The monstrosity of grief: a review of Gerardo Sámano Córdova’s ‘Monstrilio’

When it comes to eye-catching, nothing is more so than Gerardo Sámano Córdova’s debut novel Monstrilio. From the unique title, to the immediately shocking blurb, Córdova lures his readers into thinking that they are in for a stereotypical horror novel. Yet, what lies within the pages of this deceptive debut is an emotional, thought-provoking exploration of grief, loss, and love. Released in the UK in March 2024, Monstrilio is not just a beautiful portrayal of the horrors of grief and the beauty of acceptance, but a wildly underappreciated one at that.

Drawing on the magical realism genre, Monstrilio follows bereaved mother Magos, who, in her grief, cuts out a piece of her dead son’s lung. After hearing of the potential of creating another version of her son Santiago, she raises this lung into a fully fledged man, and attempts to curb his natural monstrous instincts. Told through the four separate perspectives of Magos, her husband Joseph, her friend Lena and, eventually, Monstrilio himself, the novel spans continents and years – a mini-epic which charts these character’s attempts at maneuvering their individual and collective grieving processes.

The novel actually begins on none of these characters’ perspectives, with a third person account of the 12-year old Santiago’s death. Córdova’s decision to open on this sort of prologue creates a distance between the characters and Santiago’s death. Perhaps this is in order to separate their grieving processes from the event itself, or to create a blank slate for the characters we are about to meet – we never get to hear their inner voices before or during Santiago’s death, we only know the versions of themselves that have been altered by grief.

We then switch to Magos, the mother of Santiago and initial creator of his ‘replacement’. She refuses to accept the grief that is obviously consuming her entirely. With Magos as his vessel, Córdova’s writing truly shines.

He effectively subverts stereotypical female archetypes, never presenting Magos as a woman withering away in her grief, but as a determined mother trying to get her son back

He effectively subverts stereotypical female archetypes, never presenting Magos as a woman withering away in her grief, but as a determined mother trying to get her son back. She observes her husband Joseph who, in another subversion of similar tropes, becomes this ghost-like shell after Santiago passes. Through Magos, Córdova explores the grief of a bereaved mother, but also the desire and lust still felt by her as a woman, never confining her to one characterisation.

Admittedly, the novel does lose its footing slightly with its two middle narratives of Lena and Joseph. Here, Córdova plays with time jumps and location changes, uprooting his narrative from Mexico to New York and even as far as Berlin. While the crumbling house of Magos’ mother and the sprawling, claustrophobic landscapes of Mexico give the novel a gothic aesthetic which compliments the magical realism genre of the novel perfectly, the shift to the urban landscapes of New York and Berlin leave the novel feeling slightly lost stylistically.

The characters of Lena and Joseph feel less complex than Magos, with explorations of Lena’s sexuality and feelings towards Magos being left largely unresolved. Her narrative feels slightly out of place with the other three, as if she is an intrusion on the family unit. Joseph’s narrative is an understandable addition, but feels more like a way to drive the plot forward, than a compelling character study in its own right.

Joseph’s narrative takes us across the ocean to Berlin, where Magos is living with Monstrilio and working as a performance artist. Throughout Joseph’s narrative, the world Córdova has created completely shifts, especially in the character of Magos. While perhaps intentional, it is hard not to feel frustrated at having to watch the characters we have come to know so personally completely shift into new people.

That being said, the final narrative of Monstrilio once again demonstrates Córdova’s writing skills. Tying the story back to its core themes of grief and acceptance is where the narrative truly shines. Córdova’s vivid imagery and descriptions further his nuanced characterisation and thematically formidable plot, and effectively conclude a somewhat messy plot in a satisfyingly succinct manner. Monstrilio is well-written and full of beautiful ideas, but is, above all, a refreshingly original and wonderfully entertaining read. Although the message may have been diluted somewhere along the way, Gerardo Sámano Córdova delivers a poignant end to his fantastical exploration of bereavement, with a debut novel that has certainly left an impression on the literary world.