Deep Rivers

Being Peruvian definitely shaped how I read this book. I probably would have enjoyed it even more if it had not been midterm season, but I still ended up liking it a lot. Through Ernesto’s inner conflict you can understand a lot about the society around him. He is mestizo, and because he grew up around Quechua speaking communities he understands and empathizes with that world much more than the other boys. What stood out to me the most is that even though Deep Rivers reflects Peru of roughly the 1920s to 30s, the social hierarchy still feels very present in the country a century later.

The use of the word cholo/a really caught my attention. In the novel it works mostly as a social classification, not automatically an insult. In peruvian society today, it often carries a strong negative racial meaning and is usually used as an insult toward Indigenous and working-class people. Growing up in Lima, society always felt and still feels very classist. Indigenous culture is often celebrated symbolically (food, festivals, traditions), but in daily life many people, at least in Lima from my perspective, still distance themselves from Indigenous identity and look down on Indigenous people, even when that heritage is part of their own ancestry.

Which takes me to another point. This divide is not only social, but also cultural and emotional, and Arguedas shows it through Ernesto’s relationship with nature and sound. I loved the descriptions of nature and sound. The rivers, chants, and myths feel intimate and alive, almost like a home Ernesto understands deeply. The way the boys describe Lleras turning into a creature also reminded me of many myths and legends I have heard when I traveled around the highlands of Peru. The importance of the zumbayllu and its sound shows how deeply Ernesto feels these connections, and it made me remember how every time I travel there the culture is so beautiful and diverse it almost feels overwhelming. However, for me it feels slightly different. I didn’t grow up fully inside that culture, but I recognize it and admire it from a distance. In that way I related to Ernesto, not because our lives are the same, but because of the feeling of being close to something culturally meaningful while never fully belonging to it.

Because of this, Ernesto siding with the chicheras during the salt rebellion felt important. He isn’t choosing an ethnic identity but making a moral choice to sympathize with those suffering rather than automatically aligning with his own “social group”. The novel shows how groups like the colonos and the chicheras are essential to everyday life and the economy, yet they are still looked down upon within the social hierarchy. The salt rebellion matters because the women are not criminals at all, just people trying to keep the poorest alive and do what they believe is right, yet they are still treated like criminals.

When Ernesto tells Doña Felipa, “You’re like the river, señora… They’ll never catch you,” he links her to a force of nature that cannot be controlled. This connects to the title itself. To me, the “deep rivers” symbolizes deeper cultural currents: memory, culture, and resistance flowing beneath official society. By the end, when Ernesto crosses the bridge and leaves Abancay, the river also marks a transition in him, showing that he now recognizes these forces and carries that awareness with him even as he leaves.

On that, I also found it interesting that the novel doesn’t really have a clear ending. We never learn what ultimately happens to many characters, and that feels intentional, suggesting the conflicts the book shows are not solved but just continue beyond the story. It made me wonder: if Ernesto only understands both worlds because he doesn’t fully belong to either, is that actually a kind of advantage, or does it mean he’ll always feel out of place no matter where he goes?