by Jess Wells
Genre: Magical Realism, Historical Fiction
In 1865 in the shanty town of Tartatenango, the Caketown Bar is owned by the extraordinary Jaguar Paloma, matriarch of a village that is home to raucous miscreants, cast-off mothers, muleteers, and forgers. Amid drunken monks, a roaring trade in faked marriages just for fun, and the Romani, all balance on the knife-edge between legality and the illicit. Paloma’s life is honed by this community, as their lives are affected by her mystery and magic.
Co-founder of this extraordinary gathering is Orietta Becerra. Breathtakingly beautiful and ambitious, her distillery builds the success of Caketown. But when she crosses the tracks and marries the town’s mayor, her double life severs her friendship with Paloma and the town starts to pay the highest of prices.
Adding to this land of chaos and feminine power is a forger, a murderer, the darker shade of the female heart, and a Civil War that claims men before their time.
Caketown – men want to destroy it. Women want to play in it. The township itself has to fight on all sides to survive.
Told in evocative magical realism, Jaguar Paloma and the Caketown Bar is a tale of wronged women who stand up to be counted.
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Jaguar Paloma and The Caketown Bar
by Jess Wells
1875, in the southern country of Calexicobia
Chapter One
1
After the government had burned it to the ground, it was hard to imagine the Caketown Bar surrounded by a raucous shanty town, home to cast-off mothers and unclaimed children, filled with lively mirth and mayhem together, where every day was a celebration even if not a holiday, where peacocks cawed from the backs of donkeys, and women’s wigs and bunting were playthings for the monkeys in the trees when they stopped playing catch with the dogs. Flowers of unknown origin bloomed in the night and then flew away, and blue mist or green fog rolled in without warning. It was a town where morning was heralded by a rum cask being rolled across a dance floor, and the groggy question of who had arrived in the night; evening announced by the sizzle of lightbulbs in bent sockets and men slapping the dust off their pants with their hard-working hats, women putting a baby to the breast and finally sitting down. Tartatenango, Spanish slang for Caketown, hosted every traveling circus and any Romany family who roamed the southern country of Calexicobia, every soothsayer and shabby hawker of medicinal nonsense, any run-away from the army, convent, or hostile home. No one was turned away for being muddy or misshapen or ragged. Everyone was welcome until proven unworthy and it was just assumed that everyone was on their second chance: at the Caketown Bar, sharing stories of the past was much more intimate than nudity.
In the beginning, seekers from the north trekked through the jungle, veered off a minor mule-train road just after the third hollow acacia tree and followed a wide animal track to find it. Burdened with sadness and loss on top of their possessions, they trudged toward the little town whose name was whispered among the laundresses or spoken low by the cook after a glance over her shoulder. The midwives knew of it, the women of the theater troupes and Romani spoke of it late at night.
Those who used the snaking Magdalena river that was its western boundary had an easier time finding it. The river was calm and narrow at this spot before growing wide and wild as it headed north toward the sea. Boaters set their sights on a beach between two enormous white boulders that were smooth and firm like the breasts of a new mother in the morning.
Its founding was more a protest than a selection. Paloma Marti, who was six foot five, at seventeen far younger than she looked because of her surprising height, saw the hungry glare and familiar danger from the boatmen and two male passengers on the barge she was riding. When the ringleader flashed a knife under the guise of cleaning his nails, she abandoned her small bag and dove off the side of the boat, swimming toward the inviting boulders.
Possible titles:
#MeToo in Macondo: New Novel is an Homage to Gabo’s Women
Inspired by the Colombian Classic: Jaguar Paloma and the Caketown Bar
By Jess Wells
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez is one of the finest books ever written, in my opinion. I have read it five times and the last time through, the relationships and positions of the women started to jump to the foreground. Here’s where it took me, and how some of my new novel, Jaguar Paloma and the Caketown Bar, has been inspired by it:
Legitimacy’s Paper and Cake
In Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s (Gabo’s) novel One Hundred Years of Solitude, Pilar Tennara, the saloon keeper, and Ursula, the matriarch of the Buendia family, were among the founders of the town. They walked through the swamp together and Ursula gave birth on the way, so I had always assumed that they grew close as a result. However, after Ursula bears her other sons and they her sons grow into young men who then sleep with Pilar, Ursula refuses to allow Pilar to attend a founders’ dinner because she has given birth to Ursula's illegitimate grandchildren. I was surprised at how cruel that was, how it drove a wedge between the women, and it brought up the whole idea of how ‘illegitimacy’ is used to oppress people, especially women. And note the double standard: Ursula’s sons can attend as the fathers of those illegitimate children but not Pilar as their mother.
Later, mothers and ‘illegitimate’ children show up at the Buendia door as the oldest son, the Colonel, and his army tromp through the country. I wondered, when the 17 mothers of his 17 Aureliano sons show up at the door and then disappear, where did they go?
Fecundity
Then there's the question of Petra Cotes. Garcia Marquez mentions that the Buendia boy only has to have her ride through his pastures to increase the fertility of his animals and I wondered "if she's had that ability all along, what did her life look like prior to meeting the Buendia family?” It's her power after all, not his.
Beauty
And the little girl with extraordinary beauty: she has to be locked up and live without education because men die when they see her. But what about her tragedy? She is kept as a witless child.
Abuse
Plus of course there's the mention of using/raping women everywhere the Colonel and his army went, and it sparked a question for me, especially as we are in the throes of the #MeToo movement:
What would happen if all the used and abused women got together and formed a town of their own?
Voila, Tartatenango (which means Caketown in Colombian slang,) the shantytown in Jaguar Paloma and the Caketown Bar was born.
In a way, this novel is an homage to Gabo and the women of Macondo (setting for One Hundred Years of Solitude). Here are some smaller elements that crept into the narrative:
• The reference to ice that is mentioned in the first paragraph of Garcia Marquez's 100 Years of Solitude shows up here as hail.
• The two rocks in the river that he calls eggs I describe as the breasts of a new mother in the morning.
• The loss of memory described in Jaguar Paloma is actually based on information from The Robber of Memories: a River Journey Through Columbia by Michael Jacobs and I did my research to be sure that the resulting memory loss could be caused by pesticides.
• The fecundity of Petra Cotes is an occasional gift to our heroine Jaguar Paloma.
• Gabo’s Pilar Tennara has a saloon named The Golden Child, while Paloma has the Caketown Bar.
• There’s a morose General, rather than Gabo’s Colonel, and I try to imagine the reality of the three mistresses he brings home together.
• This is an imagining of what Gabo’s exquisitely beautiful girl would be like as a woman. Orietta’s beauty is a burden, but she doesn’t let it keep her child-like, even though she keeps it hidden. In the end, she is seen by men to rise into heaven (though I won’t say more about that without a spoiler alert.)
• Garcia Marquez actually was an illegitimate child, and he mentions that part of the rebel platform in One Hundred Years of Solitude was to honor legitimate and illegitimate children equally. There’s a moment in Jaguar Paloma where that agenda is repeated by the rebels.
For more writings on women, please visit Jess’ blog at www.jesswells.com And follow her on Facebook, Instagram and Goodreads.
Jess Wells is the author of six novels and five books of short stories, winner of the Bronze Medal in the 2020 Foreword Reviews Indies Award for Adult Fiction/Romance, the recipient of a San Francisco Arts Commission Grant for Literature, a four-time finalist for the national Lambda Literary Award, and a member of the Saints & Sinners Literary Hall of Fame. Her work has appeared in more than three dozen literary journals and anthologies, has been reprinted in England and translated into Italian and Dutch.
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