Monday, 27 October 2025 05:34 pm
Book Review: Mexican Gothic
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deckardcanineIt's been almost three years since my last Silvia Moreno-Garcia reading. The two books were published so close together that each one ends with an excerpt of the other. Of course, they're not quite the same genre. Gods of Jade and Shadow may focus on the god of death, but it's still less charnel than this.
I'm not sure why MG is set in the '50s. Then again, there's no plot-important reason for GoJaS to be set in the 1920s either. Perhaps the author simply likes history. The main difference it makes herein is that a house in Mexico with no phones was more understandable back then than today. Horror does tend to thrive more when the protagonist can't call for help.
In this case, the protagonist is Noemí Taboada, a Mexico City socialite, whose story begins when she gets a letter of delirious distress from cousin Catalina Doyle. At Noemí's father's request, Noemí visits Catalina's residence (not home), a dreary mansion called High Place on the outskirts of the nonfictional mining town of El Triunfo. The Doyles, originally from England, insulate themselves from the Spanish speakers so much that one may wonder how Catalina ever came to marry Virgil. He and his questionably strict mother, Florence, don't seem happy to host Noemí at first, but his gentler younger brother, Francis, cryptically warns, "You can't leave High Place."
The shady family doctor diagnoses Catalina's condition as TB, but many things she says or does suggest a more mental disorder. The Doyles limit her interaction with Noemí, who suspects a plot to kill Catalina for an inheritance. That said, someone else in the house is in even worse health: bedridden old Howard. Noemí might pity him if there weren't something off about the scene.
It's clear enough that Virgil and Catalina don't love each other anymore, if they ever did. Virgil may express the occasional worry of losing his wife, but he repeatedly acts seductive toward Noemí. He's charismatic enough to appeal to one part of her yet aggressively creepy enough to turn her off most of the time. On the flip side, Francis comes across as a nerdy nebbish, but for all their mutual misgivings, he and Noemí are gradually drawn to each other. If one thing can get in the way of their budding romance, it's the dirty secret of High Place.
Only more than two thirds of the way through did I know for certain that this novel counted as fantasy (or arguably soft sci-fi). Until then, bizarre sequences are passed off as dreams, often somnambulistic. It turns out that High Place is home to a unique entity that curtails free will with sufficient exposure. Apart from Catalina and Francis, the Doyles are all too eager to avail themselves of its powers in ways too hideously evil for me to describe (glad it's all text without pictures). Hard to believe they keep expecting Noemí to see things their way. Howard might as well be Satan.
Of course, by the time Noemí knows this, escape has become a lot more difficult. I don't blame her for taking drastic measures; in fact, one of her last moves was one of the first to come to my mind. I was increasingly bracing for an ending less happy than we get -- tho the last page insinuates the possibility of a sequel.
It's an interesting tale overall, with a pretty original premise and research to back up some fine points. I just feel like it took on a new personality all of a sudden. Too much buildup before the revelation? Maybe, but I can't think of many parts I'd have trimmed. Sometimes a seeming genre shift is inevitable.
Moreno-Garcia may have intended an allegory in showing rich Brits who effectively reign over Mexican miners. I doubt more conservative American readers would mind. The Doyles are just one clan under a domineering patriarch, so the book doesn't vilify an entire nationality. It may also implicitly foment distrust of migrants who never bother to learn the local language after decades. Then again, Florence's rule against smoking indoors isn't supposed to mean that the author endorses it, right?
I might check out more from Moreno-Garcia. Signal to Noise looks most promising among the works I haven't read. For now, I need a break.
I got the urge to pick up a less urban fantasy with fictitious maps up front. That would be The Raven Scholar by Antonia Hodgson.
I'm not sure why MG is set in the '50s. Then again, there's no plot-important reason for GoJaS to be set in the 1920s either. Perhaps the author simply likes history. The main difference it makes herein is that a house in Mexico with no phones was more understandable back then than today. Horror does tend to thrive more when the protagonist can't call for help.
In this case, the protagonist is Noemí Taboada, a Mexico City socialite, whose story begins when she gets a letter of delirious distress from cousin Catalina Doyle. At Noemí's father's request, Noemí visits Catalina's residence (not home), a dreary mansion called High Place on the outskirts of the nonfictional mining town of El Triunfo. The Doyles, originally from England, insulate themselves from the Spanish speakers so much that one may wonder how Catalina ever came to marry Virgil. He and his questionably strict mother, Florence, don't seem happy to host Noemí at first, but his gentler younger brother, Francis, cryptically warns, "You can't leave High Place."
The shady family doctor diagnoses Catalina's condition as TB, but many things she says or does suggest a more mental disorder. The Doyles limit her interaction with Noemí, who suspects a plot to kill Catalina for an inheritance. That said, someone else in the house is in even worse health: bedridden old Howard. Noemí might pity him if there weren't something off about the scene.
It's clear enough that Virgil and Catalina don't love each other anymore, if they ever did. Virgil may express the occasional worry of losing his wife, but he repeatedly acts seductive toward Noemí. He's charismatic enough to appeal to one part of her yet aggressively creepy enough to turn her off most of the time. On the flip side, Francis comes across as a nerdy nebbish, but for all their mutual misgivings, he and Noemí are gradually drawn to each other. If one thing can get in the way of their budding romance, it's the dirty secret of High Place.
Only more than two thirds of the way through did I know for certain that this novel counted as fantasy (or arguably soft sci-fi). Until then, bizarre sequences are passed off as dreams, often somnambulistic. It turns out that High Place is home to a unique entity that curtails free will with sufficient exposure. Apart from Catalina and Francis, the Doyles are all too eager to avail themselves of its powers in ways too hideously evil for me to describe (glad it's all text without pictures). Hard to believe they keep expecting Noemí to see things their way. Howard might as well be Satan.
Of course, by the time Noemí knows this, escape has become a lot more difficult. I don't blame her for taking drastic measures; in fact, one of her last moves was one of the first to come to my mind. I was increasingly bracing for an ending less happy than we get -- tho the last page insinuates the possibility of a sequel.
It's an interesting tale overall, with a pretty original premise and research to back up some fine points. I just feel like it took on a new personality all of a sudden. Too much buildup before the revelation? Maybe, but I can't think of many parts I'd have trimmed. Sometimes a seeming genre shift is inevitable.
Moreno-Garcia may have intended an allegory in showing rich Brits who effectively reign over Mexican miners. I doubt more conservative American readers would mind. The Doyles are just one clan under a domineering patriarch, so the book doesn't vilify an entire nationality. It may also implicitly foment distrust of migrants who never bother to learn the local language after decades. Then again, Florence's rule against smoking indoors isn't supposed to mean that the author endorses it, right?
I might check out more from Moreno-Garcia. Signal to Noise looks most promising among the works I haven't read. For now, I need a break.
I got the urge to pick up a less urban fantasy with fictitious maps up front. That would be The Raven Scholar by Antonia Hodgson.