The Living Infinite: A Novel, by Chantel Acevedo, crafts a historical fiction story based on Eulalia, the nineteenth-century Spanish daughter to the monarch, or Infanta. Eulalia was not an heir to the throne; Spanish monarchies recognize only heirs to the throne with the title of prince or princess, with other royal children dubbed Infante (male) or infanta (female). Centered around the Bourbon court toward the end of her family’s reign, the story that Acevedo conjures shows royalty as confining golden chains woven with heartbreak, sacrifice, performance, and endless expectations. As the novel expresses it: “I would come to think of Madrid as a different kind of prison. A gilded one. A beautiful one. But a cage nevertheless.”
When Eulalia is born, she is given two wet nurses or nodrizas, who will feed her before their own babies. One of her nodrizas is Amalia, who forms a special bond with Eulalia that is never broken, their relationship continuing beyond her service in the palace. It is this unusual friendship that leads Eulalia to meeting her milk brother, Tomás, Amalia’s son. After failed endeavors and loves lost as a young man, Tomás becomes a bookseller and is swept into Eulalia’s wake with a proposition to help her secretly publish her life story. Her subversive memoir existentially threatens her royal lineage, yet becomes a ticket to America and beyond for Tomás in a battle between responsibility, independence, forbidden love, and rebellion.
“Indignation, righteousness, and an independent streak that Tomás had never encountered in a woman pulsed along the sentences. It seemed to him that Eulalia had been kept in beautiful rooms for too long.”
“‘The church is not God,’ Eulalia said fiercely. ‘The church may judge me, but God will not.’”
As a piece of historical fiction, Eulalia’s story is closely aligned with the political turmoil and social milieu of the period and her greater lifetime in Spain and beyond (1864-1958). Acevedo was able to keep the focus on the humanistic dramas of Eulalia and the loved ones in her sphere while still tying in the fact that Eulalia was serving as a royal emissary, traveling to Cuba while it was rebelling from Spanish rule and to America for its World’s Fair in Chicago in 1893. The Living Infinite even features a myth that Eulalia made her debut in Havana wearing the colors of the rebellion, lending steam to her spirit of subversive defiance in the face of inherited royalty.
She also made provocative religious statements. “‘The church is not God,’ Eulalia said fiercely. ‘The church may judge me, but God will not.’”
An important thematic element throughout The Living Infinite is that of gender roles under a patriarchal and monarchical culture. Eulalia specifically struggles with her role as royal daughter because she is mired by the double-bind of being in the public eye as a royal and a woman. When Tomás presents her book to a Spanish friend and publisher, his American wife encourages the conspiratory proposition wholeheartedly, explaining: “‘Women are victims of duty. We learn at our mothers’ feet how to clean a house, how to feed a man, how to arrange a party, how to apply rouge to our cheeks in order to dissimulate health and happiness. We learn how to give birth to new life, and how to keep it alive. . . .For this, we receive no recompense. And when we grow old, we are forgotten. . . . So I think that Eulalia, in writing this book, has shaken off duty. I think because of it, she, at least, won’t be forgotten.’”
Acevedo wonderfully weaves this awareness of Eulalia as a feminist and generally progressive political figure throughout the novel while also managing to center other women, regardless of shifting points of view. The Living Infinite decidedly passes the Bechdel test, as Eulalia and Amalia propel the plot forward with their creative power, love, and passion, without giving too much weight to Tomás’ role, which is dependent and somewhat beholden to them both in that his life revolves around the women.
Acevedo’s writing style was overall descriptive, romantic, and often insightful, but sometimes lacked rhythm and flow. The characters were well-rounded, but they seemingly bounced between the political turmoil of the time and personal dramas clumsily. Tomás’ self-awareness for the time period in terms of recognizing the injustices of gender essentialism or lack of respect granted to women around him seemed unrealistic if not optimistic (Spain did not grant women the right to vote until 1931, 100 years later than the setting of The Living Infinite). Although a good read in general, the novel lacks directness because it switches between three characters’ perspectives, lacking the weight and immediacy of a deeper or more consistent point of view — namely that of Eulalia, who is often kept at arm’s length. In defense of this perspective choice, it may be exactly Acevedo’s intention, for that is how Eulalia would have been perceived by her audience of constituents for most of her lifetime: just out of reach.
If you have enjoyed similar works of historical fiction like Pachinko by Min Jin Lee or Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, you may consider adding The Living Infinite by Chantel Acevedo to your shelf, especially if you enjoy stories of quiet rebellion.
