Like many places at the time, Mexico City in the early 1970’s was a cold-war battleground; chaos was all consuming and danger ever present. As viscerally demonstrated in the movie Roma, paramilitary groups could attack student protestors with impunity. In that case, it was an outing to buy a crib that landed a pregnant woman in the middle of what would be remembered as a massacre. In Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s mystery thriller Velvet was the Night, it’s the simple act of cat sitting for the weekend that brings attention from paramilitary groups, Mexican military officials, student activists, and at least one Russian.

The plot centers on the disappearance of a woman named Leonora and the separate efforts of two very different people looking for her: Maite and Elvis. Maite lives across the hall from Leonora, is consumed with fear of becoming a spinster, and would very much like to relieve herself of Leonora’s cat. Mostly though, she wants Leonora to pay her so she can get her car back from the mechanic. Meanwhile, Elvis is a rudderless young man who joined a cult for a girl but then ran away and is now a member of a right-wing group called the Hawks. He hopes to improve his standing in the world by retrieving the camera film in Leonora’s possession and impressing his mentor, a man he knows only as El Mago. In alternating chapters, the stories of Maite and Elvis converge as they close in on Leonora.

By playing with convention, Moreno-Garcia puts a fresh spin on mystery. Maite and Elvis both exhibit the characteristics of a hard-boiled detective; they are self-reliant and committed to a personal code of ethics. Although Maite is an office worker largely unconcerned with politics, she does not trust the government enough to turn to the police for help, especially after learning that Leonora is connected to left-wing activists. “Cops were more fearsome than robbers—and sometimes they were robbers too.” (p. 112.) And Elvis routinely demonstrates loyalty to a fault. He never lets ambition get in the way of doing what he views as right. 

Having thus set the stage, Moreno-Garcia upends expectations. In the first act, it’s almost as if she’s daring the reader to guess the location of the missing film. As things heat up, a protagonist sleeping with someone may or may not spell that person’s doom. And in the end, women are more than mere dames in distress or master manipulators, those rolls can easily be filled by men.

Moreno-Garcia’s prose breathes life into this clever plot. Her writing is punctuated by moments of brilliance, particularly in terms of pacing and scene setting. Here, for example, she gives the reader time to think alongside her characters:

Unequivocally elevating this book above pulp fiction is its message of enduring hope. The conclusion is structured in a way that drives home the notion that stories don’t necessarily begin and end at discreet moments. Like the student protestors of the early 70’s, those searching for love or even a more general sense of belonging must wake each morning believing in the bright future of possibilities.