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Our Share of Night
A woman’s mysterious death puts her husband and son on a collision course with her demonic family.
A young father and son set out on a road trip, devastated by the death of the wife and mother they both loved. United in grief, the pair travel to her ancestral home, where they must confront the terrifying legacy she has bequeathed: a family called the Order that commits unspeakable acts in search of immortality.
For Gaspar, the son, this maniacal cult is his destiny. As the Order tries to pull him into their evil, he and his father take flight, attempting to outrun a powerful clan that will do anything to ensure its own survival. But how far will Gaspar’s father go to protect his child? And can anyone escape their fate?
Moving back and forth in time, from London in the swinging 1960s to the brutal years of Argentina’s military dictatorship and its turbulent aftermath, Our Share of Night is a novel like no other: a family story, a ghost story, a story of the occult and the supernatural, a book about the complexities of love and longing with queer subplots and themes. This is the masterwork of one of Latin America’s most original novelists, “a mesmerizing writer,” says Dave Eggers, “who demands to be read.”
A young father and son set out on a road trip, devastated by the death of the wife and mother they both loved. United in grief, the pair travel to her ancestral home, where they must confront the terrifying legacy she has bequeathed: a family called the Order that commits unspeakable acts in search of immortality.
For Gaspar, the son, this maniacal cult is his destiny. As the Order tries to pull him into their evil, he and his father take flight, attempting to outrun a powerful clan that will do anything to ensure its own survival. But how far will Gaspar’s father go to protect his child? And can anyone escape their fate?
Moving back and forth in time, from London in the swinging 1960s to the brutal years of Argentina’s military dictatorship and its turbulent aftermath, Our Share of Night is a novel like no other: a family story, a ghost story, a story of the occult and the supernatural, a book about the complexities of love and longing with queer subplots and themes. This is the masterwork of one of Latin America’s most original novelists, “a mesmerizing writer,” says Dave Eggers, “who demands to be read.”
588 pages, Hardcover
First published November 27, 2019
About the author
Mariana Enríquez
73 books6,458 followersMariana Enriquez (Buenos Aires, 1973) es una periodista y escritora argentina.
Se recibió de Licenciada en Comunicación Social en la Universidad Nacional de La Plata. Se ha desempeñado profesionalmente como periodista y columnista en medios gráficos, como el suplemento Radar del diario Página/12 (donde es sub-editora) y las revistas TXT, La mano, La mujer de mi vida y El Guardián. También participó en radio, como columnista en el programa Gente de a pie, por Radio Nacional.
Trabajó como jurado en concursos literarios y dictó talleres de escritura en la Fundación Tomás Eloy Martínez
Mariana Enriquez is a writer and editor based in Buenos Aires. She is the author of the novel Our Share of Night and has published two story collections in English, Things We Lost in the Fire and The Dangers of Smoking in Bed , which was a finalist for the International Booker Prize, the Kirkus Prize, the Ray Bradbury Prize for Science Fiction, Fantasy, & Speculative Fiction, and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize in Fiction.
Se recibió de Licenciada en Comunicación Social en la Universidad Nacional de La Plata. Se ha desempeñado profesionalmente como periodista y columnista en medios gráficos, como el suplemento Radar del diario Página/12 (donde es sub-editora) y las revistas TXT, La mano, La mujer de mi vida y El Guardián. También participó en radio, como columnista en el programa Gente de a pie, por Radio Nacional.
Trabajó como jurado en concursos literarios y dictó talleres de escritura en la Fundación Tomás Eloy Martínez
Mariana Enriquez is a writer and editor based in Buenos Aires. She is the author of the novel Our Share of Night and has published two story collections in English, Things We Lost in the Fire and The Dangers of Smoking in Bed , which was a finalist for the International Booker Prize, the Kirkus Prize, the Ray Bradbury Prize for Science Fiction, Fantasy, & Speculative Fiction, and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize in Fiction.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 6,735 reviews
December 29, 2019
Acabo de terminar este libro con la piel erizada, así que no esperen mucho de lo que diga. Es una maravilla. Quienes ya habían leído los cuentos de Mariana Enriquez habían tenido una probadita de lo que les espera. Yo no he leído ninguna otra novela suya, pero me gusta como los cuentos me llevaron a su novela. Yo digo que hay universos para cada autora, y el de mariana es complejo y solo en una novela así se puede entender todo. Están sus elementos: música, terror, crueldad, situaciones paranormales, casas hermosas y llenas de secretos, historia argentina, periodismo. Y también claro, mucha, mucha literatura. La verdad es que no leo muchos libros de género fantástico, o de terror, y no diría que este libro es solo eso. Tiene elementos de terror, eso sí, pero lo hace tan conectado a la realidad, que cuando al principio pensé que no me afectaría, en un momento me vi mirando por encima del hombro pensando, claro, esto no puede pasar nunca, ¿no?.
Y a la vez no existe nada de la manipulación que a veces me causa rechazo del género, en donde sabes quien es la buena, sabes quien es la mala, acá es más complejo, excepto Mercedes, la abuela mala, todos los demás personajes son ambiguos.
La novela se va armando como un rompecabezas, y cuando te das cuenta, estás adentro, con vértigo y ganas de saber qué demonios pasa con esos personajes, de algunos de los cuales quizás te has encariñado, o no sabes si más bien te causan rechazo.
Lean este libro, gente de goodreads, es una maravilla ver el proceso de una autora, es genial poder leer como va creciendo, y este mundo, el de mariana enriquez, es un paralelo al mundo real, un mundo en donde vemos sufrimiento, injusticia, por lo cual mariana no tuvo que ir muy lejos para encontrar inspiración, pero sí encuentra un medio de escape hacia otro lado, en donde podemos imaginar cosas posibles, justicia por algún lado, y terminar con el sufrimiento. Quizás solo es que yo necesitaba leer eso en un libro, pero me encanta de todas formas haberlo encontrado en este.
Y a la vez no existe nada de la manipulación que a veces me causa rechazo del género, en donde sabes quien es la buena, sabes quien es la mala, acá es más complejo, excepto Mercedes, la abuela mala, todos los demás personajes son ambiguos.
La novela se va armando como un rompecabezas, y cuando te das cuenta, estás adentro, con vértigo y ganas de saber qué demonios pasa con esos personajes, de algunos de los cuales quizás te has encariñado, o no sabes si más bien te causan rechazo.
Lean este libro, gente de goodreads, es una maravilla ver el proceso de una autora, es genial poder leer como va creciendo, y este mundo, el de mariana enriquez, es un paralelo al mundo real, un mundo en donde vemos sufrimiento, injusticia, por lo cual mariana no tuvo que ir muy lejos para encontrar inspiración, pero sí encuentra un medio de escape hacia otro lado, en donde podemos imaginar cosas posibles, justicia por algún lado, y terminar con el sufrimiento. Quizás solo es que yo necesitaba leer eso en un libro, pero me encanta de todas formas haberlo encontrado en este.
November 28, 2021
Hay libros que, solo con empezarlos, sabes que te van a marcar como lector y que van a pasar a formar parte de tu panteón particular. Sucede pocas veces, claro. Y pasa, sobre todo, con libros que no creías que fuesen para ti y que, en la propia sorpresa, te calan aún más profundo que los que sí esperabas que te gustasen. Eso es lo que me ha pasado con «Nuestra parte de noche»: pocas cosas podían atraerme menos que un libro que, encima de tener 700 páginas, era «de terror»… pero el boca a oreja funcionó y ese tocho extraño que al principio empecé con suspicacias me acabó conquistando apasionadamente.
Si lees la sinopsis puede parecerte que este libro es de fantasía, si escuchas a la gente puedes pensar que es de terror… y por supuesto que contiene ambos ingredientes, pero reducirlo solo a esas dos etiquetas es simplificar hasta el absurdo una historia complejísima. Porque por supuesto que hay rituales demoníacos y una poderosa orden de ricachones tocados por la oscuridad, pero también hay una historia de un padre y un hijo -retorcida, enfermiza, dañina como el veneno-, la historia de la vida rural de un país y de su dictadura militar, una novela de crecimiento atípica, una narración de amistad y primeros amores que también es de venganza y odio, un vistazo a las profundidades más oscuras de la naturaleza humana… y, cuando crees que ya lo has desentrañado todo, ¡zas!, mariconeo.
Qué difícil me parece hacer lo que consigue Enríquez: mezclar géneros en una ensaladera de 700 páginas y jugar con el ritmo para que la tensión y el horror siempre te pillen de sorpresa, pero sin perder la cotidianidad de la historia y la humanidad de los protagonistas para que estos te importen de verdad. Qué difícil es encajar lo más fantástico en lo más mundano y, aún así, embarcar al lector en un viaje en el que solo puede actuar como un peso muerto a merced del tortuoso cerebro de un genio de la literatura. «Nuestra parte de noche» es, simplemente y con todas las letras, magistral. Bravo por esta autora y por hacer de sus lectores unas víctimas traumatizadas pero sedientas de más.
Si lees la sinopsis puede parecerte que este libro es de fantasía, si escuchas a la gente puedes pensar que es de terror… y por supuesto que contiene ambos ingredientes, pero reducirlo solo a esas dos etiquetas es simplificar hasta el absurdo una historia complejísima. Porque por supuesto que hay rituales demoníacos y una poderosa orden de ricachones tocados por la oscuridad, pero también hay una historia de un padre y un hijo -retorcida, enfermiza, dañina como el veneno-, la historia de la vida rural de un país y de su dictadura militar, una novela de crecimiento atípica, una narración de amistad y primeros amores que también es de venganza y odio, un vistazo a las profundidades más oscuras de la naturaleza humana… y, cuando crees que ya lo has desentrañado todo, ¡zas!, mariconeo.
Qué difícil me parece hacer lo que consigue Enríquez: mezclar géneros en una ensaladera de 700 páginas y jugar con el ritmo para que la tensión y el horror siempre te pillen de sorpresa, pero sin perder la cotidianidad de la historia y la humanidad de los protagonistas para que estos te importen de verdad. Qué difícil es encajar lo más fantástico en lo más mundano y, aún así, embarcar al lector en un viaje en el que solo puede actuar como un peso muerto a merced del tortuoso cerebro de un genio de la literatura. «Nuestra parte de noche» es, simplemente y con todas las letras, magistral. Bravo por esta autora y por hacer de sus lectores unas víctimas traumatizadas pero sedientas de más.
March 24, 2021
4.75? Ese final me dejó queriendo más.
Maravillosa historia llena de momentos oscuros, fantásticos. En una parte del libro, uno de los personajes acude a una muestra fotográfica sobre la dictadura y reflexiona que las fotografías son maravillosas porque, sí, retratan la dictadura, pero lo hacen sin ser explícitas o clichés. Lo mismo diría de este libro en donde la dictadura, las desapariciones y cómo Argentina hace sentido de esas atrocidades, son el fondo de la historia.
Dando saltos entre los 70, 80 y 90 ésta historia nos cuenta la vida de Juan Peterson y su hijo Gaspar que están involucrados con una secta diabólica (a falta de mejor palabra para describir la oscuridad que adoran). La construcción de personajes es maravillosa, el uso de la religiosidad popular y las leyendas añade una dimensión extra a este relato tan ambicioso. Ningún personaje es totalmente encantador (menos quizá Luis, que para mí es el MVP), todos tienen fallas, son humanos pues.
Esta novela es una carta de amor no sólo a todas estas tradiciones populares, también a la contracultura de los años 70 y su música. Veo ecos también de King (en concreto IT) en Gaspar y sus amigos. Una locura encontrar una autora que se mueve dentro del horror como pez en el agua y que logra transplantar historias que sólo he leído en un contexto anglosajón, a una realidad latinoamericana de forma magistral. Soy fanática total de Mariana Enriquez.
Maravillosa historia llena de momentos oscuros, fantásticos. En una parte del libro, uno de los personajes acude a una muestra fotográfica sobre la dictadura y reflexiona que las fotografías son maravillosas porque, sí, retratan la dictadura, pero lo hacen sin ser explícitas o clichés. Lo mismo diría de este libro en donde la dictadura, las desapariciones y cómo Argentina hace sentido de esas atrocidades, son el fondo de la historia.
Dando saltos entre los 70, 80 y 90 ésta historia nos cuenta la vida de Juan Peterson y su hijo Gaspar que están involucrados con una secta diabólica (a falta de mejor palabra para describir la oscuridad que adoran). La construcción de personajes es maravillosa, el uso de la religiosidad popular y las leyendas añade una dimensión extra a este relato tan ambicioso. Ningún personaje es totalmente encantador (menos quizá Luis, que para mí es el MVP), todos tienen fallas, son humanos pues.
Esta novela es una carta de amor no sólo a todas estas tradiciones populares, también a la contracultura de los años 70 y su música. Veo ecos también de King (en concreto IT) en Gaspar y sus amigos. Una locura encontrar una autora que se mueve dentro del horror como pez en el agua y que logra transplantar historias que sólo he leído en un contexto anglosajón, a una realidad latinoamericana de forma magistral. Soy fanática total de Mariana Enriquez.
December 17, 2020
i believe in mariana enriquez supremacy
February 5, 2023
This book is like a fogged up mirror slowly revealing its refection. First your face is all blurry and distorted and then you blink once and suddenly the whole picture is there, and you forgot what it was like to not see.
An absolute masterpiece.
An absolute masterpiece.
February 22, 2020
Leer libros es costoso. Hay un costo monetario, si, pero tambien un costo de tiempo que hay que dedicarle a una novela, a esta novela en particular, que tiene 680 paginas. Con los tiempos y distracciones del mundo de hoy, no queda otra que ser selectos a la hora de elegir que libro leer. Tambien, son tiempos donde la solidaridad existencial nos quito el espiritu critico, y parece que criticar es ser elitista o peor aun; falto de solidaridad, que es lo mismo.
Pero en defensa de aquellos que quieren ejercer el espiritu por el cual Nietzsche no dormia; mas que una critica elitista, prefiero hacer una critica honesta.
Bien... despues de dos libros de cuentos como "Los Peligros de..." y "Las cosas que...", la expectativa por esta novela de Mariana Enriquez era alta. No solo porque venia precedida de los libros citados, muy buenos ambos, sino porque Enriquez es a mi juicio, de esta nueva camada de "Escritoras", la mejor. Es la mas original. Es la que posee mas inventiva. Muchos de sus cuentos son pequeñas joyas que abren universos. En definitiva, a diferencia de otras colegas suyas, Enriquez es Escritora. No es simplemente alguien que tipea lo que le pasa por la cabeza. Entonces, cuando voy a leer el trabajo de una Escritora, lo que espero es leer un Libro. Mis exigencias-expectativas-ansiedades son otras.
Reseñar "Nuestra parte de Noche" no es tarea sencilla. La novela tiene un buen comienzo. Son aproximadamente 50 paginas donde la narracion fluye, donde la historia se va desplegando lentamente y nos vamos encontrando con el universo/atmosfera (Enriqueziano) en el cual luego ira girando la trama. La prosa es buena (Anagrama, puede decirse, se caracteriza por editar libros de buena narrativa) y Enriquez siempre va dotando la historia con sus obsesiones sobrenaturales, sus pequeñas dosis de terror y suspenso, que ya desplego con exito en sus anteriores libros. Hasta este medio centenar de paginas, el libro viene muy bien y como lector uno quiere seguir y seguir leyendo. Si existe una formula para ganar el premio Anagrama, tiene que ser esta: buena narrativa. Trama sin prisa. Suspenso. Elementos que van sumando interrogantes...
Pero es entonces cuando podemos notar la diferencia que existe entre la complejidad de escribir una novela a escribir una serie de relatos.
Para cuando estamos en la pagina 100, la trama, hasta ese momento apenas desarrollada, comienza a estancarse. Para cuando termina el primer capitulo, allá por la pagina 160, el divague se hace notorio y uno comienza a sospechar que algo anda mal. Luego vienen 200 paginas mas donde la novela cae de forma irreversible, haciendo que todo lo que viene despues (lo bueno, lo feo y lo malo) carezca de importancia. El cimiento se mueve, y por muy bonito que sea el edificio y por muy bien que esten plantados los otros cimientos, esto se desmorona, porque es una novela, no un cuento. Y si, se desmorona.
El tercer capitulo llamado "La cosa mala de las casas solas" aletarga tanto al lector que termina llevándose de arrastre todo lo bueno de las primeras cien paginas. Porque lo que Enriquez presenta hasta este momento (y ya vamos por la mitad de la novela) es un cuento que bien podria haber sido uno mas en alguno de sus anteriores libros, nada mas que cargado de relleno. La trama es chica y el lector lo nota. Estoy seguro que lo nota la propia Enriquez, porque tiene que recurrir a un sin fin de "pequeñas historias agregadas" de las cuales mas de la mitad sobran y aburren y no aportan absolutamente nada a la trama, y lo unico que logran es resentir la novela en un sin fin de idas y venidas intrascendentes, haciendo que al lector deje de importarle la historia de Gaspar y familia. La historia, una vez leida en su totalidad, parecia ser mas para una Nouvelle que para una novela extensa.
Pero aqui me gustaria comenzar una tangente en la reseña. Seria facil caerle a Enriquez sobre los aspectos fallidos de la novela. Digamos que la prosa de las primeras 100 paginas desaparece para darle lugar a una prosa descuidada, como si la autora estuviera aburrida de su propia trama, sin saber por donde salir. El tercer capitulo tiene casi 200 paginas de extensión, y no es facil atravesar ese rio. Por el cuarto capitulo la cosa mejora, y tenemos ahora una narrativa en primera persona. Uno de los personajes cuenta su vida, y lo hace bien. Pero a estas alturas...
Lo que intento explicar es que sin una prosa rica en calidad estetica. Sin una trama solida donde los personajes puedan desarrollarse y crecer. Sin originalidad o disgregaciones historicas (el trasfondo politico y social no es mas que eso: un trasfondo). Sin belleza narrativa y por sobre todas las cosas, sin poder cognitivo -diria Harold Bloom-, la obra se torna sumamente intrascendente, y para eso ya tenemos a Claudia Piñeiro.
Borges decia que lamentablemente nos habiamos acostumbrado a leer libros en funcion de la historia en lugar de la estetica. En ese sentido la desilusion que genera "Nuestra parte de noche" es mayusculo, porque incluso cuando leamos en funcion de la historia no podemos encontrar algo que nos motive. La estetica, querido Jorge Luis, bien gracias.
Igualmente, no se trata de un libro malo, uno de esos libros que insultan la inteligencia del lector. No. No es "Ketuckis" de Schweblin. En todo caso es un libro irregular. Un libro que necesitaba mas de una revision. Que carece de movimiento. Alguien debio proyectarle a Enriquez las peliculas de Fred Astaire antes de sumergirse a escribir tanto. Pero como contraparte, la autora tiene la virtud de ser una escritora honesta. No engaña al lector en ningun momento de la novela y no ambiciona por arriba de su talento, y eso se agradece. Y se agradece mucho.
Y aqui vuelvo a la tangente... cuando leo un libro asi no puedo dejar de preguntarme que rol cumplen los editores. ¿Acaso un editor no se da cuenta que al libro le sobran paginas?. ¿No leen?, ¿no corrigen?, ¿no es acaso su trabajo señalarle al escritor que partes son mejor acortarlas, o reescribirlas u otorgarle mayor fluidez?. Hay determinadas partes que estan narradas con una torpeza increible. En otros momentos los personajes actuan como perfectos estupidos. Si la obra esta apuntada al publico en general -porque no genera ningun tipo de complejidad en su lectura/estructura- y se espera que sea boom de ventas (y muy probablemente lo sea), ¿no es mejor un libro mas corto y mas "redondo"?. Estoy seguro que muchas personas lo van a dejar por la mitad, y talvez ese fracaso sea mas culpa del editor que del escritor.
Es una lastima porque el fondo y las intenciones de Enriquez a la hora de emprender tamaña empresa son buenas. No es un desastre de cabo a rabo como "Una casa junto al Tragadero" de Mariano Quiros (increiblemente increible ganador del premio Tusquets 2018. Increible).
A lo mejor en algunos mercados la idea de "un gran libro" sea mas facil de vender. Quizás un libro largo genera mas hype; una promesa irreal de mas goce y aventura literaria. Como si a mayor cantidad de paginas mayor recompenza, o algo parecido reflexiono alguna vez Raymond Chandler.
Pero ahi estan esas obras fallidas para demostrarnos lo contrario. Ahi esta la "Gran Novela Americana", que produjo bodrios mundiales como "Ciudad en Llamas", "Breve Historia de Siete Asesinatos" o la levemente mas digna "El Nix". Libros intrascendentes de rapido olvidar (como sus autores), sin ningun tipo de triunfo mas que la extensión y la acumulación de historias deslavazadas que conforman el cuerpo de la misma. Si alguien alguna vez quiere aprender como acumular historias y no morir en el intento, recomiendo "El Plantador de Tabaco" de John Barth o "Estado de Gracia" de Joy Williams.
Esta claro que el panorama de narrativa actual, en lineas generales, es regular. A tal punto que criticarlo se convirtio en cliche. Tal vez que Enriquez se proponga escribir una novela de casi 700 paginas contando la historia de una familia que esta jodida desde el parrafo uno, sea un logro para los tiempos que corren, donde la ley del mercado parece dictar un "consuma rapido, consuma facil". Pero tambien debo decir que empece el año leyendo "Mona" de Pola Oloixarac (que junto a Enriquez me parece la mejor exponente de la nueva generacion de escritores indistintamente de generos); en aquel libro, Pola parece haber aprendido la tecnica del "menos es mas"... y sale triunfante. Ojala Mariana siga el mismo camino hacia el futuro.
En definitiva... un libro tambien es hecho por el lector y ninguna opinion es determinante. Quienes busquen sumergirse en una historia sencilla y no tengan demasiadas pretensiones en cuanto a formas y contenidos probablemente lo disfruten (recomendado para fans de Stephen King, por ejemplo), y para quienes busquen una historia compuesta, original, con profundidad de conceptos, talvez salgan algo decepcionados especialmente viendo quien firma la novela.
Una vez mas, en esta sardonica existencia, he sido victima del hype.
Pero en defensa de aquellos que quieren ejercer el espiritu por el cual Nietzsche no dormia; mas que una critica elitista, prefiero hacer una critica honesta.
Bien... despues de dos libros de cuentos como "Los Peligros de..." y "Las cosas que...", la expectativa por esta novela de Mariana Enriquez era alta. No solo porque venia precedida de los libros citados, muy buenos ambos, sino porque Enriquez es a mi juicio, de esta nueva camada de "Escritoras", la mejor. Es la mas original. Es la que posee mas inventiva. Muchos de sus cuentos son pequeñas joyas que abren universos. En definitiva, a diferencia de otras colegas suyas, Enriquez es Escritora. No es simplemente alguien que tipea lo que le pasa por la cabeza. Entonces, cuando voy a leer el trabajo de una Escritora, lo que espero es leer un Libro. Mis exigencias-expectativas-ansiedades son otras.
Reseñar "Nuestra parte de Noche" no es tarea sencilla. La novela tiene un buen comienzo. Son aproximadamente 50 paginas donde la narracion fluye, donde la historia se va desplegando lentamente y nos vamos encontrando con el universo/atmosfera (Enriqueziano) en el cual luego ira girando la trama. La prosa es buena (Anagrama, puede decirse, se caracteriza por editar libros de buena narrativa) y Enriquez siempre va dotando la historia con sus obsesiones sobrenaturales, sus pequeñas dosis de terror y suspenso, que ya desplego con exito en sus anteriores libros. Hasta este medio centenar de paginas, el libro viene muy bien y como lector uno quiere seguir y seguir leyendo. Si existe una formula para ganar el premio Anagrama, tiene que ser esta: buena narrativa. Trama sin prisa. Suspenso. Elementos que van sumando interrogantes...
Pero es entonces cuando podemos notar la diferencia que existe entre la complejidad de escribir una novela a escribir una serie de relatos.
Para cuando estamos en la pagina 100, la trama, hasta ese momento apenas desarrollada, comienza a estancarse. Para cuando termina el primer capitulo, allá por la pagina 160, el divague se hace notorio y uno comienza a sospechar que algo anda mal. Luego vienen 200 paginas mas donde la novela cae de forma irreversible, haciendo que todo lo que viene despues (lo bueno, lo feo y lo malo) carezca de importancia. El cimiento se mueve, y por muy bonito que sea el edificio y por muy bien que esten plantados los otros cimientos, esto se desmorona, porque es una novela, no un cuento. Y si, se desmorona.
El tercer capitulo llamado "La cosa mala de las casas solas" aletarga tanto al lector que termina llevándose de arrastre todo lo bueno de las primeras cien paginas. Porque lo que Enriquez presenta hasta este momento (y ya vamos por la mitad de la novela) es un cuento que bien podria haber sido uno mas en alguno de sus anteriores libros, nada mas que cargado de relleno. La trama es chica y el lector lo nota. Estoy seguro que lo nota la propia Enriquez, porque tiene que recurrir a un sin fin de "pequeñas historias agregadas" de las cuales mas de la mitad sobran y aburren y no aportan absolutamente nada a la trama, y lo unico que logran es resentir la novela en un sin fin de idas y venidas intrascendentes, haciendo que al lector deje de importarle la historia de Gaspar y familia. La historia, una vez leida en su totalidad, parecia ser mas para una Nouvelle que para una novela extensa.
Pero aqui me gustaria comenzar una tangente en la reseña. Seria facil caerle a Enriquez sobre los aspectos fallidos de la novela. Digamos que la prosa de las primeras 100 paginas desaparece para darle lugar a una prosa descuidada, como si la autora estuviera aburrida de su propia trama, sin saber por donde salir. El tercer capitulo tiene casi 200 paginas de extensión, y no es facil atravesar ese rio. Por el cuarto capitulo la cosa mejora, y tenemos ahora una narrativa en primera persona. Uno de los personajes cuenta su vida, y lo hace bien. Pero a estas alturas...
Lo que intento explicar es que sin una prosa rica en calidad estetica. Sin una trama solida donde los personajes puedan desarrollarse y crecer. Sin originalidad o disgregaciones historicas (el trasfondo politico y social no es mas que eso: un trasfondo). Sin belleza narrativa y por sobre todas las cosas, sin poder cognitivo -diria Harold Bloom-, la obra se torna sumamente intrascendente, y para eso ya tenemos a Claudia Piñeiro.
Borges decia que lamentablemente nos habiamos acostumbrado a leer libros en funcion de la historia en lugar de la estetica. En ese sentido la desilusion que genera "Nuestra parte de noche" es mayusculo, porque incluso cuando leamos en funcion de la historia no podemos encontrar algo que nos motive. La estetica, querido Jorge Luis, bien gracias.
Igualmente, no se trata de un libro malo, uno de esos libros que insultan la inteligencia del lector. No. No es "Ketuckis" de Schweblin. En todo caso es un libro irregular. Un libro que necesitaba mas de una revision. Que carece de movimiento. Alguien debio proyectarle a Enriquez las peliculas de Fred Astaire antes de sumergirse a escribir tanto. Pero como contraparte, la autora tiene la virtud de ser una escritora honesta. No engaña al lector en ningun momento de la novela y no ambiciona por arriba de su talento, y eso se agradece. Y se agradece mucho.
Y aqui vuelvo a la tangente... cuando leo un libro asi no puedo dejar de preguntarme que rol cumplen los editores. ¿Acaso un editor no se da cuenta que al libro le sobran paginas?. ¿No leen?, ¿no corrigen?, ¿no es acaso su trabajo señalarle al escritor que partes son mejor acortarlas, o reescribirlas u otorgarle mayor fluidez?. Hay determinadas partes que estan narradas con una torpeza increible. En otros momentos los personajes actuan como perfectos estupidos. Si la obra esta apuntada al publico en general -porque no genera ningun tipo de complejidad en su lectura/estructura- y se espera que sea boom de ventas (y muy probablemente lo sea), ¿no es mejor un libro mas corto y mas "redondo"?. Estoy seguro que muchas personas lo van a dejar por la mitad, y talvez ese fracaso sea mas culpa del editor que del escritor.
Es una lastima porque el fondo y las intenciones de Enriquez a la hora de emprender tamaña empresa son buenas. No es un desastre de cabo a rabo como "Una casa junto al Tragadero" de Mariano Quiros (increiblemente increible ganador del premio Tusquets 2018. Increible).
A lo mejor en algunos mercados la idea de "un gran libro" sea mas facil de vender. Quizás un libro largo genera mas hype; una promesa irreal de mas goce y aventura literaria. Como si a mayor cantidad de paginas mayor recompenza, o algo parecido reflexiono alguna vez Raymond Chandler.
Pero ahi estan esas obras fallidas para demostrarnos lo contrario. Ahi esta la "Gran Novela Americana", que produjo bodrios mundiales como "Ciudad en Llamas", "Breve Historia de Siete Asesinatos" o la levemente mas digna "El Nix". Libros intrascendentes de rapido olvidar (como sus autores), sin ningun tipo de triunfo mas que la extensión y la acumulación de historias deslavazadas que conforman el cuerpo de la misma. Si alguien alguna vez quiere aprender como acumular historias y no morir en el intento, recomiendo "El Plantador de Tabaco" de John Barth o "Estado de Gracia" de Joy Williams.
Esta claro que el panorama de narrativa actual, en lineas generales, es regular. A tal punto que criticarlo se convirtio en cliche. Tal vez que Enriquez se proponga escribir una novela de casi 700 paginas contando la historia de una familia que esta jodida desde el parrafo uno, sea un logro para los tiempos que corren, donde la ley del mercado parece dictar un "consuma rapido, consuma facil". Pero tambien debo decir que empece el año leyendo "Mona" de Pola Oloixarac (que junto a Enriquez me parece la mejor exponente de la nueva generacion de escritores indistintamente de generos); en aquel libro, Pola parece haber aprendido la tecnica del "menos es mas"... y sale triunfante. Ojala Mariana siga el mismo camino hacia el futuro.
En definitiva... un libro tambien es hecho por el lector y ninguna opinion es determinante. Quienes busquen sumergirse en una historia sencilla y no tengan demasiadas pretensiones en cuanto a formas y contenidos probablemente lo disfruten (recomendado para fans de Stephen King, por ejemplo), y para quienes busquen una historia compuesta, original, con profundidad de conceptos, talvez salgan algo decepcionados especialmente viendo quien firma la novela.
Una vez mas, en esta sardonica existencia, he sido victima del hype.
January 19, 2022
Me he quedado huérfana. Tras este libro, me he quedado huérfana. Ni siquiera me apetece leer otra cosa, porque el 'antes' fue cuando aún no había llegado al final de la novela y el 'después' es ahora.
Maldita bruja, la Enríquez, que me ha jodido el resto de lecturas.
Como dice mi buena amiga Piti: que escriba un libro de un millón de páginas, ya.
Maldita bruja, la Enríquez, que me ha jodido el resto de lecturas.
Como dice mi buena amiga Piti: que escriba un libro de un millón de páginas, ya.
December 18, 2023
For most of my adult life, I thought that horror just wasn’t for me. I associated the genre with older, male authors like H. P. Lovecraft or Stephen King, whose work I never found especially compelling or relatable. The kind of characters and fears that their fiction centered seemed very distant from my lived experience, and their massive popularity placed them on a cultural pedestal that I simply wasn’t interested in challenging. What’s the point, I thought, in reading things that were designed to scare you? Isn’t real life terrifying enough?
All this changed when I stumbled upon a short story collection titled Things We Lost in the Fire. I read it because it came highly recommended by people I trusted, and only realized it was horror halfway through the book. By that point, I was so captivated by Mariana Enríquez’s twisted imagination that I just wanted more. So I started dipping my toes in horror fiction written by women and queer people, only to discover that I did, in fact, love to read stuff that was designed to scare me. What makes horror good, I learned, is precisely its ability to sublimate societal and cultural anxieties into fictional scenarios; to create an imaginary bubble—a safe space, if you will—where nightmarish ideas can be explored and dissected with no real-life consequence.
And it’s this facet of the genre that Enríquez excels at. Her ability to explore the dark side of womanhood, family relations, and Latin American history has always been apparent in her writing, but her craft reaches new heights in Our Share of Night. This monumental novel grapples with four decades of Argentinian history, dissecting how collective traumas caused by dictatorship, colonialism, and poverty impact individual characters and their relationships with one another.
Through the eyes of a violent, traumatized father and his young son, we come face to face with the machinations of a corrupt cult whose ultra-rich members will stop at nothing to become even more powerful. Greed, the author seems to say, is an insatiable, self-cannibalizing monster that exploits the marginalized before eventually destroying the privileged, too. I know cannibalism has basically become a trend in contemporary fiction, but Enríquez uses this trope with skill and purpose to make a point about how the ruling classes have historically used occultism to try and further their agendas. Speaking of which: I don’t know who wrote the copy for the American edition, but this is very much not a vampire novel. How anyone could read the book and come to this conclusion is a mystery to me.
At the end of the day, all I can say about Our Share of Night is that it was my favorite book I read last year. It cast a spell on me that I haven’t been able to break ever since. Occasionally, I’ll find myself eyeing my copy on the bookshelf, tempted to pick it up and re-read a passage or two; but the anguish and distress it caused me are still so fresh in my mind that I can’t bring myself to do it. Turning the last page, I felt just like Gaspar, haunted by horrors too ancestral to be fully grasped by the human mind; only in my case, it was the monsters conjured by Mariana Enríquez’s imagination that I found impossible to shake off.
TW: domestic violence, child death/torture, government/police violence, sexual abuse, extreme gore, cannibalism.
All this changed when I stumbled upon a short story collection titled Things We Lost in the Fire. I read it because it came highly recommended by people I trusted, and only realized it was horror halfway through the book. By that point, I was so captivated by Mariana Enríquez’s twisted imagination that I just wanted more. So I started dipping my toes in horror fiction written by women and queer people, only to discover that I did, in fact, love to read stuff that was designed to scare me. What makes horror good, I learned, is precisely its ability to sublimate societal and cultural anxieties into fictional scenarios; to create an imaginary bubble—a safe space, if you will—where nightmarish ideas can be explored and dissected with no real-life consequence.
And it’s this facet of the genre that Enríquez excels at. Her ability to explore the dark side of womanhood, family relations, and Latin American history has always been apparent in her writing, but her craft reaches new heights in Our Share of Night. This monumental novel grapples with four decades of Argentinian history, dissecting how collective traumas caused by dictatorship, colonialism, and poverty impact individual characters and their relationships with one another.
Through the eyes of a violent, traumatized father and his young son, we come face to face with the machinations of a corrupt cult whose ultra-rich members will stop at nothing to become even more powerful. Greed, the author seems to say, is an insatiable, self-cannibalizing monster that exploits the marginalized before eventually destroying the privileged, too. I know cannibalism has basically become a trend in contemporary fiction, but Enríquez uses this trope with skill and purpose to make a point about how the ruling classes have historically used occultism to try and further their agendas. Speaking of which: I don’t know who wrote the copy for the American edition, but this is very much not a vampire novel. How anyone could read the book and come to this conclusion is a mystery to me.
At the end of the day, all I can say about Our Share of Night is that it was my favorite book I read last year. It cast a spell on me that I haven’t been able to break ever since. Occasionally, I’ll find myself eyeing my copy on the bookshelf, tempted to pick it up and re-read a passage or two; but the anguish and distress it caused me are still so fresh in my mind that I can’t bring myself to do it. Turning the last page, I felt just like Gaspar, haunted by horrors too ancestral to be fully grasped by the human mind; only in my case, it was the monsters conjured by Mariana Enríquez’s imagination that I found impossible to shake off.
TW: domestic violence, child death/torture, government/police violence, sexual abuse, extreme gore, cannibalism.
January 25, 2023
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Although I have previously quoted Lady Gaga’s iconic "talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it." to describe my feelings for another book, I can’t help but use them again in this review as they really capture my sentiments & thoughts towards Our Share of Night.
This is an elaborate genre-bending work that defies easy categorisations. Even a summary or a rundown of the story would not do it justice. It is dark, grotesque, obscure, and frankly mind-boggling. Yet, the way Mariana Enríquez manages to combine together tropes, themes, and aesthetics associated with the fantasy, gothic, and horror genres is utterly mesmerizing. Much of the narrative is animated by a fraught father-son relationship, one that is complicated by monstrous inheritances and destinies, sickness, and a history of violence, abuse and destruction. Over the course of the novel, Enríquez weaves together an unsettling tapestry, one that I was unable to look away from. As Enríquez navigates haunted people and places, the price of power and privilege, and the dark side of faith, she incorporates motifs of the uncanny and the Other while also presenting us with striking, and frankly horrifying, images of the abject and the sublime. While there is much brutality and cruelty within the pages of Our Share of Night, those almost work towards making those rare moments of lightness and tenderness all the more precious. The writing has this cinematic quality to it, one that results in some visually arresting & often disturbing scenes. The characters populating the story defy easy categorisation, with the exception perhaps of the older members of the Order (who are all f*cking evil). Ambivalence permeates the story and its characters, whose motives and desires more often than not elude and alienate us, allowing plenty of room for interpretation.
The narrative begins in January 1981 with a road trip. Juan, recently widowed, is in his late 20s and making his way from Buenos Aires with his son to visit his in-laws' estate, in northeast Argentina. His choice to drive there seems rather injudicious given the country’s climate of terror, and that his in-laws had bought him airplane tickets. But Juan needs to spend time alone with his son, Gaspar, as he is desperately trying to protect him from his own faith. His in-laws are prominent members of the Order, a cult formed by nauseatingly wealthy people who have powerful connections all over the world. The Order, we learn, has exploited Juan not only for his ability to see and commune with the dead but because his body can host the Darkness. To summon it they are willing to commit atrocities that defy human comprehension, be it enslaving and torturing children or driving their own members insane in ways that are too repulsive to mention here. Juan knows that the Order has its sights on Gaspar, and is painfully aware that he won’t be alive long enough to watch over him so he hatches a desperate plan to keep his son safe, even if it requires him to commit his own cruelties and even if it will inevitably push his son away from him.
We are later reunited with Gaspar in 1985 where we read of his bond with three other children, and of his fraying relationship with his father Juan, whose mercurial behaviour he can never predict or comprehend. The dictatorship’s aftermath, 80s popular culture and memorable events, make for a vivid backdrop against which Gaspar and his friends grow up. A sense of growing unease obfuscates much of his childhood, as his father begins to act in an increasingly incomprehensible and ‘deranged’ way. But Juan refuses to let Gaspar in, and in doing so their relationship begins to fray. Resentment and confusion lead Gaspar to find solace in his group of friends…but after one of their daring exploits takes a devastating turn, nothing is ever the same for them.
We then learn more about Gaspar’s mother, a woman who was complicit in the horrors and agenda of the Order, but someone who nonetheless was trying to steer the power away from the evilest people in the cult, her mother included. Her devotion to the Darkness and her inability to understand its true repercussion and ramifications (most of all on Juan) did not endear her to me. But her youth and upbringing do play a part in the way she understands this force and even if I could not bring myself to like her I appreciated that she wasn't made into a saint-like figure (the typical dead mother of the 'chosen one').
The novel concludes with a traumatized Gaspar trying to live with and make sense of his father’s dark inheritance. Here Enríquez interrogates the realities of living with the kind of baggage Gaspar is carrying around, and of the way, his exposure to some Dark Shit™ has irrevocably changed him.
As I said, this story is Dark. The type of dark that requires every trigger warning under the sun. While there are certain scenes and some elements within the story they do toe the line with being gratuitous and sensationalistic, what ultimately comes through is the empathy Enríquez demonstrates towards her core characters. There is a lot of politically incorrect language (particularly when talking about disabilities, amputees, poc & lgbtq+ ppl) but given the story’s setting, it seemed ‘realistic’ enough. Sure I did question the choice to have the only really explicit sex scenes be between men, and how we had to have a scene of a young teen questioning his sexuality just happen to ‘spy’ on two men having sex or his having to be enamoured with his straight best friend (i am kind of done with this trope tbh) but these are minor criticisms. I did mostly like the way Enríquez challenges the gay/straight dichotomy and the story’s esoteric take on the ‘androgyne’. Additionally I also liked that she incorporated the Guaraní language (as well as some beliefs) in her story.
My heart went out to Gaspar, even when he acted in a way that made me (or his loved ones) despair. True, the boy could be a bit basic (on his first crush: Belén “wanted too study engineering: she was different from other girls”; and: “the woman, though older, was beautiful; she wore no make-up—Gaspar didn’t like how make-up looked, especially lipstick”) but Enríquez really manages to make us feel and understand his struggle. From a child living in a solitary house with his inscrutable & volatile father, whose capacity and propensity to hurt him often leaves him feeling confused and afraid, to a teenager and young adult wracked by guilt and haunted by a force he cannot begin to comprehend, Gaspar is subjected to so much sorrow, sadness, and abuse throughout this story that it is impossible not to feel for him, especially when we witness how the years have eaten away at him. Enríquez also allows us to understand, never quite condone, Juan and his ways, and it was heartbreaking to see how much his experiences with the Order change him.
While the Order’s ideology and the way it operates are ultimately as horrifying as they are mystifying, we witness (first-hand or not) the terrifying lengths that they will go to achieve their goal. Their willingness and eagerness to exploit vulnerable people is reprehensible, and yet their wealth and ancestry (most are of white european heritage) endow them with the belief that they are more deserving than others, that their lives are more valuable.
In addition to crafting a brutal yet gripping tale about the lengths a father will go to to protect his son, Enríquez gives Gaspar’s own coming-of-age storyline a horror spin, making Our Share of Night into a difficult to pigeonhole novel. There were also so many details related to the time period the story unfolds in that made the setting seem hyper-real (making those places of horror all the more unsettling). Yet, while Enríquez’s nuanced portrayal of 80s Argentina grounds the characters in reality, their experiences with otherworldly forces ultimately transport them (and us) into more fantastical and macabre places.
While Our Share of Night is a distinctly unique book, I was reminded of several authors & books, the most obvious being Stephen King (a hotel room? a child seeing dead ppl? a group of kids who are dealing with some-thing-place that is truly evil?), Neil Gaiman, Scott Hawkins, the Dyachenko's Vita Nostra, T. Kingfisher’s The Hollow Places, Stephen Graham Jones, Elizabeth Hand, Helen Oyeyemi, Cadwell Turnbull’s No Gods, No Monsters (which i didn’t get but i might revisit it having loved this), Alex Landragin’s Crossings and quite a lot of horror collection of short stories, written by authors such as Amparo Dávila, Octavia E. Butler, and Sayaka Murata. I was even reminded of Stranger Things & Baccano!. So if you happen to like any of the names I just mentioned you should definitely consider picking up Our Share of Night. I much preferred it to Enríquez’s short stories, so even if you like me, were not particularly taken by her storytelling there, I recommend you give this a chance.
I am definitely planning on re-reading this (perhaps opting for the italian translation instead or hey ho since i am moving to spain soon i might even one day be able to read the original).
“You have something of mine, I passed on something of me to you, and hopefully it isn’t cursed, I don’t know if I can leave you something that isn’t dirty, that isn’t dark, our share of night”
Although I have previously quoted Lady Gaga’s iconic "talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it." to describe my feelings for another book, I can’t help but use them again in this review as they really capture my sentiments & thoughts towards Our Share of Night.
“He also remembered his father’s words, nothing can hurt you now, how long was now, how long did the present last?”
This is an elaborate genre-bending work that defies easy categorisations. Even a summary or a rundown of the story would not do it justice. It is dark, grotesque, obscure, and frankly mind-boggling. Yet, the way Mariana Enríquez manages to combine together tropes, themes, and aesthetics associated with the fantasy, gothic, and horror genres is utterly mesmerizing. Much of the narrative is animated by a fraught father-son relationship, one that is complicated by monstrous inheritances and destinies, sickness, and a history of violence, abuse and destruction. Over the course of the novel, Enríquez weaves together an unsettling tapestry, one that I was unable to look away from. As Enríquez navigates haunted people and places, the price of power and privilege, and the dark side of faith, she incorporates motifs of the uncanny and the Other while also presenting us with striking, and frankly horrifying, images of the abject and the sublime. While there is much brutality and cruelty within the pages of Our Share of Night, those almost work towards making those rare moments of lightness and tenderness all the more precious. The writing has this cinematic quality to it, one that results in some visually arresting & often disturbing scenes. The characters populating the story defy easy categorisation, with the exception perhaps of the older members of the Order (who are all f*cking evil). Ambivalence permeates the story and its characters, whose motives and desires more often than not elude and alienate us, allowing plenty of room for interpretation.
“There is no greater disappointment than to believe oneself the chosen one and not to be chosen.”
The narrative begins in January 1981 with a road trip. Juan, recently widowed, is in his late 20s and making his way from Buenos Aires with his son to visit his in-laws' estate, in northeast Argentina. His choice to drive there seems rather injudicious given the country’s climate of terror, and that his in-laws had bought him airplane tickets. But Juan needs to spend time alone with his son, Gaspar, as he is desperately trying to protect him from his own faith. His in-laws are prominent members of the Order, a cult formed by nauseatingly wealthy people who have powerful connections all over the world. The Order, we learn, has exploited Juan not only for his ability to see and commune with the dead but because his body can host the Darkness. To summon it they are willing to commit atrocities that defy human comprehension, be it enslaving and torturing children or driving their own members insane in ways that are too repulsive to mention here. Juan knows that the Order has its sights on Gaspar, and is painfully aware that he won’t be alive long enough to watch over him so he hatches a desperate plan to keep his son safe, even if it requires him to commit his own cruelties and even if it will inevitably push his son away from him.
“I’m going to miss him, he thought, I’ll be glad when he’s gone because without him it’ll be easier to stop being sad, but I’m going to miss him…”
We are later reunited with Gaspar in 1985 where we read of his bond with three other children, and of his fraying relationship with his father Juan, whose mercurial behaviour he can never predict or comprehend. The dictatorship’s aftermath, 80s popular culture and memorable events, make for a vivid backdrop against which Gaspar and his friends grow up. A sense of growing unease obfuscates much of his childhood, as his father begins to act in an increasingly incomprehensible and ‘deranged’ way. But Juan refuses to let Gaspar in, and in doing so their relationship begins to fray. Resentment and confusion lead Gaspar to find solace in his group of friends…but after one of their daring exploits takes a devastating turn, nothing is ever the same for them.
“It had the look of a spot where something bad had happened: an expectant air. Evil places wait for evil things to reoccur, or else they seek it out.”
We then learn more about Gaspar’s mother, a woman who was complicit in the horrors and agenda of the Order, but someone who nonetheless was trying to steer the power away from the evilest people in the cult, her mother included. Her devotion to the Darkness and her inability to understand its true repercussion and ramifications (most of all on Juan) did not endear her to me. But her youth and upbringing do play a part in the way she understands this force and even if I could not bring myself to like her I appreciated that she wasn't made into a saint-like figure (the typical dead mother of the 'chosen one').
“There is no arguing with faith, though. And it’s impossible to disbelieve when the Darkness comes. So, we trust, and we go on. At least, that’s what many of us do.”
The novel concludes with a traumatized Gaspar trying to live with and make sense of his father’s dark inheritance. Here Enríquez interrogates the realities of living with the kind of baggage Gaspar is carrying around, and of the way, his exposure to some Dark Shit™ has irrevocably changed him.
As I said, this story is Dark. The type of dark that requires every trigger warning under the sun. While there are certain scenes and some elements within the story they do toe the line with being gratuitous and sensationalistic, what ultimately comes through is the empathy Enríquez demonstrates towards her core characters. There is a lot of politically incorrect language (particularly when talking about disabilities, amputees, poc & lgbtq+ ppl) but given the story’s setting, it seemed ‘realistic’ enough. Sure I did question the choice to have the only really explicit sex scenes be between men, and how we had to have a scene of a young teen questioning his sexuality just happen to ‘spy’ on two men having sex or his having to be enamoured with his straight best friend (i am kind of done with this trope tbh) but these are minor criticisms. I did mostly like the way Enríquez challenges the gay/straight dichotomy and the story’s esoteric take on the ‘androgyne’. Additionally I also liked that she incorporated the Guaraní language (as well as some beliefs) in her story.
My heart went out to Gaspar, even when he acted in a way that made me (or his loved ones) despair. True, the boy could be a bit basic (on his first crush: Belén “wanted too study engineering: she was different from other girls”; and: “the woman, though older, was beautiful; she wore no make-up—Gaspar didn’t like how make-up looked, especially lipstick”) but Enríquez really manages to make us feel and understand his struggle. From a child living in a solitary house with his inscrutable & volatile father, whose capacity and propensity to hurt him often leaves him feeling confused and afraid, to a teenager and young adult wracked by guilt and haunted by a force he cannot begin to comprehend, Gaspar is subjected to so much sorrow, sadness, and abuse throughout this story that it is impossible not to feel for him, especially when we witness how the years have eaten away at him. Enríquez also allows us to understand, never quite condone, Juan and his ways, and it was heartbreaking to see how much his experiences with the Order change him.
“Even wih all the hatred, contempt, ambivalence, and repulsion he felt towards the Order, that power was still his, and he didn’t posses many things. Renunciations is easy when you have a lot, he thought. He had never had anything.”
While the Order’s ideology and the way it operates are ultimately as horrifying as they are mystifying, we witness (first-hand or not) the terrifying lengths that they will go to achieve their goal. Their willingness and eagerness to exploit vulnerable people is reprehensible, and yet their wealth and ancestry (most are of white european heritage) endow them with the belief that they are more deserving than others, that their lives are more valuable.
In addition to crafting a brutal yet gripping tale about the lengths a father will go to to protect his son, Enríquez gives Gaspar’s own coming-of-age storyline a horror spin, making Our Share of Night into a difficult to pigeonhole novel. There were also so many details related to the time period the story unfolds in that made the setting seem hyper-real (making those places of horror all the more unsettling). Yet, while Enríquez’s nuanced portrayal of 80s Argentina grounds the characters in reality, their experiences with otherworldly forces ultimately transport them (and us) into more fantastical and macabre places.
While Our Share of Night is a distinctly unique book, I was reminded of several authors & books, the most obvious being Stephen King (a hotel room? a child seeing dead ppl? a group of kids who are dealing with some-thing-place that is truly evil?), Neil Gaiman, Scott Hawkins, the Dyachenko's Vita Nostra, T. Kingfisher’s The Hollow Places, Stephen Graham Jones, Elizabeth Hand, Helen Oyeyemi, Cadwell Turnbull’s No Gods, No Monsters (which i didn’t get but i might revisit it having loved this), Alex Landragin’s Crossings and quite a lot of horror collection of short stories, written by authors such as Amparo Dávila, Octavia E. Butler, and Sayaka Murata. I was even reminded of Stranger Things & Baccano!. So if you happen to like any of the names I just mentioned you should definitely consider picking up Our Share of Night. I much preferred it to Enríquez’s short stories, so even if you like me, were not particularly taken by her storytelling there, I recommend you give this a chance.
I am definitely planning on re-reading this (perhaps opting for the italian translation instead or hey ho since i am moving to spain soon i might even one day be able to read the original).
July 24, 2021
QUÉ LIBRAZO.
QUÉ-LI-BRA-ZO.
Le voy a dar 4.5 porque la última parte no me impactó tanto como todas las demás y me hubiera gustado que incluyera algunos detalles de la resolución de Juan y Rosario, pero me encantó, estoy obse, me dio pesadillas y aunque es mi segundo libro del año recién, sin dudas esta va a ser mi lectura favorita del 2020.
Relectura: Escuché el audiolibro con calma para refrescar la historia antes de reseñarla, y fue una maravillosa experiencia. Me cerró todo esta vez y la narración es un plus muy bueno. Lo escuché en Scribd, pueden probar dos meses gratis por acá ❤
QUÉ-LI-BRA-ZO.
Le voy a dar 4.5 porque la última parte no me impactó tanto como todas las demás y me hubiera gustado que incluyera algunos detalles de la resolución de Juan y Rosario, pero me encantó, estoy obse, me dio pesadillas y aunque es mi segundo libro del año recién, sin dudas esta va a ser mi lectura favorita del 2020.
Relectura: Escuché el audiolibro con calma para refrescar la historia antes de reseñarla, y fue una maravillosa experiencia. Me cerró todo esta vez y la narración es un plus muy bueno. Lo escuché en Scribd, pueden probar dos meses gratis por acá ❤
October 28, 2021
After having my socks knocked off a few months ago by the short story collections of Mariana Enriquez, namely The Dangers of Smoking in Bed and Things We Lost in the Fire, I knew I had to read everything she had ever written. Unfortunately, when I looked online the only thing I could find out was that the English translation of a novel would be coming out next year with the title Our Share of the Night and I was like, shit this sounds like it’s going to be as dark, bold and impactful as her short stories. In despair I had a look online in Portuguese bookstores just to be on the safe side. I did this not because I think the Portuguese publishing industry is better than the British one (it’s not!) but because I know how much easier it is to come across Latin-American literature over there. As it turned out I was right and there it was A Nossa Parte da Noite published in October of 2020.
For the record, and in case you’re interested in this kind of stuff, both the Portuguese and English translations of the title are a direct translation of the original. No funny stuff here, if you know what I mean.
And now that I think it’s quite clear how much I was looking forward to it, let me try to describe my reading experience with this six hundred page dud.
So, on the back cover of my edition there’s what seems to be an anonymous quote stating that this is “The new great Latin-American novel to the likes of Hopscotch, One Hundred Years of Solitude or 2666”. Needless to say that all these three novels are very well known in Portugal, right?
And here’s another thing: I’ve read them all and couldn’t find anything in common between this book and any of them, and so I’m “forced” to assume that the bloody quote is more related to wishful thinking than about the reality of facts.
Because, my friends (and I could see that a lot of Portuguese friends have been following my progress all along) this is not worth the time and the money (Twenty five euros, really?!). I really wish I had something positive to say but I don’t. For me the biggest surprise about all of this was the fact that I managed to find the patience to finish it. God, what a chore!
The first part, which goes on for nearly a hundred and sixty pages can only be described as something like stepping into one of those nightmares where one doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on.
The second part was, plot wise, just a ten page long unnecessary short story suitable for the editor’s rubbish bin.
The third part which is as lengthy as the first one was definitely my favourite even though I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had read all that before as short stories in Enriquez’s collections. Actually, now that I’m thinking of it, the whole story didn’t bring anything new to me and I just feel like the author basically tried to stretch out all of her short fiction and turn it into a novel.
From here, and as if things weren’t bad enough, we jump into what for me was the end of any sort of enjoyment. In the (also very long) fourth part, instead of providing any answers or at least making sure that there was a thread worth following, the author takes us back to a time prior to the earlier chapters. Thus making it a hundred percent certainty that we still wouldn’t understand a thing about what was going on while the characters struggled with a bad trip on acid and weed. From this point onwards I was completely sure that this story couldn’t possibly go anywhere.
Ah, the despair… The boredom… What the hell…
Before going to the last (and once again very long) sixth and final part, the author still found it necessary to write a fifth one; again just another pointless short story (loosely connected to the main plot) before (finally) taking me to one of the most underwhelming endings I have ever read. That last part was, in my opinion, just a pile of rushed nonsense and by the time I turned the last page I was more angry than anything else.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I do understand that there’s a lot of social, cultural and political aspects within it, and that’s something I always appreciate. I believe I can see what the author was trying to do. I really do, but trying doesn’t always means succeeding, right?
I also can’t blame the translation because that was, as far as I’m concerned, completely flawless.
By the end of the day, it all came down to terrible characterisation, dreadful dialogue, the wrong approach regarding structure and what it seems to me lacking the required skills when trying to put all the pieces together.
Look.. I mean, listen… Or read…Whatever…
I could go on and on telling you about how all the characters, with no exception, seemed to be only puppets created just so the author could have a voice. I could also go on and on about how gratuitous all the violence was or how some more (underdeveloped) characters were created just so the author could add some more themes, violence, sad events and historical facts to the narrative, but because this has already turned into my longest rambling ever on Goodreads, I am really going to stop and move on with my reading life.
Ah…! Just one last thing…Let me just give you what I think is a good example to demonstrate just how bloated all this was: I really don’t believe it is necessary for the reader to know what a character who disappeared for more than three hundred pages is wearing and what his hair looks like within the last twenty pages, where he finally (and predictably) shows up again.
Too little, too late.
And I take back my earlier comment about having to read everything Enriquez’s has ever written.
The sadness is real.
Disappointment of the century!
For the record, and in case you’re interested in this kind of stuff, both the Portuguese and English translations of the title are a direct translation of the original. No funny stuff here, if you know what I mean.
And now that I think it’s quite clear how much I was looking forward to it, let me try to describe my reading experience with this six hundred page dud.
So, on the back cover of my edition there’s what seems to be an anonymous quote stating that this is “The new great Latin-American novel to the likes of Hopscotch, One Hundred Years of Solitude or 2666”. Needless to say that all these three novels are very well known in Portugal, right?
And here’s another thing: I’ve read them all and couldn’t find anything in common between this book and any of them, and so I’m “forced” to assume that the bloody quote is more related to wishful thinking than about the reality of facts.
Because, my friends (and I could see that a lot of Portuguese friends have been following my progress all along) this is not worth the time and the money (Twenty five euros, really?!). I really wish I had something positive to say but I don’t. For me the biggest surprise about all of this was the fact that I managed to find the patience to finish it. God, what a chore!
The first part, which goes on for nearly a hundred and sixty pages can only be described as something like stepping into one of those nightmares where one doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on.
The second part was, plot wise, just a ten page long unnecessary short story suitable for the editor’s rubbish bin.
The third part which is as lengthy as the first one was definitely my favourite even though I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had read all that before as short stories in Enriquez’s collections. Actually, now that I’m thinking of it, the whole story didn’t bring anything new to me and I just feel like the author basically tried to stretch out all of her short fiction and turn it into a novel.
From here, and as if things weren’t bad enough, we jump into what for me was the end of any sort of enjoyment. In the (also very long) fourth part, instead of providing any answers or at least making sure that there was a thread worth following, the author takes us back to a time prior to the earlier chapters. Thus making it a hundred percent certainty that we still wouldn’t understand a thing about what was going on while the characters struggled with a bad trip on acid and weed. From this point onwards I was completely sure that this story couldn’t possibly go anywhere.
Ah, the despair… The boredom… What the hell…
Before going to the last (and once again very long) sixth and final part, the author still found it necessary to write a fifth one; again just another pointless short story (loosely connected to the main plot) before (finally) taking me to one of the most underwhelming endings I have ever read. That last part was, in my opinion, just a pile of rushed nonsense and by the time I turned the last page I was more angry than anything else.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I do understand that there’s a lot of social, cultural and political aspects within it, and that’s something I always appreciate. I believe I can see what the author was trying to do. I really do, but trying doesn’t always means succeeding, right?
I also can’t blame the translation because that was, as far as I’m concerned, completely flawless.
By the end of the day, it all came down to terrible characterisation, dreadful dialogue, the wrong approach regarding structure and what it seems to me lacking the required skills when trying to put all the pieces together.
Look.. I mean, listen… Or read…Whatever…
I could go on and on telling you about how all the characters, with no exception, seemed to be only puppets created just so the author could have a voice. I could also go on and on about how gratuitous all the violence was or how some more (underdeveloped) characters were created just so the author could add some more themes, violence, sad events and historical facts to the narrative, but because this has already turned into my longest rambling ever on Goodreads, I am really going to stop and move on with my reading life.
Ah…! Just one last thing…Let me just give you what I think is a good example to demonstrate just how bloated all this was: I really don’t believe it is necessary for the reader to know what a character who disappeared for more than three hundred pages is wearing and what his hair looks like within the last twenty pages, where he finally (and predictably) shows up again.
Too little, too late.
And I take back my earlier comment about having to read everything Enriquez’s has ever written.
The sadness is real.
Disappointment of the century!
November 1, 2020
No tengo duda alguna de que este será mi libro favorito del año.
August 12, 2021
Una historia que me marcó, me produjo múltiples sensaciones y que viví intensamente solo podría considerarla una pieza de oro invaluable.
Nuestra parte de noche inicia con Juan, un padre que hará lo que esté en sus manos para que su hijo Gaspar pueda escapar del terrible destino que tiene fríamente calculado a su corta edad. Es una historia plagada de mitos, leyendas, ritos, cultos, dioses antiguos, espíritus, médiums, casas tenebrosas que dan mala espina, gente muy trastornada, etcétera, etcétera. Sí, lo sé, muy variado el mejunje y también bastante manoseado hasta no decir más.
Con una ambientación para chiflar y aplaudir de admiración en una Argentina convulsa. Con una amplia variedad de personajes que son cuestionables, retorcidos, deleznables; abrigados de una gran escala de grises que la mayoría del tiempo se torna más oscura que clara. No voy a mentir, son muchos los que narran la historia y aportan un granito de arena en la conformación del puzzle; con un hilo conductor que no sigue una cronología para nada ordenada. No es un libro fácil al inicio porque te deja varado en una laguna donde tienes que descifrar muchas cosas, por lo que claro, tampoco es un libro para todo el mundo. Se toma su tiempo hilvanando y construyendo todo por retazos.
Personalmente, Mariana Enríquez no me decepciona ni por un pelillo. Esta mujer me dejó la piel chinita con escenas potentes y turbias; de esas imágenes que quedan grabadas en la retina por un buen tiempo. Emociones fuertes y experiencias personales que traspasan las páginas del libro con violencia, llegando al punto que repugna, asombra y atemoriza en partes iguales. El terror, el horror y ese suspenso siempre tensionante y que te tiene con la piel erizada está excelentemente logrado.
Aquí, en Nuestra parte de noche Mariana Enríquez solidifica todo su universo y alcanza la cúspide de los niveles de oscuridad existentes en la vida humana. Trata temáticas como el abuso de poder, las relaciones familiares (en especial la de padre-hijo), los lazos de sangre, la espiritualidad, la muerte, la oscuridad, la constante muestra de la sexualidad y el deseo en los personajes. Hay mucha violencia, locura y maldad descarnada; tan potente y salvaje que hay momentos en los que no sabes si dejar de leer o seguir.
Para mí es indudable el hecho de que no le quito ni una sola página. Nada me parece relleno, ni sobras para tirar a la basura. Es un libro claro en su eje, que escarba bastante profundo para sacar a la luz los restos que quedan escondidos bajo tierra; extrayendo esa oscuridad compacta que anida en su interior, negándose rotundamente a dejar algo oculto bajo la sombra, solo que aunque estés a luz del día no puedes sentir ni un poco de comodidad ante la terrible podredumbre que expulsa y contamina el aire. Una completa maravilla y que encabeza la lista como número uno entre las mejores lecturas del año.
P.D. El detalle de mostrar y ahondar más sobre el cuento La casa de Adela (incluido en la antología Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego), me ha fascinado aún más. No miento si quedé maravillado por completo.
Nuestra parte de noche inicia con Juan, un padre que hará lo que esté en sus manos para que su hijo Gaspar pueda escapar del terrible destino que tiene fríamente calculado a su corta edad. Es una historia plagada de mitos, leyendas, ritos, cultos, dioses antiguos, espíritus, médiums, casas tenebrosas que dan mala espina, gente muy trastornada, etcétera, etcétera. Sí, lo sé, muy variado el mejunje y también bastante manoseado hasta no decir más.
Con una ambientación para chiflar y aplaudir de admiración en una Argentina convulsa. Con una amplia variedad de personajes que son cuestionables, retorcidos, deleznables; abrigados de una gran escala de grises que la mayoría del tiempo se torna más oscura que clara. No voy a mentir, son muchos los que narran la historia y aportan un granito de arena en la conformación del puzzle; con un hilo conductor que no sigue una cronología para nada ordenada. No es un libro fácil al inicio porque te deja varado en una laguna donde tienes que descifrar muchas cosas, por lo que claro, tampoco es un libro para todo el mundo. Se toma su tiempo hilvanando y construyendo todo por retazos.
Personalmente, Mariana Enríquez no me decepciona ni por un pelillo. Esta mujer me dejó la piel chinita con escenas potentes y turbias; de esas imágenes que quedan grabadas en la retina por un buen tiempo. Emociones fuertes y experiencias personales que traspasan las páginas del libro con violencia, llegando al punto que repugna, asombra y atemoriza en partes iguales. El terror, el horror y ese suspenso siempre tensionante y que te tiene con la piel erizada está excelentemente logrado.
Aquí, en Nuestra parte de noche Mariana Enríquez solidifica todo su universo y alcanza la cúspide de los niveles de oscuridad existentes en la vida humana. Trata temáticas como el abuso de poder, las relaciones familiares (en especial la de padre-hijo), los lazos de sangre, la espiritualidad, la muerte, la oscuridad, la constante muestra de la sexualidad y el deseo en los personajes. Hay mucha violencia, locura y maldad descarnada; tan potente y salvaje que hay momentos en los que no sabes si dejar de leer o seguir.
Para mí es indudable el hecho de que no le quito ni una sola página. Nada me parece relleno, ni sobras para tirar a la basura. Es un libro claro en su eje, que escarba bastante profundo para sacar a la luz los restos que quedan escondidos bajo tierra; extrayendo esa oscuridad compacta que anida en su interior, negándose rotundamente a dejar algo oculto bajo la sombra, solo que aunque estés a luz del día no puedes sentir ni un poco de comodidad ante la terrible podredumbre que expulsa y contamina el aire. Una completa maravilla y que encabeza la lista como número uno entre las mejores lecturas del año.
P.D. El detalle de mostrar y ahondar más sobre el cuento La casa de Adela (incluido en la antología Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego), me ha fascinado aún más. No miento si quedé maravillado por completo.
January 11, 2024
Empecé a leer este libro a inicios de la pandemia, pero lo abandoné después de unas veinte páginas porque el mundo me abrumaba. Me leí otros tres libros de Mariana y apenas ahora decidí aventarme su obra más popular. ¿Qué puedo decir que no se haya dicho antes? Lo merece todo.
December 26, 2023
Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez
Other Books I Enjoyed by This Author: The Dangers of Smoking in Bed, Things We Lost in the Fire
Affiliate Link: https://bookshop.org/a/7576/978045149...
Release Date: February 2023
General Genre: (BISAC)Horror, Gothic, Hispanic & Latino, Romance
Sub-Genre/Themes: Cults, occult, secret societies, families, fathers & sons, romance, child abuse, grief, ritualistic sacrifice, death & dying, supernatural, friendship, LBGTQ representation, Argentina (1960s & 1980s) Hispanic/Latine
Writing Style: Multiple POVs, family saga, intricately plotted, epic/sweeping
What You Need to Know: I read the eBook but I have the physical book. I need to say that you must be in the proper mood/headspace for this book. It’s so heavy–meaty. It’s difficult to even read any other books at the same time, this story occupies a lot of mental bandwidth. When you decide to dive in, do so with the intent to stay for the long haul. Prepare to settle in with the storytelling style–don’t rush.
My Reading Experience: My 3 notes and 66 highlights are available
The world-building and expansive scope of this project is staggering. Mariana Enriquez crafted an entire family saga from beginning to end and told the story in 600 pages. Going into this book, I had only ever read her short story collections, which I loved (I enjoyed Things We Lost in the Fire a bit more than Dangers of Smoking in Bed) but it was so impressive to go from a fan of these tight little horror packages to this sprawling saga.
A secret society known as The Order works together to achieve their mission in life. Led by one of the most terrifying women in literature, Mercedes, The Order will stop at nothing to find powerful mediums/oracles that will unlock the secrets to the power of the Darkness.
“Mercedes was the firmest believer in the exercise of cruelty and perversion as the path to secret illumination.”
We first meet Juan, one of The Order’s powerful mediums, and his son Gaspar. Juan believes that The Order will come for Gaspar once Juan is no longer of use to them so he is on a quest to hide his son from their reach.
“Juan was determined that his son would not belong to the Order, at least as long as he could avoid it. They would not have that prize.”
Enriquez uses multiple perspectives to tell this complicated story over a few decades. The writing is lush and decadent; descriptions of Juan’s ceremonials and demonstrations of power are so visually cinematic, that I saw them in my mind as an animated movie like Howl’s Moving Castle or Spirited Away–vibrant colors with dark, whimsical fantasy.
Despite Juan’s boorish, violent nature–the romance between him and Gaspar’s mother Rosario, and also her sister Tali, is beautiful. One of my favorite aspects of this tale. Some of the lines were so sexy
“Please don’t leave me alone, haunt me.”
The hardest part of this book was the relationship between Gaspar and his father, Juan. God, it hurt so bad. The back-and-forth emotional struggle between love and pain was gut-wrenching. The lengths Juan would go to protect his son were too much–too extreme. All of the young people in this book suffer. And that’s the horror of this book–what the children and young people must endure at the hands of those who love them or want something from them like the physical torture inflicted upon those Mercedes believes to be mediums or oracles. Some scenes were just mind-altering.
Final Recommendation: One of the most intricately plotted horror novels of our time. A masterpiece. Defies genre boundaries with its violently graphic horror elements, characters with supernatural abilities, dark fantasy-style descriptions, and the fiery passions of romance. The full package.
Comps: Firestarter by Stephen King (a powerful entity hunting a gifted child), The Hacienda by Isabel Cañas (supernatural, Gothic, family, occult), Saturnalia by Stephanie Feldman (occult, mediums, secret societies)
Other Books I Enjoyed by This Author: The Dangers of Smoking in Bed, Things We Lost in the Fire
Affiliate Link: https://bookshop.org/a/7576/978045149...
Release Date: February 2023
General Genre: (BISAC)Horror, Gothic, Hispanic & Latino, Romance
Sub-Genre/Themes: Cults, occult, secret societies, families, fathers & sons, romance, child abuse, grief, ritualistic sacrifice, death & dying, supernatural, friendship, LBGTQ representation, Argentina (1960s & 1980s) Hispanic/Latine
Writing Style: Multiple POVs, family saga, intricately plotted, epic/sweeping
What You Need to Know: I read the eBook but I have the physical book. I need to say that you must be in the proper mood/headspace for this book. It’s so heavy–meaty. It’s difficult to even read any other books at the same time, this story occupies a lot of mental bandwidth. When you decide to dive in, do so with the intent to stay for the long haul. Prepare to settle in with the storytelling style–don’t rush.
My Reading Experience: My 3 notes and 66 highlights are available
The world-building and expansive scope of this project is staggering. Mariana Enriquez crafted an entire family saga from beginning to end and told the story in 600 pages. Going into this book, I had only ever read her short story collections, which I loved (I enjoyed Things We Lost in the Fire a bit more than Dangers of Smoking in Bed) but it was so impressive to go from a fan of these tight little horror packages to this sprawling saga.
A secret society known as The Order works together to achieve their mission in life. Led by one of the most terrifying women in literature, Mercedes, The Order will stop at nothing to find powerful mediums/oracles that will unlock the secrets to the power of the Darkness.
“Mercedes was the firmest believer in the exercise of cruelty and perversion as the path to secret illumination.”
We first meet Juan, one of The Order’s powerful mediums, and his son Gaspar. Juan believes that The Order will come for Gaspar once Juan is no longer of use to them so he is on a quest to hide his son from their reach.
“Juan was determined that his son would not belong to the Order, at least as long as he could avoid it. They would not have that prize.”
Enriquez uses multiple perspectives to tell this complicated story over a few decades. The writing is lush and decadent; descriptions of Juan’s ceremonials and demonstrations of power are so visually cinematic, that I saw them in my mind as an animated movie like Howl’s Moving Castle or Spirited Away–vibrant colors with dark, whimsical fantasy.
Despite Juan’s boorish, violent nature–the romance between him and Gaspar’s mother Rosario, and also her sister Tali, is beautiful. One of my favorite aspects of this tale. Some of the lines were so sexy
“Please don’t leave me alone, haunt me.”
The hardest part of this book was the relationship between Gaspar and his father, Juan. God, it hurt so bad. The back-and-forth emotional struggle between love and pain was gut-wrenching. The lengths Juan would go to protect his son were too much–too extreme. All of the young people in this book suffer. And that’s the horror of this book–what the children and young people must endure at the hands of those who love them or want something from them like the physical torture inflicted upon those Mercedes believes to be mediums or oracles. Some scenes were just mind-altering.
Final Recommendation: One of the most intricately plotted horror novels of our time. A masterpiece. Defies genre boundaries with its violently graphic horror elements, characters with supernatural abilities, dark fantasy-style descriptions, and the fiery passions of romance. The full package.
Comps: Firestarter by Stephen King (a powerful entity hunting a gifted child), The Hacienda by Isabel Cañas (supernatural, Gothic, family, occult), Saturnalia by Stephanie Feldman (occult, mediums, secret societies)
March 16, 2020
Terminé este libro con el estómago revuelto y las emociones descontroladas. En la narrativa de Mariana Enríquez se condensa todo lo que me gusta, desde su imaginario hasta el detalle de los personajes. Sentí mucho miedo, hay imágenes que no me puedo quitar de la mente, como aquella donde Adela dice adiós por la puerta a sus amigos. En general Mariana Enríquez teje con detalle una trama que es imposible no imaginarla, no agarrarle cariño y no gritar cuando es necesario. La historia además, por más que tenga los detalles fantásticos de fantasmas, demonios, aparecidos nunca es inverosímil, la autora cuida que su universo tenga claridad y consistencia. Y sí, como ya he leído sus cuentos me encantó encontrarme con Adela de nuevo y otros guiños, a mi parecer se podría decir que toda la escritura de Enríquez sucede en el mismo mundo y tenemos que ir encontrando las pistas. Contrario a lo que piensan los demás, la forma en que se desencadena el final es magistral, nada en la historia es gratuito, desde el texto periodístico que inserta hasta las decisiones que toma cada uno de los personajes. Se cierra el círculo y es perfecto. ¡Estoy encantada con esta obra! Ya vayan a leerla.
February 7, 2023
One of my favorite books of this or any other century.
October 11, 2022
This was DARK. Very dark. And mysterious. And addictive. And so perfectly paced. One of my favourite books of 2022!
January 25, 2020
Acá se condensa todo el universo de Mariana. La novela total
August 28, 2021
Mariana Enríquez fue mi descubrimiento del 2020.
Y no tiene nada que pedirle a ningún Stephen king. (Por ejemplo).
Una novela de horror narrada a 3 voces y en diferentes épocas.
Lo que me encantó es que logra retratar muy bien los distintos escenarios sociales y políticos de las diferentes épocas, pero no sólo eso… Ella logra hilarlos muy bien a la trama. Cosa que muy pocas veces se logra, muchas veces se lee como si fueran notas aparte, pero no en este caso. Así que Bravo!!
Lo que no me gustó tanto , es qué hay momentos en que se vuelve repetitiva y siento que el final fue muy abrupto.
¿Que si la recomiendo? Siiii! Advertido vas de que más que lo sobrenatural… el verdadero terror es la naturaleza humana .
Y no tiene nada que pedirle a ningún Stephen king. (Por ejemplo).
Una novela de horror narrada a 3 voces y en diferentes épocas.
Lo que me encantó es que logra retratar muy bien los distintos escenarios sociales y políticos de las diferentes épocas, pero no sólo eso… Ella logra hilarlos muy bien a la trama. Cosa que muy pocas veces se logra, muchas veces se lee como si fueran notas aparte, pero no en este caso. Así que Bravo!!
Lo que no me gustó tanto , es qué hay momentos en que se vuelve repetitiva y siento que el final fue muy abrupto.
¿Que si la recomiendo? Siiii! Advertido vas de que más que lo sobrenatural… el verdadero terror es la naturaleza humana .
December 2, 2019
Extraña y caótica novela, de difícil acceso en sus primeras cien páginas. La escasa información que la autora desmigaja gradualmente provoca desconcierto y hastío en el lector (me incluyo en la lista). Sin embargo, hay que insistir, pelar la cáscara de la fruta para encontrarnos de golpe con las entrañas corrompidas, pútridas; como si de pronto nos hubiésemos perdido en los vericuetos de una casa embrujada, hasta marearnos, y abriésemos la única puerta que nos prohibieron abrir. Enriquez parece ambicionar una novela coral, extensa, con ecos a The Shining y Doctor Sleep, abarcando los tópicos explorados en toda su obra anterior, que los fans sabrán reconocer y apreciar. Ahí están, por ejemplo, los hombres trágicos, hermosos y bisexuales de Bajar es lo peor; las villas y los bajos fondos de Cómo desaparecer completamente; los boliches y las desapariciones de Chicos que vuelven; los santitos, los rituales ocultos, las casas embrujadas y la pampa inhóspita de Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego; y oh sorpresa, la inclusión y extrapolación de los personajes del cuento "La casa de Adela", rescatados aquí como parte de la trama principal. Si bien el hilo narrativo se pierde en determinados capítulos y algunos personajes resultan planos, sorprende que un puzzle tan desbordado como este haya ganado el Herralde, un premio bastante venido a menos (recuerden República luminosa o la vomitiva Lectura fácil). Algo me dice que la Enriquez se ha planteado esta novela como un colofón de la primera parte de su literatura y está más que lista para emprender nuevos rumbos narrativos en su segunda etapa. Aquí la esperaremos, relamiéndonos de gusto.
January 19, 2023
His son was crying, but Juan couldn’t console him. Gaspar missed his mother— she had done these things automatically: trimmed his nails, sewn his buttons, washed behind his ears and between his toes, asked if he’d peed before leaving, taught him how to tie his shoelaces in a perfect bow. Juan missed her too, but he didn’t want to cry with his son that morning. You have everything you want? he asked. We’re not going to come back for anything, I’m warning you.
loc96 Kindle ebook
The main character, Juan, warns everyone at this early point in the book. He's warning his recently orphaned son, Gaspar, that he is not a loving father, so not to expect it. He is warning him life is about to change in horrible and inescapable ways, that his warning is all he will ever have again.
This warning is also for the reader, and it's for similar reasons. None of the characters will behave as we expect them to--no such thing as friendship or family loyalty as we know it, and violence might come from any unlikely source, and be directed at any unlikely target. "We're not coming back," Jaun says, but what he means is, the only way out, is through.
I found this book difficult. The form is haphazardly organized, in appearance if not in design, looping and looping. Perhaps it's above my head. I actually think it's the second. I had a language and style issue also, that I initially thought was a translation problem. But it's not. Enriquez meant for some of the English sentences to be challenging syntactically, or so it seems. In a way, I couldn't access this book.
I do not know how to rate this book. I recognize how brilliant it is, even though I was left outside of it. For that I want to give it 5 stars. But I floundered with this huge book for hours, which means the writer's vision is inaccessible to its target audience. Right? I'm a horror reader in English. And for that I would give it 2 stars. Averaged, that's 3.5 stars. It deserves rounding up because as I said before, I can tell it's a brilliant work of horror fiction.
Thank you NetGalley, Hogarth, Random House Publishing Group, Mariana Enriquez, and Megan McDowell for the chance to read this ARC.
Rating 3.5 stars, rounded up to 4 stars
Finished November 2022
Recommended for readers who can read the original translation; fans of horror, cult thrillers, magical realism, family sagas with horror/thriller elements
TW there are so many triggers in this book, see if you can find a list on the author's website. Violence against children, knives and cutting and stabbing, DV, SA, cults, blood cults, toxic relationships, blood, abandonment
*Follow my Instagram book blog for all my reviews, challenges, and book lists! http://www.instagram.com/donasbooks *
loc96 Kindle ebook
The main character, Juan, warns everyone at this early point in the book. He's warning his recently orphaned son, Gaspar, that he is not a loving father, so not to expect it. He is warning him life is about to change in horrible and inescapable ways, that his warning is all he will ever have again.
This warning is also for the reader, and it's for similar reasons. None of the characters will behave as we expect them to--no such thing as friendship or family loyalty as we know it, and violence might come from any unlikely source, and be directed at any unlikely target. "We're not coming back," Jaun says, but what he means is, the only way out, is through.
I found this book difficult. The form is haphazardly organized, in appearance if not in design, looping and looping. Perhaps it's above my head. I actually think it's the second. I had a language and style issue also, that I initially thought was a translation problem. But it's not. Enriquez meant for some of the English sentences to be challenging syntactically, or so it seems. In a way, I couldn't access this book.
I do not know how to rate this book. I recognize how brilliant it is, even though I was left outside of it. For that I want to give it 5 stars. But I floundered with this huge book for hours, which means the writer's vision is inaccessible to its target audience. Right? I'm a horror reader in English. And for that I would give it 2 stars. Averaged, that's 3.5 stars. It deserves rounding up because as I said before, I can tell it's a brilliant work of horror fiction.
Thank you NetGalley, Hogarth, Random House Publishing Group, Mariana Enriquez, and Megan McDowell for the chance to read this ARC.
Rating 3.5 stars, rounded up to 4 stars
Finished November 2022
Recommended for readers who can read the original translation; fans of horror, cult thrillers, magical realism, family sagas with horror/thriller elements
TW there are so many triggers in this book, see if you can find a list on the author's website. Violence against children, knives and cutting and stabbing, DV, SA, cults, blood cults, toxic relationships, blood, abandonment
*Follow my Instagram book blog for all my reviews, challenges, and book lists! http://www.instagram.com/donasbooks *
August 23, 2023
DNF @ 50%
IMO this book should've been cut by half. The core story is interesting, but the reader gets dragged along with so many pointless characters that I started to feel like I was watching a filler episode of a tv-show I should've abandoned a long time ago but can't because I'm too invested, only without any of the investment.
Since the dad is a total jerk and the kid has the personality of a wet wipe, I didn't even have spending time with them to look forward to.
I'd rather read two good books instead of this tombstone.
IMO this book should've been cut by half. The core story is interesting, but the reader gets dragged along with so many pointless characters that I started to feel like I was watching a filler episode of a tv-show I should've abandoned a long time ago but can't because I'm too invested, only without any of the investment.
Since the dad is a total jerk and the kid has the personality of a wet wipe, I didn't even have spending time with them to look forward to.
I'd rather read two good books instead of this tombstone.
February 25, 2022
Mi parte de día
¿Qué bombazo esta novela, no? Bastó que pusiera por acá que empezaba a leerla para que me llovieran los likes. En una encuestita tuitera tuvo muchos votos como la mejor ficción argentina del Siglo XXI. Yo, lamentablemente, no puedo ser parte de esa euforia, básicamente, por una cuestión de género.
"No hay géneros malos, hay buena o mala literatura nomás" dice una frase muy conocida. Esa frase tiene un correlato que implica que en cada género puede surgir una obra maestra, no solo en la literatura, sino también en las otras artes como el cine o la música. Yo no soy muy fanático de las novelas gráficas, sin embargo, cuando leí Maus de Art Spiegelman sentí el deslumbre de las obras maestras. Pensaba que con este libro me iba a pasar lo mismo. Que por primera vez me iba a impactar una novela de un género que no me gusta nada; el terror o, si se quiere la fantasía. Pero no me pasó.
Me parece un hallazgo que haya metido este submundo de médiums y ocultistas en los tiempos de la última dictadura argentina. Imagino que esos años de desapariciones, torturas y asesinatos, la más oscura de nuestra historia, fue una temporada altísima para quiénes practican o creen en los vínculos con lo que vaporosamente se llama "el más allá". Yo, tal vez híperracionalista, no puedo dejar de ver todo eso como una gran estupidez. Y este sentimiento me acompañó en la lectura de toda la novela.
Pensaba mientras la leía que, al revés del efecto buscado, que sería más que nada asustar más y mejor, este género rebaja el dolor y el morbo. Digo, si te cuentan de chicos mutilados, viejos torturados y cosas por el estilo, por efecto de un monstruo, pierde fuerza contra, por ejemplo, que te cuenten de un nene que efectivamente se hizo un raspón al caerse de la bicicleta. Sobre el final, por poner un caso, se cuenta que al protagonista "le arrancaron las uñas", así sin más, y después todo sigue como si nada.
Me pasó además algo horrible. Cuando me faltaban unas 100 páginas para terminarla tuve que suspender la lectura para preparar unos exámenes. Cuando la retomé 10 días después, me di cuenta de que no me importaba nada lo que estaba leyendo, no volví a entrar en clima. Quien sabe, tal vez dentro de unos años, esta novela persista en mi memoria más que el promedio.
Le voy a hacer el peor elogio posible a una novela: deberían hacer una película o una serie con esta historia. No me extrañaría que alguien haya comprado los derechos, ya. Sería un stranger things meets el Pombero. Yo no la vería, pero sería un exitazo.
Ahora, yo escribo todo esto, pero esta novela es tal vez el último boom argentino. Muchos creen que es lo mejor que se escribió en el país en este siglo XXI. No por nada le dieron el Premio Herralde, además. Llegué a esta novela porque se la regalé a mi sobrina, fanática de Stephen King, que me dijo que era el mejor libro que había leído en su vida. Después pasó por mi suegra y miqueridaesposa, a las que también les gustó mucho.
- Ahora, si sabías que iba a hacer así de la primera oración a la última, ¿Para qué la seguiste leyendo hasta el final? me preguntó hace unos días Miqueridaesposa
- Para escribir una reseña en Goodreads - fue mi tímida y ridícula respuesta.
==
Si te gustan mis reseñas tal vez también te guste mi newsletter sobre libros que se llama "No se puede leer todo". Se pueden suscribir gratis, poniendo su mail en este link: eepurl.com/hbwz7v La encuentran en Twitter como @Nosepuedeleert1, en Instagram como @Nosepuedeleertodo y en Facebook.
Gracias, te espero
Sant
¿Qué bombazo esta novela, no? Bastó que pusiera por acá que empezaba a leerla para que me llovieran los likes. En una encuestita tuitera tuvo muchos votos como la mejor ficción argentina del Siglo XXI. Yo, lamentablemente, no puedo ser parte de esa euforia, básicamente, por una cuestión de género.
"No hay géneros malos, hay buena o mala literatura nomás" dice una frase muy conocida. Esa frase tiene un correlato que implica que en cada género puede surgir una obra maestra, no solo en la literatura, sino también en las otras artes como el cine o la música. Yo no soy muy fanático de las novelas gráficas, sin embargo, cuando leí Maus de Art Spiegelman sentí el deslumbre de las obras maestras. Pensaba que con este libro me iba a pasar lo mismo. Que por primera vez me iba a impactar una novela de un género que no me gusta nada; el terror o, si se quiere la fantasía. Pero no me pasó.
Me parece un hallazgo que haya metido este submundo de médiums y ocultistas en los tiempos de la última dictadura argentina. Imagino que esos años de desapariciones, torturas y asesinatos, la más oscura de nuestra historia, fue una temporada altísima para quiénes practican o creen en los vínculos con lo que vaporosamente se llama "el más allá". Yo, tal vez híperracionalista, no puedo dejar de ver todo eso como una gran estupidez. Y este sentimiento me acompañó en la lectura de toda la novela.
Pensaba mientras la leía que, al revés del efecto buscado, que sería más que nada asustar más y mejor, este género rebaja el dolor y el morbo. Digo, si te cuentan de chicos mutilados, viejos torturados y cosas por el estilo, por efecto de un monstruo, pierde fuerza contra, por ejemplo, que te cuenten de un nene que efectivamente se hizo un raspón al caerse de la bicicleta. Sobre el final, por poner un caso, se cuenta que al protagonista "le arrancaron las uñas", así sin más, y después todo sigue como si nada.
Me pasó además algo horrible. Cuando me faltaban unas 100 páginas para terminarla tuve que suspender la lectura para preparar unos exámenes. Cuando la retomé 10 días después, me di cuenta de que no me importaba nada lo que estaba leyendo, no volví a entrar en clima. Quien sabe, tal vez dentro de unos años, esta novela persista en mi memoria más que el promedio.
Le voy a hacer el peor elogio posible a una novela: deberían hacer una película o una serie con esta historia. No me extrañaría que alguien haya comprado los derechos, ya. Sería un stranger things meets el Pombero. Yo no la vería, pero sería un exitazo.
Ahora, yo escribo todo esto, pero esta novela es tal vez el último boom argentino. Muchos creen que es lo mejor que se escribió en el país en este siglo XXI. No por nada le dieron el Premio Herralde, además. Llegué a esta novela porque se la regalé a mi sobrina, fanática de Stephen King, que me dijo que era el mejor libro que había leído en su vida. Después pasó por mi suegra y miqueridaesposa, a las que también les gustó mucho.
- Ahora, si sabías que iba a hacer así de la primera oración a la última, ¿Para qué la seguiste leyendo hasta el final? me preguntó hace unos días Miqueridaesposa
- Para escribir una reseña en Goodreads - fue mi tímida y ridícula respuesta.
==
Si te gustan mis reseñas tal vez también te guste mi newsletter sobre libros que se llama "No se puede leer todo". Se pueden suscribir gratis, poniendo su mail en este link: eepurl.com/hbwz7v La encuentran en Twitter como @Nosepuedeleert1, en Instagram como @Nosepuedeleertodo y en Facebook.
Gracias, te espero
Sant
July 13, 2022
Mariana Enriquez’s ambitious novel reads like a subversion of the magical-realist, family saga once so strongly associated with Latin American fiction, here transformed into epic, commercial horror. Enriquez’s work’s been labelled “a cocktail of politics and cult horror.” In interviews she’s attributed her fascination with combining the two to the particular evils of Argentina’s political past, “There’s something about the scale of the cruelty in political violence from the state that always seems like the blackest magic to me. Like they have to satisfy some ravenous and ancient god that demands not only bodies but needs to be fed their suffering as well.” An observation that essentially sums up the underlying plot of her award-winning book.
It’s an unsettling, macabre story that shifts around in time and between voices and styles – sometimes consciously literary, sometimes direct and unpolished, sometimes closer to pulp fiction. Just like her earlier work, Enriquez builds on elements taken from Argentinian mythologies from folklore to folk horror to gods and saints. All of which are contained within a narrative that displays the influence of her favourite writers from Stephen King to China Miéville. The central section, featuring characters first encountered in Enriquez’s short stories, echoes aspects of It; while others have a more fantastical feel.
At its heart are the machinations of a family whose immense wealth has given them equally-immense power within Argentinian society. This secretive clan are also founders of a global cult, The Order; seeking the key to immortality by accessing an amorphous force known as “the darkness.” To achieve their goal, successive generations have ruthlessly exploited the poor and vulnerable, both as fodder for, and conduits to, a supposedly-demonic realm. During the time of the Junta in the 70s and 80s, the family flourishes, their savagery unremarkable against a backdrop of brutal political oppression, mass murders, torture and disappearances.
The wider political environment is highlighted throughout, with storylines explicitly building on news items like the slow death of Omayra Sanchez Garzon that played out on television screens across the country; or the unearthing of the mass graves left behind after the fall of the military dictatorship. AIDs, protest movements, labour unrest, hyperinflation and the economic crises of the 80s and 90s, all play a role in Enriquez’s characters’ lives. Even The Order and its obsession with the supernatural brings to mind prominent figures in Argentina’s history like the sinister José López Rega, aka El Brujo, one-time advisor to Perón.
Enriquez’s attention to historical detail is both a strength and a weakness, at least for me. At various stages, Enriquez piles on the gore, carefully documenting The Order’s perverse rituals and routine cruelties - sometimes to near-absurd levels. Yet I found the brutality and horror of Argentina’s actual history ultimately far more potent and chilling than Enriquez’s portrayal of supernatural events. Although, I suppose it’s possible that’s one of the points she’s trying to make here. It’s not a subtle piece, some episodes are fluid and gripping, others a little clunky. The pacing’s also fairly uneven, and the later sections are a bit too narrowly descriptive, long-drawn-out, stilted and breathless at the same time. Although I’m more than happy I read this, from my perspective it would definitely benefit from further editing. I don’t think the length is entirely justified, there’s just too much mundane detail, and unnecessary repetition.
Translated by Megan McDowell. Part-title illustrations by Pablo Gerardo Camacho.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Granta for an ARC
Rating: 3/3.5
It’s an unsettling, macabre story that shifts around in time and between voices and styles – sometimes consciously literary, sometimes direct and unpolished, sometimes closer to pulp fiction. Just like her earlier work, Enriquez builds on elements taken from Argentinian mythologies from folklore to folk horror to gods and saints. All of which are contained within a narrative that displays the influence of her favourite writers from Stephen King to China Miéville. The central section, featuring characters first encountered in Enriquez’s short stories, echoes aspects of It; while others have a more fantastical feel.
At its heart are the machinations of a family whose immense wealth has given them equally-immense power within Argentinian society. This secretive clan are also founders of a global cult, The Order; seeking the key to immortality by accessing an amorphous force known as “the darkness.” To achieve their goal, successive generations have ruthlessly exploited the poor and vulnerable, both as fodder for, and conduits to, a supposedly-demonic realm. During the time of the Junta in the 70s and 80s, the family flourishes, their savagery unremarkable against a backdrop of brutal political oppression, mass murders, torture and disappearances.
The wider political environment is highlighted throughout, with storylines explicitly building on news items like the slow death of Omayra Sanchez Garzon that played out on television screens across the country; or the unearthing of the mass graves left behind after the fall of the military dictatorship. AIDs, protest movements, labour unrest, hyperinflation and the economic crises of the 80s and 90s, all play a role in Enriquez’s characters’ lives. Even The Order and its obsession with the supernatural brings to mind prominent figures in Argentina’s history like the sinister José López Rega, aka El Brujo, one-time advisor to Perón.
Enriquez’s attention to historical detail is both a strength and a weakness, at least for me. At various stages, Enriquez piles on the gore, carefully documenting The Order’s perverse rituals and routine cruelties - sometimes to near-absurd levels. Yet I found the brutality and horror of Argentina’s actual history ultimately far more potent and chilling than Enriquez’s portrayal of supernatural events. Although, I suppose it’s possible that’s one of the points she’s trying to make here. It’s not a subtle piece, some episodes are fluid and gripping, others a little clunky. The pacing’s also fairly uneven, and the later sections are a bit too narrowly descriptive, long-drawn-out, stilted and breathless at the same time. Although I’m more than happy I read this, from my perspective it would definitely benefit from further editing. I don’t think the length is entirely justified, there’s just too much mundane detail, and unnecessary repetition.
Translated by Megan McDowell. Part-title illustrations by Pablo Gerardo Camacho.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Granta for an ARC
Rating: 3/3.5
July 29, 2022
Por el momento lo único que puedo pensar es: qué buen libro.
November 2, 2022
⭐ 4,5
Dicen que lo desconocido provoca miedo y de eso se sirve Mariana Enríquez en esta historia. Arrancando prácticamente 'in medias res', sumerge al lector entre unos personajes desquiciados y una secta y unos ritos de los que somos absolutamente neófitos pero que enseguida aprenderemos a temer. Unos horrores que surgen de la oscuridad y que conviven con los horrores reales de una Argentina que a su vez atraviesa su momento más oscuro.
A pesar de tocar muchos palos, creo que el de la paternidad y las relaciones padre-hijo es el que más peso tiene. Cómo a veces el deseo de proteger puede llevar a sobreproteger y a enturbiar las relaciones a base de secretos y silencios.
A pesar de lo muchísimo que me ha gustado este libro, debo admitir que es algo irregular en su desarrollo y que la fuerza arrolladora con la que arranca se frena en un tramo medio bastante más convencional, para luego volver a coger carrerilla. Esto me hace pensar que podría haber sido más redondo con algunas páginas menos... pero en general es un libro que destaca por la valentía de la propuesta, la originalidad y la manera descarnada de narrar de su autora. Inolvidable.
RESEÑA COMPLETA: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZle3...
Dicen que lo desconocido provoca miedo y de eso se sirve Mariana Enríquez en esta historia. Arrancando prácticamente 'in medias res', sumerge al lector entre unos personajes desquiciados y una secta y unos ritos de los que somos absolutamente neófitos pero que enseguida aprenderemos a temer. Unos horrores que surgen de la oscuridad y que conviven con los horrores reales de una Argentina que a su vez atraviesa su momento más oscuro.
A pesar de tocar muchos palos, creo que el de la paternidad y las relaciones padre-hijo es el que más peso tiene. Cómo a veces el deseo de proteger puede llevar a sobreproteger y a enturbiar las relaciones a base de secretos y silencios.
A pesar de lo muchísimo que me ha gustado este libro, debo admitir que es algo irregular en su desarrollo y que la fuerza arrolladora con la que arranca se frena en un tramo medio bastante más convencional, para luego volver a coger carrerilla. Esto me hace pensar que podría haber sido más redondo con algunas páginas menos... pero en general es un libro que destaca por la valentía de la propuesta, la originalidad y la manera descarnada de narrar de su autora. Inolvidable.
RESEÑA COMPLETA: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZle3...
June 2, 2023
Las puertas a la oscuridad son dos. La de la ficción con Juan, Gaspar y la Orden. La de lo real que invoca a la ficción para encontrar un sentido a la Argentina de la dictadura.
Puertas a dos historia que tienen reliquias pero también muertes, fantasmas, cadáveres supurantes, cárceles-zoológico...
"...tenés algo mio, te dejé algo mio,ojalá no sea maldito, no se si puedo dejarte algo que no esté sucio, que no sea oscuro, nuestra parte de noche..."
Puertas a dos historia que tienen reliquias pero también muertes, fantasmas, cadáveres supurantes, cárceles-zoológico...
"...tenés algo mio, te dejé algo mio,ojalá no sea maldito, no se si puedo dejarte algo que no esté sucio, que no sea oscuro, nuestra parte de noche..."
December 6, 2021
If you don't like this book then don't talk to me or my son Gaspar ever again.
March 30, 2020
Una novela tan larga necesita una estructura sólida y en mi opinión esta no la tiene. Sus partes se ubican en distintos momentos y son relatadas por distintos participantes de la misma trama ocultista (ejem, Bolaño, ejem), pero las voces narrativas, las épocas históricas y las ubicaciones geográficas son indistinguibles. Todo es una gran marea del mismo tono de escritura típico de la autora, un terror soft mezclado con correrías adolescentes onda Stephen King e infaltables guiños (o gritos) a la cultura pop contracultural. Hay españolismos (un hombre se "corre") y los sentimientos se enuncian, no se dejan percibir. Solo la recomendaría a fans del género terror y sectas.
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