Mexican Gothic: A Mixed Review
This week’s post will be a fraught post for a few reasons: firstly, it is the Canadian federal election tonight and I treat televised political events like middle-aged men treat football games in Adam Sandler-esque rom coms; secondly, I’ve been fighting off a headache all day, and the blue light from the laptop screen doesn’t exactly help this; thirdly, I have a busy week ahead academically (tutorial planning, a book review, and 2 articles need to be cleaned up and ready-to-go by Friday; and finally – crucially – I didn’t really like this book as much as I thought I would.
I must (and, of course, will) tread carefully here, particularly as last week’s post was on the importance of highlighting and consuming Gothic media by non-white authors and creators, but it would be disingenuous of me to sing the praises of Mexican Gothic without cautioning against some of the glaring issues with the function (not necessarily the form) of the text. Silvia Moreno-Garcia is a Mexican-Canadian author based in Vancouver with an excellent track record of notable books, among them The Beautiful Ones and Untamed Shore, both books I will check out eventually, although not in connection with this blog. My biggest concern with the novel was not necessarily how Gothic it was, nor with how subversive it could be within the framework, although these could both be reasonable critiques given my initial read-through. My biggest critiques – throughout the novel – are inconsistency (both in the novel’s tone and some of the characterization), and employment of the Gothic (which seems to be employed stiffly, almost as a formula, instead of the fluid veneer it can be). I did enjoy the book somewhat, though, so I will be starting off with elements of the book I loved, I will continue into elements of the book I thought didn’t quite work, and finish with elements of the book I somewhat enjoyed.
Trigger Warning - Sexual Violence
Spoilers Below the Line
So, the elements of Mexican Gothic I loved. Keeping in mind that there will be spoilers with this post, I’ll still make an effort to leave an air of mystery about the book so that those of you who decide to read it don’t feel that I have ruined it for you.
The use of mycelium as an agent of horror is really brilliant. Mushrooms have always freaked me out, slightly... (What are they? Plant or animal? Do they have consciousness? We know they communicate with each other, but how? Why?) ... and I think Moreno-Garcia’s use of mushrooms and fungus to create horror was fantastic. The knowledge that some fungi can take over a host mammal’s brains plays well into the speculative aspect of the novel, answering the question “what could this look like if fungus could affect a human like this?” The more sci-fi body-horror elements of the novel, superimposed on a backdrop of a mouldy, decaying colonial house in the Mexican countryside, are remarkably aesthetic and well-constructed.
Additionally, I liked the connection of this fungal nightmare to colonial greed, with an English (for some reason, even though this is Mexico) colonial family stealing a well-known healing fungus from a local Indigenous group to use it for the family’s personal immortality as opposed to healing wounds and boosting the quality of life of the community. This nod to colonial history and the damage it can do is important and I’m glad it was mentioned.
This is where my “loves” of the book end. Beginning with the Gothic as a framework: it felt throughout the novel that “The Gothic” was used as a stiff and immovable checklist to ensure that the narrative was conforming to a notable genre. It definitely fits the bill, as there is:
1) A mouldy, broken-down, formally beautiful English-style mansion house in an isolated part of the countryside that is difficult to get to (and to escape)
2) There is an incestuous family that lures beautiful young women in to fulfill some sort of nefarious purpose tangentially related to the marriage
3) There are bodies of the former (now dead) wives under the house and their ghosts haunt the halls
4) The heroine basically saves herself
5) The house itself is an agent in the story
6) There is a family mystery that underpins the entire narrative that keeps the plot driving forward.
Now, these aren’t problematic in and of themselves. I’ve said to multiple friends that there is no shame in using existing frameworks to create art, however, this felt both derivative and suffocating for a variety of reasons. Firstly, the focus on an English colonial presence in Mexico in (supposedly) the early 20th-century felt a little odd, considering the colonial history of the area is the fault of Spain, not England. Additionally, this focus on an English family as the quintessential Gothic villain was paired with lines and details that resonate – almost distressingly so – with other contemporary Gothic texts that predate this book by 5 years, at least. I’m paraphrasing here – not least because I don’t feel like re-reading the first 50 pages of the book to find the exact passage – but there is a line early on in the book along the lines of “Ghosts are real, I can tell you that much” that is almost a perfect echo of Del Toro’s Crimson Peak (2015), the opening line of which is “Ghosts are real... this I know.” Similarly, the fact that the incestuous family members of Mexican Gothic are slowly poisoning the heroine Noemì through her tea and food is another plot element in Crimson Peak, and the scenes in which Noemì was meant to write to her existing family to ensure her safety under threat of bodily harm was much too similar to the 2015 film’s ending for my taste. Additionally, the idea of a living house that won’t let the heroine leave is a heavy-handed echo of Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House. Beyond this, despite the novel functioning as a textbook Gothic novel due to the above, the derivative nature of it kind of stumped me as it never really felt Gothic. It was a horror novel, absolutely, and it excels at this, but it is Gothic in form only and the function of the text never seems to tap into that deep sense of uncanny, taboo, and mystery that I’m used to the Gothic invoking. And I think, (bringing me to my next point) this is in part due to the writing.
Moreno-Garcia’s horror writing is impeccable, but the development of the characters left something to be desired. Despite having read the book cover-to-cover, I can’t really grasp who Noemì is, and nothing she said has stuck with me – a red flag as I usually have a steel-trap brain for good quotes. Noemì feels like the ghost of a femme fatale, a fiery, rebellious, scrappy heroine whose existence ends there. The plot sets up her crisis as saving her sister, but she seems to lose her way as soon as the other elements of the novel (mainly setting up the Zombie Mushroom reveal) take precedence. Further evidence of this hollow shell of a strong female lead is the number of times she is subjected to sexual assault in the latter half of the book. Now, I don’t think that sexual assault should never appear in literature, as when treated sensitively and well, it can add a layer of vulnerable realism that echoes its prevalence in reality. In this case, however, it felt gratuitous, and the fact that it was presented as even mildly erotic felt uncomfortable and didn’t serve the plot or the characters involved. As such, Noemì fell out of my head no sooner than I reached the back cover of the book. I vaguely remember that she was a chain smoker who swore a lot and wanted to go back for her master’s degree, but apart from that, I have no understanding of who this character really was or what she wanted, and this made it very difficult to relate to her throughout the violent chaos of the climax of the novel.
The last issue I will state is my concern on inconsistency in voice that appeared throughout the book. The prose ranged from beautifully eloquent to rather clunky and heavy-handed. The character voicing, too, suffered as the stakes of the novel became dire. People speak differently when under stress, of course, but the complete switch in dialogic style made it difficult to keep track of who was speaking by the time the novel ended. Along those lines, it was frustratingly difficult to figure out when Noemì had entered a dream state and when she was lucid. Now, this can be extremely powerful when executed well (House of Leaves is a primary example of this device being used to stunning effect), but when it is NOT done well, it launches your reader out of the headspace of enjoying your book and makes them less and less likely to want to continue. Personally, I found myself reading and re-reading the same 2-3 pages in some areas wondering if I had missed some sort of crucial tonal shift, only to find that there was none, and the often-disturbing dreamscape was presented as if reality with no subtle clues to signal that reality may be altered – a kind of eloquence that can make someone want to re-read a text. If your plot twists are based on cheap baits-and-switches, there is no use in revisiting the text: there must be intention in these devices for them to be effective, and like many parts of this novel, that intention seems to be completely absent.
Now that I have delivered my critique, back to the things I appreciated about the novel before I sign off. I loved the unbridled rage of Noemì’s sister during the climax of the novel. As a woman who had been imprisoned, gaslit, abused (probably in more ways than one), and had a flash of clarity, her “naked rage” as she stabs not one, but two perpetrators through the eye is just delicious. I would’ve liked to see some more focus on Catalina throughout the book, particularly as her bond with her sister Noemì seemed artificial, but justified female rage is always encouraged by the Gothic, so that was a win. I also enjoyed the solidarity of the three survivors through the end of the book, including the one member of [Incestuous Family] that decides to break the cycle of abuse and leave – although, for me, his romance with Noemì felt rushed and forced.
All in all, I wouldn’t discourage anyone from reading Mexican Gothic. Maybe you’ll enjoy it more than I do! And if you’ve read it, I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it. Maybe I was cranky when I read it, so If you have a vastly different attitude to the book, let me know.
Next week I’m doing a piece on Crimson Peak (probably my favourite Del Toro film to date), and I will announce my content lineup for October.
Spooky readings, everyone.
