Kiss of the Spider Woman

“I don’t believe in that business of living for the moment, Molina, nobody lives for the moment. That’s Garden of Eden stuff.”

Molina tells Valentin to “live in the moment,” but Valentin is determined to focus on the future, especially as it relates to the political revolution. He implies that living for the moment is unrealistic and a form of escapism, developing the theme of The Meaning and Value of Liberation. The allusion to the Garden of Eden foreshadows Molina’s role as a spy; as prisoners, Molina and Valentin are so isolated that they might as well be the only people in the world, and like Eve, Molina will tempt her counterpart to betray his principles.

“Social revolution, that’s what’s important, and gratifying the sense is only secondary. While the struggle goes on, and it’ll go on for the rest of my life, it’s not right for me to cultivate any kind of sensual gratification […] The greatest pleasure’s […] knowing I’ve put myself in the service of what’s truly noble […] and I can get that pleasure anywhere, right here in this cell, and even in torture.”

Valentin is explaining to Molina that social revolution comes before anything else, including sexual gratification. He believes that storytelling, which helps Molina mentally escape the cell, is dangerous and even addictive. Valentin suggests that studying philosophy every day is what helps him figuratively escape the cell, as it ultimately contributes to the revolution. The passage gets to the heart of the conflicting ideas of escape that Molina and Valentin embody, but it also highlights one of the novel’s ironies: The materialist Valentin is less immersed in day-to-day life than the daydreamer Molina.

“[I]f men acted like women there wouldn’t be any more torturers.”

Molina responds with this line when Valentin compares Molina’s sensitivity to a woman’s. Molina asks why men shouldn’t be soft and then suggests that if more men acted like women, there wouldn’t be torture. Valentin agrees that this is a valid point, once again highlighting the different kinds of resistance and liberation the two characters espouse; the challenge to traditional gender norms that Molina poses is potentially as subversive as Valentin’s Marxism.

“I don’t know if that’s happened to you, you feel like you’re about to understand something, you’re on the point of untangling the knot and if you don’t begin pulling the right thread…you’ll lose it.”

Here, Valentin is thinking about his “woman,” though whether he means Marta or his current girlfriend is unclear. He feels as if he’s on the verge of learning something and that if he doesn’t concentrate on figuring out his thoughts and feelings, he may lose them. The passage foreshadows his later admissions about his ambivalence toward breaking up with Marta in service to the revolution, suggesting that Molina’s presence and storytelling are already eroding some of Valentin’s emotional barriers.

“I think I have to know more about you, that’s what, in order to understand you better. If we’re going to be in this cell together like this, we ought to understand one another better, and I know very little about people with your type of inclination.”

When Molina talks about Gabriel, Valentin asks her questions about what he calls her “inclination”—an outdated way of thinking about orientation that treats it as akin to a preference. Following this quote is a footnote debunking various theories concerning the “physical origins of homosexuality.” Its placement suggests it is meant to educate the reader, but these footnotes rarely comment so straightforwardly on the text.

“[L]et me escape from reality once in a while, because why should I let myself get more depressed than I am? Otherwise I’ll go nuts, like Charlotte of Mexico. Though I’d rather be Christina of Sweden, since I’ll end up a queen, no matter what.”

Valentin is telling Molina that storytelling is a vice, but Molina defends it, saying she deserves to escape the cell and find happiness if and when she can. Her references to the two queens point to the novel’s dual interest in revolution and gender; Charlotte and her husband were overthrown by Mexican insurgents resisting an imperialist regime, while Christina famously flouted female gender norms.

“[L]isten to me, reality, I mean your reality, isn’t restricted by this cell we live in. If you read something, if you study something, you transcend any cell you’re inside of, do you understand what I’m saying? That’s why I read and why I study every day.”

Valentin tells Molina that fantasizing about movies is no different than taking a drug, the implication being that it is an unhealthy way of escaping reality. Valentin believes that the best way to escape the cell, mentally, is to study politics. A political revolutionary, Valentin believes that living in a fantasy world will only alienate Molina from society and its problems, though his studying transports him mentally in a way that echoes Molina’s daydreaming.

“It says that honest men cannot deal with political power because their concept of responsibility prevents them.”

Valentin is explaining what he’s reading in his philosophy book, and Molina agrees with the expressed sentiment, calling politicians “crooks.” Valentin, however, defends his involvement in politics as a revolutionary, which he feels is his duty. The debate encapsulates the two characters’ differing approaches to engaging with an unjust system: Molina rejects overt political action in favor of private escapism, whereas Valentin argues that political struggle is the only path to change.

“[H]ow does it happen that sometimes someone says something and wins someone else over forever?”

Molina is telling herself a story about a soldier with a facial scar falling in love with a maid considered unattractive. Though they are an unlikely match, the two find and love one another, which mystifies Molina: She herself has fallen in love, but she has never had that feeling reciprocated. The story of the soldier and maid foreshadows the relationship between Molina and Valentin, two societal outcasts who find comfort in one another.

“You are beautiful to one another, because you love each other so and thus see nothing but your souls, is that so difficult to understand? I do not ask you to look at each other now, but once I have left you […] please do, without the slightest tremor of doubt, because the love that beats within the stones of this old house has caused a miracle: that or permitting yourselves, as if blind, to see not the body but only the soul.”

In one of the movies Molina recalls, a man who is visually impaired says this about the relationship between a soldier with severe facial scarring and a maid everyone considers ugly. In its emphasis on the love that develops between two people who are rejected by society, the quote has clear relevance to Valentin and Molina’s relationship. The suggestion that the “soul” is more important than the “body” is likewise notable, as it evokes Molina’s preference for fantasy and Valentin’s asceticism.

“I can’t talk about [Seconal] because I took an oath, everyone does in the movement.”

Valentin is ill but refuses to go to the infirmary. He tells Molina that he can’t explain the reason for his reluctance but ultimately admits that a comrade went to the infirmary and they got him addicted to Seconal; this led to the comrade offering up vital intelligence information. Valentin is unaware that Molina is currently tasked with getting him to talk, making this an example of dramatic irony as well as an illustration of The Power of Language to facilitate oppression.

“My [mother] never liked my ideas, she believes she’s entitled to everything she owns, her family has always had money, and a certain social position, you know what I mean?”

Valentin’s admission that he comes from a well-off family and that he is estranged from his mother lends new depth to his characterization. Though he habitually represses his emotions in the service of his cause, his commitment to Marxism is itself deeply personal, intertwined with feelings of shame and regret.

“[…] a fellow who meets up with that same peasant girl who once led him through the sierra when he first met the guerillas, a fellow who can see that she’s pregnant, a fellow who doesn’t want to have an Indian for a child, a fellow who doesn’t want to mix his blood with the blood of an Indian, a fellow who feels ashamed about all his feelings […] a fellow who sees in the eyes of the peasant girl an eternal condemnation”

In this dream sequence, Valentin’s internal conflict about his place in the revolution blends with the plot of the movie Molina has been recounting. Given his ideals, the classism and racism that continue to inform his relationships—particularly romantic ones—distress him so deeply that he can hardly acknowledge them consciously; instead, they surface in his sleep. Likewise, the “fellow” in his dream goes on to attack a plantation where his mother is living, killing her in the process but only deepening his sense of guilt.

“PRISONER: But if he gets any worse there’s no way he can remain in his cell, and once he’s taken to the infirmary, there’s no chance left for me.

WARDEN: Molina, you underestimate the proficiency of our personnel here. They know exactly how to proceed in these matters. Weigh your words, my friend.”

Chapter 8 contains the book’s major twist: that Molina is working for the warden. As this exchange demonstrates, however, she is not doing so of her own free will. The warden coerces her through a variety of methods; here, for instance, he implies that they will get the information they want out of Valentin with or without her cooperation. The order to “weigh her words” is particularly significant in light of the relationship between power and language in the novel. In fact, Puig follows it with a footnote explaining Freud’s theory that “repression, in general terms, can be traced back to the imposition of domination of one individual over others,” highlighting the power dynamics at play in the scene.

“When you’re involved in a struggle the way you are, you’re not supposed to…well, become attached…to anyone.”

As Valentin and Molina discuss their relationship, Valentin refers to “the struggle,” meaning the political revolution, to explain why he doesn’t get close to anyone. He has been advised to avoid emotionally intimate relationships of all kinds, as doing so can unintentionally hinder the cause. This repression is one of the figurative forms of imprisonment that the novel considers.

“It’s as if we were on some desert island. An island on which we may have to remain alone together for years. Because, well, outside of this cell we may have our oppressors, yes, but not inside. Here no one oppresses the other.”

Valentin explains that he and Molina are alone together in this cell, without any influence from the outside world. Because of this, they are not subject to oppression and can be equals. The irony, of course, is that Molina is supposed to be spying on him, meaning that they are not so removed from their “oppressors” as Valentin believes. Nevertheless, the image of the island becomes a symbol of the kind of freedom that the two find in one another.

“[M]y mom’s affection for me is, well, it’s the only good thing that’s happened to me in my whole life, because she takes me for what I am, and loves me just that way, plain and simply. And that’s like a gift from heaven, and the only thing that keeps me going, the only thing.”

Molina is discussing her relationship with Valentin, which leads her to think about her mother, who is the only person who has accepted her the way she is. Molina suggests that her mother is her only motivation for living, hinting that she makes her choices with her mother in mind, regardless of what they mean for Valentin.

“I have silly girlfriends like myself, but just in passing, good for a laugh once in a while, and that’s all. But as soon as we start getting a little dramatic…then we can’t stand the sight of each other. Because I already told you what it’s like; you see yourself in the other ones like so many mirrors and then you start running for your life.”

Molina’s discussion of her “girlfriends”—other trans women or feminine-presenting gay men like herself—reveals her internalized bias and self-hatred. Molina can’t stand to be around these friends for too long because they remind her of herself, and she is constantly trying to escape herself.

“I’m convinced that sex is innocence itself.”

The morning after they have sex, Molina is trying to figure out what Valentin thinks and if he regrets what they did. Valentin assures her that he feels sex is innocent and that he therefore doesn’t regret it. Although Valentin has previously expressed support for gender equality and various kinds of sexual liberation, he has also espoused some patriarchal views—e.g., toward feminine women. His casual attitude toward sex with someone assigned male at birth suggests character development.

“What I wanted more than anything in life was to get out of here in order to take care of my mom. And that I’d sacrifice anything for that, that everything to do with me came second, that what I wanted above all was to be able to care for mom. And my wish has been granted.”

Molina is trying to explain to Valentin that she has gotten what she wants but that she isn’t sure he wants it anymore. Her reference to “sacrifice” alludes to the fact that she was supposed to spy on Valentin in exchange for a pardon; in choosing not to, she has embraced a different kind of sacrifice, although the consequences do not become clear until her murder. At the same time, she also has come to view caring for her mother as a kind of sacrifice. This adds further nuance to the actions she ultimately takes on Valentin’s behalf; though they seem like sacrifices, they may represent fulfillment for Molina.

“[A]ppreciate the good that happens to you, even if it doesn’t last. Because nothing is forever.”

In context, Valentin is commenting on the final movie Molina has recounted; he argues that the heroine is content in the knowledge that she had “one real relationship” (259), though it was fleeting. This applies to Valentin and Molina’s relationship as well, and it suggests how much they have changed over the course of the novel, as it was originally Molina who embraced living in the moment.

“You, you’re the spider woman, that traps men in her web.”

Molina has made a final request from Valentin: a kiss. Molina jokes that she’s “not the panther woman,” meaning she won’t attack Valentin after they kiss. Valentin, in response, calls Molina the “spider woman,” suggesting that Molina has managed to ensnare Valentin, romantically, politically, or both. The irony is that at this point, Valentin wields more power in the relationship. Indeed, this kiss convinces Molina to carry the message he requested she deliver, which results in her death.

“[S]he’s crying […] ‘A tear that shines like a diamond?’ yes […]”

In Valentin’s closing dream of the spider woman—Molina—she is both smiling and crying, which speaks to the lingering ambiguity surrounding Molina’s character and motivations, particularly in the run-up to her death. The simile comparing her tears to diamonds recalls the ending of the final movie Molina recounted, in which jewelry plays a central role; in fact, that story too ends with an image of its heroine both smiling and crying, which Valentin takes to mean she treasured her experience of love, transient as it was. However, this says more about Valentin’s attitude toward Molina than vice versa. It is impossible to know how Molina felt about their relationship, but Valentin—in his guilt and grief—would presumably like to believe that she viewed her entanglement with him as worthwhile.