Mexican Gothic and Wakenhyrst: Two Novels I Liked, One Publishing Thing I Hate

I have an uneasy relationship with recent historical gothic books. It's my suspicion that far too many publishers see a white, middle-class lady author and think that if they slap an arty cover on the manuscript they will magically find their next Miniaturist. I think of them as Kitchen Island Authors (posing for author photos while leaning against the countertop of their airy kitchens) whose privilege seeps from the pages. It's not just gothic novels - Greek myth retellings are another branch of the same tree - but the genre is by far the worst offender.

Perhaps you think I'm overly harsh - certainly classist - and maybe that's true. Shouldn't I champion women writers full stop? Do I get pissy about posh male writers? Actually, yes I do. The publishing industry needs to have a word with itself.

But my point is that you don't often see arty, flowery covers on the works of working class and/or BAME authors. Even when you do, their background is the selling point. Look at this author! They can write just like us!

And it's a shame, because I love gothic stories - Rebecca and Jane Eyre were early, life-changing reads and We Have Always Lived in the Castle is easily in the top twenty books I've ever read. For all I sneer about it, The Miniaturist also sits in that list. I love the tension of those books, but I want more of a challenge from modern authors. The world is a frightening place and rich white authors understand that the least. Who better to write about the disorientation and oppression of spooky manor houses than the people who would have fitted in them the least?

This brings me to Wakenhyrst and Mexican Gothic, two books sitting at opposite ends of the scale.

Michelle Paver, author of Wakenhyrst, is - shockingly - a white author who attended the same school as Lara Croft, went to Oxford and had a high-level legal career before quitting in favour of writing. I am not attacking the woman for her upbringing, but I didn't even check her background before starting this article. I took the gamble and lo-and-behold, my theory stands.

Silvia Moreno-Garcia is a Mexican author, now living in Canada. She's won multiple awards and has form in tackling work that his primarily been the purview of the white author - having edited multiple Lovecraft anthologies.

It is unfair to straight up compare the two novels, and it sounds like I'm setting Wakenhyrst up for failure. I liked them equally, with one leaning towards a crime story, and one leaning towards horror; both genres I enjoy.

I can't say I initially gave Wakenhyrst much thought outside of my commute. Only in the second half of the book did it start to play with the genre in interesting ways. By the end, I was gripped, but I don't know if I'd have stuck around that long if I was reading it rather than listening.

It follows Maud, daughter of a famous murderer. Now an old woman, she is desperate for money to save her home, and so she tells her story. As an Edwardian child, growing up in a grim, puritanical manor near the Suffolk fen, her mother is continually pregnant and always loses the babies. Her father is a religious scholar with a deep dislike of the fen and a true hatred for women (whose flesh he nevertheless craves with a disgusting fervour). When her mother dies, Maud rebels. She embraces the wonders of the natural world, and though she pretends obedience, she monitors everything her father writes. As he decends into mania she discovers more of his secrets and tries to stop a tragedy.

Maud is a delightfully flinty character, at her least enjoyable in her naive, hopeful moments. The reader can't help but relish each of her disappointments, as her coldness is far more entertaining. Both she and her father are unreliable narrators in different ways and it's this cat-and-mouse storytelling that elevates the second half of the book. We see events through Maud's eyes first, and only afterwards can she read her father's journal entries and make sense of them. His mental illness confuses his entries, adding elements of horror - meanwhile her story is told to a journalist and twisted accordingly.

Mexican Gothic's heroine is a world away from the plain, bitter Maud. Noemí is a glamourous Mexican debutant - educated, ambitious, and a little vain. When her cousin marries suddenly, and then sends a distressed letter, Noemí is asked to go and check on her.

The cousin's new home is a tribute to the English way of life - a vast, dilapidated manor near the mine that provided the family's wealth. Her cousin's new family abide by strict rules, and rarely leave the house. Their ailing patriarch is a white supremacist, her new brother-in-law is magnetic yet terrifying, the aunt keeps strict order, and only the aunt's son seems approachable. Her cousin is helpless - rarely well enough to make sense, speaking of creatures within the walls.

The pain of this novel is knowing that the moment Noemí steps past the threshold, she is already trapped. The house is isolated, the roads dangerous, the local village is suspicious, and every attempt to leave is met with protest. The confident Noemí is frequently gaslighted and made to doubt her own mind and experience. We understand that Noemí is a butterfly in a web and can only watch as she begins to figure that out for herself. Even more painfully, Noemí does everything that the reader wishes a character to do in this sort of story; she stands up to the family, she makes enquiries, she fetches an outside doctor for a second opinion... it feels like the family is not just thwarting her but thwarting the reader's expectations.

I won't spoil the end of either book, but they go in vastly different directions. One takes a safe route, and one takes a risk.

I'll let you guess which does which.