Kiss of the Spider Woman

Kiss of the Spider Woman’s experimental form relies heavily on dialogue, and the first two chapters are no exception: The novel opens not with any exposition concerning the characters or setting but rather with Molina already in the middle of retelling the movie about the panther woman. The disorienting atmosphere that results is in keeping with a work interested in secrecy, deceit, and oppression (also key interests of the movie), but this is not the only reason to open the novel in this way. Rather, the back-and-forth conversation between Valentin and Molina immediately establishes that this will be a novel about two very different people exchanging views and trying to arrive at some sort of common ground (a process further complicated by the fact that Molina, at least, has ulterior motives in speaking with Valentin). This establishes the theme of The Power of Language. 

One of the first disagreements that arises concerns The Meaning and Value of Liberation. Significantly, Molina is sharing the details not only of a movie—a work of fiction—but one with supernatural elements. Valentin mocks Molina for focusing on fantasies, saying, “[D]uring the day I don’t want to be thinking about such trivia” (9). Valentin believes storytelling is pointless—if not actually destructive—and wants instead to focus on studying; he is dedicated to the political revolution even if he can’t be an active participant. For him, the only kind of escape that has value is a collective and material one. By contrast, Molina privileges the individual imagination as a way of transcending political oppression: “I was feeling fabulous, I’d forgotten about this filthy cell […] Why break the illusion for me, and for yourself too?” (17). Although Valentin doesn’t agree with Molina’s choice of escapism, he encourages her to keep storytelling, signaling a possible reconciliation of the characters’ seemingly irreconcilable views. 

Molina’s emphasis on personal liberation is related but not identical to a second major theme: The Fluidity of Gender and Orientation. Molina’s identity has been the subject of much critical debate, as she identifies both as a woman (and, in the original Spanish, uses feminine forms of words to refer to herself) and as “homosexual,” which in the novel’s historical and cultural context means a gay man. Given when Puig was writing, one could argue that he simply did not have the vocabulary to express Molina’s identity—e.g., as a trans woman (the term did exist at the time but was not as widely recognized as it would be in decades to come). Alternatively, some critics have argued that it was the societal understanding of orientation that was in its infancy at the time of the novel’s writing and consequently objected to Puig’s depiction of Molina as perpetuating stereotypes about the supposed femininity of gay men. It is also the case that, historically, some gay men (Puig included) have embraced femininity as a part of gay identity. 

Collectively, what these varying interpretations point to is the ambiguity of Molina’s identity, which troubles not only male/female and straight/gay binaries but also the conventional distinction between gender and orientation. In some ways, Molina is therefore a subversive figure—a point Puig underscores by way of contrast. Valentin has a hard time understanding Molina and seems ignorant of LGBTQ+ topics in general. Given that Valentin is a political radical, this emphasizes just how outside the mainstream Molina is. At the same time, it is not clear that Molina herself intends or wants to be subversive. When discussing psychoanalytic theories of gay identity that purported to be able to “cure” it through enforced heterosexuality, Molina says, “I agree! And since a woman’s the best there is…I want to be one” (19). Here, Molina embraces a conventional heterosexual romantic paradigm: She merely wants to be the woman in the equation rather than the man, complicating the kind of liberation she represents.

Molina’s occasional traditionalism is another source of friction in her relationship with Valentin, who espouses gender equality. This is evident when he talks of Irena, the main character of the movie Molina is recounting, suggesting, “[T]here’s that type of woman, very sensitive, way too spiritual, who’s been brought up on the idea that sex is dirty […] and this type of chick is screwed up” (31). Though ostensibly progressive, Valentin’s disdain for women adherent to traditional values actually recycles misogynistic tropes and language about women’s emotionality. Likewise, he expresses a very traditional view of gender roles when he compares his girlfriend with the assistant in the movie: “I feel so helpless here, about warning her to be careful” (35). Here, Valentin suggests that men are meant to protect and women to be protected.

This misogyny is part of why Valentin struggles to relate to Molina, but it also speaks to his own complexity as a character, which manifests in other ways. For example, despite his impatience with fantasy and commitment to Marxism, an ideology grounded in materialism, Valentin at times displays a quasi-spiritual asceticism. He remarks, for instance, that he is dedicated solely to the political revolution and won’t let “sensual gratification” prevent him from engaging in it (28). This rejection of bodily pleasure is more typical of religious than political belief, and it demonstrates that, like Molina, Valentin is full of contradictions.