I, Juan de Pareja

De Treviño dedicates the novel’s opening chapters to issues of identity, noting the many ways in which identity is created, represented, and transformed. As Juan comes to understand, identity resists just one definition and is instead a complicated balance between politics, clothes, religion, and more. From his childhood in Seville to his first encounter with Diego, Juan navigates these shifting circumstances, provoking broader discussions about home, self-representation, and Christianity. 

In the novel’s opening line, de Treviño establishes both point of view and historical context: “I, Juan de Pareja, was born into slavery early in the seventeenth century” (4). To use a first-person narrative, particularly from Juan’s perspective, is to immediately introduce a study of self. De Treviño leaves no doubt that the story is Juan’s, and his narrative ownership contradicts his enslaved status. Juan refuses to let his enslavement define him entirely, and he must often balance his independence with his social limitations. 

De Treviño also uses the novel’s setting, Seville, to further establish identity’s complexity. In the 17th century, Seville was a vibrant port city and a beneficiary of expanding trade routes. Juan remembers the “many ships from foreign ports” that populate Seville’s riverway (4), and his recollection of his early life is similarly enriched by exoticism. Juan’s first enslavers, for instance, are a Spanish dock supervisor and his Portuguese wife, who dresses in imported linens and introduces Juan to American chocolate. Juan’s proximity to such cosmopolitan pleasures foreshadows his life’s restlessness: As the novel progresses, Juan will travel to Madrid, Genoa, Venice, and Rome. Already, Juan seems to be a citizen of the world, beginning the novel’s thematic exploration of The Impermanence of Home while also hinting at a startling truth: Like Turkish linen and American chocolate, Juan is treated as a commodity to be bought and sold. 

De Treviño also examines how identity is outwardly presented, suggesting its vulnerability to manipulation or deceit. De Treviño often highlights a character’s dress or title to critically evaluate their character, noting that these elements often belie moral corruption. For instance, the magistrate is one of the novel’s early villains. Juan notes that he wears black velvet and a “heavy gold chain around his neck from which [hangs] an imposing medal” (17). Though the magistrate often attests to his mercy, his rich clothes conceal a deeper immorality; he separates Juan from Brother Isidro and offers Juan only a “dirty bowl of lukewarm soup” to pass for his dinner (25). This contradiction introduces a critique of the law; slavery is legal but not moral, and the magistrate’s corruption reflects that.

The magistrate’s employees prove similarly duplicitous, particularly Don Carmelo, who escorts Juan to Madrid. As the magistrate adorns himself with fine clothes, Carmelo adorns himself with a borrowed title; Juan reveals that his real name is Carmelo and that he has assumed the title “Don” illegitimately, as “only gentlemen have the right to use the Don” (28). This detail reveals some of 17th-century Spain’s complicated class relations, though ultimately, Juan is at the bottom of the hierarchy as an enslaved person. Though the title suggests gentility, Carmelo demonstrates only brutality, beating Juan and his tired mule. Carmelo adopts this title to exercise power over others, presenting a critique of this hierarchy.

Despite these trappings, Juan is never fooled. Unique in his perceptiveness, he ignores ornament and title in preference for true goodness. For instance, Juan distrusts the magistrate’s rich robes and kind words, noting that “usually these are the most cruel, niggardly, and selfish people” (25). From the novel’s early chapters, Juan is an excellent judge of character, and he criticizes certain trappings of identity as forced, superficial, and unreliable. De Treviño develops this relationship between ornament and identity not only to criticize certain characters’ immorality but also to applaud other characters’ genuine decency. For instance, Brother Isidro is dressed only in a “worn, brown robe” (14), and Diego first appears wearing “good dark clothes but no jewels of any kind” (39). The simplicity of each character’s dress foreshadows their respective goodness: Brother Isidro tends to Juan through illness, and Diego proves to be a complicated but gentle enslaver.

Furthermore, de Treviño begins her thematic exploration of The Ultimate Morality of Christianity to grieve the injustices of slavery and examine its contributions to a pervading moral ambiguity. In keeping with contemporary biblical interpretations, Brother Isidro does not recognize Juan as enslaved but sees instead “a human being with a soul, made in God’s image” (19). Similarly, When Juan worries that he is merely “a slave, a servant,” Brother Isidro counters, “Do not we all serve?” (22). Christianity emerges as a higher moral order, at odds with Spanish sociopolitical norms, though Brother Isidro’s beliefs do not necessarily reflect 17th-century Spanish Catholic doctrines. While the morality of slavery was debated among different orders, Spanish colonization and the subjugation of Indigenous populations in the Americas were done with the Catholic Church’s blessing. The Laws of Burgos, passed in 1512, offered some protections for Indigenous people—they ostensibly prohibited enslaving native populations but relocated them to encomiendas, settlements where they performed unpaid labor and were forcibly converted to Catholicism. Additionally, the Spanish Inquisition lasted from 1478 to 1834, during which Church doctrine was used to justify the monarchy’s oppression of Jews, Muslims, and other so-called heretics.

As a work of historical fiction, de Treviño approaches Christianity through a 20th-century lens to emphasize the Bible’s humanitarian teachings over the Spanish Church’s history. With this, Brother Isidro suggests that slavery contradicts Christian ideals and often necessitates a deviation from Christian teachings, as when Carmelo suggests that Juan steal food on the road to Madrid. Juan, a lifelong Christian, initially refuses. However, the “growls of [his] protesting insides” finally convince him to relent (31). The horrors of slavery—food deprivation and a cruel, unforgiving enslaver—necessitate that Juan act outside of his moral code. This foreshadows Juan’s secret attempts at painting when his enslaved status similarly requires him to lie, steal, and negotiate other moral dilemmas.