A freewheeling, off-beat, and relentlessly chaotic read, Candelaria is a rhizomatic novel that defies easy categorisation. To borrow, once again, Lady Gaga’s words: “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”. Populated by bizarre characters (prone to huge leaps of logic, maundering, and dissociating from the fucked-up things that come their way), absurdist elements, and weird, sometimes gross, horror-like scenarios, Candelaria is the type of book that might make one feel that they can't make head or tail of what they are reading. Yet, I found myself wholly captivated by Melissa Lozada-Oliva’s playful dark humor and by her irresistibly irreverent social commentary. I was equal parts appalled and delighted by her characters’ tribulations. Their behaviors and responses to the small and large-scale catastrophes that come their way often verge on the surreal, reminding me very much of authors like Helen Oyeyemi, Kevin Wilson, and Ling Ma.
The novel’s opening is hectic enough. Through a 2nd pov we follow Candelaria, “you”, whose daily routine is interrupted by a devastating earthquake. Her surprisingly violent response to this event is in many ways more alarming than the earthquake itself, yet, the use of the 2nd pov keeps her motivations at arm's lengths from us. We know only that for whatever reason Candelaria sets out across Boston, her destination the Watertown Mall Old Country Buffet. Undeterred by the progressively apocalyptic obstacles in her path, Candelaria is determined to reach the Buffet, a place that, somehow, is connected to the ongoing chaos around her.
The novel switches between Candelaria’s ‘present’ journey to the events that lead to it. Here we meet her three granddaughters, as overwhelmed as they are overwhelming, each far too wrapped up by her own drama to realize that the weird shit happening to each one of them is connected. There is archaeologist Bianca, who is plenty book-smart but lacks self-awareness, her cold, brusque even, demeanour often sees her (in)voluntarily pushing others away. Having long been forced into the role of the reliable daughter/sister/granddaughter, she’s at a low point in her life and has just been duped & dumped by her advisor who kicked her off of her own dig back in Guatemala. Her life work in jeopardy, Bianca is licking her wounds back in Boston, where, mired by self-pity, she spends most of her time whining to her (far too) understanding housemate. We then have Candy, the youngest, who, despite her name, is brazen and mean. Candy is a recovering addict whose self-destructive antics have often been a concern in the family. A film aficionado, Candy now works at a cinema. She’s brash, extremely self-centred, and rarely thinks things true. Her attitude to life is seemingly blasé yet after she and Bianca fall out, we can see how bothered she is by it. She discovers that is pregnant after a one-night stand with a mysterious man, whose disappearance was as strange as his appearance. Worst still, her pregnancy seems to have worrisome, monstrous, side effects.
And last we have Paola, newly returned to Boston having been missing for over a decade. This new Paola goes by Zoe, and has become a devout member of a cultish wellness center. Having reinvented herself, Zoe is not interested in reuniting with her family, whom she’d run away from so many years before.
Throughout the novel, Lozada-Oliva plays around with so many tropes and genres that one might struggle to keep up. Often we seemingly lose sight of the plot, distracted by whatever latest bizarre thing is happening on the page (be it brainwashing, cannibalism, or the end of the world). A series of grotty, horrifying, and baffling events puncture the sisters’ seemingly disparate storylines, but, these scenarios are depicted in such an energetic way that one might, like the characters themselves, overlook the magnitude of what has happened/is happening. Lozada-Oliva's characters and their circumstances are entrenched in the absurd, at times verging on the hysterical. Yet, the humorous and grotesque elements don’t take away from Lozada-Oliva’s social commentary nor do they make the characters less humane. The narrative may poke fun at the characters but not their struggles or desires. The novel’s gritty commentary on contemporary American politics is balanced by an empathetic yet incisive portrayal of the interplay between diasporic identity and generational trauma. Family is at the heart of Candelaria, even if the sisters’ attempts at belonging, at achieving happiness and success, see them hurtling into and out of each other’s paths. I liked how the novel allows for these types of flawed characters and sisterhood to take the centrestage, showing the complex layers beneath each sister and allowing for nuance in their love/hate bond.
The novel’s foray into the horror genre is particularly effective as it allows for an uncompromising examination of bodily autonomy, female monstrosity, thorny family histories, and the hunger to belong. Lozada-Oliva's approach to horror made me think simultaneously of two very different films, Julia Ducournau’s Titane and Jim Jarmusch's The Dead Don't Die, as well as Stephen Graham Jones' adrenaline-fueled horror novels (in particular My Heart is a Chainsaw).
This novel is a riot, and I was wholly wholly engrossed and invested in the ongoing chaos. There were some aspects that I wish could have been tweaked slightly (the reunion is too long delayed, several storylines are left unresolved, and i could have done without the offing of a certain character). Still, given its scope, those minor flaws hardly made a dent in my reading experience. I loved Lozada-Oliva’s punchy prose, her fucked-up sort of humor, and her messed-up characters. I can definitely see this appealing to fans of Helen Oyeyemi, Kevin Wilson, Hilary Leichter, and Ling Ma, as well as to readers who enjoyed Samanta Schweblin's bizarre short stories, An Yu's murky brand of surrealism, Sam Cohen's madcap stories in Sarahland, Candas Jane Dorsey's tongue-in-cheek postmodern murder-mystery, The Adventures of Isabel , Pizza Girl by Jean Kyoung Frazier, or the realistically dysfunctional family dynamics depicted by authors like Angie Cruz and Eden Robinson. Lozada-Oliva delivers a high-octane genre-bending read that sucked me into its nonsensical, uninhibited, funny, and gross vortex. I can't wait to read it again and look forward to reading more by Lozada-Oliva.