Chapter 17 Summary and Analysis

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This guide contains detailed spoilers for the entire novel. Proceed only if you've finished reading or are comfortable knowing the plot.

Summary

The chapter opens in Mexico City in 1964, in the uneasy aftermath of Remedio's departure. Though the man is gone, his presence lingers: Jaime catches glimpses of shadowy figures darting through rooms, the children complain of nightmares, and Elena is in and out of bed with headaches. Ignacia brings a neighbor to sprinkle holy water throughout the house, an act Jaime is too unsettled to prevent. Only Juan Antonio seems unaffected, taking quiet satisfaction in having been right about Remedio.

Jaime berates himself for letting Remedio into the house, though he partially forgives himself by concluding the man must have hypnotized the family. He stops short of calling it a spell—he reminds himself they're sending men into space—but the visit has pushed him closer to superstition than he's ever crept. The image of the shadow man from Rocha's book compounds his unease, and he wakes at night to make circuits through the house, testing doors and peering through windows. The sense of violation persists no matter how often he reassures himself they're safe.

On one of these nightly rounds, Jaime decides to dispose of the book. He wraps it in a paper bag, buries it at the bottom of the alley garbage can, and makes the sign of the cross, telling himself nothing has been right since the book arrived. But the next morning, the book is back on his desk under his green lamp, a pad of paper and pencil beside it. He tries again, walking six blocks to a greengrocer's dumpster and tossing the book in with vengeance. Again it returns, this time with his chair pulled out and a pack of Elena's cigarettes and a clean ashtray waiting. Jaime notices the word Ignominious seems to glow in the dim light, and the book appears to watch him—two tears in the cover like eyes, the publisher's mark like a nose. He catches himself and stops the fanciful thinking.

He gives up trying to dispose of it. He wakes Ignacia for coffee and sits down to finish reading with grim anticipation, comparing himself to a man digging into a hole that might contain bodies but also treasure. As he reads, he thinks of his father sawing their branch from the family tree, and how futile that effort must have seemed once the book arrived.

He finishes late that night, closing the cover with dread rather than satisfaction. The ending offers no summation, no redemption—nothing like what decades of film-going had trained him to expect. He lights one of Elena's cigarettes and wonders what the point of it all was.

At breakfast, Juan Antonio reminds him he warned against reading it. Later, Jaime tells Elena the book seems to end midsentence, like someone watching the light disappear from the world. He reflects on how Rocha seemed to lose something of herself over the course of the book, how the story became so perverted she couldn't wrestle it back to her original intention.

Elena asks what he thinks she intended. Jaime says she wanted to understand evil and whether people can be better than they are, but the questions were too large—she was like a painter trying to picture all the known world. Elena recalls a Morisot painting at the Orsay that moved her to tears, a small scene of a mother and baby that stood in for something much larger. She suggests Jaime adapt a small piece of the book to film, the way the painting captured a whole world in one small thing.

Then Elena asks whether his father is evil. Jaime says no—stubborn, closed-off, old-fashioned, but not evil. Elena observes that something prevented the transfer of evil from one generation to the next, as though the disease was stopped in its tracks. Jaime concludes that Rocha ended her book so bleakly because she couldn't see far enough into the future—she couldn't find a resolution because she didn't have enough time.

Key Events

Remedio's departure leaves the household unsettled: nightmares, headaches, and a lingering sense of violation
Ignacia brings a neighbor to sprinkle holy water
Jaime attempts to dispose of the book twice—in the alley garbage and in a greengrocer's dumpster—and it returns both times
Jaime notices the book seems to watch him and the word Ignominious glows in the light
He stops trying to discard it and finishes reading, feeling dread at the unresolved ending
Juan Antonio reminds him he warned against reading it
Jaime describes the ending to Elena as if the author died midsentence
Elena suggests adapting a small piece of the book to film, citing a Morisot painting as an example
Elena asks if Jaime's father is evil; Jaime says no
Elena observes that something stopped the transfer of evil between generations
Jaime concludes Rocha couldn't see far enough into the future to find a resolution

Character Development

Jaime undergoes a significant shift in this chapter. His rational, modern worldview—the man who scoffs at spells in an age of space travel—is tested by the book's refusal to be discarded. His attempts to dispose of it are methodical and practical, but the book's return forces him to confront something outside his experience. His decision to finish reading, described as digging into a hole that might contain bodies but also treasure, shows a man willing to face darkness for the possibility of meaning. His conversation with Elena reveals vulnerability: he's troubled by the book's bleak ending, and he's willing to entertain her suggestion of adaptation, a creative risk that suggests growth.

Elena emerges as the chapter's emotional and intellectual center. Her headaches and tears give way to clarity: she connects the Morisot painting's power to the idea that small things can stand in for everything. Her question about Jaime's father reframes the family's history in terms of legacy and interruption, and her observation that something stopped the transfer of evil is the chapter's most hopeful note.

Juan Antonio remains the voice of caution, taking satisfaction in being right about Remedio and about the book.

Themes, Symbols, or Motifs

The book as sentient: The book's refusal to be discarded—returning to the desk, the cigarettes and ashtray set out, the word Ignominious glowing, the cover appearing to watch—transforms it from an object into something with agency. It symbolizes a past that cannot be buried.

Evil and its nature: The chapter's central question. Jaime's father is not evil, merely stubborn and closed-off, yet the book's author was consumed by trying to understand evil. The distinction between evil acts and evil people, and whether evil can be inherited, drives the conversation.

Generational transfer: Elena's observation that something stopped the transfer of evil between generations is the chapter's key insight. The book itself is a kind of inheritance—Jaime's father tried to cut the branch from the family tree, but the book arrived anyway.

Unresolved endings: Rocha's book ends without summation or redemption, and Jaime is disturbed by this. The chapter suggests that some questions don't have tidy resolutions, and that the attempt to answer them may be the point.

Art as microcosm: Elena's Morisot example offers a counterpoint to Rocha's attempt to paint all the known world. The suggestion to adapt a small piece of the book to film is an artistic strategy for tackling questions too large for direct address.

Superstition vs rationality: Jaime's internal struggle between his modern skepticism and his creeping belief in something supernatural. The holy water, the shadow man, the book's return—all test his rational worldview.

Why This Chapter Matters

This chapter is a turning point in the novel's engagement with its own central questions. The book's refusal to be discarded literalizes the idea that the past—and its evils—cannot simply be thrown away. Jaime's attempts to dispose of it mirror his father's attempt to cut the branch from the family tree, and both fail. The book keeps returning, demanding to be read, demanding to be confronted.

The conversation between Jaime and Elena reframes the novel's concerns: if evil is a disease that can be stopped between generations, then the family's story is not one of inevitable doom but of interruption and possibility. Jaime's conclusion that Rocha couldn't see far enough into the future suggests that the book's bleak ending is not the final word—that the future might hold something the author couldn't imagine.

Elena's suggestion of adaptation also matters: it proposes that the way to engage with overwhelming questions is through small, focused acts of art, not through attempting to capture everything at once.

Study Questions

1. Why does the book keep returning to Jaime's desk, and what does this suggest about the novel's treatment of legacy and the past?

The book's refusal to be discarded literalizes the idea that the past cannot be buried or ignored. Jaime's attempts to dispose of it—first in the alley, then in a dumpster six blocks away—mirror his father's attempt to cut the branch from the family tree. Both efforts fail. The book returns with small details that suggest it has been waiting: the pad of paper, the cigarettes, the ashtray. This suggests that legacy is not something that can be thrown away; it must be confronted and read.

2. What does Elena's question about Jaime's father reveal about the chapter's understanding of evil?

Elena asks whether Jaime's father is evil, and Jaime says no—stubborn, closed-off, old-fashioned, but not evil. This distinction separates the father's flaws from the book's darkness. Elena's observation that something prevented the transfer of evil between generations suggests that evil is not an inevitable inheritance but something that can be interrupted. The chapter proposes that the family line is not cursed but redirected, and that this interruption is a kind of hope.

3. How does the Morisot painting example function in the chapter's argument about art and scale?

Elena recalls crying over a Morisot painting of a mother and baby at the Orsay, finding loneliness and disconnection in the woman's eyes. She argues that this small thing stood in for everything—that a single image could carry the weight of a whole emotional world. This is offered as a counterpoint to Rocha's attempt to paint all the known world, which failed because the questions were too large. Elena's suggestion to adapt a small piece of the book to film is a strategy of scale: instead of trying to capture everything, focus on one small thing that stands in for the whole.