Book Review “The Haunting of Alejandra
*Content & Spoiler Warning (This post contains spoilers & mentions difficult topics such as mental health struggles, body horror, and suicide)
Intro
I read The Haunting of Alejandra by V. Castro twice; once several years ago and again recently for work. I guess I’m in my re-reading era.
I love a scary book. You will never get bored. When the plot is ‘slow’ it’s actually a respite from the horror. Or it might be suspense, tension, build-up to the next scare. This book made me afraid of the dark again. Made me pull the covers all the way up to my chin before I shut my eyes.
Trauma as a Curse
I love the idea that the scariest creatures our imaginations can conjure up are really just our trauma. During my first read, I loved this idea because it could make things like La Llorona less scary by rationalizing it away as something psychological and of this world. La Llorona being tied to historic, generational trauma and stemming from the cruelty of colonization made it less mystified. It was less scary because trauma is real and we are familiar with it. But during my second reading I felt more open to the unknown, making this concept scarier because … trauma is real and we are familiar with it.
“‘...your generational trauma is manifesting as a creature [...] And the only way to break a curse like this is by going back to the places where the patterns began and confronting the trauma. Your individual trauma and the generational trauma. The trauma is the culprit, not just La Llorona (p.155).”
Whether your approach is rational or spiritual (or both), positioning trauma as a curse is very appropriate. Legends like La Llorona and El diablo were created, on one hand to keep us safe, and on the other to keep us in line. My parents told me that La Llorona was a myth created to keep kids who don’t know how to swim away from bodies of water so they wouldn't drown. I guess the idea of natural consequences wasn’t a thing yet. Or maybe just saying ‘if you go in water when you can’t swim you could drown’ wasn’t interesting enough.
But it wasn’t just about practical safety. These were tools to scare children into obedience and women into chastity and subservience. I don’t love the psychological effects of threatening children to behave less they want the devil to appear to them, but I do love the creativity.
La Llorona was a message to women that straying from motherhood and sacrifice towards lust and vanity was evil. Regardless of which version of the story you grew up with - her husband left her for a younger woman, he wanted to be with her but not with her children - it was always on her to suffer through every blow life threw her way but remain the quiet, self-sacrificing mother. It was about time we heard her side of the story.
“...back then women did not have the same opportunities as now. We couldn’t dream very big. You couldn’t vote, own land, and some never went to school. All that was expected was to get married and raise a family no matter what interests they had. Maybe she did what she was told by her mother and great-grandmother despite having other dreams. But it’s just a story. Unfortunately, the story of La Llorona is not told in her own words. If it was true, we still don’t know what really happened to her. (p.22).”
As the saying goes, history is written by the victors, not only on a personal level, but also on a systemic level. Going back to the 1500s, Castro offers us an indigenous woman’s perspective of the trauma endured during colonization, reframing the colonizers as the demonic ones. The Spanish conquistadores argued they had the moral high ground in their colonization. They claimed they were bringing christianity to ‘the new world’ and that the spirituality and way of life of indigenous people were ‘of the devil.’
Since christianity is the dominant religion in the global north, for many of us, it may be hard to wrap our heads around the idea that christianity is not the norm. Many still see Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, and other religions as being ‘the other’ while christianity is the ‘right path.’ Deviating from that path means blasphemy, siding with evil. But we cannot forget christianity’s history and we cannot untangle it from its legacy with colonization.
This reminds me of Hatuey’s famous defiance and last words. Captured by the Spanish, about to perish at the stake, a priest asked Hatuey one last time if he would follow Jesus’ teachings so he could go to heaven and be spared from hell. Hatuey asked if Spaniards went to heaven. The priest said yes. To which Hatuey replied he would rather go to hell so he wouldn’t be with the cruel Spaniards. This depiction of colonization and christianity as an evil force shows up in the book as well.
“All of them were demons: They had arrived in a horde, in waves of conquest and exploration and destruction, all done in the name of their king and god. [...] Atzi wondered if any place could be safe forever from the new world being created by the invaders who had arrived with a cross in one hand and a sword in the other. The conquered would be cut down with one or the other if they did not submit. (p. 35).”
Symbolism & Metaphors
The umbilical cord
This book is rife with symbolism and metaphors that stopped me in my tracks. One of the most prominent narrative tools used is the concept of the umbilical cord as a conduit for nurturing life but also for generational curses.
“We must listen to the women who came before us. We change the future by unloading the sorrow of the past. We sever the cord of generational curses. Some cords are meant to shrivel to blackened dead flesh. They are our blood, but we are not them. We do not have to accept it. None of it. (p. 4).”
“Seeing the power of death over humans excited the creature. [...] The scent of blood continued to create a frenzy within the creature’s consciousness. With the flint knife next to the woman, it sliced the tangled cord of fresh free from the dead human. Dark red liquid oozed onto the ground. [...] The cord. The bond was where the power lay and how they made more of them. So much emotion. A connection it never knew (p.103).”
“‘...the heavens wanted to give you to me with a beautiful bow, so we were attached with a long cord. It fed you and kept you close to me while you grew big.’ [...] ‘Even though that cord was cut when you came into this world, it was replaced by another one. This way we can always find each other in any time or any place (p.238).’”
This evokes the image of generational curses and trauma being passed down through the umbilical cord - something that nurtures us in the womb but is cut off at birth. Castro tells us that we carry around dead, rotting flesh when we do not shed generational curses, no matter how much a part of us they once were. A therapist might offer that harmful behaviors originate as a coping mechanism that we used early in life to survive difficult situations, but as our circumstances change we need to let go of past behaviors that no longer serve us. In other words, curses are only curses because we hold onto them past their expiration date. Likewise, the umbilical cord only turns from a nurturing organ to a rotting string of flesh when it is no longer needed.
Flesh, blood, & rot
Throughout the novel, we are given descriptions of umbilical cords, bleeding, labor, menstruation and other organs and bodily functions needed to produce life.
At the beginning of Alejandra’s journey, she expresses her motherhood as a wound and burden, each child taking from her body.
“She already had three children. Each birth had left an open wound where each of those pieces of flesh had been hacked off from her. [...] For years she abandoned herself to be a willing sacrifice to please everyone around her, and now nothing existed within her anymore. Even her own hand was not a hand at all, but a blade she used to carve her heart out for anyone who asked for it (p. 6).”
“Alejandra’s stomach dropped. She began to sob. Her sorry emptying with the force of a heavy period draining from her body (p.150).”
The creature, on the other hand, is made up of dead flesh, rotted skin, and scavenged organs, demonstrating its decay and hatred.
“Loose, putrid flesh jiggled off its bones. Strings of bloody saliva speckled with black dripped from its lips (p.168).”
“A hideous creature in the guise of a woman stood in white among the babies. [...] Its dress was a patchwork of dead flesh and fabric hanging over its exposed bones. Its eyes had a glare of greed while bloody saliva dripped from its mouth. Slimy threads threatened to cover the babies (p. 175-176).”
Though the descriptions of this body horror are painful and vivid, when describing the women it is bleeding hearts, pumping blood, living and creating life. On the creature it is rotting, taking life.
To defeat the creature, the women needed to perform a perverse birth ritual using their life-giving bodies to absorb and eliminate the creature’s life-stealing entity. The creature feeds off their bloodline, their children pushed out of their bodies. They are destroying it by pushing it in.
“...The thought of giving birth, period blood, transmutation, and release flashed in her mind [...] Flor didn’t know how she knew, but this had to be done, and she surrendered to what her body felt was right. She would transmute this creature into the blood of her womb if it wanted it so badly. Just like the wine to the blood of Christ (p. 215).”
“They gathered around the bathtub, then stretched out their hands to push the demon deeper into Alejandra’s lower abdomen. She braced her open legs against the sides of the bathtub. Her breathing kept her alert. [...] Despite the agonizing pain, she continued to pull into there was nothing left of the demon in the bathtub (p. 243).”
Water
Atzi, the first link in this story, is named after the Nahuatl word ‘quiahuitl’ meaning rain or water. She found her escape from life and continued torment by jumping into a cenote. Alejandra found hope and strength from the women in her dreams who floated in a cenote. Cathy found relief from the emotional pain of giving up Alejandra when she dreamt she was submerged in a cenote then lifted up towards the surface.
“When she closed her eyes she could feel herself being pulled beneath a cenote. The cold water surrounded her. She opened her eyes to see a gossamer yellow opening in the shape of an egg. Blue tendrils of a deeper shade of indigo shadow floated from the sides. An invisible force lifted her suspended body until she rose again to the bright light of the sun. She floated on the surface, basking in an incandescence that could only be described as the essence of peace with no mental static. (p. 86-87).”
“...the dream took her to a body of placid water with gauzy steam rising from the surface. A hidden cenote. There, women floated on their backs, eyes wide open, tears streaming from the corners [...] More women stood at the edge of the cenote. A centimeter closer and they would tumble in. Behind them was another row of women, followed by another. This created concentric circles of women like the ripples from a drop of rain hitting a puddle. [...] Their silent tears on their cheeks reflected the sunlight. Sometimes the brightness of their tears caught her eyes, and though the lift felt blinding, it was not painful. She knew that all she had to do was speak the words to make them move and she’d summon their power, an electric spiritual charge at her disposal (p. 25-26).”
At times water was a healing medium, at times a portal to escape life, a means to find death. Always a way for the women to find peace and respite from the pain of life.
“The brown swirling wood made her think of river water. Fast, treacherous water. She would take a bus to the border. Walk however long it would take to throw herself into the Rioi Grande. [...] It would end. All of it (p.141).”
From dangerous rivers that took Frances’ life to calm cenotes that held generations of women’s strength, to bathtubs for reverse water births, to toilet abortions of demonic creatures, water is present as life giving and life taking.
“Floating in the round body of toilet water, a ceramic cenote, clotted blood the size of a fist giggled and gurgled. The bloody mass throbbed, croaked obscenities (p. 257).”
Prominent Themes
Machismo
Woven into the women’s histories is the burden of machismo.. Matthew weaponized his role as the provider by excusing himself from the emotional labor he could have provided to Alejandra as her husband and the parenting he could have done for the children. He could come home from work and ask for peace and quiet but Alejandra could not do the same.
“‘Alejandra, it’s dinnertime. Are you coming down to cook? The kids are hungry.’ [...] ‘Give me a minute,’ she called out as best she could through her tearful confusion. ‘All right, but you’ve been in there over twenty minutes.’ [...] ‘You could have started making dinner.’ He gave her a wide smile and furrowed his brow. ‘But that’s your thing. I don’t know what you have planned because you buy all the groceries. You always do the cooking (p.7-10.)’”
“This was not the fight she envisioned. But as a woman, you were first put in the bed, then in front of the pot (p.204).”
“Now that she was home, Flor made Rafael look after her father. He reluctantly took the role after Flor said he would receive nothing in the family business if he didn’t contribute to the family first. Men could look after the vulnerable too. They had the capacity to give comfort without it reflecting poorly on them. Rafael must have taken this to heart, because as he held his grandfather’s hand he was also crying (p.227).”
Growth and healing
Castro demonstrates what growth and healing can look like. While it does not always happen as quickly or linearly as it seems to in the book, we see Alejandra go from shutting down her feelings and dismissing her own needs to asserting herself and putting her own needs first. We see her move away from suffering, feeling guilty for not being happy, and not wanting to live, to seeking help and talking herself through tense situations with her husband.
By healing and putting her own needs first, she is able to be more present and happier with her children. By putting herself first she actually becomes a better mother. Alejandra goes from constantly being overwhelmed and feeling like a bad mother to enjoying the little things with her kids.
“Alejandra held no illusions of having any value in the world. But her emotional and mental instability felt monumental, like a large wave in the distance. She felt it gaining height and speed before it crashed onto the shore and pulled her into the depths of the unknown (p. 8).”
“When Mathew and Alejandra spoke on any subject, he had the tendency to talk in circles with him in the center. She had long given up trying to be heard (p. 92).”
“A spark of joy tingled inside of Alejandra watching her three children as the moment unfolded with ease. Before she’d taken the time to heal herself, the shrieks of playfulness would grate on her. Now it felt so natural. There was a sense of wholeness. […] Now she knew: Just because she had surrendered to motherhood didn’t mean she could not be something else or ask for what she might need (p. 182).”
“Alejandra left the bedroom without engaging with him further. She had outgrown this carousel ride (p. 186).”
“‘And believe me when I say I won’t fail. For the first time in my life, I believe in myself, my power (p. 197.’”
Motherhood in all its divinity, pain, and joy
The biggest theme throughout this book was that of motherhood. Castro refused to present a sanitized image that motherhood is always joyful or even desired. Some of the characters turned away from motherhood in different ways: suicide, adoption, or even just emotional distance.
Alejandra chose to be a mother but struggled through the isolation and weaponized incompetence of her husband. At the beginning, Alejandra attempted to be the ideal stay at home wife and mother, sacrificing her own desires and needs to put everyone in her family before her. We get to see her go from the epitome of Marianismo to a woman who is sure of herself, puts herself first, and thrives as a woman and mother.
“A week had passed since Alejandra’s breakdown in the shower. Her routine propelled her from hour to hour. Once her third child had begun to walk, the daily task of putting everyone else first had become as difficult as climbing a mountain of felt. No matter how hard she dug her feet in and scratched at the fabric, she was always close to falling to certain death.
“And yet, residing in the same space in her heart as her despair was her love for her children. That love was a sweet blossom she held on to tightly until the thorns on its stem made her bleed. Those wounds were the stigmata of motherhood, precious and painful (p. 13).”
Cathy is our template for mothers who decide not to sacrifice it all for their children and families, choosing to give baby Alejandra up for adoption. Later on, Cathy was able to provide much needed support and mothering to Alejandra.
“Cathy didn’t want to be pushed so far to the edge that she would choose to abandon her family. Just like her own mother had. Cathy would always choose herself first (p. 74).”
“She held her breath before releasing sobs that caused her body to shiver in her mother’s arms with the fright of a newborn baby. In many ways Alejandra felt like a woman being reborn into her own consciousness, now knowing who she really was, the good and the bad. Cathy held Alejandra in a firm embrace to calm her thundering body (p. 186 - 187).”
La Llorona and the Creature
Atzi meets the creature in 1522, long before Catrina, Alejandra, Cathy, or even Flor are born. This fateful meeting sealed this creature’s destiny to the women in Atzi’s bloodline. At this point in the story it is unclear what the creature is but we come to believe it is La Llorona as it feeds on suffering mothers and her daughters. What is clear is that the creature likes human pain.
“‘I am very real. I want those souls inside of you. Their tender flesh will be delicious. I can smell your malice and pain. I find it pleasing "(p. 36).’”
As these women’s stories progressed, we learn that this creature is something else entirely and that Alejandra and her bloodline are in fact La Llorona.
“‘Are you La Llorona?’ It gasped with laughter as its eyes rolled to the back of its skull. [...] ‘No. Silly, human. You are (p. 168).”
But if Alejandra and her ancestors are La Llorona, who is this creature? What is this creature?
“That is how it found this place: from a prophetic vibration of chaotic bloodshed. This species fed off chaos as much as it did the wails of innocents. The thought of that chaos and bloodshed made it shiver with ecstasy as it waited for violence to scar the land. Violence that would scar the psyche of generation after generation (p. 40).”
Is the creature trauma incarnate? Does it represent what happens when we don’t heal and continue cycles of violence? Are the women in this book the foil to this? Examples of how -even when there is hardship, loss, pain, trauma - when we hold onto love, family, and community, we can heal and break generational curses?
Or is the creature systemic oppression? It thrives and feeds off people’s suffering. Like the billionaires who profit off of the working class’ underpaid labor? Who benefit from racism that creates divides between the white, the black, and the brown who would otherwise unite? Like Trump who uses immigrants as scapegoats to get poor Americans to hate us? Instead of hating greedy corporations who outsource labor to countries and people they can get away with underpaying?
“Alejandra felt sorry for the thing because it could never experience the true beauty of existence. That was its curse. It would hunger and never feel satisfied, living in a constant state of hatred of what it lacked (p. 240).”
One of the very last chapters offers us the legend of La Llorona from her own perspective. Rosa was a widow who inherited her husband’s debt. It seemed the best option for Rosa was to marry the man who her husband owed the money to, but she knew he would be dangerous to her and her daughters. She chose the unthinkable. To end her life and the lives of her daughters to prevent further suffering.
“‘I don’t trust the way I see him looking at me – at my girls.’ ‘What else can you do? Just go along with it. That is how we survive.’ It was then that she made the decision to end it all forever. The limited options they had in life made her imagine the worst outcomes for her daughters (p. 250).”
“Now her daughters would never suffer abuse or have to sell themselves. Ever. Even animals in the wild sometimes eat their young. This world was a cruel one with no hope, no one to give her hope (p. 249).”
This reminds me of Toni Morrison’s “Beloved,” a book about an enslaved woman who killed her baby to save her from the horrors of slavery. We damn these women’s choices but we don’t damn the world that only offers them terrible choices.
The power of the collective
I want to end on the power of our collective strength. Throughout the book, each chapter is told from just one woman’s perspective until later Alejandra seeks help from Melanie. With her therapist and curandera in her corner, Alejandra is empowered to find her inner strengths. Melanie also instructs Alejandra to learn about her ancestors and find strength in their collective resilience, eventually leading to Alejandra asking her birth mother to visit her.
When Cathy visits Alejandra, they realize they have both been tormented by the same creature, making them feel less alone and afraid. Instead of questions and doubts, the women are able to fight together and find a way to end the curse. Another powerful source of strength comes from women that appear to Alejandra in her dreams. These women float peacefully in the cenote acting as a source of strength; she later learned the women were her ancestors who also faced this curse.
“‘Sometimes you need to know you are not alone in the scariest of experiences, especially the ones that push you to the brink of your understanding of everything (p. 192).’”
“‘I do not fear death because I know part of me will remain to watch over them. And every generation of us can pass on our knowledge and strength after death (p. 224).’”
“In that moment she felt internal peace, and knowledge of the eternal presence of true love. Eternal because it passes on from one generation to the next. It is another form of generational wealth (p. 225).”
“‘I hope you are all there. The women from my bloodline. Ancestors long dead. Give me your strength. I can’t change the past. Help me to give our future generations something better (p. 239).’”
From mother to daughter, there was strength passed on that transcended the normal boundaries of earthly relationships. Atzi made a promise to her daughter Yaretzi and Cathy made a promise to her daughter Alejandra. They both promised to find them later on in life, or the afterlife.
“Atzi lifted her weary arms and looked to the sun to feel it one last time before casting herself into the azure cenote. [...] Her last thought before shattering: Yaretzi, you and your seed must find me again so I may guide you through the terror. I will plead to the gods to give you all my strength and love so you may endure (p. 39).”
“Cathy [...] placed her hand over her belly. In her mind she spoke to the baby. You will be my only one always and forever. Leaving you won’t be for nothing. I promise. One day we will find each other again when you need me most (p. 80).”
The Haunting of Alejandra shows us that we have not just generational trauma but also generational strength. Alejandra and Cathy were both tormented by negative thoughts, whether they came from judgmental nurses, their inner critics, or evil creatures. Despite this they sought help and defeated a generational curse that seemed insurmountable.
That is what I take away from this book. There will always be a plight that is bigger than any one person, but there is never a plight bigger than all of humanity. Collectively, we have the knowledge, strength, and love needed to make the world a better place and destroy evil creatures in whatever form they appear.
