Reviewed by John David Harding

Yuriy Tarnawsky's brief novel The Iguanas of Heat depicts the dissolution of the marriage between Greta Kraus and Walter Kramer, a couple whose relationship is barely clinging to life. But Tarnawsky guides this familiar premise into new territory. The novel's motifs—existentialism, disillusionment, repressed desire—call to mind Camus's The Stranger and Nabokov's Lolita. A less obvious corollary is Kate Chopin's "The Story of an Hour," the subversive tale of Louise Mallard who believes her husband has died in a train accident. Initially falling to pieces, Louise then realizes the extent of her unhappiness with married life, and she shocks some readers by crying "free, free, free!" Tarnawsky furthers this idea of freedom from marriage through Greta Kraus, a woman whose passions, like Mrs. Mallard's, have been "vanquished by the everyday stupor of married life." But rather than waiting around for an accident to befall her husband, Greta decides to take matters into her own hands. Her plan is simple. While vacationing in Mexico, she and Walter will visit a cenote (a cavernous sinkhole) known as el Pozo del Diablo. At the Devil's Well, Greta will push Walter into the chasm and make it look like an accident. Free, free, free!

But why does Greta want to kill her husband? At first, Walter appears to be an ordinary, ineffectual husband, a professor of philosophy whose work on existentialism forms the centerpiece of the couple's life. But does he deserve to die for being selfish and boring? Greta's motives for wanting to kill Walter are neither simple nor clear. Although readers might initially view her as an unhinged antagonist, a series of flashbacks and dream sequences illustrate a marriage predicated on loneliness and selfishness. In one example, the couple visits Greta's family just after the death of a woman whom Greta thought of as a second mother. But rather than helping his wife to mourn, Walter initiates sex while tears stream down Greta's face. Afterwards, Greta "got off the big bed, straightened herself up, walked like a sleepwalker through the huge house, room to room, sobbing, he behind her like her shadow, meek, guilty." Other such moments suggest that the couple's life operates on Walter's terms. Greta's needs—and, indeed, her consent—aren't explicitly taken into account. Far from "a woman scorned," Greta is a person seeking an identity distinct from who she has become as Walter's wife. Perhaps Greta wants to destroy her "other half" so that she can finally be whole. 

To that end, Greta's quest for an authentic self reveals troubling sides of her personality. Self-conscious of her own multilayered identity, Greta dubs the side of herself that wants to kill Walter as "Red Maureen." This alias is a reference to three aspects of her life: her imagined Native American ancestry; an estranged intimate friend; and the color of Greta's skin when she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, holds her breath, and contorts her face in moments of rage. The narrator writes that Greta views herself as "Indian through and through," an especially thorny claim because Greta in fact is "pure German." Even so, Greta daydreams of shedding the yoke of her German heritage to "reveal herself one day and lead her people to fight the whites." Whether Greta has a legitimate claim to Native American ancestry is never resolved, leaving room to view her character as empowered by white privilege to change her race at will. Other condemnations of whiteness in the text include a passage describing existentialism as "the sickness of the white man, pale-bodied, pale-faced, sitting bent over a half-empty cup of cold black coffee in a dark café." Walter certainly fits the bill.

Halfway through the novel, the narration shifts from Greta's to Walter's point of view. But granting the reader access to Walter's consciousness does him few favors. Upon arriving in Mexico, Walter notices "a beautiful blonde girl" who is vacationing with her parents in Mexico. Later, we learn that the girl, Sapphire—a fitting name for a girl with "sparkling sapphire eyes"—is fifteen years old. But Sapphire's age doesn't prevent Walter from admiring "her heavy breasts," nor does it stop him from isolating her at a swimming pool and supplying her with alcohol. Gazing at Sapphire's body, Walter wishes he were younger so that "something might develop between them and his life would be different from what it had turned out to be." Only once does he grapple with his actions, but he dispenses with these misgivings. In Mexico, he has had an epiphany: "He was a different man now, right? So why should he care?"

Clearly, Walter and Greta's marriage is not long for this world. But what kept me invested in the story was the novel's larger narrative about decisions and their consequences. Both Greta and Walter are searching for a way out of their dying marriage, but neither has the ability to say what they want. They instead pursue private fantasies which, if enacted in the real world, would lead to violence and self-annihilation. Although I disliked Walter, I still worried for his wellbeing, just as I worried for Sapphire and Greta. Once Greta's perspective is kept at a distance, we know what she plans to do, but we cannot predict with accuracy her next move. Herein lies the novel's most brilliant effect. Will Greta find the freedom she seeks in Mexico? Will she kill her husband? This withholding effect raises intriguing ethical questions. Knowing that Walter is pursuing a fifteen-year-old girl, do we then support Greta's plan to end his life? Is killing ever justified?