Mexican Gothic
Author:
Genres: Literature & Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Horror
Book Type: Hardcover
Author:
Genres: Literature & Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Horror
Book Type: Hardcover
This smartly written thriller which features shades of genuine gothic Victorian novels like Wuthering Heights, with perhaps a smattering of Poe-esque Fall of the House of Usher thrown in for flavor (complete with a creepy, English-style gothic manor, no less), is one of the more creative horror/thriller novels I've read of late.
Noemà Taboada is a carefree socialite, born to wealthy parents, who is struggling to find herself amidst the constraints of her own family's traditions and culture, set amidst 1950 urban Mexico. She's a bit of a rebel who enjoys dancing, smoking, and learning: she attends college with the intent of (maybe) becoming an anthropologist, although her interests seem to change as often as her stylish wardrobe. One gets the sense that she's somewhat of an embarrassment to her rather traditional family, who would like to see her settled down and getting on with life, that is, with a husband and family... like her cousin.
Her fortunes and circumstances change when her family receives an odd and rambling letter from the cousin, who married an upper-crust but not necessarily wealthy Englishman, which disturbs the whole family. Noemà is dispatched by her father to find out what the trouble is. She travels to an isolated, crumbling manor house in the remote countryside, where she quickly finds that things are not what they initially seem.
The family is more odd than the letter, to say the least - their carefully-crafted artifice casts them as traditional, stodgy British upper-class, once wealthy, but now, it appears, little more than destitute, now that their mines have closed and flooded amidst the Revolution in 1915, more than a generation prior. In short order, however, Noemà gets the unsettling sense that something more sinister lies just beneath their meticulously-maintained facade.
Notwithstanding their air of punctilious formality, Noemà immediately senses that something is badly out of place... and that she's not wanted, or welcome. Her cousin, it seems, is sequestered in her room, essentially confined to her bed, although willingly or not is indeterminate. What's more, the house reeks with an oldness, a foulness, an ancient evil that Noemà can't quite identity, which seems to have corrupted her cousin's once-cheery disposition and hangs in the air like a dense fog she can't escape.
The house could be symbolic of the decay of their entire way of life that is no more - that is, the massive exploitation of native laborers, who worked themselves to death in the family's silver mines. After their lifeblood of silver (ironically, which is associated with purity and justice) dries up, the house itself begins to decay, like a decomposing corpse, rotting from within. As Noemà begins to discover more, especially details of the family's tragic history, things take a sinister turn when she, too, begins to experience seemingly supernatural events and disturbing dreams, all of which point to something utterly horrible, yet undefined.
Don't want to give too many spoilers here, but there's some serious foreshadowing in the descriptions of everything being covered in a strange mold, from the walls, to the books, to the family itself (which was where I initially thought the trouble may be: black mold can cause everything from hallucinations and schizophrenic-like symptoms to seizures, severe brain damage, and eventually death... but in this case, it's much worse. I've read a number of books which somehow tap into the sinister nature of fungi and their place in nature. As the book states, actually: fungi can enter into symbiotic relationships with plants, and, in this case, apparently humans as well, in a way that Noemà can scarcely imagine.
This dark, atmospheric thriller is a complex and enjoyable read. It's been described as a prototypical work of postcolonial fiction, drawing on themes such as colonization and class disparity, in the form of the English overlords who choose to name their manor High Place, which looks down forebodingly on the small, colorful town full of vibrancy and life. There is a fair bit of discussion about eugenics, which may initially seem somewhat out of place, or a side point, but the sinister nature of this field of study becomes terrifyingly apparent once things take a turn for the worse. There's a reason why bloodline is important to this English clan - it determines to a very great degree whom they can and can't consume.
It's curious that the author has Noemà herself springing from a wealthy family, albeit a self-made one. Some have argued that the Doyle family is a symbol, like the snake eating its own tail, the symbol of eternity or infinity, of the pervasiveness of colonialism - it's embedded like the fungus in the wallpaper, the very walls of the house, omnipresent and sinister, and inescapable. Those trapped in its web imbibe its ancient remnants with every breath they draw, and despite even cognizance of its presence, can never escape it.
Nor, it seems, can Noemà escape the confines of even her own family - as a woman, she is largely considered the property of her patriarch father, whose permission she needs for everything in her life, including furthering her education, which offers some limited means of escape, true independence, and self-determination.
As stated, this is a complex and sophisticated novel that I very much enjoyed, although it's a bit of a departure from the more traditional horror I usually read. Highly recommended if you're a fan of this particular genre, and like well-paced, meaningful novels as smart and outspoken as the main protagonist.
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Noemà Taboada is a carefree socialite, born to wealthy parents, who is struggling to find herself amidst the constraints of her own family's traditions and culture, set amidst 1950 urban Mexico. She's a bit of a rebel who enjoys dancing, smoking, and learning: she attends college with the intent of (maybe) becoming an anthropologist, although her interests seem to change as often as her stylish wardrobe. One gets the sense that she's somewhat of an embarrassment to her rather traditional family, who would like to see her settled down and getting on with life, that is, with a husband and family... like her cousin.
Her fortunes and circumstances change when her family receives an odd and rambling letter from the cousin, who married an upper-crust but not necessarily wealthy Englishman, which disturbs the whole family. Noemà is dispatched by her father to find out what the trouble is. She travels to an isolated, crumbling manor house in the remote countryside, where she quickly finds that things are not what they initially seem.
The family is more odd than the letter, to say the least - their carefully-crafted artifice casts them as traditional, stodgy British upper-class, once wealthy, but now, it appears, little more than destitute, now that their mines have closed and flooded amidst the Revolution in 1915, more than a generation prior. In short order, however, Noemà gets the unsettling sense that something more sinister lies just beneath their meticulously-maintained facade.
Notwithstanding their air of punctilious formality, Noemà immediately senses that something is badly out of place... and that she's not wanted, or welcome. Her cousin, it seems, is sequestered in her room, essentially confined to her bed, although willingly or not is indeterminate. What's more, the house reeks with an oldness, a foulness, an ancient evil that Noemà can't quite identity, which seems to have corrupted her cousin's once-cheery disposition and hangs in the air like a dense fog she can't escape.
The house could be symbolic of the decay of their entire way of life that is no more - that is, the massive exploitation of native laborers, who worked themselves to death in the family's silver mines. After their lifeblood of silver (ironically, which is associated with purity and justice) dries up, the house itself begins to decay, like a decomposing corpse, rotting from within. As Noemà begins to discover more, especially details of the family's tragic history, things take a sinister turn when she, too, begins to experience seemingly supernatural events and disturbing dreams, all of which point to something utterly horrible, yet undefined.
Don't want to give too many spoilers here, but there's some serious foreshadowing in the descriptions of everything being covered in a strange mold, from the walls, to the books, to the family itself (which was where I initially thought the trouble may be: black mold can cause everything from hallucinations and schizophrenic-like symptoms to seizures, severe brain damage, and eventually death... but in this case, it's much worse. I've read a number of books which somehow tap into the sinister nature of fungi and their place in nature. As the book states, actually: fungi can enter into symbiotic relationships with plants, and, in this case, apparently humans as well, in a way that Noemà can scarcely imagine.
This dark, atmospheric thriller is a complex and enjoyable read. It's been described as a prototypical work of postcolonial fiction, drawing on themes such as colonization and class disparity, in the form of the English overlords who choose to name their manor High Place, which looks down forebodingly on the small, colorful town full of vibrancy and life. There is a fair bit of discussion about eugenics, which may initially seem somewhat out of place, or a side point, but the sinister nature of this field of study becomes terrifyingly apparent once things take a turn for the worse. There's a reason why bloodline is important to this English clan - it determines to a very great degree whom they can and can't consume.
It's curious that the author has Noemà herself springing from a wealthy family, albeit a self-made one. Some have argued that the Doyle family is a symbol, like the snake eating its own tail, the symbol of eternity or infinity, of the pervasiveness of colonialism - it's embedded like the fungus in the wallpaper, the very walls of the house, omnipresent and sinister, and inescapable. Those trapped in its web imbibe its ancient remnants with every breath they draw, and despite even cognizance of its presence, can never escape it.
Nor, it seems, can Noemà escape the confines of even her own family - as a woman, she is largely considered the property of her patriarch father, whose permission she needs for everything in her life, including furthering her education, which offers some limited means of escape, true independence, and self-determination.
As stated, this is a complex and sophisticated novel that I very much enjoyed, although it's a bit of a departure from the more traditional horror I usually read. Highly recommended if you're a fan of this particular genre, and like well-paced, meaningful novels as smart and outspoken as the main protagonist.
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