Juan Rulfo’s World of Fiction

Juan Rulfo's World of Fiction

by Armando Ortiz

I thought I knew about Latin American writers. I’ve read Borges, Garcia Marquez, Neruda, and Paz. Of course I am also sort of familiar with some Central American writers like, Asturias, and Dalton. In reality though, my knowledge of Latin American writers is limited. So when the opportunity arose to read a Roberto Bolano book I thought it would be a good thing to do. He was from Chile and I‘d never read a novel from a Chilean author. Reading his material it became evident of how ignorant I am to the world of Latin American literature of which I have yet to seriously explore.

Juan Rulfo (1917-1986)

I have only read a small fraction of the works that exist in this world and have yet to read Joyce, Dante, Shelley and Shakespeare. After finishing 2666, I decided look up information on Rulfo. I got the chance to speak to an acquaintance, Arnoldo, who is very familiar with Latin American writers. It was through him that I discovered Marquez and aside from literature he also reads lots of science related material. In our discussion regarding Rulfo he told me that there was one particular character found in Rulfo’s book of short stories, El Llano En Llamas, that stood out, Lucas Lucatero. I was intrigued and wanted to know more about this writer whom I’d never heard of or read. According to Arnoldo, reading his stories gave one the feeling of walking on dusty roads.

Rulfo stands amongst the great short story writers of all time. He will be read for many years to come, and hopefully more people will come to discover his stories. What I found particularly appealing about Rulfo’s writing was the manner in which he describes the life of poor peasants.

Mexican Revolution (1910-1920)

The poor, without taking into account the social and economic forces behind poverty, are his main focus. Yes, the stories take place after a time period of great violence; The Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) and the Cristero Wars (1926-1929), but poverty is the environment from where his stories emerge, and poverty has existed in societies for hundreds of years. For Rulfo, the violence he describes are not bad dreams or an unknown realm, but are recent experiences deeply personal and intimate. Violence, was and still is very common in Latin America, even now as we speak violence is happening. One thing to remember though, violence is relative and can happen anywhere. However, there are parts of the world where lawlessness exists, but it seems that the proclivity for violence by people is higher in places where access to fire weapons is readily available, which is a chronic reality in Mexico and Central America, and where lawlessness and corruption permeate society.

Cristero Rebels (1926-1929)

Juan Rulfo was an author that wrote one collection of short stories, El Llano En Llamas (The Burning Plain and other short stories) and one short novel, Pedro Paramo. His whole written canon is made up of two books. There is another book that was made, but that’s a collection of photographs that he took throughout Mexico. He was born in Jalisco, Mexico and for a number of years was raised by nuns in an orphanage located Guadalajara, the province’s capital city. Despite these misfortunes Rulfo managed to study accounting and went on to be a successful author and salesman. He received a prize that enabled him to dedicate some time to writing.

After publishing his only novel output ceased and he embarked on a journey with photography. Reading his works one easily gets lost in the web that is woven by his prose which becomes magical inside the minds of readers. His descriptions and emotions blend to become enigmatic of what word play should be and are a template for good writing.

In Juan Rulfo’s world people are always coming and going. Going to places unknown and never seen before, while others are coming from locations with strange names and sites where prayers go unheard. Characters are always passing through towns where the inhabitants seem more like wandering spirits in purgatory than real people with real concerns. In his stories people have condemned themselves or have earned the condemnation of others. Though not spoken, each character’s perception, hand gestures, physical movements and journeys to certain places indicate their destiny. Fate in a sense has become an individual’s collective decision and collective future. Bandits are shot at night in the middle of a robbery. Murders are swept away in torrential rains or are relegated to haunt towns forever.



Choices that were made at a time of heated passion, anger and depression become part of the condemnation. Death becomes imbued with sentimentality and regret. Revenge almost completes the cycle of justice but the circle is never really closed, leaving the door open to more misfortune. Incest brings about hidden desires and outward shows of affection towards the dead through hollow rituals.

Rulfo’s world takes place in a time of unrelenting violence, rape and pillage. The poor travel by foot or donkey, while the rich gallop around in horses. In the scenarios he creates, ghosts are condemned to carry fire wood on their backs on a path that leads to no where- forever. Horse riders become the embodiment of the pale horse rider found in the Book of Revelation, and are not given the sacred sacraments from the priests to enter heaven. Salvation is inches away but never acquired. No one is immune to the sins of humanity, and to the consequences of violence. Heaven has become a mirage that exists only in delirious dreams.

Life, in his imagination, takes place in small towns where rivers are streams of water that feed the wild weeds. There is hardly any water that’s drinkable, irrigating the cornfields is a precarious endeavor, and the fruit that is harvested isn’t sweet. Bitter, is the taste life. When the rains come, which are downpours, streams transform into rivers capable of taking small adobe homes down canyons and arroyos, and the possessions of poverty stricken families; a cow, a pair of pigs and occasionally a relative; are washed away. Life is harsh, but nature seems to be the cruelest of them all.

The sun hangs, like an old clothes iron that one fills with hot coals, over the heads of everyone. When it rains it pours and when it pours the tears of his characters’ eyes flow as fast as the savage rivers. The sky is blue, and lifeless. Even in the oppressive heat the sky remains cold and silent. The winds walk down corridors like lost children at the mall, wailing for something. Waking life becomes an itch that has no origins and no cure for it can be found. Sleep becomes torturous, because the weather is uncomfortable and secrets can’t get lost in the darkness. Night quickly disappears and the rising sun quickly wakes everyone one up from their slumber. Superstition becomes an outlet for hope where there is none. Saints bleed tears of remorse, because no god exists within the lines of Rulfo’s stories. With the unrelenting heat of the dangling sun and the trampling of dirt roads, dust rises. The floating sand particles enter through the mouth and nostrils of the characters making breathing, even for the reader, difficult. Life is tough.



His world revolves around violence. Exploitation is a byword for the impunity by which people live bye. Killers that escape are condemned by their own crimes and their sleep becomes one where ghost talk and victims scream at night. Violence becomes the accepted norm, blood the sacred liquid that is supposed to cleanse, just gets coagulated with dust, dirt and sweat infecting the body. The sick are relegated to sweat it out in their own mental sweat lodge, and cling on to the hope of going to the bigger town to pray to the holier relic. Virgin statuettes shed tears that are artificially placed on its eyes by priests in the morning. Idol’s hands spread like branches accepting all, listening to the incoherent cries of believers. Carved dolls cannot see mourners because of the thick incense smoke and their own wooden eyes are blind to injustice. Rulfo, in essence walks the reader through the Valley of Death and tells them that the journey never ends because even after death spirits wander in his stories in their own hell. Infinity is not something worth talking about or worth discussing because the present moment is too bleak and death so certain. Its just a matter of time before we once again wake up and have to deal with the realities of life.

Despite the suffering that many of his characters live through, every one of them wishes to keep on living. Suffering, everyone goes through it, everyone in life carries a cross, and complains about the vicissitudes of life, but when the times comes to confront death everyone tries to run away. Like Antonius Block, the Crusader in Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, they try play chess against death and make excuses to prolong the game. Wishing to hold on to life a bit longer, the sweetness of sautéed onions with garlic and olive becomes delectable to them. Morning toil becomes dawn’s morning glory. The gun to their temple makes his characters kneel down and beg for life. Any how, this existence is rough but also bearable.

In a way we see the complexity of life through Rulfo’s writing. He reveals that humans have physical desires ranging from sexual to the unknown desire to steal. Along with other needs like love, nurture, hunger and compassion. In his writing humans also have a spirit. Spirits that at times depend on the blessings of priests, blessings that money can and cannot buy. Individuals that have to be forgiven but are not, and people that want to be forgiven for crimes committed. Everyone at some point wants to be forgiven for something. Remorse, even in death, is what many spirits continue to carry.

All images were taken by J. Rulfo except for his portrait and two that have captions.