Supernatural Fiction Readers discussion

This is the thread where Deb and I (and hopefully any other folks who want to join us!) will be discussing our buddy read of The Hacienda this month. (I actually started my reading yesterday, and the hook is definitely in! :-)

Haha! What aspect hooked you, Werner?

I'm definitely seeing elements reminiscent of Rebecca--hostile household vibes, vulnerable heroine, enigmatic husband.

And I'd never heard of the Mexican Inquisition nor that it extended into the 19th century. Scary times. Danger is afoot!

Deb wrote: "What aspect hooked you, Werner?"

Being a fan of historical as well as supernatural fiction, I'm greatly enjoying the textured portrayal of Mexico in the early 1820s (and since this is only the second book I've ever read/started set in Mexico, that setting has a nice elements of freshness. I'm also appreciating the lush prose and the Gothic elements.

I've heard this novel compared to Rebecca, and it clearly has some similar plot elements. But never having read the du Maurier book, I can't say how similar or dissimilar the feel of the tale is. Comparisons have also been made to Mexican Gothic (which got five stars from me), and I can see similarities, but also contrasts.

Mexico was officially ruled by Spain until 1821. The Inquisition in Spain had been put under the control of the Spanish crown (rather than the Pope, as in other Catholic countries) in 1478, and was already an entrenched institution in Spain when Cortes conquered Mexico. It was introduced into Mexico (where it had the same legal authority) in 1571, as a natural extension of its role in the mother country, and was only abolished in Mexico in 1820, when Spanish rule was collapsing.

We are two halves of a coin. I've read Rebecca but haven't yet had the pleasure of reading Mexican Gothic.

Amazing that Isabella's influence (and witch fanaticism) could extend for more than two centuries. I admire the way the author seamlessly blends in history with her story. I'm always happy to learn something!

There's a good discussion of the historical background here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History... , though you have to scroll down quite a ways to get to this time period. That discussion also doesn't go into the ethnic factor very much. The Mexican population is mostly formed from two races, the Native Americans, or American Indians (indios) and the European-descended whites. Some 70% of the population (the mestizos) are a mixture of the two; but they were looked down on by the whites who held virtually all of the wealth and power. This group was divided in turn between those actually born in Spain, the pennisularies or gauchupines, and the crillos (creoles), born in Mexico. (A big factor in the 1810-1821 revolution was the desire of the latter to grab exclusive power away from the former.)

by now, I'm up into Chapter 10, and I've formed a tentative theory of what's going on. My guess is that (view spoiler)[the skeleton in the wall is Maria Catalina's, that she was murdered by Juana with Ana Luisa's connivance, and that her ghost wants revenge (and possibly to warn Beatriz of danger as well) (hide spoiler)]. We'll see whether or not I'm correct! :-)

Interesting history of conquest and intermingling, indeed!

I think I first learned of the casta system in 7th grade when I read Steinbeck's The Pearl. In some ways, The Hacienda reminds me of that text as they both focus on the difficulties of navigating across class and ethnic lines. Remember Steinbeck's scathing description of the doctor? I think Canas does a good job of integrating the religious and ethnic struggles and conflicts in The Hacienda.

I'm on chapter 14, but I'm not going to look at your predictions until later!

Deb wrote: "I'm on chapter 14, but I'm not going to look at your predictions until later!"

Fair enough --that's why spoiler tags were invented! :-)

My reading of Steinbeck, so far, has been mostly confined to a couple of his short stories; so, sadly, I've never read The Pearl. But I got a good knowledge of the casta system from reading a book on colonial Latin American history (it's not on my shelves, because I've forgotten the author and title) as preparation for a college course I took in my junior year. (And of course Thornton Wilder's The Bridge of San Luis Rey also looks at that system, and at the baleful role of the Inquisition.)

Hi Werner,

Which of the two narrators are you more drawn to? Even though he doesn't have as much page space, I find myself really connecting with Andres. I'm enjoying the novel, but I think I would love to read this book solely from his point of view.

Andres is so caring of everyone around him, and he has a broad view of society and all the people of the hacienda whereas Beatriz seems more focused on her own needs and desires. I like how the author weaves in details of the Inquisition, and with Andres, this conflict and oppression are personal burdens that evoke my empathy.

Deb wrote: "Hi Werner, Which of the two narrators are you more drawn to?"

Hmmm! Actually, I hadn't thought much about that. To me, both of their narrations are equally interesting, because they're both revealing aspects of the story that are important to understand. (Andres' narration, of course, focuses mostly on past events that impact the present.) I can relate to both of them in feeling themselves to be in social milieus where they're outsiders and don't really fit in, since I've often had that sort of experience. But I don't really have a favorite between them at tis point.

It's true there are certain aspects of Beatriz's experience it would be hard to duplicate through Andres's eyes. I definitely feel for both of them...and I'm a bit scared of possible repercussions from their developing relationship.

I'm fascinated with Andres's status as a witch, and that, of course, complicates his safety as well as the push-pull of folk religion and Catholicism. I was really reminded of Bless Me, Ultima by Rodolpho Anaya with the main character trying to navigate a path between Catholicism and shamanism.

I haven't read anything by Anaya; but Andres' role reminds me of Manly Wade Wellman's Silver John corpus of novels and stories, set in the back country of rural Appalachia. John's a baptized Christian, an itinerant folk singer and a supernatural trouble-shooter, who's what the mountain folk call a "witch-master" --that is, not a witch of any kind, but someone who's "master over" witchcraft and dark supernatural goings-on, and able to combat them. (Some people use the terminology "white witch," but that's not John's preferred term.)

There are differences between the two characters, and between the two authors' artistic visions; but I see Andres mostly as a "witch-master" (especially in contrast to the opposing type of black magic that was practiced on his father's side of the family!) His maternal grandmother seems to have mostly fit the traditional "white witch" mode (although she apparently sometimes also dabbled in the kind of herbal lore that's associated with black witches).

Also, in its fictional depictions (and in the ways that medieval and early modern thinkers who believed in it characterized it), magic comes in two basic types: "invocational," in which the practitioner invokes sentient supernatural spirits (usually demonic) to aid him/her, or tries to magically coerce God to do something; and "incantational," in which the practitioner merely manipulates impersonal and morally neutral magical forces that supposedly exist as a part of created nature. (Magnetism and electricity were once thought to be "natural magic" in this sense.) From a Christian standpoint, invoking demonic powers or trying to coerce God are obviously morally wrong, but other uses of "magic" would not necessarily be.

So far (I'm into Chapter 22), there's only been one obvious use of invocational magic on Andres' part. Even there, it's not absolutely clear (to me at least) that he's not invoking Christ, and with the kind of appeal that contains no sense that he can coerce a response. To be sure, he's using terminology and thought forms drawn from the indio folk beliefs of his grandmother. But this is a folk culture shaped by some three centuries of contact with, and assimilation to, Roman Catholic Christianity.

All of this (long!) post is to say that to my mind, there's nothing inherently anti-Christian, or incompatible with Christian belief, in the kind of supernatural role Andres is playing here. But the Inquisition, and crillo priests steeped in its outlook, would certainly not see it that way. Their mindset would be one that immediately dismisses as "heresy" or "witchcraft" any practice that differs from what they're familiar with, and especially any religious practice the indios developed on their own. :-(

In this novel, Canas obviously makes much reference to the role of religion and faith, both in the lives of her characters and in the life of Mexico in general at that time. It's natural for readers to respond to this aspect of the novel, and for their responses to be colored by their own religious perspectives. Mine comes from the perspective of a Christian who was raised in a church that (like Andres' and Beatriz's church) practiced infant baptism, but who as an adult rejected that upbringing and committed to the "believer's church" tradition.

In any religious community in which all children born into it are, from the beginning of their lives, made to feel that their lifelong membership in it is a community expectation totally independent of any individual reflection or choice on their own part, then it's a lead-pipe cinch that a whole lot of those "members" by birth aren't ever going to bother reflecting much, or making personal choices, about religion at all. It's just an external thing that doesn't touch who they personally are, or what they want, at all. To my mind, Beatriz is a perfect example of this. (I don't know if that makes sense to someone looking at religion from the outside, but I hope it does!)

When a religious community joins itself to a state, in that it accepts state sponsorship, promotion and financial support and the state requires all of its subjects to belong to that community (which was the case with the Roman Catholic church in Mexico under Spanish rule, and even to a degree after it under the original Mexican constitution), then there's a temptation for religious leaders to forsake their role as prophets speaking God's truth to the powerful, and to instead become chaplains and cheerleaders for the powerful. IMO, this novel reflects how that happened with the great majority of crillo prelates and priests.

Werner wrote: "I haven't read anything by Anaya; but Andres' role reminds me of Manly Wade Wellman's Silver John corpus of novels and stories, set in the back country of rural Appalachia. John's a baptized Christ..."

Yes, but there are some Bible verses about witches that don't advocate tolerance. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" comes to mind. I like the way the author offers different perspectives on witches and witch tolerance in the post-Inquisition era. Father Guillermo is not opposed to witches (though the financial reason for his tolerance isn't exactly religious), but Father Vincent is. Andres has some moments of self-doubt about his witch practice but ultimately feels divinely called to it and devotes his work to God.

Mexican supernatural history is so rich and varied, and I'm enjoying how the author develops the supernatural aspect of the book. I looked into the witch tradition and found about six different types of Mexican white witches. Ultima, in the book I mentioned before, is a curandera--primarily related to healing but does cast a spell or two. Andres is on a whole other level of brujo--exciting stuff in the climax of the book! (I'm near the end of the book now.)

I finished the book yesterday! For anyone who's interested, my five-star review is here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show... .

Deb wrote: "Yes, but there are some Bible verses about witches that don't advocate tolerance. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" comes to mind."

Yes, the verse quoted there (from the King James Version) is Exodus 22:18. The Hebrew word is kashshaph, translated in most of the modern versions as "sorcerer" or "sorceress." (King James, who had quite an interest in witch-hunting --although, in his judicial capacity, he actually disproved some false allegations of witchcraft!-- insisted that the word be translated as "witch," even though it lacks some of the connotations associated with medieval and early modern European "witchcraft.")

From the way the Hebrew word was used, and the words it's often associated with, it seems to have the basic idea of attempting to control or manipulate events through the invocation of supernatural powers (as opposed to prayer, which invokes God to do something, but asks Him to do it if He wants to, rather than attempting to magically coerce Him. (See The Eerdmans Bible Dictionary under "Magic.") What I referred to above as "invocational magic" is the same concept.

Werner wrote: "I finished the book yesterday! For anyone who's interested, my five-star review is here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show... ."

I'm so glad you loved the book, Werner. I think this is one of my favorite reviews of yours that I've read. Thanks for being my buddy during this read!

Thank you for the kind words, Deb, and thanks for being an enthusiastic and perceptive reading buddy! I greatly enjoyed this read, even though we weren't able to get anyone else in the group to join us.