The fascination with cemeteries: reflections from Panteón Jardín

Panteón Jardín is located in San Ángel, Mexico City, and was established over 80 years ago in 1941. It’s vast and has so many sections that it’s easy to get lost among the crypts and corridors where the remains of ordinary people and artists from Mexican cinema, music, and the rest of the arts are kept. Names like Germán Valdés “Tin Tan”, Pedro Armendáriz, Maricruz Olivier, Marcelo Chávez, Fela Fábregas, Seki Sano, Andrés Soler, Fernando Valadés, and Fernando Wagner are just a few of those buried there. And in one of those rows lies my grandfather.

I confess I never met my grandfather, so there was no affection or desire to visit and clean his mausoleum. But there is a fascination with visiting Panteón Jardín. When people ask about my fascination with the cemetery, I can never give a concise answer. Is it because it reminds me of my childhood visits? Is it the fresh air from the many trees? Is it the silence provided by the dead? Maybe it’s a combination of all of these. The only thing I know for sure is that as I grew up, I realized I wasn’t the only one fascinated by cemeteries, their history, stories, and mysteries.

Death has been a topic of interest in every culture, wrapped in mysticism and rich in tales. For some civilizations, death symbolized not just the end but served as a central axis for existence. This human desire to transcend or leave something behind has motivated the construction of wonders like the Taj Mahal, the pyramids of Egypt, and even the pyramids of Teotihuacán, where recent discoveries have found burial chambers. Of course, these places were reserved for the privileged, like rulers or royalty. For the rest of society, there are other places like cemeteries, English graveyards, or even urns in some churches.

While some people prefer to stay away from such places and say we should respect the graveyard, there are people like me and Mariana Enriquez who find more than just oblivion among the tombs. “Someone Walks Over Your Grave” is a collection of stories about the author’s encounters with graves. From a flooded cemetery, Elvis Presley’s burial site, the beauty of an abandoned graveyard, the tomb of a poet buried standing up, tombstones protected by ghostly dogs, to miraculous children and voodoo priestesses. These are just a few examples; the author has gathered many journeys and visits to different cemeteries worldwide.

The beauty of Mariana Enriquez’s work lies not only in the places she visits but in the meaning and reflection she derives from them. After each visit, something inside her changes, and she is never the same again. Probably, all worthwhile journeys do that to us: they change us, reveal new thoughts, and allow us to see new perspectives. For Enriquez, visits to cemeteries are not just tourist trips but a deep search within herself to know what lies beyond. At the same time, her stories intertwine with her own life, redefining her experience and ours as readers. Her descriptions of the sites and the atmosphere are focused, detailed, and rich in specifics, offering everything so that anyone approaching the text can feel present there. However, above all, I find “Someone Walks Over Your Grave” an invitation to explore more, to visit places we might consider only for the dead, to reconcile with the place where we all will eventually arrive.

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Del silencio al estruendo  Sara Sefchovich

Throughout the history of humanity, women and the fact of being women have been overlooked—until very recently. It’s important to make this distinction because those who haven’t thought about it should: education—both at home and in school—is almost entirely conceived from the male perspective. Women have had to understand the world through the lens of men. This perspective isn’t necessarily wrong, but it is biased. The world, as seen by women, is different and shouldn’t be expected to be the same because the experience of being a man and being a woman is different.

The way of understanding the world, history, and culture has been through men. It wasn’t until the late 1800s that emphasis began to be placed on the fact that women existed beyond their domestic roles, that they could think like anyone else and had rights, including the right to express their thoughts. Before this, it was known that women wrote, but entering that field and being taken seriously was not easy. Many women had to sign their works with pseudonyms or initials to get them published. Virginia Woolf, in “A Room of One’s Own,” acknowledges the class privilege she had that allowed her to write, coming from a wealthy family. She analyzes the paths Jane Austen and Emily Brontë had to tread and yet, throughout the book, she experiences moments of being ignored and underestimated for being a woman in a man’s world.

It is from this foundation that Sara Sefchovich draws to write “Del silencio al estruendo.” The author seeks, with this essay, to discover what women write about, from where they write, and to understand if there is a difference between female and male literature, and if so, where that difference lies. She undertakes the task of first establishing that there was a time when women could access the education that allowed them to read and write, and that there was a second period of peace in society when culture and the arts could flourish, and it was then that they wrote. Sefchovich seeks to understand the fabric of women writers and their works, observing the panorama throughout history, different cultures, and how it has changed over time, hoping to find a pattern or trend that explains what, how, and why women write.

One cannot write about the unknown. When women began to write, they did so about what surrounded them, and for many of them, the axis of their lives was their family and marriage, so they started there. This worked against them, of course, leading to the notion that women could only write romantic novels. Time had to pass for women’s writing to enter the realms of realism, naturalism, modernism, and genres like poetry, theater, and essays. The style and theme of each writer are individual and determined by their environment, ideology, values, social circumstances, and countless factors that give them a unique character. While this rule also applies to men, their social conditions remain different because the education provided to women and men continues to be distinct.

This book seeks to answer the major questions and inquiries that have been made about literature written by women, considering the context, history, and circumstances in which it has been created. This essay is a watershed between the past and the future, as it analyzes the parameters with which literature has been measured in general and sets the guidelines for how women’s literary work might be read and considered in the future.

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Rediscovering Zapata: legends and truths for children

When we hear the history of our country—whatever it may be—we often think of it as something that happened to other people, in another life, something distant not just in time but in space. At times, it seems like it never happened at all. It’s normal to find it difficult to imagine how the world was before we knew it as it is today; even connecting our own present with our own past can be challenging, as much—if not everything—has changed since childhood. Hence the importance—and the human need—to leave a mark of our existence behind, to tell stories, to seek to endure. It’s a natural inclination. In many towns in Mexico, the custom of passing down history, customs, and traditions through oral storytelling persists.

In a poorly told story, we can all be “the villain,” just as when we tell our version, we’ll always be “the hero.” However, regardless of being “good” or “bad”—which is highly subjective—the truth is that history, as written in books, is portrayed from the perspective of the victors. Understanding other perspectives of an event becomes challenging when we can only ask the deceased. Asking Emiliano Zapata about the revolution would be impossible (though wonderful to hear), which is why today he has become nothing less than a symbol. The ideological legacy he left behind is so powerful that after more than 110 years, his slogan “Land and Liberty” continues to be the rallying cry for those who still rebel against a system that oppresses them.

For those who have had an interest in delving deeper into history, in digging beyond what public school books offer, they have discovered that the southern leader was more than just a man interested in power. It’s said that when he sat in the presidential chair—without seeking any kind of title—he said to Francisco Villa, seated beside him, “And this is what they fight over?” But that could well be just an urban legend. What this title offers is something much more genuine and real: it’s the story of someone who was there, a man who in his youth was a Zapatista.

“And Zapata Keeps Riding” is a short story aimed especially at children, written by Victor Hugo Sánchez Reséndiz and published by La Cartonera. The narrative is simple yet captivating from the first page due to its authenticity, themes, and passion. Sánchez Reséndiz recounts the story of his grandfather, who used to tell children who approached him how it was to fight alongside Zapata, the reasons they did it, what life was like before, and how it was after the Mexican Revolution. He also tells them about the true fate of the leader and how he didn’t die as history says but went to Arabia, because he’s coming back to fight for freedom. This is what brings beauty to the story: the intimate aspects, the moments exaggerated for the sake of the narrative, the pride with which it’s told.

Although increasingly distant, the past is something that shapes our existence. It’s necessary to be able to reconcile with the past we have as a nation, to honor our origins, and to make peace with the dark episodes that have fallen—as they do for everyone—in our country. When we can do that, we can leave the past where it belongs and look towards tomorrow. And it’s important to clarify that leaving the past behind is not about forgetting it; on the contrary, it’s about acknowledging it. In recognizing it lies the rescue of stories like this one, valuable because they are part of the everyday; because the world has not been built only by the names that appear in books but by all the people who accompanied them, like Sánchez Reséndiz‘s grandfather. This title is filled with nostalgia, tender descriptions of Morelos and its people, but especially with tradition.

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Movimiento Zapatista

“Aprendizajes del movimiento zapatista: de la insurgencia armada a la autonomía popular” – Lia Pinheiro Barbosa y Peter Michael Rosset

Considering Mexico as a tourist destination is always a good decision. It has beautiful beaches, cenotes, forests, towns, ancient civilization ruins, exquisite cuisine, and people who always welcome tourists warmly. On the other hand, living in Mexico City is an experience I would highly recommend. There is a mix of folklore, color, and tradition alongside the modernity of global technological advancements. In this city, there are many cultural and artistic offerings, numerous tourist attractions, and access to education. However, these two views are a bias that has been generated, perhaps because we tend to see the glass as half full. But the reality for those living on the outskirts of the city and those living in the provinces — not so far from the main tourist centers — is very different.

This movement began on the night of January 1, 1994, when the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) staged an armed uprising in San Cristóbal de las Casas, presenting the First Declaration of the Lacandon Jungle: eleven demands—work, land, shelter, food, health, education, independence, freedom, democracy, justice, and peace. In essence, what they were demanding was as simple as it was fundamental: rights. These rights, which by the mere fact of being Mexicans, were already guaranteed by the laws established in the Constitution of 1917, but over the decades, they had been deprived of them or directly denied them. Who denied them these rights? Who marginalized the indigenous communities? The government could easily be partly responsible for this by not having the means to ensure the full exercise of their rights by providing roads and schools with adequate teaching materials, and establishing workplaces with fair working hours and wages, which in turn would allow them to access housing with water, sewage, and electricity services, as well as food and clothing. However, in this complex situation, there remains another actor to be named: the rest of society.

The modern society that adopted the customs of the conquerors lives in cities, speaks Spanish, and embraced a system that proposed neoliberalism as an economic model—a system that indirectly led to the EZLN movement. Although it is a society with many shortcomings and issues to resolve, it is not comparable to the precarious situation of most indigenous people in Mexico. While we are all Mexicans, the opportunities and contexts are not the same: indigenous communities have often been isolated and discriminated against for maintaining their customs and traditions, leading to them being seen as “the others.” This has created a separation that has only widened the cultural, economic, and political gap, culminating in the indigenous-peasant movement. This movement has had its flaws, like any autonomy, but it has maintained a legitimate struggle in the social aspect and has, in turn, inspired more similar manifestations.

The Latin American Council of Social Sciences offers readers a collection of books that aim to document the main movements, uprisings, and conflicts in Latin America and the Caribbean in the 21st century. Among them is this title, where the authors explain how, three decades after its inception, Zapatismo offers the most comprehensive, explicit, and radical version of indigenous-peasant autonomy known in the contemporary world. Thus, it becomes an essential read for understanding the current context of the countries in Central and South America.

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“Monstrua” – Brenda Lozano y Gabriela Jauregui (coordinadoras)


When discussing literature throughout history, names arise within any of the existing currents. We can easily recognize all the Greeks in the creation of classical drama, Edgar Allan Poe establishing guidelines for the structure of contemporary short stories in Romanticism, Oscar Wilde inaugurating his own aestheticism movement… And the examples could go on. It would be elementary to say that literature has been exclusively a terrain of men; however, that would not be true.

Women have actively participated in the creation of literature in all its genres. However, we must refer to the facts; their path was different. To be taken seriously, published, and recognized as writers was a struggle that women had to endure, just like in any other area of society – outside of the roles of mothers and caretakers of the home. In reality, it was only relatively recently that women entered the world of literature with all their strength. Even at this point, we encounter more obstacles, as Virginia Woolf aptly put it: “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”


Women generally live in societies where the most extraordinary success they can aspire to is finding a good husband and dedicating themselves to their families and homes. Perhaps, in recent times, it may also be possible to aspire to a job, as long as it does not take too much time away from “neglecting” the family. It might seem that this way of life is a stereotype, but it is a reality. Issues such as deciding to pursue their careers, seeking independence, writing… become acts of rebellion. They become things outside of the every day, something strange and even alien. Like monsters.


The monster created by Mary Shelley in Frankenstein reaches a revelation at some point: to lose fear and acquire power through it. That is what happens in this book. The anthology “Monstrua” talks about how the authors lose their fear of themselves and social repercussions and write. The coordinators choose “monstrua” instead of “monstruo” because, echoing Rosario Castellanos, even making that distinction is important: it’s something feminine. It’s women showing themselves, speaking out, writing.

This anthology offers texts created by young women from different parts of Mexico, from various contexts, communities, and languages, working in different genres such as poetry, short stories, essays, and even radio scripts. In addition, some authors present their texts in their native languages and provide translations into Spanish. Some of the texts are accompanied by photographs that not only accompany but also contribute to the atmosphere created by the text, enriching it and making it more intimate. Thus, readers encounter a proposal full of diversity, experimentation, and originality.


The work carried out by Brenda Lozano and Gabriela Jauregui as coordinators is not only dedicated and beautiful but also necessary. It is crucial for young women to see that what they have to say matters and that some means and people will seek ways to help them make their voices heard. These types of publications are what make a difference in the literary world because they present significant material, even collected from the most remote places in the country, demonstrating that there is still much more to discover.

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“Antología” – Lambert Schlechter

“The Cartonera, an independent, artistic, and artisanal publisher, publishes books with covers made from cardboard collected from the streets of Cuernavaca, Morelos in Mexico. Each of our copies is a unique experience because, in addition to good literature, each of the covers is painted by an artist in our collective workshops,” is the headline on La Cartonera’s website. This publisher is a concept in itself: it is independent, receives no support from any institution, works in an artisanal and non-profit manner. It is, in short, an artistic endeavor that emerges against the current in a context where books seem to be increasingly scarce precious gems, but no less valuable for it.

This publisher also has a deep interest in bringing unconventional titles, such as “Contagio Cartonero: Creation in the Time of Pandemic.” In this book, an organizing committee from Mexico, Colombia, Peru, and Venezuela gathered photographs, illustrations, and texts from over 40 participants ranging from preschoolers to adults. From Argentina, Colombia, Bogotá, Mexico, and Venezuela, artistic proposals such as illustrations, drawings, poems, and stories were gathered to respond to the growing need for unity and survival in the face of the pandemic and thus combat the uncertainty and fear of the moment.

Among these titles, one captivated me for its colors and format. Still, above all, I for its content because upon browsing it, I found that La Cartonera was the first publisher to translate this Luxembourgish author into Spanish in Mexico. Additionally, this edition is bilingual Spanish-French, confronting the texts head-on, allowing for more authenticity and depth by knowing the translated original words. It is a print run of only 150 copies, presenting an anthology of poems and letters by Lambert Schlechter, who is a philosopher and writer of poetry, novels, and essays who has been dedicated to his work as a writer since the early 1980s, and who was also named a Knight of Arts and Letters in 2001.

Although these poems and letters are extracted from other titles by the author, the selection made by the publisher is so good that all the poems seem intertwined and offer a consistent reading. However, I find another detail in these poems: the writer writes about the fact of being a writer. Not many do that; sometimes, the authors try to distance themselves from their works as if they were only concerned about what people or critics will say about their work. I appreciate it when authors are honest with themselves and their writing; it feels authentic. So, in a nutshell, I find Lambert Schlechter, as a poet, tremendously authentic and honest. The letters interspersed with the poems only reinforce this, adding, in any case, more complexity and richness to the poetry.

The themes that Schlechter touches on in his literary works are diverse, which makes a lot of sense when we consider that it has been over 35 years of career; however, universal topics can be found, such as the perception of the passage of time, desire, the complexity of life and death, nature, eroticism, and everyday life. Personally, I find it fascinating when poets talk about what they know and what surrounds them; it allows us not only to understand more about their lives but also to know their perspective on it, to distinguish their opinions, perceptions, conflicts… And realize that even though we may come from different backgrounds, social strata, generations, and genders, intrinsic things unite us as human beings.

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“¡Viva Aguascalientes! Que su feria es un primor: Historia de las peleas de gallos en Aguascalientes, siglos XVIII-XX”

At #4129 South 75th Street in the Asturias neighborhood, there was until a few years ago a house known as “The House of the Roosters.” Partly because there was a painting of a rooster on its facade, but mainly because it indicated that there was a workshop for cockfighting knives in that house. The workshop was a family business that my grandfather started in Guadalajara in the 1940s, and which he later brought to Mexico City when he came to live here. In my childhood, it was very common for me to hear the sound of knives being sharpened, to feel the heat when they melted the metal, and to see many men coming in and out, often with roosters in their cages.

“Navajas Aguilar: ‘We’re not the only ones, but we’re the best’,” was not just a phrase; they were so important in the business that, in 1982, Gustavo Alatriste came to my house to film a scene featuring the workshop for his movie “Aquél famoso Remington”. In addition to the people who went to the workshop, they also made many shipments to other states. And every year, as the San Marcos Fair in Aguascalientes approached, the work increased significantly. When I came across the book “¡Viva Aguascalientes! Que su feria es un primor: Historia de las peleas de gallos en Aguascalientes, siglos XVIII-XX,” I was amazed to see so many photographs and excerpts from other literary works in it—such as “El gallo de oro” by Juan Rulfo, “El libro de mis recuerdos” by Antonio García Cubas, or “Niñez y juventud provincianas” by Pedro de Alba—where cockfights were the centerpiece of everything.

The beauty of this book lies in the historical journey it takes, as it is an extensive and detailed research that contains documentary, bibliographic, and newspaper references, but especially because, as stated on the back cover, “it is not a history of the roosters, but of the deeds of the men who have participated directly or indirectly in cockfights”. In this book, we can see some historical images, such as the one where Rodolfo Fierro is tying a knife to a rooster, and next to him are Francisco Villa and Raúl Madero. You can also find images of paintings, watercolors, and drawings by artists such as José Guadalupe Posada, Osvaldo Barra, and Leon Trousset. Its photographic journey indirectly tells the history of Aguascalientes and the progress of Mexican society over 3 centuries, showing how this Fair (and even more so the fights) attracted so many people that it drove the state’s growth.

The conflict of how politically correct cockfighting is does not go unnoticed in this reading, but that was a problem of the last decades. To a large extent, the problem that existed from the beginning arose because the fights involved bets, and regulating them was a conflict for the government. In addition, discussions among bettors frequently arose, necessitating police intervention and, therefore, people’s request for them to be banned. Ultimately, the only thing that has been able to slow them down a bit has been the passage of time and new ideologies. However, they cannot be denied as part of history and cultural heritage.

The now-known National Fair of San Marcos continues to take place every year, and this book is a celebration especially for Aguascalientes. On the other hand, for me, it was a touch on my back to look back, to my childhood, to the house of the roosters. That was my home for a long time, until my grandmother passed away, and my uncles decided to sell it. Many things have changed since then, and one tries to move forward with their life, but from time to time, on the way, we encounter things that make us look back. This book reminded me that we have all belonged to a place at some point.

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