The griffin is a mythical creature, half lion, half eagle, a symbol of power. The axolotl is an amphibian native to Mexico, representing vulnerability and transformation. In common, both are symbolic creatures found in books and literary traditions, from medieval bestiaries to modern literature in Latin America. A bestiary is a short, often illustrated animal-centered texts originally used to disseminate Christian teachings in medieval society. Popular in its time, this literary genre had a unique place in cultural life but gradually faded from popularity as scientific understanding advanced and empirical observation replaced allegory.
After centuries of obscurity, six of Latin America’s most prominent writers – Juan José Arreola, Jorge Luis Borges, Nicolás Guillén, Augusto Monterroso, Pablo Neruda, and José Emilio Pacheco – revived the bestiary in the 20th and 21st centuries. They embraced it to disseminate autochthonous fauna, myths and legends, and explore themes ranging from everyday life to political and social realities. These findings come from Ailén Cruz, a PhD alumna of the Department of Italian, Spanish, Portuguese & Latin American Studies, who has just published the book From Griffin to Axolotl: Reimagining the Bestiary in Contemporary Hispanic Literature (McGill-Queen’s University Press).
Analyzing a corpus of more than eighty bestiaries collected through field research in Canada, Argentina, Mexico, and Spain, Cruz investigates the evolutions of the genre. “Today’s bestiaries feature a bit of everything. Mythical creatures are still in vogue, but so are regular animals, some objects, and, oftentimes, humans. The moral messages might no longer be explicit, but there is something to be learned in each entry, whether purposely didactic or not,” she explains.
Professor Rosa Sarabia, who supervised Cruz during her PhD studies, calls the book both unique and sophisticated. “It is at the cutting-edge of interdisciplinary studies (visual arts and literature) as related to a traditional genre,” she observes. “Ranging from short stories to flash fiction to poetry, these selected works distinctively transformed the archetypical bestiary into contemporary commentaries on political and social events, such as dictatorship vis-à-vis democracy, the rise of technology, printed books as such, and ecological issues, among other topics.”
The theoretical and critical readings include postmodernism, post-colonialism, eco-criticism, and media theory. “It represents a high achievement in terms of broad interdisciplinary work while also proving itself exemplary in terms of its original reading of the texts at hand. It certainly constitutes an important contribution to various fields in the Humanities,” Professor Sarabia concludes.
In this interview, Cruz revisits the origins of her fascination with bestiaries, shares the findings that arose from her engagement with Hispanic literature, and reflects on why this genre remains a compelling way to offer a powerful lens on cultural life.
What first got you interested in bestiaries?
I was reading a 2012 historical fiction novel, La locura de Onelli (Onelli’s Madness) written by the Argentine Leopoldo Brizuela. It’s the story of Salvatore Onelli, the son of a zoo director, who insists on burying the cadaver of the last survivor of the Inacayal clan despite his family’s wishes. He packs up his zoo, puts everyone aboard a train, and heads to the south of Argentina. The narrative is made up of fragments: gossip, legal documents, a notebook. One of the sections was a bestiary, a term I’d never come across, which relayed the stories of the animals aboard the train, and those watching from afar. I poked around and found the genre’s medieval roots, quickly becoming engrossed in the topic.
What first drew you to the medieval bestiary as a subject of study, and when did you notice their modern counterpart in Hispanic literature?
The animal theme appealed to me, as well as the combination of text and image. I've always enjoyed eclectic, layered texts, as well as the charm that medieval bestiaries bring. They’re compilations of many sources and as a result, often produce idiosyncratic, even humorous entries. After searching for the word “bestiary” in English, and getting the more canonical, expected results, I got curious and searched for “bestiario” as well, which gave way to many of the Hispanic works that informed my thesis.
Do you remember the first modern bestiary you came across? What caught your attention?
That early stage of discovery was a bit of a blur. Due to their popularity and prestige, it must have been either Borges’s Book of Imaginary Beings or Arreola’s Silverpoint. With Borges, the meshing together of beasts from different cultures, from fiction writers and local mythologies, stood out. I didn’t know that was “allowed,” so to speak. Arreola’s bestiary was based on the images Héctor Xavier had drawn of animals at the Chapultepec Zoo, and I just thought the qualities and personalities he attributed to each animal were fantastic.
How did your fieldwork influence the way you understand the genre?
The trips to various bookshops, libraries, and publishing houses in these countries helped me understand just how much the genre had evolved. I relied on bookstore keepers and librarians whose expertise brought forward books I would never have found on my own. Oftentimes, a bestiary is not explicitly named, and might carry a more obscure title such as Animalia exstinta or Informe sobre ectoplasma animal. Chatting with avid readers who had come across books similar to the ones I described expanded the corpus beyond what I had imagined possible. I am greatly indebted to them.
The writers you examine span different countries, styles and political contexts. What common thread connects their engagement with the bestiary?
These authors all offer different interpretations of the genre: prose, verse, real animals, fictional animals, humans, non-animal entities, etc. What ties them together—along with the rest of the bestiaries studied in the book—is the form of the bestiary. The genre is ultimately recognizable by its short texts, images and titles, making it particularly malleable when it comes to content and allowing for endless interpretations.
Which themes emerged most strongly in your study?
Latin American writers and artists’ desire to disseminate autochthonous fauna, myths, legends were among the strongest themes. In the prologue to his bestiary, Borges invites readers from Paraguay, among other nations, to recount tales of their local beasts for compilation. This sentiment was shared by later authors, and could be seen in works such as Bestiario de seres fantásticos mexicanos and 200 años de monstruos y maravillas argentinas. Sometimes unorthodox, often scary, but always authentic, the creatures showcased in many of these works are representative of Latin America’s best, worst, and most idiosyncratic.
Why were bestiaries so popular in the Middle Ages, and why did they slip into obscurity?
Bestiaries were popular during their time because they occupied a unique place. They disseminated Christian allegory, they were entertaining, and the illustrated ones were prestige objects. As scientific understanding improved and empirical observation replaced allegory, they faded from popularity.
Why do you think bestiaries are resurging in contemporary Hispanic literature?
Perhaps for the same reason I approached them in the first place; animals are inherently interesting to humans, and when combined with or based on beautiful artwork, they make for book-objects that are hard to resist. There are no rules for the content of a bestiary as long as you stick to the form, so if you’re interested in steampunk animals or neogothic creations, it still proves a suitable vessel. I also suspect that the length of the entries, very often under 500 words, appeals to our ever-dwindling attention spans.
How did your experience as a student in our department influence this project or your interest in literary genres?
I had a wonderful supervisor, Rosa Sarabia, who gave me carte blanche to do whatever I wanted as long as I got my chapters in on time. She is an expert in text and image and had genuine interest in what I might come across. Her curiosity often rivaled my own, and her enthusiasm was a motivating force throughout the project. Yolanda Iglesias was another important piece of the puzzle, as her expertise as a medievalist was a welcome addition to my committee. Access to the U of T libraries and the departmental support when it came to applying to grants and bursaries was also essential to my project.
Do you see bestiary continuing to evolve in the 21st century?
Definitely. I like to think of the game PokémonGO as a type of bestiary, based on augmented reality and a made-up mythology. I have, since wrapping up this project, come across bestiaries with strong environmental streaks, in the tradition of Pacheco and Neruda. I am excited to see where that might lead.
If you were to create your own bestiary entry, which creature, real or imaginary, would you choose, and why?
Probably the many moods and personalities of my Shiba Inu, Natto. Now that this project is done, she has become my most persistent link to nature, and, as corny as it might be, I find her every move fascinating.