Gastón Bouvier
Reflections on the novel, on writing, and on the world of Nothing Stays Drowned.
Note · 2026
On the line that gives soul to the novel: the land that forgives, the water that keeps, and the memory that never negotiates.
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Before the beaches and the hotels, the Maya already knew what lay beneath. And they knew it had a name.
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On the discomfort of judging, the thin line between victim and victimizer, and why I chose not to spare you.
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Nobody writes a book because of a good idea. On the question that stayed put away for years before becoming a novel.
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On the cenotes, a land without rivers, the offerings still lying where they fell, and why this water never lets anything go.
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