mexican gothic

Book cover of Mexican Gothic resting on top of layered blankets— white on bottom, then a pale pink, and then a small light green one. Also resting on top of the blankets and slightly on the book is a bouquet of pink carnation flowers. The book jacke…
 

Title & author

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Synopsis 

In Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic, protagonist Noemí Taboada confronts both sexism and racism, heading out of a 1950’s Mexico City and into the ominous countryside to save her ailing cousin from a dangerous marriage, only to find a family consumed with patriarchal values and eugenics.

Who should read this book

Fans of The Water Cure and Women Talking

What we’re thinking about

How depictions of patriarchal expectations shape interpretations of consent

Trigger warning(s)

Physical violence, sexual violence, slurs, sexism, mental health, racism


Although the gothic genre, notorious for its dark, decrepit architecture, sickness (particularly in women), and gore, often calls to mind classic titles such as Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights, and Jane Eyre, it has not by any means gone unnoticed by contemporary creatives. Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight and Jason Peale’s Get Out both draw upon gothic characteristics to shape their world and plotlines. And like Get Out, many do so to explore ever present societal issues such as sexism and racism. In Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic (Del Rey, 2020), protagonist Noemí Taboada confronts both, heading out of a 1950’s Mexico City and into the ominous countryside to save her ailing cousin from a dangerous marriage, only to find a family consumed with patriarchal values and eugenics.

“You must come for me, Noemí. You have to save me. I cannot save myself as much as I wish to,” writes Noemí’s cousin Catalina in a letter to her cousin (Moreno-Garcia, 8). Immediately, Moreno-Garcia introduces gothic elements into the text: a sickly woman and the eerie characteristics that impact her. And though Catalina might hope to save herself, an immediate nod to feminism, she cannot. So Noemí, a socialite from Mexico City who is only convinced to leave by her father’s promise that she can attend graduate school goes, with little knowledge of her cousin’s new family other than Catalina’s brief engagement and rambling letter. 

But it is not long after her arrival at High Place that she discovers its occupants consuming belief in white supremacy. Upon meeting Howard, her cousin’s new father-in-law, he asserts that she is “much darker” than Catalina, going on to ask her “thoughts on the intermingling of superior and inferior types” (29, 30). The family is obsessed with eugenics, their library shelves flooded with titles on the subject. And when they first came to Mexico from England, not only did they bring their own soil believing it to be more fertile, they treated the local workers they hired with “no mercy” (126). The family doesn’t care to protect them, believing them to be inferior because of their race. 

Similarly, Noemí realizes their patriarchal values as they immediately scoff on her ambition. “You get your way in most things, don’t you, Miss Taboada?” challenges Catalina’s husband Virgil (54-55). After meeting with Catalina’s doctor, Noemí’s insistence that her cousin’s condition be further evaluated is met with disbelief and belittling. Virgil reminds her of a man that “held her far too tightly and tried to kiss her. She turned her head, and when she looked at him again there was a pure, dark mockery across his features” (55). Like the man in this memory, Virgil seems to believe that Noemí (and all women) are beneath men. They cannot hold their own thoughts, and when they do, they are automatically ridiculed. As the story progresses, the extent of Virgil and his family’s belief in the patriarchy is made exceedingly clearer. “A woman’s function is to preserve the family line,” Virgil’s father Howard tells Noemí (75). Nevermind a woman’s ambition, desires, or consent, her sole purpose at High Place is to bear children and continue the family name. 

Moreno-Garcia’s depiction of consent raises an interesting conversation. “They can make you think things,” a voice tells Noemí (182). Virgil frequently forces himself upon her, and though Noemí knows “she was petrified...the victim of the gorgon,” she finds herself believing that “he wasn’t an intruder. He wasn’t an enemy” (182, 183). Virgil warps Noemí’s thoughts and actions, causing her to give in to his pursuit. But underneath, she knows that she does not want this advance, and only once she remembers this is she able to snap out of the trance. In a novel filled with patriarchal expectations, how does this complicated depiction of consent shape our understanding of it? If an individual who did not understand or believe in consent were to read this (granted these individuals are most likely not Moreno-Garcia’s targeted audience), would they understand the nuance that lies below, or would they incorrectly believe Noemí’s body’s reactions to actually be a sign of her pleasure and desire? 

Nevertheless, by way of Noemí, Moreno-Garcia exploits patriarchal expectations, a too-frequent feature of the original gothic literature stories written by men. As Noemí and Catalina look to escape High Place, the image conveyed is also them both escaping marriage (or the prospect of marriage) and an endless life of serving the family’s men. It also is them pursuing reproductive rights-- their desire to not bear children, at least not at this time in this way. 

Moreno-Garcia’s decision to tell the story through a gothic lens enhances her exploration of racism and sexism in Mexico during the 1950s. The eerie nature of the genre lends itself to the cruel and impactful effect prejudice has, particularly when intersectional-- when Noemí faces it two fold at High Place because of both her race and gender. But while her story might draw on the classic genre, she largely subverts it. The women are the heroes of the tale and Noemí does not fulfill the “sensitive” persona often given to gothic protagonists, rather being determined and strong. In doing so, Mexican Gothic lends a much-needed update to the 18th century-originating genre, showing potential for other authors to use the lens to explore critical issues of society today.  

 
A bookshelf with three shelves. Scattered amongst the shelves are black, white, and tan books, coffee mugs, and a vase.
A woman who is not liked is a bitch, and a bitch can hardly do anything; all avenues are closed to her.
— Mexican Gothic, page 58

Communications.png
 

Join in

Contribute your thoughts by using the “Leave a comment” button found underneath the share buttons below. Answer one of these questions, ask your own, respond to others, and more.

  1. How do memories play a role within the text? And what does Mexican Gothic suggest about the fluidity of memories?

  2. Why mushrooms? What symbolism do they possess and where does that appear throughout the title?

Please note that all comments must be approved by the moderator before posting. We reserve the right to deny offensive or spam-related commentary. And, for the wellbeing of our BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, and/or disabled-identifying community members, please respect the personal capacity to address questions on certain topics. We encourage you to search for the answer in a great book or online instead. Thank you!

body full of stars

luster