It is a saying in the capital of Mexico that Dr. Malsufrido carries more family secrets under his hat than any archbishop, which applies, of course, to family secrets of the rich. The poor have no family secrets, or none that Dr. Malsufrido would trouble to carry under his hat.
A common criticism of Mena’s writing is that she doesn’t dig too far beneath the surface of the cultural distinctions of the Mexican people. In other words, she is a talented creator of stereotype rather than character. The opening lines of what is likely her most famous story present an alternative perspective. The actual opening line—the first line—is perhaps stereotypical enough to fall under the sway of the critique. It is that second line that causes trouble because within it there lies an efficiently constructed depth that says much about the cultural distinctions as embedded in the character of the doctor. In the first place, once does not usually think of a physician as holding fast onto family secrets; health is hard to hide. Secondly, the doctor is an economic snob who has been conditioned to privilege wealthy lives with greater meaning than those of the poor.
And now all the peladitos, barefooted offspring of the unregarded Indian populace, washed their little brown faces and feet and assumed expressions of astonishing intelligence and zeal in the hope of being selected for such confidential service of love as might become needful.
Conduct an internet search for criticism of the short stories of Maria Cristina Mena and chances are that the phrase which is going to come up in those hits exponentially more than any other is “washed their little brown faces…and assumed expressions of astonishing intelligence and zeal.” Why? Because one of the very first published pieces of academic criticism of the writing of Mena forward that particular phrase as evidence supporting the argument that despite honorable intentions, her portrayal of the “aboriginal past of Mexico” and “the downtrodden Indians” is hopelessly condescending.
This critique essentially praises Mena as having good intentions which are undone by poor execution. In the years since that review was originally published, it has stimulated a vast reappraisal in which those very same words found in the passage above are now almost routinely used to reveal how Mena’s engagement of irony is put to use with such felicitous subtlety as to fly right over the heads of even those who would be expected to recognize it even if they weren’t necessarily looking for it.
Watching him furtively from the shelter of her room, Maria Concepcion applied an extra coat of power to her already well-whitened features, and dexterously encircled her large eyes with artificial shadows, those ojeras which promote luster and spirituality.
The short stories of Maria Cristina Mena are filled with similar imagery in which women are altering their appearance. The entire plot of “The Vine-Leaf” revolves around the desire for the removal of a birthmark and it is not even in a place that makes it available for public viewing. The protagonist of the story quoted above actually goes to the extremes of early 20th century plastic surgery treatments in the service of beauty for the purpose of economic stability.
This obsession with altering the physical presentation of the self is never purely for superficial cosmetic reasons, but instead is always symptomatic of a much greater concern social concern. That concern may be to remove incriminating criminal evidence, to improve the possibilities of financial security or to enhance the power of feminine wiles. That the women who are undergoing these procedures sport darker skin and carry the weight of racial discrimination that goes with it only serves to add an extra dimension to the quality of social commentary.
