The Seventh Veil of Salome

The final section of the novel revolves around the parallel dance sequences and the two violent events that follow (the deaths of Jay and Jokanaan). The two storylines converge and blur into one another, with even the chapter divisions separating the two eras collapsing in Chapter 42. Similarly, in the description of Vera first dancing for Max, she is referred to as Salome: “[W]ith that same snakelike grace Salome removed the orange skirt, seemingly tearing it into two pieces” (287). The conflation of names in this scene highlights how thoroughly Vera now embodies Salome, though it is Nancy whose actions (requesting another’s death) most resemble Salome’s. Moreno-Garcia’s decision to “split” the figure of Salome into two characters in the 20th-century storyline highlights the ambiguities and complexities of the character.

In fact, it is this very complexity that Vera’s performance captures. In the lead-up to Vera’s dance, there is a short chapter narrated by Max Niemann in which he recalls the various representations of Salome that inspired his directorial vision. This section references and describes a real painting (The Apparition, painted between 1874 and 1876 by the French artist Gustave Moreau, who depicted Salome in many of his paintings and drawings) in a literary technique known as ekphrasis. Max’s discussion captures the traditional, often masculine perspective on Salome as “the virgin-whore. The sexual deviant and devourer. The stone idol” (277). Vera’s performance both evokes and contradicts this image, as she manages to embody a woman whose “eyes spoke a different, darker tale” (287). That the textual representation of a dance performance is necessarily limited lends further ambiguity to the sequence, allowing space for readers to participate in the fantasy of spectacle by imagining it for themselves.

Vera is able to perform effectively because she has arrived at an understanding of how she wants to depict Salome after a conversation with her sister, in which Lumi tells her that when she herself performed on stage, “they could see [her] […] but [she] could also see them” (282). This comment helps Vera to understand the essence of what she wants to capture in the dance sequence: “Salome looked, too” rather than simply being the passive object of the male gaze (283). The fact that she comes to this understanding after a conversation with her sister suggests that community and mutual support between women can lead to empowerment. While Lumi is sometimes presented as Vera’s rival, the two women actually share a collaborative creative process, learning from one another.

This portrayal of mutual support among women makes the climactic chapter describing Jay’s death all the more tragic. The chapter switches rapidly between the perspectives of Nancy, Vera, and Salome, heightening suspense and tension but also implying that the three women are all interconnected. However, the possibility of solidarity between Nancy and Vera remains unrealized, with Nancy instead attempting to murder the woman she perceives as a professional and romantic rival. The chapter’s title, “Son Clave,” underscores this point. It references a widely used rhythmic pattern associated with a variety of musical forms, particularly Brazilian and Cuban music, the distinguishing characteristic of which is its use of irregularly accented beats. The title suggests the parallels between the women and the storylines but also the ways in which they diverge; the same “beats” appear, but never in precisely the same way.

The name of the chapter is also distinct from every other chapter in the novel, mirroring the chapter’s formal distinctiveness as the only chapter that alternates between the two storylines. Indeed, the deaths of Jay and Jokanaan occur almost simultaneously, in alternating sentences: “[T]he ax falls in one firm swoop” (304), and “the sound of the bullet pierces the night” (304). Once again, however, the differences are as important as the similarities. For instance, the narrative captures Vera’s intense grief as Jay dies in her arms but does not describe Salome’s feelings when she “clutches the grisly bounty between her hands and holds it up, staring into the dead man’s eyes” (306). The emotional experiences of the two protagonists blur together, but Salome also remains enigmatic at the moment that defines her character. Moreno-Garcia challenges how Salome has typically been represented but also alludes to the limitations of historical fiction, in that it almost always remains impossible to know what an individual felt at a moment in the past.

Indeed, Vera and Salome are virtually silenced after the two deaths, which contrasts with the detailed representation of these characters’ subjectivity earlier in the novel. Joe Kantor narrates the penultimate chapter, bringing the narrative full circle since he also narrated the opening chapter but also suggesting a reassertion of a patriarchal perspective. Nevertheless, Joe offers some information about both Nancy and Vera in the aftermath of the murder that challenges this reading. The mention of Vera’s musical career suggests that she was able to remain anchored to her creativity. It also hints at her decision to take on the position of creator rather than object: She no longer needs to be displayed as a spectacle but can communicate her own artistic vision.

Salome’s fate is also somewhat ambiguous. The film within the novel has an ending in which “Salome repents of her wicked ways in the last reel and accidentally tumbles to her death” (278), thus “punishing” Salome for her transgressions against the patriarchal order. By contrast, Moreno-Garcia depicts Salome as succeeding in her plan to marry Agrippa and becoming a powerful queen: “[S]he sits on the golden throne of a vast palace” (309), though her ongoing love of Jokanaan lends a tragic dimension to her apparent victory and to the Consequences of Women’s Ambition and Desire broadly. Moreno-Garcia also explicitly alludes to the complex and ambiguous portrayals of Salome by writing that “storytellers weave contradictory narratives about her, ensuring she will be enshrined in myth” (309). The refusal to present a clear, tidy resolution to Salome’s arc is telling: The novel prompts readers to reflect on how the stories told about women are often limited, so it must itself acknowledge and mirror the limitations of all stories.