Gods of Jade and Shadow

“‘It’s unfair. Martín has everything and we get nothing,’ Casiopea said.

‘What does he have?’ her mother asked.

‘Well . . . money, and good clothes . . . and he gets to do anything he wants.’

‘You shouldn’t do everything you want just because you can,’ her mother said. ‘That is precisely why Martín is such a terrible man.’”

The exchange highlights the difference experience makes in our understanding of people. Casiopea is convinced she would be happier if she had everything Martín has. By contrast, her mother believes Martín is spoiled and is terrible precisely because he has unchecked freedom. The truth falls somewhere between these two perspectives. Martín is never questioned and believes that he is above reproach. Thus, he acts without regard to potential consequences, not caring who he might hurt.

“I shall now go to hell, she thought, because that was what happened when you looked at a naked man who was not your husband and this one was handsome. She’d probably burn for all eternity. However, she amended her thought when she recalled that she was in the presence of a god who had spoken about yet another god, which would imply that the priest had been wrong about the Almighty One in heaven.”

Here, Casiopea sees Hun-Kamé for the first time, and her thoughts reveal her internal conflict. She believes Hun-Kamé’s story very quickly, which implies that she is ready to accept any alternative explanation for religion and the gods. The strict teachings of the church go against her more open-minded beliefs, and her beliefs are what make her an ideal candidate for her following adventure and heroic actions.

“Xibalba can be a frightful place, with its House of Knives and its House of Bats and many strange sights, but the court of the Lords of Death also possessed the allure of shadows and the glimmer of obsidian, for there is as much beauty as there is terror in the night. Mortals have always been frightened of the night’s velvet embrace and the creatures that walk in it, and yet they find themselves mesmerized by it. Since all gods are born from the kernel of mortal hearts, it is no wonder Xibalba reflected this duality.”

This passage comes from the first chapter where we see Xibalba and describes the opposing forces at work in the Underworld kingdom. The duality here reflects that found in human nature—to both fear and wonder about things that are not understood.

“‘Have you not heard a word I said? Mortals gave us our form,’ he told her. Like a furnace? she wondered. Did mortals sculpt the forms of gods? And if so, did those forms change? Or were gods inviolable, their visage, once imagined, forever remaining in its original shape?”

Hun-Kamé explains how gods come to be known by humans, specifying that their images are created by those who worship them. Rather than a completely human-made construct, gods existed before humans, but humans gave them shape and form through the beliefs they built around those gods. These lines question the eternal nature of gods and whether gods change based on changing beliefs or whether they cannot change by virtue of how they were created. No answer is given by the end of the book, leaving readers to draw their own conclusions.

“‘You did not rescue me,’ Casiopea replied. ‘I opened that chest. Besides, I wasn’t a princess in a tower. I knew I’d get away one way or another, and I was not waiting for a god to liberate me. That would have been both silly and unlikely.’”

Gods of Jade and Shadow follows a fairy-tale structure. Here, Moreno-Garcia subverts traditional fairy tales by having Casiopea acknowledge the unlikelihood of traditional fairy tales are. Specifically, she recalls the image of a maiden trapped in a tower awaiting rescue and the strangeness that these maidens are always saved, despite how they are often hidden where no one knows to look for them. As a prince-charming-type character, Hun-Kamé takes the credit for rescuing Casiopea, as princes in fairy tales often do, but unlike the maidens, Casiopea denies the importance he played and makes it clear she could have found freedom without him.

“Always beleaguered, poor Veracruz; when Sir Francis Drake had not been assailing it, the French looted it, and then the Americans seized it. It was tenacious, one must say that about Veracruz: it weathered Spanish conquistadors, British buccaneers, French soldiers, and American Marines. That was why its inhabitants were said to be so cool and collected, dressed in their guayaberas and laughing the night away to the music of the harp and the requinto. When war has knocked on one’s front door that many times, why should the minuscule daily ills matter?”

Here, Casiopea and Hun-Kamé have arrived in Veracruz. Casiopea’s reaction to the city shows her eagerness to be part of something greater than she could have found at home. The description of the city reveals the resilience of both people and places. Despite its turbulent history, Veracruz has remained standing. Its people, too, have weathered unfortunate times, which suggests that trying situations put day-to-day life into perspective.

“Veracruz had an African legacy. In this port, the slaves had been hauled off the European ships and forced to toil in sugar plantations. Descendants of these slaves clustered in Yanga and Mandinga but had influenced the whole region, leaving a mark on its music and cuisine, and like everyone else they attended Carnival, flooding the streets. There were black-skinned men dressed as skeletons, Indigenous women in embroidered blouses, light-skinned brunettes playing the part of mermaids, pale men in Roman garb. Once Carnival was over, the fairer skinned, wealthier inhabitants of the city might look with disdain at the “Indians” and the “blacks,” but for that night there was a polite truce in the elaborate game of class division.”

This description of Carnival in Veracruz offers a glimpse at how cultures meld, willingly or unwillingly. Those who arrived as slaves had no control over their relocation, but even so, they brought their cultures, which became part of Carnival. Carnival itself shows how people come together during times that depart from the norm. At Carnival, people of various races celebrate together, something that doesn’t always happen at other times.

“Casiopea did feel the train, though. It lumbered onward, away from the humid heat of the coast. She had never been on such a contraption. She felt as if she rested in the belly of a metal beast, like Jonah who was swallowed by the whale. This image in her family’s Bible had often disconcerted her, the man sitting inside a fish, his face surprised. Now she sympathized with him.”

Here, Casiopea travels by train for the first time. Her reaction to the train shows the wonder and confusion of new experiences, as well as the questions unfamiliar sensations cause us to ask. She knows the train is moving and that she, by extension, is also moving, but she can’t quite wrap her head around the idea. She likens it to Jonah’s story in the Bible, even though the situations are very different, because it is the only thing she knows that comes close to how she feels.

“‘Dreams are for mortals.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they must die.’

Somehow this made a perfect sort of sense. The volume of Aztec poetry she had read was full of lines about dreams and flowers, the futility of existence.

‘That’s sad,’ she said, finally.

‘Death? It is unavoidable, not sad.’

‘No, not death,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That you don’t dream.’”

This conversation between Casiopea and Hun-Kamé comes while they pass time between locations along their journey. Gods do not dream because of death, but it is unclear whether Hun-Kamé refers to mortals, dreams, or both when he says, “they must die.” He may refer to mortals and be saying that mortals dream because dreams are a form of hope for mortals. It may be dreams because dreams die when mortals wake, and since gods do not truly sleep, they do not truly awaken either. Casiopea’s argument for the beauty of dreams calls to how, for some people, dreams are the only bright spot in an otherwise dark existence.

“Casiopea tugged at her hair, self-conscious. She had informed Hun-Kamé she’d have to go to a hairdresser that same day, since her work with the scissors had been poor. She’d look like a flapper now and they’d think her a loose girl. The saleswoman probably judged her a tart already.

It was very important not to be a tart. But she was already wearing skirts that showed her legs. What were the other requirements for such a designation? Did it matter if she wasn’t one but merely looked the part?”

This passage comes after Casiopea cuts her hair. She still holds to the beliefs pressed upon her at home about how a young woman should appear and act. Here, she begins to question those beliefs, as shown through her debate about how many lines need to be crossed before someone becomes something else. She believes it is important not to judge someone based on her appearance but is starting to realize she doesn’t know why. These lines, overall, stress the importance of questioning what we are told, especially when the reasons behind “truths” are difficult to discern.

“‘I’ve heard she is a demoness,’ Casiopea said, glad to change the topic. Ghosts that devour people and monsters of smoke were much easier for her to consider than her family and the fears knotted under her skin.”

These lines come before Casiopea and Hun-Kamé visit Xtabay and show how the mind processes difficult things. Casiopea recalls stories of Xtabay and how she lured men into the woods. While the stories are frightening, since Casiopea is not a man, the threat feels far away. Even though Xtabay is still a demon and powerful, Casiopea’s worries about her family feel more dangerous, even though her family possesses no supernatural abilities and is not entangled in a battle between gods.

“Mortals believe gods to be omnipotent and ever-knowing. The truth is more slippery; their limitations are multiple, kaleidoscopic, and idiosyncratic. Gods cannot rudely move mortals like one moves a piece across a game board. To obtain what they wish gods may utilize messengers, they may threaten, they may flatter, and they may reward. A god may cause storms to wreck the seaside and mortals, in return, may raise their hands and place offerings at the god’s temple in an effort to stop the hurricane that whips the land.”

This passage explores the complex relationship between gods and their worshippers within the world of Gods of Jade and Shadow. Gods and mortals are linked in many ways, but they may not directly act on one another. Gods hold great power, but that power is only granted them as long as mortals believe and make sacrifices to them. Mortals have less power than gods, but their choice to believe or not may strip a god of their power. Humans are at the mercy of beings who control the land and its elements, but humans hold their own power that gods cannot take away.

“‘Have you never heard of family quarrels? You don’t get along with your cousin, Martín. If you had the chance, wouldn’t you be rid of him?’ Hun-Kamé asked with a shrug.

‘If you mean I’d harm him greatly […] I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to be rid of Martín […] I wished to be away from him; that is different.’

‘Come, girl, if you could have your revenge on him, you would,’ he insisted. ‘You’d strike him and cut him with thorns.’”

This conversation between Casiopea and Hun-Kamé comes after Casiopea asks why Vucub-Kamé betrayed Hun-Kamé. Hun-Kamé shows his godly perspective on the world: To him, a difference of opinion is enough to spark violence between family members, and he has no problem exacting equal punishment on Vucub-Kamé. Casiopea relates his mindset to one she had when she was much younger, which equates gods with children. Human adults live through hardship and come to realize the world is complex. By contrast, gods, like Hun-Kamé, want what they want when they want it, and they don’t understand why they can’t just take what they desire. Children behave the same way. It may be that gods do not change once they are conceived, and as a result, they are like children who do not grow.

“She knew about patan. Not just tribute, but duty and beyond duty, the obligation that carves your place in the world, and she wasn’t about to disregard it. But her hands were trembling.

Maybe she was a coward. Cuch chimal, dragging her shield on her back and retreating from battle. She bit her lip.”

Here, Casiopea considers herself in the heroic role of her story. She is afraid of what comes next, and she wonders if this makes her a coward, since heroic figures in stories don’t always show fear. She still feels tied to her home and family and the place she inhabits within that structure. Even after all she’s experienced, she isn’t yet ready to completely depart from the lessons of her childhood. Her thoughts here show her inner conflict and the many ways it may be resolved.

“The line moved forward and it was their turn. When the agent spoke, she discovered she knew what he was saying; more than that, she could answer him. The words came to her as easily as if she’d been speaking English for ages.

The agent nodded at them and let them through. Outside, the sun blaring at them, Casiopea blinked and turned toward Hun-Kamé.

‘I understood what he said,” she told Hun-Kamé. ‘How is that possible?’

‘Death speaks all languages,’ he replied.”

This passage comes when Casiopea and Hun-Kamé cross into the United States and comments on both culture and death. The American agents speak English, not Spanish, which shows the preferential treatment given to those who know the English language and hints at the disdain held toward those who don’t. Casiopea can understand English because of Hun-Kamé’s bone shard embedded in her hand. Death is universal and spares no one, regardless of race, class, or culture. Hun-Kamé may only be the death god of the Mayan pantheon, but his dominion over death gives him an extended ability to affect anyone on Earth.

“The fairy tale books of Casiopea’s childhood, replete with European fancies, contained old women with magic powers, but in those books they were hunched and wore capes. The folktales of her town, on the other hand, provided a different picture of warlocks and witches. There was a town in the north of Yucatán where they said all the inhabitants were witches, creatures who shed their skin to become animals, prancing around the cemetery or the roads at night. These people were young and old, men and women. Huay Pek, the dog witch, Huay Mis, the cat witch. But neither version of the witch looked like the woman in front of her. She was far too mundane, too sweet in her pink apron, stitching flowers.”

Casiopea and Hun-Kamé visit the witch who gives them information about the Uay Chivo. Casiopea is taken aback by the woman because she doesn’t look like a witch, which shows how cultures across the world have worked to give witchcraft a negative or inhuman image. The European and American images show old, ugly women who look evil, an image that was influenced by the witch trials. By contrast, the Mayan witches are not ugly and are not only women. They are portrayed as changing into animals and prancing through the forest on uncertain errands, images that are neither good nor evil.

“‘I like the train, but I think I will fall in love with the automobile,’ she said, tapping her foot to this rhythm.

‘Why is that?’

‘This heads in one direction, back and forth in a line. But can you picture an automobile? Cutting in whatever direction you will, winding down roads. Did you see them in the city? You could do as you pleased in one of those,’ she said, thinking of the vehicles that had rolled before their eyes, providing an exciting chaos to the streets in downtown Mexico City.”

Casiopea explains her love for the idea of an automobile to Hun-Kamé on one of their many train rides. Her preference for a car shows her eagerness for freedom. The train allows her to go places but only where the tracks are laid. With an automobile, she would be free to drive in any direction wherever there is a road and, perhaps, off the roads if she tries. Trains and cars reflect growing independence and mobility for a greater number of people in society. Trains came before cars but offered less freedom than the automobile. As technology advances, people attain more freedom.

“They were quiet and they were foolish, both of them, thinking they were treading with any delicacy, and that if they somehow moderated their voices they’d stop the tide of emotion. The things you name do grow in power, but others that are not ever whispered claw at one’s heart anyway, rip it to shreds even if a syllable does not escape the lips.”

Throughout Gods of Jade and Shadow, importance is placed upon how the words we speak have power. This passage comes at a moment of high emotion between Casiopea and Hun-Kamé, where neither says how they truly feel. Rather than the spoken words here, the unspoken words hold the power over the people who do not speak to them. Spoken words allow us to exercise power over others, but they may not be as strong as what’s left unsaid to exercise its power over ourselves.

“Zavala spoke with the kindness of a doting grandfather, his voice mild, but having spent her childhood next to a tyrannical man, Casiopea could spot the unpleasantness in the warlock, like cigar smoke may cling to a jacket.”

Many of the characters in Gods of Jade and Shadow do not follow expectations, such as Hun-Kamé changing from the cold god of death and Casiopea not being the typical heroic figure. Here, Casiopea meets Zavala for the first time, and her reaction shows how certain characteristics are more easily spotted than others. Zavala is too polished and kind, and Casiopea recognizes him working to cover up the same things her grandfather tried to hide with his manners and civility.

“‘Come into the water,’ he said.

‘Our clothes will be ruined,’ she told him, her shoes in her hands.

‘It is necessary,’ he said and walked toward the waves, ankle deep. ‘The cenotes we may roam, but the ocean with its currents and its tides, that was never ours. The salt will keep our secrets. My brother can’t hear us here.’”

This passage comes while Casiopea and Hun-Kamé consider Vucub-Kamé’s offer to resurrect them as mortals together. Though Hun-Kamé is a god, he holds no power over the ocean and salt water because it never belonged to him. Even gods have limitations. In Mayan myth, the cenote springs were created when an asteroid struck the Earth and flooded the land, leaving some water behind. Hun-Kamé also came from this asteroid and so has dominion over the cenotes it created, but the ocean is different.

“The snake looked happy. It blinked, rubbing both of its heads against Casiopea’s hand, like a cat. Then it called to its sisters. There were three of them, jade green, also possessing two heads each, and when they saw the silver bracelet they were pleased, since all snakes appreciate jewels, precious metals, and mirrors. Their vanity causes them to spend many minutes chasing their reflection in their surfaces, but one must not think poorly of snakes for this reason, since they are kind, thoughtful creatures.”

Here, Casiopea walks the Black Road and finds her path blocked by the bat, Kamazotz. The snakes, feeling Hun-Kamé’s essence upon her, offer to help because they are creatures of Xibalba and recognize their true leader, which shows that the kingdom never fully followed Vucub-Kamé’s rule. The view of snakes presented here offers a glimpse at the animals as good and worthy, unlike the Christianity Casiopea grew up with where the snake is a symbol of evil and temptation. These snakes display traits that are considered sins, such as vanity, but their positive qualities make them reliable and helpful, showing that a single trait does not define someone.

“It was as Hun-Kamé had told her: life was not fair. Why should she be fair? Why should she suffer? This was not even her story. This kind of tale, this dubious mythmaking, was for heroes with shields and armor, for divinely born twins, for those anointed by lucky stars. She was but a girl from nowhere. Let the heroes save the world, save kings who must regain their crowns. Live, live, she wanted to live, and there was a way. [...] Mythmaking. It’s greater than you or I, this tale.

Maybe she was not a hero with a shield and a divine provenance, but it’s the symbolism that matters.”

This passage comes just before Casiopea sacrifices herself to Hun-Kamé. Here, she comes to understand the true meaning of heroism: to be truthful in her desire to save that which needs rescuing. She uses Vucub-Kamé’s tactic against him. Instead of sacrificing herself to Vucub-Kamé, she gives herself to Hun-Kamé, which gives him the power to restore her. In the process, it is possible she creates a myth that would be told as part of the Mayan religion in the centuries to follow.

“The nature of hate is mysterious. It can gnaw at the heart for an eon, then depart when one expected it to remain as immobile as a mountain. But even mountains erode. Hun-Kamé’s hate had been as high as ten mountains and Vucub-Kamé’s spite as deep as ten oceans. Confronted with each other, at this final moment when Hun-Kamé ought to have let hate swallow him, he had decided to thrust it away, and Vucub-Kamé slid off his mantle of spite in response.”

Here, Hun-Kamé has been restored to godhood. With Vucub-Kamé at his mercy, Hun-Kamé decides not to punish his brother. Casiopea’s influence has made Hun-Kamé see how two wrongs do not fix anything, which shows that gods may learn from mortals. In response to Hun-Kamé’s decision, Vucub-Kamé loses the animosity he has carried toward Hun-Kamé for so long. All Vucub-Kamé wanted was to be seen and understood, and now that Hun-Kamé does this, the brothers may return to Xibalba together without quarrel.