The Slaughter Yard

The Slaughter Yard (Spanish El matadero, title often imprecisely translated as The Slaughterhouse^[note 1]), is a short story by the Argentine poet and essayist Esteban Echeverría (1805–1851). It was the first Argentine work of prose fiction. It is one of the most studied texts in Latin American literature. Written in exile and published posthumously in 1871, it is an attack on the brutality of the Federalist regime of Juan Manuel de Rosas and his parapolice thugs, the Mazorca.

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Hi, I’m John Green, this is Crash Course Literature, and today we’re going to continue our discussion of Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. So, Slaughterhouse Five is often called an anti-war novel. But that raises a question: What does it mean for a novel to be against war? Are novels in the business of passing judgment? Can they actually change the actual world? Well, that’s some of what we’re going to talk about today. So like Kurt Vonnegut, our protagonist Billy Pilgrim struggles to make sense of what he has witnessed during the Allied firebombing of Dresden in World War II. And there’s a tremendous tension between the desire to testify to that violence and a need to repress the traumatic memories of it. Along the way we’re going to talk about free will and we’ll also probe Billy Pilgrim’s stories of alien abduction. MFTP: Mr Green, Mr Green! Alien? Probe? Boy, Me From the Past, if you think that’s funny, you’re gonna love the show South Park. It comes out in about two years. But anyway, we are going to get to some anatomical humor. And I’m sure it will please you. [INTRO] So Vonnegut published Slaughterhouse Five in 1969, before the term “post-traumatic stress disorder” had entered the language. But Billy Pilgrim clearly exhibits symptoms of this condition. I mean, first off, his experiences during the war were definitely traumatic: I mean, he gets lost behind enemy lines during the Battle of the Bulge. He is taken prisoner by the Germans. He sees a fellow soldier die from gangrene while walking to a POW camp, so it goes. He is crammed for days into a train with other POW’s. He survives the bombing of Dresden and observes the aftermath of the firestorm, including, like, many charred bodies. And then he witnesses a fellow POW being executed for stealing a teapot, so it goes. So no wonder Pilgrim experiences flashbacks to the war as if these incidents were happening in the present. It’s not surprising that he suffers from hallucinations either. But what’s the deal with the toilet-plunger-shaped aliens? So here’s an English-y way of looking at it. Billy Pilgrim has a lot of blocked up stuff, right? Let’s call it excrement. Toilet plungers are in the business of unblocking drains, right? So in other words, fantasies involving the Tralfamadorian aliens help Pilgrim work out the shame and horror of his war experience. I mean, look, the Germans made Pilgrim strip when he arrives at their camp, right? So do the Tralfamadorians. The Germans refuse to answer why they beat one prisoner and not another. The Tralfamadorians refuse to answer why they’ve kidnapped Pilgrim. The Germans confine Pilgrim to a slaughterhouse. The Tralfamadorians confine him to a zoo. So obviously there are parallels between Pilgrim’s past and his fantasy life. But in his fantasy world, Pilgrim can rewrite these painful events, right? Like, for example, Pilgrim felt emasculated when he was a prisoner of war. He was stripped, forced to don a woman’s coat, and ridiculed. But in Pilgrim’s fantasy of alien captivity, he discovers that he can “enjoy his body for the first time.” And he claims that the Tralfamadorians consider him “a splendid specimen” (if only because they “had no way of knowing” otherwise). And he describes himself, famously, as possessing, and here I am quoting, “a tremendous wang.” He’s desired by a 20-year-old porn star, he’s incredibly virile, he’s able to sire a child almost immediately. I mean, how is that for revisionism? It’s the greatest POW experience of all time! Now some would say this revisionism is a symptom of madness, but I would argue that it could also be seen as a necessary step in the journey toward recovery. And then there are the deeper, more philosophical aspects of Pilgrim’s fantasy—particularly the Tralfamadorian concept of time and space. Tralfamadorians view past, present, and future events all at once. Like one alien explains that these moments exist simultaneously and can be viewed much as humans “might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains.” And since an individual can’t change past, present, or future events, the Tralfamadorian vision of time and space denies the possibility of free will, right? Many classical Greek plays support the idea that individuals are governed by their fate. Like you’ll remember our old friend Oedipus, told by the oracle that he would kill his father and sleep with his mother, despite his best efforts - he does. And it’s still gross. So why are we talking about free will in the context of reading Slaughterhouse Five? Well, let’s go to the Thought Bubble. For one thing, the concept of free will is related to the concept of moral responsibility. Like in the broadest terms: if one doesn’t have free will, one can’t be responsible for one’s behavior. I mean, no matter how heinous the crime that you might commit, you can be morally absolved because you had no choice. In Slaughterhouse Five, Pilgrim makes some problematic life decisions. I mean, his choice of a marriage partner, for one, is not particularly inspired: “Billy didn’t want to marry ugly Valencia. She was one of the symptoms of his disease. He knew he was going crazy, when he heard himself proposing marriage to her…” Yet, his life choices aren’t particularly immoral. I mean he served as a chaplain’s assistant in the war (a role in which he is “powerless to harm the enemy or help his friends”). He works as an optometrist (a job in which he helps other people see better). He supports his family (a role in which he is a provider). So why would Pilgrim want to be absolved of moral responsibility? Well it’s obviously because Billy feels guilt: Guilt for surviving the Dresden bombings. Guilt for being on the same side as the bombers. Guilt for becoming “well-to-do” after the war. In adopting a worldview that denies free will, Billy can’t blame himself for surviving, or for being complicit in mass murder, or for benefiting financially at the war’s end. But we also see this conversation about the relationship between free will and moral responsibility reflected in the structure of Vonnegut’s novel. Vonnegut framed Slaughterhouse Five with two chapters that at least seem to be narrated in his own voice. And at times he even includes himself as a character in the main action. (For example, the author appears among the prisoners of war, and again at the Dresden corpse mines.) And these appearances help ground the narrative in a form of reality that Billy Pilgrim can’t see, our reality. But Vonnegut mainly presents scenes from Pilgrim’s perspective and as such, the narrative conflates historical events with fiction and that fiction is conflating historical events with fantasies of alien abduction. Thanks, Thought Bubble. So since Vonnegut also presents these events in the order that Pilgrim experiences them, the narrative jumps back and forth in time and space. And that means that in certain ways, Slaughterhouse Five is kind of a work of “Tralfamadorian” fiction, right? Pilgrim quotes an alien as defining Tralfamadorian fiction as follows: “…each clump of symbols is a brief, urgent message—describing a situation, a scene. We Tralfamadorians read them all at once, not one after the other. There isn’t any particular relationship between all the messages, except that the author has chosen them carefully, so that, when seen all at once, they produce an image of life that is beautiful and surprising and deep. There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.” Obviously back in 1969, Vonnegut had never had the experience of scrolling through a Twitter feed, but I can’t help but notice the similarity between his fantasy of Tralfamadorian literature and our reality of the feed-based reading experience. Slaughterhouse Five - oh, it’s time for the open letter! Oh, it’s my Twitter! Dear Twitter, you really are all things at once, but I have to say, you’re kind of the worst possible version of Tralfamadorian literature. Like I follow Walt Whitman on Twitter, and yes, I am aware that he’s deceased, and so sometimes my Twitter feed will literally be, “I contain multitudes,” then followed by, “Don’t miss the new season of Rich Kids of Beverly Hills!” I made that show up, isn’t that a hilarious idea for a show? Oh my god, are you kidding me? That’s real? So I love the idea of your asynchronicity and I love how you unmoor me from time, but I’m not sure that you present an image of life that’s beautiful and surprising and deep so much as you present distraction. Best wishes, John Green. Anyway, Slaughterhouse Five is obviously like Tralfamadorian literature because: 1) it contains a series of brief, urgent messages; 2) its scenes are presented out of order (creating the effect that they take place “all at once’); and 3) Vonnegut has obviously chosen each scene carefully. And yet, it’s not a work of alien fiction. It’s a deeply human book that does contain a beginning and a middle and an end, and it does depict causes and effects; and it does create suspense, just not in the usual way. Billy Pilgrim longs to believe that he can access past moments though time travel. And although that might seem misguided, it’s actually a deeply human response to loss. I mean, I think we’ve all felt that way. Who isn’t familiar with wanting to go back to a time of innocence? In its way, Slaughterhouse Five is an anti-bildungsroman, it’s a novel about someone who wants to go back to a world before their education. Because Billy Pilgrim’s education has taught him, as the Romans put it, that “man is a wolf to man.” One of the most famous aspects of Slaughterhouse Five is that Vonnegut repeats the Tralfamadorian mantra “so it goes” each time he mentions a death in the novel. It’s a brutal and radically unsentimental way of grappling with death, and therein lies its power. I mean, how are we supposed to respond to Billy Pilgrim’s mind being destroyed by wartime trauma; how is he supposed to respond to it? So it goes. But I think it’s clear in Slaughterhouse Five that Vonnegut doesn’t want readers just to accept traumatic events enabled by weapons of mass destruction as a matter of course, as part of human life. The novel is so intentionally unadorned and unsentimental that he’s aiming to shock us out of our passive perspective. But I think Slaughterhouse Five is “Tralfamadorian” literature in one sense, at least. As the alien confesses: “What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at once.” The word “marvelous” is very interesting there, because, of course, we don’t marvel just at the wonderful things, we also marvel at the horrible ones. Vonnegut’s gift was to render it all fresh and new, both the great and the terrible, and allow us to marvel at it. Because it’s funny and because it’s absurd and unflinching, Vonnegut describes mass murder and torture and ordinary death in a way that makes it feel real. There are two great modern human dangers. First the danger of our proclivity towards mass violence and secondly, the danger of us averting our gaze from it. We all know that humans have the ability to distract ourselves and in doing so, to tacitly accept the intolerable. I mean frankly, we’re all doing that every day, and those dangers are the depths that Vonnegut seeks to expose. And in that sense at least, I truly believe that a novel can be against war. Thanks for watching; I’ll see you next week. Crash Course is made with the help of these nice people and it exists because of your support at Subbable.com, a voluntary subscription service that allows you to directly support Crash Course so that we can keep it free for everyone forever. There’s also lots of great perks you can get at Subbable, like signed posters, so please check it out. Thank you again for watching, and as we say in my hometown, don’t forget to be awesome.

Text

The text in the first uniform^[note 2] edition of Echeverría's works (ed. Gutiérrez together with Gutiérrez's editorial commentary) may be downloaded from the Internet Archive.^[1] A printed English translation by Norman Thomas di Giovanni has been published.^[note 3]

The following is an English-language précis of the original Spanish text.

Plot

The action takes place on some unspecified date in the 1830s during the season of Lent. The City of Buenos Aires has been isolated by floods. Pounding their pulpits, the preachers thunder that the Day of Judgement is nigh; that God is angry with the wickedness of man – and, more especially, with the heretical unitarios (adherents of the proscribed Unitario political party).

Eventually the floods abate but not before the city has run out of beef. The government gives orders that 50 bullocks are to be slaughtered, ostensibly to provide beef for children and the sick (for otherwise meat is forbidden to Catholics during Lent). The reader is given to understand that the meat is really intended for privileged persons including Rosas himself and his corrupt clergy.

Echeverría proceeds to paint the slaughter yard scene in lurid colours: in the pens, the cattle stuck in the glutinous mud; the blood-smeared, half-naked butchers – brutal men, staunch Rosas supporters to a man; the hideous black female offal-scavengers; the growling mastiffs; the screaming carrion birds; the riotous youths who amuse themselves by pelting the females and each other with lumps of bloody meat or guts; the cynical, bestial language.

On a ruinous shed there are signboards declaiming: "Long live the Federation"; "Long live the Restorer^[note 4] and the heroine doña Encarnación Ezcurra";^[note 5] "Death to the savage unitarios". Presiding there is the sinister Judge of the Slaughter Yard. By order of Rosas the Judge enjoys absolute power over this collection of debased humanity.

Forty-nine bullocks are slaughtered, flayed and quartered with axes. One more animal remains. But there is a suspicion that he may be no bullock, but a bull – though bulls are not allowed in the slaughter yard. Driven mad with rage by the crowd's handling, he charges. A horseman lassoes him but owing to an accident the taut lasso decapitates a child. The animal escapes and heads off to the city, pursued by a crowd, which, incidentally, tramples a passing Englishman.^[note 6] After an hour the animal is recaptured, taken back to the slaughter yard and despatched in horrific terms by the butcher Matasiete (the name means braggart, bully, literally "he kills seven"). The "bullock" is then cut open and proves after all to possess an enormous pair of retracted testicles – much to the amusement of the crowd, which by now has forgotten the decapitated boy.

At this point the chief protagonist, who is never named but is a man of about 25, enters the scene. The crowd immediately spots that he is a unitario (supporter of the proscribed political party). His sideburns are cut in the form of a letter U (for unitario); he is not displaying the mandatory rosista emblem; neither is he wearing the obligatory mourning for Rosas' late wife. (It is not explained why the protagonist has chosen to ride about Buenos Aires dressed in this illegal, indeed reckless manner.) Furthermore, his horse bears a silla or gringo saddle^[note 7] – in the crowd's mentality, the sure sign of the effete city slicker.

Egged on by the crowd, Matasiete throws him from his horse, seizes him by the necktie and holds a dagger to his throat.

"Cut his throat, Matasiete" jeers the crowd. At that point the slaughter yard Judge rides up and orders that the protagonist be taken to his shed, which is also a rudimentary courtroom. In this room is a massive table never without glasses of grog and playing cards "unless to make room for the executions and tortures of the Federalist thugs of the slaughter yard". After the crowd has shouted threats and ribald insults the Judge orders everyone to shut up and sit down.

There then transpires an angry dialogue between (on the one hand) the Judge and taunting crowd and (on the other) the defiant, brave but rather high-minded protagonist. The Judge and the crowd speak in direct, colloquial street Spanish but, curiously, the protagonist, even when insulting them, uses correct literary language, addressing them in the third person.

At last the Judge delivers his ruling: "Drop this city slicker's underpants and give him the verge^[note 8] to his bald buttocks". The reader is assumed to understand the inward significance of the word Mazorca (mazorca is Spanish for "corncob": the corncob is the Mazorca's chosen instrument of torture by rectal insertion). The protagonist is violently stretched out on the torture-table and he develops paroxysms of uncontrollable rage, demanding to have his throat cut rather than submit to this indignity.

After a terrible struggle the young man bursts a blood vessel and dies on the spot. The Judge comments: "Poor devil; we only wanted to amuse ourselves, but he took it too seriously."

Significance in Latin American literature

According to the American editor, translator and Borges collaborator Norman Thomas di Giovanni, "Esteban Echeverría’s El matadero, written towards the end of the 1830s, is chronologically the first work of Argentine prose fiction…. Owing in part to its brevity – a mere 6,000 or so words – it may be the most studied school text in all Latin American literature. It is certainly known and acclaimed beyond the borders of Argentina."^[2]

For Borges himself, who wrote a foreword to one edition, "In Echeverría's text there is a sort of hallucinatory realism, which can recall the great shadows of Hugo and Herman Melville".^[3]

"If one text has exercised a decisive influence in Argentine literature and art, it seems to be The Slaughter Yard, spearhead of a large number of editions and studies, and seed of a still-prevailing movement where new readings and meanings are sought."^[4]

A 1998 survey of U.S. universities found the work was required graduate reading at 73% of Ph.D.-granting Spanish faculties, the highest score for any Spanish American nineteenth century work of fiction.^[5]^[note 9]

Echeverría's oeuvre extends to five printed volumes,^[6] but his literary prestige chiefly depends on this single short story.^[7]

Historicity

Although The Slaughter Yard is a story, it is based on some elements of fact. English-speaking memorialists described the setting (the south Matadero shown in the Vidal image) and their accounts corroborate many of Echeverría's details.^[8]^[9]^[10] The clergy indeed upheld Rosas' dictatorship.^[note 10] It was indeed compulsory to display rosista emblems including "Death to the savage unitarios.^[note 11] The butchers in the slaughter yards were indeed staunch Rosas supporters and did supply thugs for his Mazorca.^[11] The Mazorca did use the corncob as an instrument of torture.^[12] Further, according to Gutiérrez^[13]

The scene of the "savage unitario" in the power of the Judge of the Slaughter Yard and his myrmidons is not an invention but a reality that happened more than once in that ill-fated era. The only thing in this picture that can have been the author's invention would be the moral appreciation of the circumstances, the language and the victim's conduct, which functions as the noble poet would have done himself in an analogous situation.

Writing and publication

Traditional view

It is usually said^[by whom?]^[14] that Echeverría wrote "The Slaughter Yard" at some time in 1838-40. Although he had fled to Uruguay the long arm of Rosas could still reach him there; according to Echeverría's friend Juan María Gutiérrez, who was afterwards rector of the University of Buenos Aires, "If the story had fallen into the hands of Rosas its author would have disappeared immediately."^{[citation needed]} Gutiérrez, who said he personally examined the manuscript, added:

He well knew the risk he was running, but it could have been rage, more than fear, that produced his trembling handwriting , which is almost illegible in the original manuscript.^[15]

It was Gutiérrez who edited the work for publication in 1871.^[16]

Challenge to the traditional view

That Echeverría did not publish the story because he feared assassination even in Uruguay was denied by Cabañas, who pointed out that Echeverría did publish other works which, he claimed, were equally offensive.^[17] Rather, the story did not fit Echeverría's aesthetic sensibility.^{[citation needed]}

The traditional view^[which?] as to dating and authorship was challenged by Emilio Carilla in 1993.^[18] Carilla acknowledged that Gutiérrez had a venerable reputation as a man of letters. But he pointed out that Gutierrez had a habit of unilaterally "correcting" the works of the authors he edited (for editors of that era, his was a not uncommon failing); supplying copious examples. He also noted that – according to his own admission: in a private letter to Alberdi – Gutiérrez wrote and published a detailed book review of Sarmiento's Facundo before he had read the book! As regards "The Slaughter Yard", said Carilla:^{[citation needed]}

The manuscript of the story has never been found.
It cannot be found amongst Gutierrez's collection of Echeverría's papers.
There is no positive evidence that the manuscript was ever seen by anyone, apart from Gutiérrez and (presumably) Echeverría himself.
Therefore, critics have had to take Gutierrez's text and account on trust.
Before 1871, when discussing Echeverría's works, Gutierrez not so much as mentioned the most important item: "The Slaughter Yard". Presumably, he did not acquire the MS until about that year.
In his own writings Echeverría never mentioned "The Slaughter Yard" either.

Therefore, for Carilla, it was surprising that critics had assumed "The Slaughter Yard" was composed around 1838-40: that was merely the time in which the story was set. It could equally well have been written at any time up to Echeverría's death in 1851 – shortly before the dictator Rosas was overthrown. Hence, although it was tempting to regard "The Slaughter House" as a work composed at the height of Rosas' state terrorism, there was really no evidence that it was.

Carllla then turned to Gutierrez's editorial notes on the story. According to Gutierrez, the manuscript had not been intended for publication but as a sketch for a poem Echeverría had intended to write, "as is proved by the haste and carelessness with which it had been drawn up". But that, said Carilla, is absurd, for the published text of "The Slaughter Yard" is pretty well flawless. We may therefore suspect that Gutierrez himself had to do with the composition of the story. And the proof is in the story's last paragraph:

In those days the throat-cutting butchers of the Slaughter Yard were the advocates who spread the rosista Federation by rod and dagger ... They used to call a savage unitario ... anyone who was not a cutthroat, butcher, nor savage, nor thief, every decent man with a good heart, every enlightened patriot friend of light and liberty ...

That, said Carilla, must have been written after the Rosas dictatorship, and by Gutierrez himself. Gutiérrez was a collaborator, a joint author of "The Slaughter Yard".

Genre

There is endless discussion about the literary type or genre to which "The Slaughter House" belongs: story, novel of manners, essay or hybrid.^[19] For German scholar Christian Wehr, "The Slaughter Yard" is the foundational text of an autochthonous Latin American genre he called Diktatorenromans : the dictator novel.^[20]

Vernacular dialogue

As noted, the protagonist speaks in elite literary Spanish but the slaughter yard denizens (including the Judge) use the direct street Spanish of low class Buenos Aires. "The Slaughter Yard" is the first work to record this argot. It may be fruitfully compared with the vernacular Spanish of the city that is in use today, long after the massive Italo-Hispanic immigrations of the early twentieth century.^[note 12] The text appears to be the first to record the typical Argentine interjection "che".

Readings and symbolism

In its immediate or obvious meaning it is simply a story of biting political criticism: almost as obvious is the symbolism of the slaughter yard as a microcosm of Rosas' polity where, but for the hero and the one bull who does have cojones, all are easily controlled. However all sorts of interpretations or symbolic meanings have been sought: Freudian,^[21]^[22] as a necessary ritual sacrifice,^[23] as an item in "Argentina's necrophilic catalogue",^[24] as a racist attack on Rosas' Afro-Argentines,^[25] from a feminist perspective,^[26] and as Echeverría's (and indeed his political school's) crisis of masculinity.^[27]

Notes

^ The Spanish word matadero does not necessarily imply a building. In 19th century Buenos Aires cattle were frequently killed in open air yards, as illustrated in Vidal, 34 and described in Hudson, 286.
^ Gutierrez had previously published the story in the magazine Revista del Río de la Plata.
^ Together with miscellaneous notes; published under the title "The Slaughteryard", The Friday Project, ISBN 9780007346738.
^ Cynically, the dictator Rosas demanded that he be called the "Restorer of the Laws".
^ Rosas' late wife: behind the scenes she had played a powerful role in politics.
^ It is mentioned that the Englishman is himself the owner of a slaughter yard. For the favourable opinion Rosas enjoyed among English residents of Buenos Aires see Hudson, 126.
^ That is, a leather saddle of the general type normal in Europe or North America; locals used the recado, a type of sheepskin saddle.
^ The Spanish word verga can mean "rod" but also "cock".
^ Brown and Johnson obtained results for the 56 top-rated faculties. (They mistakenly classified El matadero as a novel instead of a short story, but it would have scored top in either category.)
^ Rosas kept papal jurisdiction out of Argentina and appointed the clergy himself: he expected it to serve the Federalist cause. In fact, the clergy willingly supported the Rosas regime, except for the Jesuits, whom he later expelled for that reason (Lynch, 84-85).
^ Men were obliged to wear red silk badges with the inscription: "Long live the Argentine Confederation. Death to the Savage Unitarians". (Lynch, 83).
^ The difference is surprisingly small.

References

Wikisource has original text related to this article:

es:El_Matadero

^ "Obras completas [microform]". 1870. Retrieved 19 November 2015.
^ di Giovanni.
^ Borges (in Spanish)
^ Guarino (in Spanish).
^ Brown and Johnson, 1, 16.
^ Gutierrez, 1.
^ Pupo-Walker, 402.
^ Vidal, 34-40.
^ Hudson, 286-7.
^ Hutchinson, 27-33.
^ Di Meglio.
^ Lynch,100; Hadfield, 291).
^ Gutiérrez, 213.
^ See e.g. Carla, 48-9.
^ Gutiérrez, 213.
^ Revista del Río de la Plata, I, 563-585: Carilla, 585.
^ Cabañas, 133-4.
^ Carilla, 30.
^ Cabañas, 133.
^ Wehr, 310.
^ Sorbille, 2007, 23.
^ Sorbille, 2009, 94.
^ Bauzá, 191.
^ Martínez, 75-6.
^ Shumway, 207.
^ Coromina, 15. (The woman scavengers must be represented as old, ugly birds of prey and harpies because the slaughter yard is not a "domestic space".)
^ Haberly, 291.

Works cited

Bauzá, Hugo F. (2000). "'El matadero': Estampa de un sacrificio ritual". Revista de Crítica Literaria Latinoamericana. 26 (51): 191–198. doi:10.2307/4531102. JSTOR 4531102. S2CID 141297484.
"Jorge Luis Borges: Prólogo a "El matadero" de Esteban Echeverría". Borges todo el año. 17 October 2014.
Brown, Joan L.; Johnson, Crista (1998). "Required Reading: The Canon in Spanish and Spanish American Literature". Hispania. 81 (1): 1–19. doi:10.2307/345448. JSTOR 345448.
Cabañas, Miguel Angel (1998). "Generos al matadero: Esteban Echeverria y la cuestion de los tipos literarios". Revista de Crítica Literaria Latinoamericana. 24 (48): 133–147. doi:10.2307/4530999. JSTOR 4530999.
Carilla, Emilio (1993). "Juan María Gutiérrez y 'El Matadero'" (PDF). Thesaurus. 48 (1): 30–68.
Coromina, Irene S. (2006). "La mujer en los escritos antirrosistas de Echeverría, Sarmiento y Mármol". Hispania. 89 (1): 13–19. doi:10.2307/20063223. JSTOR 20063223.
Di Giovanni, The Slaughteryard Project, [1], Archived 2016-03-06 at the Wayback Machine accessed 19 November 2015.
Di Meglio, Gabriel. ¡Mueran los salvajes unitarios! La mazorca y la política en tiempos de Rosas (Penguin Random House Grupo Editorial Argentina, Buenos Aires, 2012).
"La vigencia de 'El Matadero' en la cultura argentina contemporánea". Clarín (in Spanish). 19 February 2007.
Gutiérrez, J.M., notes to El Matadero, in Echeverría, Esteban, Obras Completas, volume V (Carlos Casavalle, Buenos Aires, 1874).
Hadfield, William, Brazil, the River Plate and the Falkland Islands (Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, London, 1854).
Haberly, David T. (2005). "Male Anxiety and Sacrificial Masculinity: The Case of Echeverría". Hispanic Review. 73 (3): 291–307. doi:10.1353/hir.2005.0030. JSTOR 30040404. S2CID 154207579.
Hudson, William Henry, Far Away and Long Ago: A History of My Early Life, (J.M. Dent and Sons Ltd, London and Toronto, 1918).
Hutchinson, Thomas Joseph. Buenos Ayres and Argentine Gleanings, (Edward Stanford, London, 1865.)
Lynch, John, Argentine Caudillo: Juan Manuel de Rosas (Lanham, Maryland, 2001)
Martínez, Tomás Eloy (1999). "Tombs of Unrest". Transition (80): 72–84. doi:10.2307/2903169. JSTOR 2903169.
Pupo-Walker, Enrique; Knowlton, Edgar C. (1987). "Review of Esteban Echeverría, Edgar C. Knowlton, Jr". Hispanic Review. 55 (3): 402–403. doi:10.2307/473710. JSTOR 473710.
Shumway, Jeffrey M. (2001). "'The Purity of My Blood Cannot Put Food on My Table': Changing Attitudes towards Interracial Marriage in Nineteenth-Century Buenos Aires". The Americas. 58 (2): 201–220. doi:10.1353/tam.2001.0119. JSTOR 1007965. PMID 19526636. S2CID 30188259.
Sorbille, Martín (2007). "Echeverría y 'El matadero': anticipación del mito freudiano y paternidad de la Argentina moderna". Iberoamericana. 7 (25): 23–42. doi:10.18441/ibam.7.2007.25.22-42. JSTOR 41676156.
Sorbille, Martin (2009). "Rosas qua petit objet a: la omnipotencia de su voz-superyó y mirada en 'El matader' de Esteban Echeverría". Chasqui. 38 (2): 94–112. JSTOR 27822193. Gale A215115412 ProQuest 220541198.
Vidal, Emeric Essex, Picturesque Illustrations of Buenos Ayres and Monte Video, (R. Ackerman, London, 1820).
Wehr, Christian (2005). "ALLEGORIE — GROTESKE — LEGENDE: Stationen des Diktatorenromans". Romanische Forschungen. 117 (3): 310–343. JSTOR 27942369. OCLC 5543299533.

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