It stays with you. Honestly, if you've ever read And of Clay We Are Created, you know that heavy, lingering feeling in your chest. It’s not just a story about a disaster. It’s a brutal, beautiful look at how we process trauma through a lens—literally.
Isabel Allende didn’t just pull this out of thin air. That’s the thing. Most people read it in a lit class and think it’s just "magical realism" or some stylistic exercise. It’s not. It’s based on the real-life tragedy of Omayra Sánchez. She was a 13-year-old girl trapped in the mud after the Nevado del Ruiz volcano erupted in Colombia back in 1985. The world watched her die on TV. It was horrific. Allende took that global collective guilt and turned it into Rolf Carlé and Azucena.
The Reality Behind the Fiction
The 1985 Armero tragedy was a failure of humanity. Pure and simple.
Scientists warned people. The government hesitated. Then, the lahars—those massive, terrifying mudslides—buried an entire town. Omayra was stuck up to her waist in water and concrete. For three days, rescuers tried to get her out. They needed a pump. They couldn't get one in time. She was alert, she was talking to journalists, she was even singing. And then, her heart gave out.
Allende changes the names. Omayra becomes Azucena (which means Lily). The journalist, Rolf Carlé, is the one we really follow. Through his eyes, we see the transition from a detached professional to a broken human being.
He’s there to report. He’s got the camera. He’s got the lights. But the mud doesn't care about his press credentials.
Why the Camera Matters
We live in an age of "trauma porn." You see it on TikTok every day. Someone filming a car crash instead of helping. Allende was writing about this decades before the smartphone. Rolf starts the story behind the lens. The camera is his shield. It protects him from his own past, from the memories of his father and the horrors of post-WWII Europe.
But Azucena strips that away.
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When he’s staring at this girl, he isn’t just seeing a victim. He’s seeing his own buried pain. He tries to use the camera to "save" her by showing the world her plight, but the world—represented by the distant, bureaucratic government—sends a doctor and some supplies, but never the pump.
It's frustrating. It's meant to be.
The Internal Collapse of Rolf Carlé
Rolf is technically the protagonist. Azucena is the catalyst.
As the hours tick by, Rolf stops being a reporter. He drops the equipment. He spends nights holding her. This is where Allende’s writing gets really visceral. She describes the smell of the stagnant water and the feel of the "primordial soup" that is the mud.
He starts telling her stories. Not news reports. Stories about his life. His mother. The sister he couldn't save. It’s a total role reversal. Usually, the reporter extracts the story from the victim. Here, the victim’s presence extracts the truth from the reporter.
You’ve probably noticed the title by now. And of Clay We Are Created. It’s biblical, sure. But it’s also literal. We come from the earth; we return to it. Azucena is literally becoming part of the earth again. Rolf is forced to realize that he is made of the same fragile stuff.
The Role of the Narrator (Eva Luna)
Wait, who is telling this story?
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If you haven’t read Allende’s other work, you might miss that the narrator is Eva Luna, Rolf’s lover. She’s watching him through a television screen.
This adds a whole other layer of distance. We are reading a story told by a woman watching a man through a screen as he watches a girl through a lens. It’s like a hall of mirrors. It forces you to ask: are we helping by watching? Or are we just voyeurs?
Eva sees Rolf changing. She sees his face go from professional to desperate. She realizes that when he eventually comes home, he won’t be the same man. The "clay" has changed him.
Misconceptions About the Ending
People always want a happy ending. Or at least a "meaningful" one.
Azucena dies. There’s no last-minute miracle. The pump never arrives.
Some readers think the story is about the failure of technology. Others think it’s a critique of the Colombian government. It’s both, but mostly it’s about the inevitability of death and the necessity of empathy. Rolf doesn't "save" her in the physical sense. But he stays. He doesn't look away.
In the 1985 real-life event, the photo of Omayra Sánchez won the World Press Photo of the Year. Frank Fournier took it. He was criticized for it. People asked, "Why didn't you help her?" He said there was nothing he could do with his bare hands.
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Allende tackles that guilt head-on. She suggests that the only thing we can do in the face of such overwhelming tragedy is to witness it fully. To not turn the channel.
Why This Story Still Hits Hard in 2026
We are more connected than ever. We see every earthquake, every war zone, every flood in real-time.
But are we more empathetic? Or are we just more numb?
And of Clay We Are Created challenges the "objectivity" of the news. It argues that you cannot truly see another person’s suffering without it touching your own. It’s a messy, muddy, painful process.
The story remains a staple in literature because it doesn't offer easy answers. It doesn't tell you how to feel. It just shows you the mud.
Actionable Takeaways for Readers and Writers
If you're looking to dive deeper into the themes of this story or if you're a writer trying to capture this kind of emotional weight, consider these points:
- Research the source material. Look up the 1985 Armero tragedy and Frank Fournier’s photography. Understanding the real-world stakes makes Allende’s choices much clearer.
- Analyze the "Gaze." Notice how the story shifts from the objective (the news report) to the subjective (the personal confession).
- Look for the "Clay" metaphor. It appears everywhere. In the mud of the volcano, in the physical bodies of the characters, and in the psychological "molding" of Rolf’s identity.
- Compare with "Eva Luna." If you want the full context of Rolf Carlé’s character, read the novel Eva Luna. It provides the backstory that makes his breakdown in this short story even more impactful.
Understanding the context of And of Clay We Are Created transforms it from a sad tale into a profound critique of how we consume tragedy. It’s a reminder that behind every "news story" is a human being made of the same fragile clay as the rest of us.
For those interested in the intersection of journalism and ethics, studying the aftermath of the Omayra Sánchez photos provides a necessary, if uncomfortable, look at the responsibilities of the media. The story doesn't end when the camera turns off; for those like Rolf, that’s just when the real work of living with the memory begins.