MEXICALI, México — Ten years have passed, and the whisper of the bees has not faded. It continues to buzz in the minds of readers, drawing them into a magical narrative that breaks into the agrarian and revolutionary life of northeastern México, like the thick honey of a great hive. In its tenth edition, “The Murmur of Bees” continues to captivate imaginations around the world.
“With this anniversary edition, we are celebrating that it is possible to be Mexican and speak to the world face-to-face, and to capture the world’s imagination,” says Sofía Segovia, the creator of the novel that has surpassed one million readers and is considered one of the most visible publishing phenomena in Mexican literature.
“It has 21 translations; all of this deserves to be celebrated,” says Segovia during an April panel at the International Book Fair of the Autonomous University of Baja California in Mexicali.
Literary translator Simon Bruni brought the story from Spanish to English.
Nearly 116 years after the Mexican Revolution, Segovia suggests that México’s history continues to be told only in part, shaped by prejudice and softened by a romanticism that distorts reality.
“It is necessary to tell a complete México — and why not, through a murmur of bees. Because if a story is not complete from all perspectives, it serves no one,” says the Monterrey-born writer.
Seated before an audience of more than a hundred attendees, Segovia, with her northern style — direct and without embellishment — points out that although the novel is set in the early 20th century, the changes have been less profound than one might think.
“We continue with the same problems, with the same lack of understanding among all our regions,” says the writer, always accompanying her words with a gentle smile.
Credit: Beatriz Limón
The novel begins with the unsettling appearance of a baby with a facial deformity, wrapped in a swarm of bees beneath an abandoned bridge. With no clear origin or possible explanation, the child, Simonopio, becomes one of the pillars of the story.
“The murmur serves to vindicate a very special child who must make himself understood by the human world, while the bees seek change for this land.”
For Segovia, Simonopio became the most unexpected discovery during the writing of her novel. He was not conceived as the protagonist, but from the very first lines he asserted himself: “It was like winning the lottery,” she says. “He conquered my imagination, my heart,” Segovia says, her face lighting up with the warmth of a mother recalling her own child. “He is a bee in the form of a boy.”
The story unfolds amid the tensions surrounding the Mexican Revolution, the Spanish flu pandemic, and unraveling economic class struggles amid agrarian land reform of the 1910s and 1920s, a process that reshaped not only land ownership but also social hierarchies.
In this context, Simonopio, Beatriz and Francisco belong to a landowning family in Linares, Nuevo León. Their economic stability comes from a legacy built over generations. Their life, marked by privilege, contrasts with that of other characters who inhabit the margins of the same social space.
“It was my opportunity to tell México about that corner of the northeast that is mine. I felt it was time to complete the Mexican puzzle, that puzzle that has always been incomplete, because certain uncomfortable parts are left untold.”
Segovia places this story within a context of economic transformation that confronts northern elites, holding them accountable as they face the loss of land and resources under a movement for social justice.
“I decided to question, because history has been told from the center as an absolute truth that encompasses us all, and I believe it was necessary to tell a México where truths coexist — truths that may clash, but do not lose their validity simply because they contradict each other.”
Sofía Segovia signing books during the International Book Fair of the Autonomous University of Baja California Credit: Beatriz Limón
In a firm tone, the author offers a direct critique of the country’s official narratives, pointing to the absences that have left out broad sectors of the population.
“Other truths are missing, and within those truths I knew I existed, because I live in a country that does not tell my story — for being from the northeast, for being a woman, because our country does not tell the stories of women, children or the elderly.”
Under the mild warmth of a borderlands sky in April, Segovia continued talking with attendees, many of whom were waiting for a book signing. Nearing closing, Segovia poses a question: “What is the purpose of literature that addresses a historical moment?”
And she answers: “Perhaps to understand the present more clearly.”
“I didn’t know what I would find when telling this story, but I found it—and I hope that you, when reading it, feel it too. This is not about condemning one part of México; it is about saying that we are all the history that has happened to us. We live in a country that is diverse even in its historical origins.”
Republish our articles for free, online or in print.
