Published in 1936 as a story of a different mien, but with the same name and many of the same characters but with alterations to their personalities or relations and then republished in 1947 as the pseudo-autobiographical work we are presented (names changed, some events also). The introducer, Stephen Spender, gives a clear account of the history behind ‘Under The Volcano’, presents the characters as themselves and their metaphors, and draws comparison to Lowry’s contemporaries and influences, which it is possible, can tend to skew a first time reader of the work. I’d have preferred it as an afterward, quite possibly. The book, being a (PS) edition also includes an afterward or Post-Script, written by William Vollmann. he argues against some of the points Spender presents, validly, I think.

One will want to be slightly versed in especially Spanish and to a lesser degree, German, for the author writes clips, phrases and aphorisms for the story in his non-native language.

We’re presented a Consul to the English Empire. A very biblious man who maintains a state and mindset of that ‘drunk in which alone he was sober!’ (1697), who walks that precarious cliff and will have a ‘therapeutic’ drink to maintain himself, and a man who’s on the final day of his life. Accounted for are his past; his present and current states of being. And this is, all-the-while, written in a manner denoting his stream of conscience / consciousness. For many times the Consul makes statements presented uncertainly as to whether or not he’d said them aloud, and / or conducted them – occasionally it is found that he didn’t make the statements, but was wanting to. The most recognizable being his uncertainty surrounding response to Yvonne’s letters – ‘you did, you didn’t, you did, you didn’t’.

Placed mostly in Quauhnauac (Cuernavaca, capital of the Free and Sovereign State of Morales), a city in the shadow of two volcanoes – Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl (383). Yvonne returns to her husband. This was desirable, wished for even, but the Consul couldn’t drop the bottle: ‘Nothing in the world was more terrible than an empty bottle! Unless it was an empty glass.’ (1720) It is quite likely that the Consul was also suffering DT (delirium tremens), hence another proclivity toward drink, as he is also convinced by Dr. Vigil (think Virgil – ‘Dante’s Inferno’ – his number is 666) that ‘Tereebly… More alcohol is perhaps best” (2605). It’s a jilted picture of a jilted situation, rendering it, perhaps, drunkenly perfect. The volcanoes act as ‘that image of the perfect marriage’ (1828) which the Consul strives after, but he has pent his resentments atop one another so that his relationship now, by receipt of a post-card dated a year old, has ‘proved the lonely torment unnecessary, proved, even, he must have wanted it.’ (3862)

One will see that the story offers many complexities, rationally and linguistically, ranging from the autobiographical nature, the symbolism, the ambivalence, the relationships, the predominant state of the anti-hero and the militarized background. It offers a lot for any astute reader to digest and analyze.

The story opens with Monsieur Jacques Laruelle (M. Laruelle, more familiarly) recounting in vague fashion the events of a year ago – November 2, 1938, Dia de los Muertos – as he sits drinking, out of the rain, at a theatre. He details befriending the Consul’s half-brother, Hugh, and he also alludes to the events which are bound to occur, and the despairing love he witnesses. M. Laruelle recounts some of the history of Geoffrey Firmin, from dad’s walking out and leaving him with Hugh to Laruelle’s own friendship with the Taskerson’s, relatives of Firmin’s and their eventual getting together to practice ‘picking up girls’. All in all, despite his proclivity to drunkenness, many people saw the Consul as ‘an hombre noble.’ (811) but Laruelle continues to describe a man who is deeply lonely and whos life had become an awful joke, a nightmare. One that the Consul himself has chosen – ‘Ah, why not, why not, why not? For I suppose you would have come back in due course if I had asked you. But this is what it is to live in hell.’ (931).

Watch for SPOILERS:

We are soon introduced to the Consul, his ex-wife Yvonne, who miraculously returns to Quanhuanuac to find the Consul and the Consul’s brother, Hugh. Yvonne expects to find her ex-husband in some sort of devastation, which only as it outwardly presents he is, for he spends a significant amount of time drink. We are presented with the first instances of both parties analyzing the ambivalence as it pertains to their relationship and the affair the Consul witnessed his wife having had with M. Laruelle.

Recognizing that their relationship will not be successfully put back on track in Quanhuanuac, Yvonne begins early to beseech the Consul to depart with her to someplace, anyplace, else. After much debate, bantering and preparation the group decides upon departing for Tomalin, meanwhile Yvonne is attempting to convince the Consul that it should just be them. The Consul appears to band them together, and we’re aware, into something more with: “What’s the use of escaping… from ourselves?’ (1686)

We are next introduced to Hugh, a journalist, reporting generally about War and Foreign Affairs. He’s quietly in love with Yvonne and he’s happiest when in her company even though the moments may be ‘poisoned’ (2060) During this phase we are introduced to ‘Los Manos de Orlac’, a remake starring Peter Lorre (released in the US as ‘Mad Love’, 1930’s), and a recurring motif (having had surgically implanted upon yourself the hands of a murder). We also see that both parties are engaged in a strained relationship with each other (Hugh & Yvonne) – ‘wouldn’t it be rather simpler for you if I went away immediately?’ The much later made presumption by the Consul is something akin to: beneath the guise of attempting to help him they’ve been co-conspiring to elope.

Presented in fantastic stream of conscience the Consul makes note in both deprecatory and admiring fashion of himself. Analyzing himself throughout the work he meets and maintains many ends. Which despite his general state of mind, one cannot conclude that he is incorrect in his overall assessment of his situation or its components. And the situation thickens a bit as the troupe encounters M. Laruelle, a man that the Consul thinks Hugh should meet because ‘you have something in common.’ (3476) We see the Consul driving his wife away again, in a fashion of speaking and very honestly only to himself as he pensates upon the affair had by Yvonne and M. Laruelle: ‘It was hard to forgive, hard, hard to forgive. Harder still, not to say how hard it was, I hate you. Even now, of all times.’ (3581)

En route to Tomalin the group encounters a dying Indian who is, the Consul believes robbed by a pelado (bare – ‘peeled ones’, thieves) aboard their bus. The Consul is called ‘companiero’ by the Indian prior to his departure. Here also enters the repetition of the horse branded number ‘7’. The number of God, possibly.

As the story end approaches we see that Hugh and Yvonne are en route to The Farolito (a bar situated ‘Under the Volcano’). Here it is the Consul awaits, and in so, believes he has encountered the thieves responsible for the murder of the Indian on the road. They’re crack-pot policemen, who quickly begin to associate him with an Anarchist group (because of Hugh’s business card / telegram). After much discussion about ‘what to do with him?’ the Consul examines the horse (number 7). In the process antagonizing one of the false police into shooting him after calling him the ‘pelado’ and a murderer. Meanwhile Yvonne is the subject of maleficent foreshadowing in the brewing storm about Popocatepetl and the number 7 horse in the woods, which the Consul had loosed before he was shot. And all of this after the Consul had received a bulk of letters, saved by the bar, from Yvonne.

Truly a very tragic ending, but certainly one that wasn’t entirely unforeseen.

It is important to note the multiple mentions are made of the Spanish Civil War and fascists, communists and Nazis. Painted within the zeitgeist one can see how all of this tumult would add a synchronous background to the personal story being told – it jives also in basic feeling, one of hostility and war, us versus them. It also accounts for man’s history in terms of warfare and ‘interference’, as the Consul finds everybody is in everybody else’s business much of the time, because they’re ordered to be, because they can’t make choices of their own volition.

Quotes:

“No se puede vivir sin amar,: M. Laruelle said…’ (388) – We cannot live without love.

‘… this is how I sometimes think of myself, as a great explorer who has discovered some extraordinary land from which he can never return to give his knowledge to the world: but the name of this land is hell. It is not Mexico of course but in the heart.’ (887)

‘Love is the only thing which gives meaning to our poor ways on earth: not precisely a discovery, I am afraid.’ (959)

‘Drink all morning, they said to him, drink all day. This is life!’ (1831)

‘What was life but a warfare and a stranger’s sojourn?’ (2084)

‘Los Borrachones fell eternally into the flames.’ (3769)

‘What is man but a little soul holding up a corpse?’ (5037)

‘Let me sink lower still, that I may know the truth. Teach me to love again, to love life.’ (5061)
“Destroy the world!’ he cried in his heart.” (5065)

‘I love hell. I can’t wait to get back there. In fact I’m running, I’m almost back there already.’ (5525)

‘… suelteme, help: but maybe the scorpion, not wanting to be saved, had stung itself to death.’ (5904)

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Under the Volcano: A Novel