Sister’s murder by ex-boyfriend inspires Pulitzer prize-winning memoir
Deep down inside, I knew my sister wanted justice. She wanted her killer arrested, sent to trial, and convicted. In Mexico, I pulled up a chair to reach an address book high up on a shelf in the wardrobe. I pulled down boxes containing my sister’s papers. When I opened one of the lids, it felt as if Liliana sprung up before me.
- 4 months ago
July 19, 2024
Pulitzer prize winner Cristina Rivera Garza | Photo courtesy of Cristina Rivera
HOUSTON, United States — It took nearly 30 years before I openly talked about my sister Liliana’s femicide. This year, I won the Pulitzer Prize in the Memoirs category for Liliana’s Invincible Summer, the book I wrote about her tragic fate. This award fulfills my initial wish for the publication, to ensure Liliana’s story lives on and reaches far and wide.
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A knock at the door: learning of my sister’s murder
In July 1990, while living in Houston, I went to the beach where a jellyfish suddenly attacked me, leaving my skin burning. Having never experienced something like this before, a strange and uneasy feeling struck me. At that very moment, my sister in Mexico City was going through the final moments of her life. Her ex-boyfriend murdered her in her flat.
The next day, someone knocked at my door. Unsure what to expect, I went to open it. Through the peephole, I saw two very elegant women. The second I opened the door, they began talking, completing each other’s sentences. They told me a fatal accident occurred in Mexico. I listened without showing any emotion. Although I knew it was about my sister, I avoided asking more questions; I wasn’t ready to hear the answers.
On the plane ride to Mexico, my uncle accompanied me, and he confirmed my sister’s murder. I immediately knew who killed her. Through the entire trip, I felt like I wasn’t really there. It felt like a third person led me – like an omniscient narrator controlling the situation. I felt distant and numb. Even today, that state of being continues to blur some of my memories.
In a patriarchal and sexist society, my sister lived alone and frequently had friends over. This put her under scrutiny. Sadly, in scenarios like this, victim blaming runs rampant and perpetrators are often exonerated. This creates a wall of silence that can last for many years. Filled with shame, my family and I turned inward. However, I initiated a private conversation with my dead sister Liliana.
Conversations with Liliana: crafting my sister’s story
On several occasions, I attempted to write Liliana’s story. I dedicated many hours to shaping a narrative not only telling her story, but also questioning and dismantling patriarchal narratives of gender violence. For me, writing offers a place for debate and critique. I wrote entire novels of 300 hundred pages, but with each revision, they felt like failed projects.
I soon understood they failed because I was trying to work in the genre of fiction. Despite being unable to talk openly about my sister and what happened to her, I sought a way to create space among the living to keep her presence with me. Initially, conversations with her took place mostly in my dreams. Gradually, it became part of my everyday life. These experiences felt like déjà vu, a subtle yet persistent sense of her presence.
In France, a swimming pool became a place I conversed with Liliana often. We participated on a girls’ swim team together. When I dove into the water, I felt a significant leap in our encounters. These were powerful moments.
Eventually, an injury to my shoulder prevented me from swimming. This coincided with the start of the book project. As I faced the impossibility of swimming with Liliana, I knew I needed to write. We no longer saw each other in the water of the pool but in the water of language. In 2019, I went to Mexico and poured through Liliana’s things, determined to reopen her case legally.
Discovering my sister’s voice through her writing
Deep down inside, I knew my sister wanted justice. She wanted her killer arrested, sent to trial, and convicted. In Mexico, I pulled up a chair to reach an address book high up on a shelf in the wardrobe. I pulled down boxes containing my sister’s papers. When I opened one of the lids, it felt as if Liliana sprung up before me.
Liliana used to write notes of all kinds, which she folded into origami. As I removed the weight of the lid, these folded papers jumped out at me. Seeing her handwriting left me in awe. It felt like she was right there in front of me, surrounding me. The experience filled me with a powerful and unexplicable, yet undeniable, feeling that became fundamental to my work.
Suddenly, it felt as if I touched something no one had touched in 30 years. My hand traced the items that only Liliana had ever touched before. That moment guided the structure of my book. While I moved forward looking calm, I felt a tremor in the corner of my right eye and a ringing in my ear. Diving into Liliana’s words, I saw quickly that I needed to create a voice for her.
Liliana had a voice. Everything I needed sat in front of me, and I knew how to articulate the book. As my writing progressed, I experienced a dual feeling. On one hand, I reunited with my sister; on the other, I met many Lilianas I never knew. We often know very little about our family members in different contexts. Reading how my sister communicated with her friends, I discovered new layers of her sense of humor and became aware of her vitality and freedom.
Winning the Pulitzer prize: “I want Liliana to go far”
In May this year, a friend texted me on WhatsApp to say she read on social media that I won the Pulitzer Prize. I did not believe it until the publisher called to confirm. I felt incredibly surprised. The first thing I thought of was the answer I gave my publishers when they asked what I expected from this book: “I want Liliana to go far.”
This moment does not end my mourning. Quite the opposite; I leave my grief wide open. I have no desire to leave my sister behind and move on; to end a conversation that has been fundamental and formative for me. No good reason exists to close the porous border between the living and the dead; to cease creating space for the dead to enjoy a future with us and continue their journey.
When I think of Liliana, I feel sad about her physical absence, but I smile because she finds a way to be present. Last summer, at my parents’ house, I got mad at my dad for something. I cannot even remember what it was. After throwing a tantrum, I sat down in the living room, reached into the library, grabbed the first book I saw, and started reading.
When I opened it, a sheet of paper fell out. Liliana had written “enojona” (grumpy) across the whole page, with many X’s forming the letters. As I finished reading, it felt as if she was teasing me. These moments keep her spirit alive. In that way, perhaps the Pulitzer Prize will support my mission to continue remembering Liliana.
Anonymous caller reveals my sister’s murderer drowned at sea
I don’t want this to sound new age or like magical realism, but I believe evidence exists of an ongoing relationship and constant interaction with my sister. She retains a sense of humor, relevance, and the relaxedness many of her friends remember. She protects us. It’s not just me, eager to have her by my side. I believe she also desires to be with us.
As a result of writing the book, an email came through from a person claiming to have known Ángel Gonzalez Ramos, my sister’s murderer. This person said Ángel recently drowned in the Pacific Ocean. My first reaction was a feeling of utter desolation; there would be no legal justice.
Although I’m not entirely convinced that my sister’s murderer is dead, part of me believes that removing documents and stories releases a lot of energy into the world. If the story from this person is true, then Ángel drowned in one of the seas that is most meaningful and dear to me. In this instance, the sea did what justice could not.
