Review of Salvación by Myrna Hernández
When I first stumbled upon Salvación, I was immediately intrigued by its premise. A young vigilante navigating the complexities of identity, culture, and societal expectations in historical California? Count me in! Myrna Hernández’s narrative promised a rich tapestry of themes and character exploration—a tantalizing escape into a world both familiar and foreign. However, as I delved deeper, I found myself wrestling with a range of issues that ultimately left me unfulfilled, but not without profound reflections.
At the heart of the story is Lola de Peña, our protagonist who moonlights as the titular vigilante, Salvación. Despite her potential as a compelling heroine, I found Lola’s journey mired in frustrating contradictions. One of my core grievances was her portrayal of internalized misogyny, a theme that deserves nuanced exploration yet fell short in execution. While there are moments where Lola grapples with her identity—wondering about her past infatuations with femininity—these insights often feel superficial and fail to engage in a meaningful dialogue about womanhood. For instance, her realization that “there was nothing wrong” with girls who loved dresses but still feeling the need to judge herself and those who embrace femininity presented a glaring disconnect. It ultimately left me questioning the book’s intent: was it striving for empowerment or inadvertently sidelining the complexities of femininity?
Hernández’s writing style, although ambitious, frequently strayed into territory that felt overly simplistic, causing a dissonance with the themes she tried to address. The narrative often reads like a series of diary entries—disconnected and repetitive, leading to a sluggish pacing that diminished the potential tension within a supposedly high-stakes plot. Scenes that should have sparked excitement instead felt drawn out and stilted, detracting from my investment in Lola’s journey. I often found myself longing for vibrant descriptions of the political and social backdrop, wishing for the richness that could have transported me to 19th-century California.
The romance—billed as a central element of the story—also fell flat. The anticipated chemistry between Lola and Alejandro was barely there. Their interactions seemed like fleeting moments without any depth or build-up to the emotional stakes that such connections usually hold. It resulted in me feeling a lack of empathy for them as a couple—hardly an enthralling foundation for a love story.
Despite my critiques, it’s important to recognize that Salvación offers glimpses of potential. The premise of mining magical salt, while underdeveloped, held intriguing prospects that could have been explored deeply, especially considering the historical context of colonization and identity. Unfortunately, these threads felt unaddressed and resulted in missed opportunities for profound storytelling.
In conclusion, while I strive to find merit in every book I read, Salvación posed a challenge. I hope readers who appreciate stories about vigilantes and internal struggles with identity might find some enjoyment in it. However, it’s essential to approach it with tempered expectations regarding its character development and narrative depth. For me, this reading experience reinforced the importance of authenticity in storytelling, especially when covering such vital issues as femininity and identity. Though it didn’t resonate with me, I’ll take away valuable reflections on representation and the nuanced complexities of womanhood that I hope will one day be fully realized in literature.
2 stars.
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