Review of Salvación by Ella Hernández: A Missed Opportunity for Depth and Connection
From the very moment I stumbled upon Salvación, the cover art drew me in like a moth to a flame. Ella Hernández’s premise of intertwining history with elements of fantasy and feminism was tantalizing. I was ready to immerse myself in a vibrant world filled with dynamic characters and poignant themes. But as I turned the pages, I found myself increasingly detached from the experiences of Lola de Peña, our supposed vigilante hero.
The crux of Salvación lies in Lola’s internal struggle with identity and societal expectations, themes that are relevant and significant in literature. Yet, despite the rich topics it aims to tackle—such as internalized misogyny and cultural identity—the execution often feels muddled and underdeveloped. Lola’s journey of self-discovery is marred by inconsistent characterizations and flat relationships. I was repeatedly taken aback by her shortcomings as a protagonist, particularly in her relationship with femininity.
In one poignant moment, she reflects, “I might not have liked the dress myself, but I wouldn’t have been rude to anyone just for wearing one.” While this could’ve marked a watershed moment for character growth, it instead fell into a trap of reductive generalizations about femininity, which left me questioning the book’s stance on its own themes. Lola’s disdain for traditional female roles felt less a critique of societal standards and more like a projection of her own insecurities. Without fully fleshed-out female characters alongside her, the narrative struggled to truly explore the complexities of womanhood.
The pacing of the story significantly hindered my engagement. Time and again, plot points felt rushed or dragged out, leading to an overall lack of tension that should be inherent in a story about a vigilante. And while interior monologue can be a powerful tool, in this case, it often read more like a series of diary entries rather than a cohesive narrative. It was hard to invest myself in high-stakes scenes when the writing evoked little sense of urgency, leaving me perplexed instead of captivated.
Moreover, the world-building was alarmingly sparse, especially for a historical fantasy. Without vivid descriptions or nuanced dialogue that echoed the era, the setting felt flat and uninviting. The magical elements, such as the value of salt, hinted at deeper narratives concerning colonialism and cultural appropriation—themes that could have been poignant but were ultimately left hanging, underexplored and unresolved. Characters often succumbed to stereotypes, which felt both frustrating and disappointing.
Despite these sizable grievances, I found myself hoping for a glimmer of romance between Lola and Alejandro, a plot point that felt central to the story. Alas, their relationship was so underdeveloped that it hardly merited navigation through the book’s quirks and flaws. Without chemistry or moments of genuine connection, their encounters fell flat and did little to further either character’s development.
To summarize, Salvación presents an intriguing concept with cultural depth ripe for exploration, but it ultimately stumbles due to a lack of strong characters, a muddled narrative, and a superficial exploration of its themes. Though I trudged through to the end, my heart never truly engaged with Lola’s story. I offer this book to those who might appreciate a light read that engages with themes of identity, albeit without the depth one might hope for.
In the end, while Salvación passed through my hands, it didn’t leave the lasting impression I had anticipated. Perhaps it could serve better as a stepping stone for younger readers looking to dip their toes into more serious topics, but as for me, this book will remain a mere whisper of “what could have been.” Thank you for joining me in this reflective journey—sometimes the reviews that challenge us to articulate our thoughts the most are the most valuable.