Paradais by Fernanda Melchor (translated by Sophie Hughes)

The luxury housing complex at the centre of this novel is called Paradise, but groundskeeper Polo has trouble pronouncing this English word so his employer orders him to say it phonetically as “Paradais”. Polo is trapped in this dead end job where he's ordered to perform menial tasks for rich people. He's paid little and what money he does make goes directly to his overbearing mother who makes him sleep on a palate on the floor. Polo's cousin lives with them and she may be pregnant with his baby. Outside of work he spends time getting drunk with one of the older boys who lives in the complex named Franco, but Polo refers to him disparagingly as “fatboy”. He's disgusted by Franco but the boy steals quality alcohol or small sums of money for Polo to buy them booze. The sour dynamic of this friendship of convenience is so vividly conveyed as the boys waste their time together and hatch an evil plan. Franco has failed socially and academically so will probably be sent to a military school. He becomes obsessed with his masturbatory fantasies about his female neighbour who is a mother. So they decide to break into the neighbour's home so Franco can force her to have sex with him and they can rob the property. These are young men who feel they have nothing to lose which makes them incredibly dangerous.

As with Melchor's novel “Hurricane Season” there is a hypnotic intensity to her prose which spills out in an almost stream of consciousness style. We're bombarded by Polo's sensory experience of the world and his emotional interpretation of it. All the while we deeply feel his growing resentment for the callous wealthy residents of this complex and anger about his limited options in life. This takes the form of long blocks of text and extended sentences. It's a narrative structure which is entirely suited to conveying Polo's point of view and made me feel trapped in it just as he feels ensnared by his circumstances. In this way it feels somewhat similar to Damon Galgut's technique in “The Promise” because while being locked into the perspective of this character the reader is also implicated in his misogyny, bitterness and fury. While this can't exactly be called a pleasant experience it is so effective in conveying his worldview, his warped reasoning and his motivations. It made me feel empathy for him as he essentially doesn't seem like a bad person. He's just overwhelmingly frustrated by his economic and social position in life. He's also been raised to embody a pernicious form of masculinity. At the same time, I'm repulsed by his attitude and decisions. It's an effective way of completely drawing me into this menacing character's life.

I also don't entirely trust Polo's perspective as he frequently refers to most of the women around him as horny sluts so I question whether his interpretation of events and people are entirely accurate. Polo can clearly see that Franco's neighbour would never be sexually interested in Franco, but Franco is convinced that she really does want him. Similarly, Polo is certain his cousin is constantly flirting with him and tricking him into having sex with her so I'm cautious about accepting whether this is actually the case. It brings an interesting level of ambivalence to this narrative which is saturated with a misogynistic attitude. Interestingly, there is also an intimidating female figure in the story whose power resides in her absence. This is a notorious long-dead tyrannical Countess rumoured to haunt her dilapidated mansion which Polo must fearfully pass by on his way to the luxury housing complex. Just as in “Hurricane Season” the only way women can escape this masculine-driven community is to become a menacing almost mythological figure. I appreciated how Melchor incorporates the imagined spectre of the Countess' presence into the narrative as a counterpoint to these hyper-masculine points of view.

For such a short novel, “Paradais” makes a big impact and leaves a lasting impression.

Hurricane Season by Fernanda Melchor (translated by Sophie Hughes)

At the centre of “Hurricane Season” is a mysterious murder in a small Mexican village. The locals only referred to this notorious individual who is found floating dead in a body of water as “The Witch”. There are tales that she hoarded vast quantities of rare coins and valuable jewels in her home, that she had mystical powers to cast spells and that she regularly hosted depraved orgies. This makes her a figure of high intrigue as well as a target for violence. The novel gives a series of accounts from several individuals who were acquainted with the Witch and gradually explains the dramatic events and circumstances which lead to her death. Many of these characters are mere adolescents or teenagers engaged in very adult situations. In reading the dizzying fervour of their stories we get a wider view of this deeply troubled community and receive the author’s stealthy commentary upon it. It’s utterly hypnotic, gripping and filled with dexterous storytelling.

There’s a mesmerizing propulsive intensity to this novel which comes from a narrative of long unbroken sentences as well as from the raging force of its central characters. I found it hard to put down despite the horrors it describes. Not only is there physical and sexual violence, but the sensibilities of its characters are imbued with an odious array of prejudices including misogyny, racism and homophobia. There are also unsettling descriptions of female adolescent sexuality with a troubling look at the question of consent and abuse. I feel like if this novel were written by a man these aspects would come under a lot more criticism. Not that a woman can’t write misogynistic novels, but it’d be much easier for readers to confuse the intent of the narrative. However, I felt that the novel was slyly critiquing all these troubling views by embodying them so fully and presenting the full force of such unwieldy complex social power structures. By following the minutiae of these characters’ logic through the momentum of their voices, we see the complexity and contradictions of people who appear simply villainous on the surface. This creates a powerful depiction of a community of drug dealers, thieves, rapists and murderers who would otherwise be dismissed.

It’s unsurprising that in the acknowledgements at the end of the novel the author refers to reading “The Autumn of the Patriarch”. Melchor’s book has a very similar feel to a lot of Gabriel García Márquez’s writing with its documentary style of reportage and the way it circles around the same events many times from a variety of perspectives until the meaning of truth seems to be utterly obliviated. It’s also a way of depicting a certain prominent character through a series of points of view which leaves the reader still wondering about the real identity of that individual. The Witch is alternately described as a criminal, a sex maniac, a secret man, a drug fiend and a benevolent carer who helps local women get rid of unwanted pregnancies. I was left with a feeling of longing to really know the Witch’s background. But I think the novel was showing that there are people who can never be known, especially if they are the subject of lurid gossip and endless speculation. This is the real tragedy which Melchor depicts with such brilliant power.