Fascinating history retold with inappropriate kinks
Aztec is ostensibly the autobiography of an elderly Mexica man named Mixtli. His narrative is transcribed verbatim by a team of Spanish clergymen in the year 1529, under the direction of Bishop Juan de Zumárraga. This clever structure allows the bishop to provide brief commentaries from a Spanish perspective in his letters home to King Carlos. In a wise choice by Jennings, Mixtli is not an Aztec king, high priest, or great warrior, but rather a minor noble with a talent for languages. Through his work as a scribe, interpreter, and diplomat, he is able to move in all circles of Aztec society and is present at some of the most important events in Mexican history. The book takes place mostly in the ancient metropolis of Tenochtitlan and focuses on the culture of the Aztecs, Mexica, or Triple Alliance (three names for the same civilization), but if you are interested in other cultures of ancient Mexico, have no fear. Mixtli travels quite a bit, so the reader also gets glimpses of the Maya, Olmecs, Tarahumara, and several other peoples of ancient Mexico.
Unfortunately, one aspect of the book that’s really awful are its sex scenes, of which there are many. One minute you’re deeply involved in the history of ancient Mesoamerica, and the next minute you’re reading Penthouse Forum. These scenes are almost all totally unnecessary and positively juvenile in their boyish glee over salacious details of reproductive anatomy. Did you know that earthquakes make people horny? Well, if you didn’t, Jennings manages to work that into the story not once but twice. The sex scenes are not only annoying but unrealistic. If an Aztec were recounting his life story to a bunch of Spaniards, would he describe everything in minute detail as if his listeners had never seen genitalia before? I don’t know if incest and pedophilia were common in ancient Mexico, but even if they were, the giddiness with which Jennings recalls such incidents is uncalled for. As one would expect, there’s also plenty of violence in this novel, which is more excusable. Human sacrifice and ritual cannibalism were part of Aztec culture, and the gore inherent in their description is justified, but beyond that Jennings also includes a few over-the-top scenes of gratuitous torture porn.
Something else that’s exasperating about this novel is its inordinate length. I could have read five or six other books in the time I spent on this one, and the meandering plot, repetitious dialogue, and unnecessary scenes (see previous paragraph) do not justify its overly protracted duration. If it’s the Spanish conquest you’re interested in, Cortés doesn’t show up until about 80 percent of the way through, but the book does move pretty briskly after that. The conquest of Tenochtitlan is a familiar story, but Jennings does a good job of bringing it to life.
To his credit, Jennings strikes a good balance between research and storytelling. Some writers of historical novels rely too heavily on research to the point where you feel like you’re reading a textbook. Jennings, however, puts the fiction on an equal footing with the facts, resulting in a novel that reads like a novel. It’s possible that Aztec may be one of the best novels (in English) about pre-Colombian Mexico (because there aren’t many), but that still doesn’t excuse its faults and excesses. If you’re interested in ancient Mexican history, you’re going to want to read this, but expect to be periodically frustrated, annoyed, disappointed, and bored by it.
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