repetition of words or phrases didn't do anything for me; once or
twice made me realize the significance, and when it was in Clara's perspective it made it very realized, but sometimes it felt like the prose was trying too hard. Sometimes the cultural reference didn't add anything, it just felt one note. I am also not sure how I feel about the ending. I have an idea of what's going on, and if what I am thinking is true it's utterly horrifying, but it feels like there's no other choice for Fernanda and Clara. The reveal of Annelise's fate is so brief. Though we get Fernanda's feelings on it, it feels like a throwaway. Also there's one line towards the conclusion that completely breaks the book's tension and horror for a time.
All in all, 4 out of 5 stars. Truly one of the greatest horrors novels I have every read. Unsettling, Lovecraftian, slow-burn, monstrous in its own little ways, and utterly hypnotic. A book that will stay with me for a long time.
Annelise Van Isschot and Fernanda Montero Oliva are students at an all-girl Opus Dei Catholic school in Ecuador. Clara López Valverde is a new teacher at the school, running from a tormented past suffering from a crippling anxiety. Annelise and Fernanda see each other as sisters, or possibly something more. Together with their friends Fiorella, Natalia, Ximena, and Analía they start to hang out at an abandoned building. There they do all kinds of things that adolescent teenage girls do--but then Annelise and Fernanda start doing more dangerous things. Such as painting a room entirely white where Annelise can read out creepypastas and prayers to a mysterious White God, while Clara tries to exorcise herself (metaphorically-speaking, or perhaps literally) the control of her dead mother's influence as she watches the female students around her. Meanwhile, in the not very far future, Clara has broken down and kidnapped Fernanda, taken her to a remote cottage in the country to do...something to her. And between all these moments, Fernanda speaks with Dr. Aguilar to divulge a tormented yet frightening psyche.
Jawboneis not your typical horror novel. It is a mosaic of Lovecraftian horror, creepypastas, the horror of adolescence, weird fiction, religious symbolism, and Freudian psychoanalysis and subsequent feminist reinterpretations of it. To explain that last part, the book has imagery and dialogue that is reminiscent of Barbara Creed'sThe Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis.I have no evidence that Mónica Ojeda has read Creed's book, though I don't doubt the possibility. The prose in general, translated from the original Spanish, is atypical and may even resemble the prose of certain literary fiction. Disorientating may be the best word to describe the prose. It feels like we are reading something that is both someone's dream, someone's collapsing mental state (especially in Clara's perspective), someone's fanfiction (or creepypasta), and someone's confession. Dare I say, it's utterly indescribable. The prose is not only unique in terms of voice, but also in structure. For one, the most standout thing about it is that it does not follow traditional rules of writing. There are massive paragraphs that often do not break when characters are talking and sometimes characters talk within the same sentence. Ojeda very often repeats certain phrases and words, many of them hyphenated, in sequence; for Clara's perspective this made perfect sense due to her crumbling mental state, other times though it felt a bit excessive. Translator Sarah Booker explains in her endnote that Ojeda does this to add emphasis to the words and what they represent and to add to the adolescent voice of the book. I do think that this accomplishes its job, but as I said it feels a bit excessive at times.
Nonetheless, Ojeda's prose adds toJawbone's slow-burn, building dread, Lovecraftian atmosphere, and deteriorating mental states. We see these strange and contradictory perspectives primarily through Fernanda and Clara's eyes, though Annelise's eyes are occasionally there. As stated before, Clara is running from a dark past. At her previous teaching job two students broke into her house to find some test scores and tied her to a chair as they tormented her and riffled through her house. In addition to that, Clara's dead mother haunts her mind, or possesses it; you don't really ever know. Clara's mother was a teacher of literature, the same position Clara has taken up much to her late mother's ire and bitterness, and she was emotionally, verbally, and physical abusive towards Clara. Nonetheless, the child Clara, much like any child of abuse, still sought her mother's love and recognition. At one point, she even tried to kiss her mother while she was sleeping and her mother awoke and beat her. It is both sad and odd. Clara witnessed a couple in a romantic movie kissing each other and, wanting to show that she loved her mother like any daughter should, decided to kiss her to same way, leading to her mother's revulsion. Now, no one should kiss their mother like they would their lover, however, the kiss in the movie was the first kiss Clara had ever seen and her intentions toward her mother were genuinely innocent and familial. It is this domineering mother, this mother, to quote the book itself, that Clara cannibalized (not literally) and now whose advice guides her among the many wild students of the school. It is both this dead mother and Clara's anxiety that "navigates" her throughout the school and the course of the plot. She's very afraid, but wants to be good. At the same time, she wants to retreat from everything. Clara's anxiety that gets worse and worse overtime, so much worse than in the perspective where she has kidnapped Fernanda, her once fragile mind has completely devolved into some sort of primal, unhinged, and indescribable hunger for both vengeance and unbirth.
If this doesn't make any sense, I can understand why.
Fernanda is just as troubled as Clara, and this shows with her relationship with Annelise. When she was little, Fernanda's little brother Martín died when they were in the pool together. Everyone told her not to blame herself. The question is though, did Martín die by accident, or did Fernanda actually, intentionally kill him? Much like Clara's mother, Martín remains a sort of necromantic influence on Fernanda especially in her views of the White God of Annelise's creepypasta cult--but we'll get to that. Unlike Clara's mother, we have no real depiction of Martín or dialogue from him (he died very young), only Fernanda's memory of his dead body and pictures of him where he looks...very white. Fernanda also has issues with her own mother; she feels that her mother doesn't notice her or is afraid of her ever since her brother's death. She feels that her mother does blame her for his death and like Clara she too tried to earn her love back. Fernanda both loves and hates her mother, she wants to cannibalize her mother too, however the emergence of Annelise's veneration of the White God alters this maternal desire in significant ways. Fernanda has also been interested in sex since a very young age; the book tells us quick matter-of-factly that she began touching herself at age six, which may be an extension of of her guilt about what happened to Martín. It is through Annelise that Fernanda gets to express these repressed parts of herself, through both their stories they have to tell to their friends at their gatherings in the building, through her therapist Dr. Aguilar, and through her feelings towards Annelise. Fernanda and Annelise's relationship is one of friendship, sisterly love, romantic and sexual love, near-religious devotion, and...something else entirely.Jawbonein general focuses a lot on repressed and hidden female queer desires. Annelise and Fernanda clearly feel this way, or some way like this, about each other and there are other female students who are implied to have relationships with each other who are afraid of them being exposed--remember it's a Catholic school. Clara shows some confusion and acute fear towards these sapphic relationships and given what occurred with her mother one could argue that she is repressing similar such feelings. I don't completely discount this interpretation, however, I am also not entirely sure it's the driving point for Clara. She shows no interest in any women (nor men) throughout the book. Anyway, Fernanda and Annelise's "love" for each other goes to dark places. They do things to each other that aren't sexual, but are still strange and disturbing. Fernanda enjoys it, and so does Annelise. However, much like Clara's anxiety and her dead mother's voice, Fernanda's enjoyment and her fear of both Annelise and her enjoyment of their dark love war over her mind.
And then there's what Fernanda did to Annelise that Annelise took a picture of on her phone...OH BOY!Fernanda says that at first she enjoyed doing that, but when Annelise shows the picture to some college boys, but us the readers and the other friends are left in the dark during that point, in true Lovecraftian fashion, Fernanda and the boys become mortified and one of the boys attempts suicide. I am putting the reveal under spoilers, don't read unless you really, really,reallywant to know.It is turning point for Fernanda in which she has to confront her feelings and what she desires.
Overall, although their perspectives were intentionally unclear, Fernanda and Clara were interesting yet disturbing perspectives to guide us through this story. Slowly, they unravel the themes ofJawboneand the horror lurking beneath.
But now we must discuss Annelise's limited perspective. And the White God and white horror.
Like, Fernanda and Clara, Annelise has a troubled relationship with her mother. Her mother is outright cruel and monstrous towards her behind closed doors. Annelise wants love, but unlike the other two she apparently, at least from what I saw, had no desire to cannibalize her mother. She is a bridge, in a way, between Clara and Fernanda, but also a student, classmate, daughter, sister, and priestess to them in one way or another. Despite her troubled past and depraved desires, Annelise is more stable than either Clara or Fernanda. She transitions into the dark love with Fernanda, the confronting with Clara about her fears, and the devotion to the White God and into the writing of creepypastas more seamlessly than them. Although Annelise is an important character who is very well developed, I do feel like sometimes she merely existed for exposition sake. Like I said, she isn't underdeveloped nor is she flat, but as the story went out, past certain important revelations, her importance compared to the other two characters seemed to dwindle.
It is with Annelise that we truly learn what the White God is and what white horror is. If I could, I would quote the entirety of Annelise's essay to Clara here, but due to length limits I cannot. The essay is the crowning achievement not only of the plot and the investigation of its themes, but also of Ojeda's talent as a writer. In her essay, Annelise explains her fascination with the color white. White can be a simply of purity and sublime, but also occultation, ambiguity, and putrefaction. Taking inspiration from Ishmael's obsession with the titular white whale inMoby-Dick or, the Whale,Annelise states that white is fearful because of its total absence, its potential to be either corrupted or made whole. This is white horror. White horror is adolescence, the ages between childhood and adulthood where one can mature or become repugnant. White horror crosses over with cosmic horror due to its mysticism and reliance on eldritch god things, but where it differs is this: cosmic horror is indescribable, white horror is without description totally. It sounds confusing and pretentious at first, but let me explain, as Annelise did. H.P. Lovecraft's eldritch gods and abominations though often rendered as so horrifying they're indescribable are still technically being described. We even get mention of some eyes, tentacles, and teeth on certain deities and creatures. The White God cannot be described, and is never described, because They can be anything. Referred to as They but called mother-God-of-the-wandering-womb, the White God's gender is truly unknown to us. Given all the themes of mothers and daughters, one can guess. The wandering womb was w theory developed by the ancient Greek that a women could become sick due to a displace or floating uterus. Hysteria is the Greek word for uterus, guess why, and was often believed only to afflict women (since disproven). It was Sigmund Freud that brought this concept into psychoanalysis as the mind within the mind and who has influenced Ojeda and who she is somewhat subverting.
To Annelise, the White God may have started out as a simple creepypasta invention, a product of her easily influenced adolescent mind. The White God was probably her mother's cruelty and savagery projected and deified, but then became a real thing. A real thing that may have actually possessed Annelise (something completely my own theory) and something she began to genuinely worship. For Clara, the White God was her fear of teenage youth resurrected and the ambivalent feelings towards her mother. For Fernanda, the White God (again this is my theory) was her love for Annelise, but also the lingering spirit of Martín following her; the ambiguity of what really happened in that pool years ago, never known to us, and the ambiguity of what Martín could've been had he lived.
Whether we're religious or not, we all seem to have a White God. We all fear white horror.
Some final comments. The start of the book is rather slow, though it helps us ease into the story's tone and themes. Sometimes the repetition of words or phrases didn't do anything for me; once or
twice made me realize the significance, and when it was in Clara's perspective it made it very realized, but sometimes it felt like the prose was trying too hard. Sometimes the cultural reference didn't add anything, it just felt one note. I am also not sure how I feel about the ending. I have an idea of what's going on, and if what I am thinking is true it's utterly horrifying, but it feels like there's no other choice for Fernanda and Clara. The reveal of Annelise's fate is so brief. Though we get Fernanda's feelings on it, it feels like a throwaway. Also there's one line towards the conclusion that completely breaks the book's tension and horror for a time.
All in all, 4 out of 5 stars. Truly one of the greatest horrors novels I have every read. Unsettling, Lovecraftian, slow-burn, monstrous in its own little ways, and utterly hypnotic. A book that will stay with me for a long time.
June 15, 2022
Você já leu literatura equatoriana? No Brasil, ainda encontramos muita dificuldade de acessar autoras de países mais periféricos do mercado editorial. É importante valorizar quando editoras fazem esse movimento de trazer obras pouco conhecidas, o que é o caso de “Mandíbula”, da equatoriana Mónica Ojeda, que agora povoa as livrarias após a publicação da @autentica.contemporanea!
Antes de iniciar a leitura, procurei ler opiniões na internet, um hábito que tenho na hora de escolher os livros. Me deparei com opinões bem diferentes umas das outras. No entanto, algo que estava presente em quase todas as críticas era o quanto o romance de Ojeda era perturbador!
A narrativa tem como ponto de partida o sequestro de uma aluna do ensino médio por sua professora de literatura, Miss Clara. Uma situação bastante inusitada e que logo no início já aguça a curiosidade do leitor: qual seria o motivo disso? Com o passar dos capítulos, vamos adentrando às memórias da professora e da aluna para compreender o presente. Aos poucos o leitor vai descobrindo que o passado da professora é muito mais complexo e cheio de traumas. Por outro lado, conhecemos um pouco mais de uma estudante fascinada por histórias de terror e com ideias arrepiantes.
E o que deixa mais perturbadora a obra não é o enredo em si, mas a escrita de Ojeda. Uma linguagem crua, que toca em temas sensíveis como relações familiares, sobretudo a relação entre mãe e filha, sexualidade e violência. Tudo isso junto e misturado. É uma paranoia, um horror de verdade, um livro sobre o medo íntimo.
A leitura me prendeu e no começou gostei bastante. O problema é que senti falta de um melhor desenvolvimento da narrativa. Acho que fiquei esperando mais acontecimentos quando, na verdade, o objetivo da autora foi focar nos traumas e no passado dos personagens. Isso acabou prejudicando minha experiência com o livro e, apesar de ter lido super rápido, fiquei com a sensação de que faltou algo a mais. O problema com expectativas…
Se a premissa do livro te interessou, vai com tudo! Mas lembre-se, essa não é uma leitura para qualquer um.
Nota: 7/10
Leia mais resenhas emhttps://www.instagram.com/book.ster/
Antes de iniciar a leitura, procurei ler opiniões na internet, um hábito que tenho na hora de escolher os livros. Me deparei com opinões bem diferentes umas das outras. No entanto, algo que estava presente em quase todas as críticas era o quanto o romance de Ojeda era perturbador!
A narrativa tem como ponto de partida o sequestro de uma aluna do ensino médio por sua professora de literatura, Miss Clara. Uma situação bastante inusitada e que logo no início já aguça a curiosidade do leitor: qual seria o motivo disso? Com o passar dos capítulos, vamos adentrando às memórias da professora e da aluna para compreender o presente. Aos poucos o leitor vai descobrindo que o passado da professora é muito mais complexo e cheio de traumas. Por outro lado, conhecemos um pouco mais de uma estudante fascinada por histórias de terror e com ideias arrepiantes.
E o que deixa mais perturbadora a obra não é o enredo em si, mas a escrita de Ojeda. Uma linguagem crua, que toca em temas sensíveis como relações familiares, sobretudo a relação entre mãe e filha, sexualidade e violência. Tudo isso junto e misturado. É uma paranoia, um horror de verdade, um livro sobre o medo íntimo.
A leitura me prendeu e no começou gostei bastante. O problema é que senti falta de um melhor desenvolvimento da narrativa. Acho que fiquei esperando mais acontecimentos quando, na verdade, o objetivo da autora foi focar nos traumas e no passado dos personagens. Isso acabou prejudicando minha experiência com o livro e, apesar de ter lido super rápido, fiquei com a sensação de que faltou algo a mais. O problema com expectativas…
Se a premissa do livro te interessou, vai com tudo! Mas lembre-se, essa não é uma leitura para qualquer um.
Nota: 7/10
Leia mais resenhas emhttps://www.instagram.com/book.ster/
August 13, 2023
Pues parecía que si pero al final ha sido que no.
Ese final abrupto y las partes mas oníricas han jugado según mi opinion en su contra. Demasiada lírica para mi, una pena pintaba bien.
Lo que mas me estaba gustando era la parte donde explicaban las andanzas, por decirlo suavemente de este par de chicas que se autoimponían retos cada vez mas audaces y peligrosos.
Valoración: 4/10
Sinopsis: Una adolescente fanática del horror y de las "creepypastas" (historias de terror que circulan por internet) despierta maniatada en una cabaña en medio del bosque. Su secuestradora no es una desconocida, sino su maestra de Lengua y Literatura, una mujer joven a quien ella y sus amigas han atormentado durante meses en un colegio de élite del Opus Dei. Pero pronto los motivos de ese secuestro se revelarán mucho más oscuros que el "bullying" a una maestra: un perturbador amor juvenil, una traición inesperada y algunos ritos secretos e iniciáticos inspirados en esas historias virales y terroríficas gestadas en Internet.
"Mandíbula" es una novela sobre el miedo y su relación con la familia, la sexualidad y la violencia. Narrada con una prosa llena de destellos líricos, símbolos desconcertantes y saltos en el tiempo, toma rasgos del "thriller" psicológico para desarrollar el juego mental que se produce entre alumnas y maestras, y escarbar en las relaciones pasionales entre madres e hijas, hermanas y "mejores amigas", recreando un mundo de lo femenino-monstruoso que se conecta con la tradición del cine de terror y la literatura de género.
Ese final abrupto y las partes mas oníricas han jugado según mi opinion en su contra. Demasiada lírica para mi, una pena pintaba bien.
Lo que mas me estaba gustando era la parte donde explicaban las andanzas, por decirlo suavemente de este par de chicas que se autoimponían retos cada vez mas audaces y peligrosos.
Valoración: 4/10
Sinopsis: Una adolescente fanática del horror y de las "creepypastas" (historias de terror que circulan por internet) despierta maniatada en una cabaña en medio del bosque. Su secuestradora no es una desconocida, sino su maestra de Lengua y Literatura, una mujer joven a quien ella y sus amigas han atormentado durante meses en un colegio de élite del Opus Dei. Pero pronto los motivos de ese secuestro se revelarán mucho más oscuros que el "bullying" a una maestra: un perturbador amor juvenil, una traición inesperada y algunos ritos secretos e iniciáticos inspirados en esas historias virales y terroríficas gestadas en Internet.
"Mandíbula" es una novela sobre el miedo y su relación con la familia, la sexualidad y la violencia. Narrada con una prosa llena de destellos líricos, símbolos desconcertantes y saltos en el tiempo, toma rasgos del "thriller" psicológico para desarrollar el juego mental que se produce entre alumnas y maestras, y escarbar en las relaciones pasionales entre madres e hijas, hermanas y "mejores amigas", recreando un mundo de lo femenino-monstruoso que se conecta con la tradición del cine de terror y la literatura de género.
April 29, 2023
«Qual è l’unico animale che nasce da sua figlia e concepisce sua madre?».
Mandibula è uno di quei libri che richiede attenzione. Uno di quei libri che ti dirà "sii pronta", ma tu pronta non lo sei.
Ti creerà fastidio durante la narrazione e sarà uno di quei libri che non a tutti piacerà.
Non è facile scrivere di Mandibula, non è facile scrivere delle donne che raccontano la sua storia perché nessuna di loro è una protagonista attendibile.
Le relazione tra donne, affettive e sessuali; tra madri e figlie affettive e conflittuali; tra insegnanti e alunne rispettose e terrorizzanti.
Il disturbo e l'inquietudine che si provano leggendo mandibula non viene da un'entità malvagia o un mostro, ma da una narrazione cruda e a volte crudele che da luce a paure interiori date da esperienze come la maternità, la pubertà, le malattie mentali, l'abbandono.
La cosa che mi ha lasciato l'amaro in bocca è l'assenza di risposte ad alcuni avvenimenti.
Abbiamo anche un finale aperto, aperto come la mandibola di un coccodrillo e mi fanno paura i coccodrilli....
Credo che per qualche giorno ringrazierò di avere avuto un figlio maschio 😅
Ah mi è piaciuto moltissimo il capitolo dove Lovecraft fa capolino e ci pervade con il suo orrore cosmico
Mandibula è uno di quei libri che richiede attenzione. Uno di quei libri che ti dirà "sii pronta", ma tu pronta non lo sei.
Ti creerà fastidio durante la narrazione e sarà uno di quei libri che non a tutti piacerà.
Non è facile scrivere di Mandibula, non è facile scrivere delle donne che raccontano la sua storia perché nessuna di loro è una protagonista attendibile.
Le relazione tra donne, affettive e sessuali; tra madri e figlie affettive e conflittuali; tra insegnanti e alunne rispettose e terrorizzanti.
Il disturbo e l'inquietudine che si provano leggendo mandibula non viene da un'entità malvagia o un mostro, ma da una narrazione cruda e a volte crudele che da luce a paure interiori date da esperienze come la maternità, la pubertà, le malattie mentali, l'abbandono.
La cosa che mi ha lasciato l'amaro in bocca è l'assenza di risposte ad alcuni avvenimenti.
Abbiamo anche un finale aperto, aperto come la mandibola di un coccodrillo e mi fanno paura i coccodrilli....
Credo che per qualche giorno ringrazierò di avere avuto un figlio maschio 😅
Ah mi è piaciuto moltissimo il capitolo dove Lovecraft fa capolino e ci pervade con il suo orrore cosmico
January 29, 2020
En este libro Mónica Ojeda juega con un miedo desde la mirada adulta a los adolescentes que no son ni niños ni jóvenes y están en un juego constante con la violencia, el terror, el desafío a la muerte y los cambios físicos que muchas veces nos dan asco.
La maestra Clara secuestra a Fernanda, una de sus alumnas y a quien cree es culpable de ciertas acciones atroces contra otra compañera y ella misma. Con este inicio, Ojeda va deshojando la historia edípica de Clara con su madre y la relación de sus alumnas entre ellas. Haciendo uso del terror cósmico muy a lo Lovecraft, Mónica Ojeda retrata miedos y acciones de las adolescentes, dejando en claro que esta etapa de la vida es cuando podemos ser más crueles por el poco miedo a morir o lo complejo que es crecer y aprender.
Me sigue fascinando cómo esta autora escribe y narra cosas absurdas pero reales, supongo que no muchos serán fans de cómo elige ciertas palabras pero en mi opinión es lo que hace que hablar de creepypastas se convierta en un acto de verdadero arte.
La maestra Clara secuestra a Fernanda, una de sus alumnas y a quien cree es culpable de ciertas acciones atroces contra otra compañera y ella misma. Con este inicio, Ojeda va deshojando la historia edípica de Clara con su madre y la relación de sus alumnas entre ellas. Haciendo uso del terror cósmico muy a lo Lovecraft, Mónica Ojeda retrata miedos y acciones de las adolescentes, dejando en claro que esta etapa de la vida es cuando podemos ser más crueles por el poco miedo a morir o lo complejo que es crecer y aprender.
Me sigue fascinando cómo esta autora escribe y narra cosas absurdas pero reales, supongo que no muchos serán fans de cómo elige ciertas palabras pero en mi opinión es lo que hace que hablar de creepypastas se convierta en un acto de verdadero arte.
February 28, 2021
¡WOW! es así como quiero empezar la reseña de este libro. Que me dejó en shock un rato y que sigo pensando en él, en Fernanda, en Ximena, en esas amigas y Miss Clara.
En que la adolescencia es la edad más peligrosa donde se te forma el carácter o se te pudre y parece que algunas ya vienen podridas desde que nacieron. Ese horror de ver cambiar tu cuerpo de niña a mujer, ahora lo entiendo, es donde te conviertes en un monstruo deforme y donde tus pensamientos y sentimientos también son un monstruo que no puedes controlar.
Un grupito de niñas bien, en una escuela bien, y una Miss Clara que trae su propio horror, que viene a esta escuela para superar un horror pasado pero no sabe que acá las cosas se ponen peor. Aunque esta vez, Miss Clara, no se quedará quieta.
Amo como hacen referencia al horror blanco de Poe, de Moby Dick, de la literatura de terror, de la violencia femenina que a penas estás descubriendo, de ese poder que puedes tener para hacer daño, para triturarle la vida y la moral a quien se deje.
Amo la escritura tan elegante de Mónica, tan precisa, tan explícita y cuando vas avanzando piensas que ya pasó lo peor...pero no sabes que a penas vas a llegar a él. Las últimas páginas, son una pieza magistral de horror y suspenso.
En que la adolescencia es la edad más peligrosa donde se te forma el carácter o se te pudre y parece que algunas ya vienen podridas desde que nacieron. Ese horror de ver cambiar tu cuerpo de niña a mujer, ahora lo entiendo, es donde te conviertes en un monstruo deforme y donde tus pensamientos y sentimientos también son un monstruo que no puedes controlar.
Un grupito de niñas bien, en una escuela bien, y una Miss Clara que trae su propio horror, que viene a esta escuela para superar un horror pasado pero no sabe que acá las cosas se ponen peor. Aunque esta vez, Miss Clara, no se quedará quieta.
Amo como hacen referencia al horror blanco de Poe, de Moby Dick, de la literatura de terror, de la violencia femenina que a penas estás descubriendo, de ese poder que puedes tener para hacer daño, para triturarle la vida y la moral a quien se deje.
Amo la escritura tan elegante de Mónica, tan precisa, tan explícita y cuando vas avanzando piensas que ya pasó lo peor...pero no sabes que a penas vas a llegar a él. Las últimas páginas, son una pieza magistral de horror y suspenso.
November 7, 2020
Este libro no estaba originalmente en mi radar, lo he leído porque fue el libro del mes en un grupo de lectura en el que estoy.
Es difícil puntuarlo, sin embargo, quiero resaltar varias cosas que me gustaron:
1) Los constantes saltos temporales (la mayoría de las novelas es lineal, y estos saltos te ayudan a prestar mucho más atención al relato).
2) La narración casi al 100% en 3ra persona, lo cual también hace que sea una lectura diferente a la mayoría.
3) Conocer la parte psicológica de adolescentes con padres muy bien posicionados económicamente y de los profesores de las escuelas de estos adolescentes. Lo narrado en esta novela no me parece que sea completamente ficción y de hecho siento que deja ver parte de infancia de la autora, ya que maneja muy bien el tema...
A pesar que de no soy asiduo de los libros con trama adolescente, he disfrutado la mayor parte del libro, sin embargo, lo que no me gustó fue que repitiera muchísimas veces las mismas ideas y me parece que faltaron muchos detalles por conocer del secuestro ya indicado en la sinopsis de libro y que pareciera que debería ser la parte central de la novela cuando realmente no lo es.
Es difícil puntuarlo, sin embargo, quiero resaltar varias cosas que me gustaron:
1) Los constantes saltos temporales (la mayoría de las novelas es lineal, y estos saltos te ayudan a prestar mucho más atención al relato).
2) La narración casi al 100% en 3ra persona, lo cual también hace que sea una lectura diferente a la mayoría.
3) Conocer la parte psicológica de adolescentes con padres muy bien posicionados económicamente y de los profesores de las escuelas de estos adolescentes. Lo narrado en esta novela no me parece que sea completamente ficción y de hecho siento que deja ver parte de infancia de la autora, ya que maneja muy bien el tema...
A pesar que de no soy asiduo de los libros con trama adolescente, he disfrutado la mayor parte del libro, sin embargo, lo que no me gustó fue que repitiera muchísimas veces las mismas ideas y me parece que faltaron muchos detalles por conocer del secuestro ya indicado en la sinopsis de libro y que pareciera que debería ser la parte central de la novela cuando realmente no lo es.
May 21, 2018
El tránsito de la infancia a la adolescencia y el despertar sexual, las relaciones materno-filiales y de amistad, el siempre complicado papel de la educación... son algunos temas que se acumulan en esta novela observados bajo el prisma de un horror que parte de lo mundano y llega a lo cósmico. Mónica Ojeda lleva a puntos incómodamente perversos la incomprensión ante los cambios del cuerpo y la personalidad, o el descubrimiento de la hipocresía y el cinismo detrás del velo de la corrección de las relaciones humanas, en parte gracias a un relato construido de manera minuciosa, enigmático y convulso. Apenas me ha molestado un punto excesivo en la descripción de los personajes y la longitud del capítulo durante el cual una de las protagonistas expone de manera demasiado explícita el corpus conceptual. Innecesario porque había quedado establecido en las 200 páginas anteriores y, sobre todo, en las últimas 40.
April 16, 2019
En serio quiero saber si Mónica Ojeda solo abría el diccionario y describía las cosas con la primera palabra que encontraba. Parece.
Por lo general no hago reviews, pero necesito expresar como odié la redacción de la autora. Pomposa, pedante, arrogante. Metáforas sin sentido, párrafos enteros sin llegar a ningún lado. Sobre-describiendo absolutamente todo de manera “poética”. Cansa y terminas perdiéndote en sus miles de vueltas para llegar a una simple idea.
Y no quiero empezar con todos los errores ortográficos en el libro? “Wierd” really?
Bueno, ya me callo. Solo estoy decepcionada porque escuché maravillas solo para terminar siendo un desastre pretencioso
Por lo general no hago reviews, pero necesito expresar como odié la redacción de la autora. Pomposa, pedante, arrogante. Metáforas sin sentido, párrafos enteros sin llegar a ningún lado. Sobre-describiendo absolutamente todo de manera “poética”. Cansa y terminas perdiéndote en sus miles de vueltas para llegar a una simple idea.
Y no quiero empezar con todos los errores ortográficos en el libro? “Wierd” really?
Bueno, ya me callo. Solo estoy decepcionada porque escuché maravillas solo para terminar siendo un desastre pretencioso
June 2, 2024
Apesar de ser fora do meu tipo de leitura este foi um livro que me encantou ler. Uma narrativa tensa e sombria em que não consegui largae cada página, e em que um grupo louco de personas nos encaminham para um lado B da Humanidade.
July 3, 2022
Me tenía un poco de los nervios todo ese sugerir para no mostrar nada. Casi temía ya, a escasas páginas del final, que todo fuera crearle expectativas al lector para luego dejarle con las ganas, pero el final me ha parecido satisfactorio. A veces se repite un poco, y tiene un par de cosillas un tanto inverosímiles, pero por uso del lenguaje, creación de atmósfera y personajes, y manejo de la trama, me parece una lectura muy agradecida para los lectores de gustos truculentos. Una de las cosas que más me ha gustado es ese puente que tiende entre los clásicos de la literatura de terror, como Lovecraft, y la actual cultura creepypasta.
June 10, 2022
4.5
Este libro es demasiado para procesar.
Este libro es demasiado para procesar.
Read
February 19, 2024I did a combo of 50% audiobook on the Libby app and 50% reading the physical copy I have from one of the Night Worms packages we curated. My brain is buzzing with thoughts and I will likely write up the review this week so I don't lose any momentum but in the meantime, just know this book is 1,000 different kinds of fucked up.
Triggers for everything under the sun. It's very disturbing. It's almost impossible to suspend disbelief concerning teenage girls behaving this feral, unhinged, and violent but the writing is so good, I bought in. It's borderline exploitive, actually but I'll express this fully in a review, soon. Not sure how I feel atm.
Triggers for everything under the sun. It's very disturbing. It's almost impossible to suspend disbelief concerning teenage girls behaving this feral, unhinged, and violent but the writing is so good, I bought in. It's borderline exploitive, actually but I'll express this fully in a review, soon. Not sure how I feel atm.
January 27, 2023
2022 National Book Award Finalist in Translated Literature
My mother didn't allow anyone to enter her jaws, only I entered, her muddy becerra. And I slid down her throat. And I scratched at her stomach. A daughter never realizes that one day her turn will come to be the jawed mother. But you're like my daughter because you're my student, I take responsibility for all the harm you cause. Open wide. Together we'll turn off the lights so the White God appears from your mind. The immense truth of the void. You know it well, don't you? Of course you do. Of course you know that girls who dream too much end up sick in the head, but now you're going to learn something important. Be happy. This is the colour of fear. Milk white. Death white. God's snowy skull. Welcome to the volcanic jaws of my house. Let us dive in.
Jawbone is Sarah Booker's translation of Ecuadorian author Mónica Ojeda's 2017 novel Mandíbula and comes with an illuminating translator's note explaining the key challenges of rendering this in English, including the use of hyphenated neologisms and maintaining the different styles used for different sections.
In its UK edition, this is the second book from a new independent press New Ruins, a joint venture between Dead Ink and Influx Press:
Jawbone certainly delivers against that mission statement. It opens with a teenage schoolgirl, Fernanda, awaking to find herself held tied up in a remote location, captive of her literature teacher, Miss Clara. Between chapters as Fernanda tries to understand what is going on, the narration goes back to explain the circumstances that led up to this event.
Fernanda is one of 20 girls in Class 5B at a prestiguous, Opus Dei backed, private school, the Delta Bilingual Academy, a class dominated by six hormonal and rebellious adolscents, Fernanda, Annelise, her very close friend, Ximena, Analía and the twins Fiorella and Natalia,
They dragged their chairs. Miss Angela, a.k.a. Baldomera, asked that they pick them up, but they dragged their chairs over her golden Angelus Novus voice: the sleeping-angel-of-history voice dictating the past, though inevitably pushed along—like the chairs—by the present, toward the promise of a future with twenty-three skirts, five smiles with braces, three Tory Burch watches, twenty-one iPhones, three iPads, and a rosary. The pack of metal barking across the floor tiles woke up Ivanna Romero, a.k.a. Full Ride, who jumped to carry hers forward. Fernanda shoved her chair against Annelise Van Isschot's, a.k.a. Freckles. It had been a long time since there were bumper cars in the city.It's so fun to crash into everything that matters,she thought, recalling the childhood that roused her fangs. Fiorella and Natalia Barcos stood at the back of the classroom, behind Ximena Sandoval and Analía Raad, their best-friends-4ever-never-change-baby, and pulled their ponytails tight, smiling their incisors. Ximena and Analia turned around: they stuck their clitoris-tongues out up to their chins.
Arrastraron las sillas. Miss Ángela, alias Baldomera, les pidió que las levantaran, pero ellas arrastraron las sillas sobre su voz áurea de Angelus Novus; voz de ángel-dormido-de-la-historia dictando el pasado, aunque inevitablemente empujado por el presente –como las sillas– hacia una promesa de futuro de veintitrés faldas, cinco sonrisas con brackets, tres relojes Tory Burch, veintiún iPhones, trece iPads y un rosario. La jauría de metal ladrando las baldosas despertó a Ivanna Romero, alias la Becada, quien se puso de pie de un salto para llevar la suya hacia adelante. Fernanda empujó su silla contra la de Annelise Van Isschot, alias la Pecas. Hacía mucho tiempo que no había carros chocones en la ciudad.Qué divertido es chocarse contra todo lo que importa,pensó recordando la infancia que le agitaba los caninos. Fiorella y Natalia Barcos se colocaron al fondo del aula, detrás de Ximena Sandoval y Analía Raad, sus best-friends-4ever-nunca-cambies-bebé, y les halaron las coletas sonriendo sus incisivos. Ximena y Analía se voltearon: les sacaron sus lenguas-clítoris hasta la barbilla.
But outside of school, the six girls, led by Fernanda and Annelise, have a secret, an abandoned house, where they meet up (typically while their parents assume they are on a sleepover at one of their houses), challenging each other to increasingly dangerous dares and performing secret rituals to a 'White God' dreamt up by Annelise, as part of thecreepypastas.
Their previous English teacher had had a heart-attack, potentially triggered by a practical joke Class 5B played on her, and Miss Clara Lopez Valverde (who the girls soon nickname "Latin Madame Bovary" ), unaware of his history, applies successfully for the job.
But Clara has problems of her own. She is only just returning to work,three months, two days and eleven hoursafter an incident at her previous, rather rougher, school where two girls had broken into her house in search of the end of term papers, and, when Clara discovered them, tied her up forthirteen hours and fifty seven minutes,the precision of both timings making it clear how much the incident still haunts her. And she has an odd relationship with her, recently passed away, mother -"Golden Calf," she called Clara until she was ten years old, when during arguments it became just "Becerra," stretching out the double r's if she was mad, shortening them if she was in a good mood.- reacting to her mother's odd treatment of her by essentially imitating and thereby absorbing her, including following her into teaching:
That imperfect imitiation, nevertheless, had split the earth between them until the end, such that Clara was only now able to recognize—picking the delicate skin between the forgers of her left hand while to her right zebras crunched, rhinoceroses crunched—the crafty violence her attitude had imposed, unconsciously but prolongedly, over someone—the mother—who had no choice but to die while she—the daughter—grew like a tree over her death, because children accentuate the mortality of their parents, she had concluded, turning them into compost and embodying Yorick's skull, rocking with laughter every morning (something that nevertheless, Clara would never say in her interview, because it might make her look like she didn't like parent-child relationships). Her being a daughter, she understood with time, had led to the death of her mother—everyone engenders their murderers, she thought, but only women give birth to them—a death she carried like a seed in her profession, her hairstyle, the way she dressed, even her gestures, but not in her beliefs or her way of speaking.
Clara prides herself as a teacher on the quality of writing that she instills in her pupils, but as she notes her own,disorganized, digressive, populated by subordinate clauses and parenthetical remarksreveals her character. As the novel progresses it becomes increasingly clear how insecure Miss Clara is, her professional facade increasingly fracturing to reveal her mental disintegration:
She, preferring to talk about the adequate usage of orthography and grammar, was a disciple of Bello and her own mother. Many of the teachers she had met in her four years on the job were sloppy, and they defended their lack of care, their distaste for details, by diminishing the importance of the formal aspects of writing. "What's important isn't the how, but the what," they would say, but Clara was incapable of understanding them, even less so when they spoke of the power of orality in the ancestral traditions of Andean countries, relegating writing to a technology of epistemological colonization—a position that always seemed to her mother (the implacable middle school teacher) to be reductionist and which she protested by painting Walter Mignolo's face blue and hiding Cornejo Polar in a cardboard box. Clara, for her part, was convinced that it was possible to know a person through their writing. She liked to think that deep down, her work made it possible for others to discover and show their true character—her mother's, for example, was rhythmic, definitive, sibylline; hers, disorganized, digressive, populated by subordinate clauses and parenthetical remarks.
The novel switches between chapters told from Miss Clara's perspective; from Fernanda's while in captivity; scenes from the classroom and school; scenes from the abandoned house; one-sided interviews between Fernanda and her psychologist (centred around troubling incidents from her earlier childhood); dialogue, as the retrospective parts of the novel progresses closer to the present, between Annelise and Miss Clara in one-on-one lessons the girl has been forced to attend; and, perhaps the novel's set-piece an essay written by Annelise, full of horror culture references, where she analyses what the two have in common, and have against Fernanda. Each is relayed in a distinctive style which echoes Clara's view that ones writing reveals one's character.
This is all compulsively and atmospherically done. If I had a disappointment it was the relatively disappointing pay-off in plot terms as to why Clara had taken the girl hostage, and indeed a secret to which Fernanda and Annelise often alude, although perhaps the psychological truths revealed are more true to the novel's form than a 'twist' or 'reveal' would have been.
3.5 stars rounded to 4.
My mother didn't allow anyone to enter her jaws, only I entered, her muddy becerra. And I slid down her throat. And I scratched at her stomach. A daughter never realizes that one day her turn will come to be the jawed mother. But you're like my daughter because you're my student, I take responsibility for all the harm you cause. Open wide. Together we'll turn off the lights so the White God appears from your mind. The immense truth of the void. You know it well, don't you? Of course you do. Of course you know that girls who dream too much end up sick in the head, but now you're going to learn something important. Be happy. This is the colour of fear. Milk white. Death white. God's snowy skull. Welcome to the volcanic jaws of my house. Let us dive in.
Jawbone is Sarah Booker's translation of Ecuadorian author Mónica Ojeda's 2017 novel Mandíbula and comes with an illuminating translator's note explaining the key challenges of rendering this in English, including the use of hyphenated neologisms and maintaining the different styles used for different sections.
In its UK edition, this is the second book from a new independent press New Ruins, a joint venture between Dead Ink and Influx Press:
New Ruins is a paperback originals imprint focused on the porous and uncanny boundary between the edge-lands of literary and genre fiction.
New Ruins publishes books that are comfortable sitting across, within, or outside of genre labels, for readers unafraid of transgressing boundaries.
Jawbone certainly delivers against that mission statement. It opens with a teenage schoolgirl, Fernanda, awaking to find herself held tied up in a remote location, captive of her literature teacher, Miss Clara. Between chapters as Fernanda tries to understand what is going on, the narration goes back to explain the circumstances that led up to this event.
Fernanda is one of 20 girls in Class 5B at a prestiguous, Opus Dei backed, private school, the Delta Bilingual Academy, a class dominated by six hormonal and rebellious adolscents, Fernanda, Annelise, her very close friend, Ximena, Analía and the twins Fiorella and Natalia,
They dragged their chairs. Miss Angela, a.k.a. Baldomera, asked that they pick them up, but they dragged their chairs over her golden Angelus Novus voice: the sleeping-angel-of-history voice dictating the past, though inevitably pushed along—like the chairs—by the present, toward the promise of a future with twenty-three skirts, five smiles with braces, three Tory Burch watches, twenty-one iPhones, three iPads, and a rosary. The pack of metal barking across the floor tiles woke up Ivanna Romero, a.k.a. Full Ride, who jumped to carry hers forward. Fernanda shoved her chair against Annelise Van Isschot's, a.k.a. Freckles. It had been a long time since there were bumper cars in the city.It's so fun to crash into everything that matters,she thought, recalling the childhood that roused her fangs. Fiorella and Natalia Barcos stood at the back of the classroom, behind Ximena Sandoval and Analía Raad, their best-friends-4ever-never-change-baby, and pulled their ponytails tight, smiling their incisors. Ximena and Analia turned around: they stuck their clitoris-tongues out up to their chins.
Arrastraron las sillas. Miss Ángela, alias Baldomera, les pidió que las levantaran, pero ellas arrastraron las sillas sobre su voz áurea de Angelus Novus; voz de ángel-dormido-de-la-historia dictando el pasado, aunque inevitablemente empujado por el presente –como las sillas– hacia una promesa de futuro de veintitrés faldas, cinco sonrisas con brackets, tres relojes Tory Burch, veintiún iPhones, trece iPads y un rosario. La jauría de metal ladrando las baldosas despertó a Ivanna Romero, alias la Becada, quien se puso de pie de un salto para llevar la suya hacia adelante. Fernanda empujó su silla contra la de Annelise Van Isschot, alias la Pecas. Hacía mucho tiempo que no había carros chocones en la ciudad.Qué divertido es chocarse contra todo lo que importa,pensó recordando la infancia que le agitaba los caninos. Fiorella y Natalia Barcos se colocaron al fondo del aula, detrás de Ximena Sandoval y Analía Raad, sus best-friends-4ever-nunca-cambies-bebé, y les halaron las coletas sonriendo sus incisivos. Ximena y Analía se voltearon: les sacaron sus lenguas-clítoris hasta la barbilla.
But outside of school, the six girls, led by Fernanda and Annelise, have a secret, an abandoned house, where they meet up (typically while their parents assume they are on a sleepover at one of their houses), challenging each other to increasingly dangerous dares and performing secret rituals to a 'White God' dreamt up by Annelise, as part of thecreepypastas.
Their previous English teacher had had a heart-attack, potentially triggered by a practical joke Class 5B played on her, and Miss Clara Lopez Valverde (who the girls soon nickname "Latin Madame Bovary" ), unaware of his history, applies successfully for the job.
But Clara has problems of her own. She is only just returning to work,three months, two days and eleven hoursafter an incident at her previous, rather rougher, school where two girls had broken into her house in search of the end of term papers, and, when Clara discovered them, tied her up forthirteen hours and fifty seven minutes,the precision of both timings making it clear how much the incident still haunts her. And she has an odd relationship with her, recently passed away, mother -"Golden Calf," she called Clara until she was ten years old, when during arguments it became just "Becerra," stretching out the double r's if she was mad, shortening them if she was in a good mood.- reacting to her mother's odd treatment of her by essentially imitating and thereby absorbing her, including following her into teaching:
That imperfect imitiation, nevertheless, had split the earth between them until the end, such that Clara was only now able to recognize—picking the delicate skin between the forgers of her left hand while to her right zebras crunched, rhinoceroses crunched—the crafty violence her attitude had imposed, unconsciously but prolongedly, over someone—the mother—who had no choice but to die while she—the daughter—grew like a tree over her death, because children accentuate the mortality of their parents, she had concluded, turning them into compost and embodying Yorick's skull, rocking with laughter every morning (something that nevertheless, Clara would never say in her interview, because it might make her look like she didn't like parent-child relationships). Her being a daughter, she understood with time, had led to the death of her mother—everyone engenders their murderers, she thought, but only women give birth to them—a death she carried like a seed in her profession, her hairstyle, the way she dressed, even her gestures, but not in her beliefs or her way of speaking.
Clara prides herself as a teacher on the quality of writing that she instills in her pupils, but as she notes her own,disorganized, digressive, populated by subordinate clauses and parenthetical remarksreveals her character. As the novel progresses it becomes increasingly clear how insecure Miss Clara is, her professional facade increasingly fracturing to reveal her mental disintegration:
She, preferring to talk about the adequate usage of orthography and grammar, was a disciple of Bello and her own mother. Many of the teachers she had met in her four years on the job were sloppy, and they defended their lack of care, their distaste for details, by diminishing the importance of the formal aspects of writing. "What's important isn't the how, but the what," they would say, but Clara was incapable of understanding them, even less so when they spoke of the power of orality in the ancestral traditions of Andean countries, relegating writing to a technology of epistemological colonization—a position that always seemed to her mother (the implacable middle school teacher) to be reductionist and which she protested by painting Walter Mignolo's face blue and hiding Cornejo Polar in a cardboard box. Clara, for her part, was convinced that it was possible to know a person through their writing. She liked to think that deep down, her work made it possible for others to discover and show their true character—her mother's, for example, was rhythmic, definitive, sibylline; hers, disorganized, digressive, populated by subordinate clauses and parenthetical remarks.
The novel switches between chapters told from Miss Clara's perspective; from Fernanda's while in captivity; scenes from the classroom and school; scenes from the abandoned house; one-sided interviews between Fernanda and her psychologist (centred around troubling incidents from her earlier childhood); dialogue, as the retrospective parts of the novel progresses closer to the present, between Annelise and Miss Clara in one-on-one lessons the girl has been forced to attend; and, perhaps the novel's set-piece an essay written by Annelise, full of horror culture references, where she analyses what the two have in common, and have against Fernanda. Each is relayed in a distinctive style which echoes Clara's view that ones writing reveals one's character.
This is all compulsively and atmospherically done. If I had a disappointment it was the relatively disappointing pay-off in plot terms as to why Clara had taken the girl hostage, and indeed a secret to which Fernanda and Annelise often alude, although perhaps the psychological truths revealed are more true to the novel's form than a 'twist' or 'reveal' would have been.
3.5 stars rounded to 4.
September 23, 2022
Credo che l'intimità sia sempre molto più minacciosa
Annelise✸✸✸✸ 1/2
Mandibula è uno di quei libri che mi ha perculato con il suo incipit di tensione. Sembra un thriller psicologico e... sì... è un thriller è psicologico ma con declinazioni e sfumature spinte al massimo.
La Ojeda qui tratta di donne tra donne in un contesto patriarcale (mai accennato e solo minacciato). Romanzo a due facce: due lati della stessa medaglia: Viscerale e raffinato; adolescenza ed età adulta; figlie e madri; studentesse e insegnanti; Bianco (nel senso di nero) e Nero(nel senso di bianco)
"Nessuno le aveva spiegato che la luce era capace anche di oscurare la carne"
Istinto...
"Gli animali sanno quando stanno per morire perché la morte è un sentimento"
e, citando la teoria di Erikson, l'adolescenza come ricerca d'identità passando per una crisi d'identità.
"Il bianco […] rappresenta la purezza e la luce, ma anche l’assenza di colore, la morte e l’indefinito. Rappresenta ciò che nel mostrarsi anticipa cose terribili e impossibili da conoscere."
E la crisi, in un gruppo di adolescenti passa per l'accettazione dei loro corpi che cambiano ma anche, e soprattutto, delle proprie pulsioni e desideri.
Se fosse una macchina tra i vari capitoli o si sta in folle o si passa direttamente alla quinta marcia.
Tre protagoniste, un binomio: O fernanda+Annelise oppure Clara+Annelise.
ANNELISE
Io sono rimasto terrorizzato da Annelise. Dalla sua intelligenza (il capitolo XXI, omaggio su Lovecraft e il concetto di orrore su tutti) ma, prima di tutto, dalla sua abilità manipolatoria. Chi manipola, i veri manipolatori, ti mostrano la verità delle cose, non ingannano su questo, mentono sui propri fini. Personaggio da pelle d'oca.
"Quando viene meno l'idea del bene e del male, l'unica cosa che rimane è la natura e la sua violenza"
LA DOCENTE CLARA LOPEZ VALVERDE
Qui c'è la bravura della Ojeda. Passare da una scrittura in terza persona che riguarda delle adolescenti insicure ed ebbre di ormoni ad un'altra visione più controllata, paralizzata è degno di plauso
"Lei avrebbe potuto caricarsi Ximena, Miss Clara, o almeno provarci, è questo che deve fare un'insegnante: provarci. Eppure non si è mossa dal suo posto."
Ma la vera bravura della scrittrice è mostrarti, per la prima volta, due facce della stessa medaglia, follie scritte in maniera differente ma dal risultato convergente all'eccesso. Forse l'unico appunto su questa protagonista è sul finale
Lo stile è il vero aspetto psicologico. I simbolismi e le associazioni ti vengono man mano inculcati in testa e non ne esci fuori:
Ci sono gesti che ci distinguono dai mostri e sbattere le palpebre è uno di questi.
Per questo appoggiavano il cancelletto e il pennarello per terra: per vedere l'insegnante chinarsi, piegare la propria statura e rendere omaggio ai banchi che erano troni riflessi nel soffitto.
Un numero sconosciuto di gonne che prosciugavano l'aria.
Lo dice la Bibbia, un libro dove tutti hanno paura.
A volte le veniva da piangere mentre scriveva alla lavagna della quinta B. Allora stringeva la mandibola e le parole della madre morta le pettinavano la testa.
Già. La madre di Clara. La radiografia... della madre di Clara.
La ribellione verso di un sistema sociale e familiare che usa l’ordine e l’autorità come strumenti di repressione avviene tramite la partecipazione al rito del dio Bianco. Protetti dallo scudo di pagine, penso si possa partecipare e restarne incolumi (almeno fisicamente)
Annelise✸✸✸✸ 1/2
Mandibula è uno di quei libri che mi ha perculato con il suo incipit di tensione. Sembra un thriller psicologico e... sì... è un thriller è psicologico ma con declinazioni e sfumature spinte al massimo.
La Ojeda qui tratta di donne tra donne in un contesto patriarcale (mai accennato e solo minacciato). Romanzo a due facce: due lati della stessa medaglia: Viscerale e raffinato; adolescenza ed età adulta; figlie e madri; studentesse e insegnanti; Bianco (nel senso di nero) e Nero(nel senso di bianco)
"Nessuno le aveva spiegato che la luce era capace anche di oscurare la carne"
Istinto...
"Gli animali sanno quando stanno per morire perché la morte è un sentimento"
e, citando la teoria di Erikson, l'adolescenza come ricerca d'identità passando per una crisi d'identità.
"Il bianco […] rappresenta la purezza e la luce, ma anche l’assenza di colore, la morte e l’indefinito. Rappresenta ciò che nel mostrarsi anticipa cose terribili e impossibili da conoscere."
E la crisi, in un gruppo di adolescenti passa per l'accettazione dei loro corpi che cambiano ma anche, e soprattutto, delle proprie pulsioni e desideri.
Se fosse una macchina tra i vari capitoli o si sta in folle o si passa direttamente alla quinta marcia.
Tre protagoniste, un binomio: O fernanda+Annelise oppure Clara+Annelise.
ANNELISE
Io sono rimasto terrorizzato da Annelise. Dalla sua intelligenza (il capitolo XXI, omaggio su Lovecraft e il concetto di orrore su tutti) ma, prima di tutto, dalla sua abilità manipolatoria. Chi manipola, i veri manipolatori, ti mostrano la verità delle cose, non ingannano su questo, mentono sui propri fini. Personaggio da pelle d'oca.
"Quando viene meno l'idea del bene e del male, l'unica cosa che rimane è la natura e la sua violenza"
LA DOCENTE CLARA LOPEZ VALVERDE
Qui c'è la bravura della Ojeda. Passare da una scrittura in terza persona che riguarda delle adolescenti insicure ed ebbre di ormoni ad un'altra visione più controllata, paralizzata è degno di plauso
"Lei avrebbe potuto caricarsi Ximena, Miss Clara, o almeno provarci, è questo che deve fare un'insegnante: provarci. Eppure non si è mossa dal suo posto."
Ma la vera bravura della scrittrice è mostrarti, per la prima volta, due facce della stessa medaglia, follie scritte in maniera differente ma dal risultato convergente all'eccesso. Forse l'unico appunto su questa protagonista è sul finale
Lo stile è il vero aspetto psicologico. I simbolismi e le associazioni ti vengono man mano inculcati in testa e non ne esci fuori:
Ci sono gesti che ci distinguono dai mostri e sbattere le palpebre è uno di questi.
Per questo appoggiavano il cancelletto e il pennarello per terra: per vedere l'insegnante chinarsi, piegare la propria statura e rendere omaggio ai banchi che erano troni riflessi nel soffitto.
Un numero sconosciuto di gonne che prosciugavano l'aria.
Lo dice la Bibbia, un libro dove tutti hanno paura.
A volte le veniva da piangere mentre scriveva alla lavagna della quinta B. Allora stringeva la mandibola e le parole della madre morta le pettinavano la testa.
Già. La madre di Clara. La radiografia... della madre di Clara.
La ribellione verso di un sistema sociale e familiare che usa l’ordine e l’autorità come strumenti di repressione avviene tramite la partecipazione al rito del dio Bianco. Protetti dallo scudo di pagine, penso si possa partecipare e restarne incolumi (almeno fisicamente)
February 25, 2021
Ormai sembro una matta che dice di non voler esagerare ma alla fine poi esplode e: questo romanzo è bellissimo.
Tutto quello che potrei chiedere da una narrativa ibrida, che racchiude horror, thriller e misticismo è in questa piccola epopea vissuta dentro una comunità che ha che fare con l'Opus Dei e con "le persone per bene". Annidiate in mezzo a queste persone stanno delle adolescenti che a forza di creare storie terrificanti creano un piccolo culto letale e un'insegnante ossessionata dalla madre, anche lei vittima (quanto arteifice) di un culto altrettanto terribile.
Ojeda scrive che"quando viene meno l'idea del bene e del male l'unica cosa che rimane è la natura e la sua violenza."Rimane quindi il bianco del terrore più primitivo, le preghiere che diventano urla di battaglia e una scrittura mistica e ferale.
(Mollate Pessl e prendete questo).
Tutto quello che potrei chiedere da una narrativa ibrida, che racchiude horror, thriller e misticismo è in questa piccola epopea vissuta dentro una comunità che ha che fare con l'Opus Dei e con "le persone per bene". Annidiate in mezzo a queste persone stanno delle adolescenti che a forza di creare storie terrificanti creano un piccolo culto letale e un'insegnante ossessionata dalla madre, anche lei vittima (quanto arteifice) di un culto altrettanto terribile.
Ojeda scrive che"quando viene meno l'idea del bene e del male l'unica cosa che rimane è la natura e la sua violenza."Rimane quindi il bianco del terrore più primitivo, le preghiere che diventano urla di battaglia e una scrittura mistica e ferale.
(Mollate Pessl e prendete questo).
February 10, 2023
A disturbing and ominous exploration of fear, manipulation, and the dangerous consequences of the brutal side of imagination. Visceral, impulsive, and wild, Jawbone pushes the boundaries of sexuality and violence, aligning beauty with ugliness, the feral with the feminine. It tests the limits of depravity and existentialism, blurring sanity and reality into a fever dream of unchecked tension and cruelty. Relentlessly unsettling and wholly unflinching, Jawbone is a black hole of mounting dread and discomfort, a siren song of the suppressed and the morbidity of boredom.
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