Ebook Evaluate
Someone Is Strolling on Your Grave: My Cemetery Journeys
By Mariana Enriquez; translated by Megan McDowellHogarth: 336 pages, $30
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A stone’s throw from my condominium, Brooklyn’s Inexperienced-Wooden Cemetery is its personal dreamscape: 478 acres of parkland specified by the nineteenth century, with weathered plots, granite sculptures, mausoleums for the rich, all set amid rolling ridges and ravines fringed by elms and azaleas. Boss Tweed is buried at Inexperienced-Wooden, as are Jean-Michel Basquiat and Frank Morgan, who performed the humbug Wizard in “The Wizard of Oz.” There’s an abundance of small slabs, easy epitaphs like Our Child. Sometimes, my spouse and I pause to learn as we amble throughout to go to our late son, inurned close to a Gothic Revival gate topped by nests of monk parakeets. His marbled area of interest appears onto a koi pond, a patch of wisteria.
In her reflective, pitch-perfect assortment of linked essays, “Somebody Is Walking on Your Grave,” the nice Argentine author Mariana Enriquez guides us by way of 21 of the world’s distinctive cemeteries. Famend as a queen of literary horror — her tales brim with ghosts, werewolves, zombie infants — right here she reveals a realist facet, journalistic but intimate. She buildings her guide as a travelogue, skipping from continent to continent; every chapter’s a banger, rendered in a luminous translation by Megan McDowell.
Cemeteries are invaluable compasses, a theme that binds Mariana Enriquez’s essays, and “Somebody Is Walking on Your Grave” is an immersive testomony to her genius.
(Nora Lezano)
Enriquez opens in 1997, when she meets a slender avenue musician, Enzo, whereas on trip in Italy and indulges in a fling. He takes her to Genoa’s Staglieno Cemetery, the place they wander amongst tombs and have intercourse, stirring her creativeness: “An infernal female figure standing atop a grave. The Canale tomb, its exquisite sleeping girl with her hair spread over the pillow, and the angel of death, another girl — a ribbon in her hair — who is coming to whisk her away, lesbian curiosity in her pious eyes. On the Fassio tomb, a beautiful cadaver, this, svelte, wrapped in a shroud.” Her romance fizzles, however a ardour is born: She’ll now discover cemeteries across the globe, musing on the tales they inform, the cultures they mirror.
An avid researcher armed with a digicam, Enriquez is each reporter and pilgrim. (She contains images.) In London’s Highgate she poses earlier than Karl Marx’s marker. She steals a bone from Paris’ Catacombs. She travels to Savannah’s Bonaventure graveyard, abutting the Wilmington River, “where shrimp boats float, a mostly silent river that is only audible when a breeze shakes the trees and you hear the water whisper.” She pays tribute to her native Buenos Aires’ Recoleta and Argentina’s “dirty war,” which claimed the lives of hundreds of innocents.
Her fiction usually cloaks political parables. (“Our Share of Night,” Enriquez’s epic novel, examines the legacy of Argentina’s fascistic dictatorship by way of the prism of a demon cult.) She leaves loads of blood and gore on the web page, which explains why “Somebody Is Walking on Your Grave” seems like a departure: It confronts mortality in a heat, inviting tone, embracing the liminal area between the useless and residing. In Mexico, as an example, that area is joyously celebrated in annual Day of the Lifeless festivities, with its skeleton trinkets and pan de muerto, candy buns served at household gatherings.
Enriquez describes her awe at domed sepulchers in Havana. She falls arduous for New Orleans, in search of traces of voodoo, “something more than just a souvenir doll or a little bag of gris-gris or a pink love potion, or a guide who will repeat his stories for twenty bucks,” she writes. “I have no way to get to the Louisiana swamps where, it’s said, you can still find voodoo priestesses living in trailers. I don’t have a car. And having no car in the United States is like not having a pulse.” Language itself wards off evil. Basque headstones are inscribed in Euskara, the oldest European tongue; Enriquez’s buddy shouts in Euskara to scare away an intruder.
Social commentary percolates all through the guide. Enriquez, a 2022 finalist for a Los Angeles Occasions Ebook Prize, has lengthy been a type of rock ’n’ roll maverick within the mode of Rachel Kushner — there are references to Pleasure Division, Nick Cave and AC/DC — however at coronary heart she’s a moralist. Beneath her wealthy surfaces, we discover steely accounts of injustice and resilience. Nations gamble with the fates of their residents; Enriquez is “outraged that the domination is so obvious and not even death can overcome it.” She’s morbidly fascinated by racial and sophistication segregation amongst cemeteries.
On Western Australia’s Rottnest Island, the place her accomplice (and eventual husband) works, she discovers an untended graveyard of maybe 400 Aboriginal peoples. At Martín García Island, Argentina, a collection of crags amid the Río de la Plata delta, she tries to make sense of crooked crosses solid from a single mould. (Political prisoners had been housed right here, together with Juan Perón.) She journeys to Chile’s distant Punta Arenas, dwelling to the scenic Sara Braun Municipal Cemetery, a profusion of pruned cypress bushes and a statue of an Unknown Indian. “He wears necklaces, crucifixes with huge agonizing Christs, and bracelets, and he’s practically covered with flowers. It’s an explosion of color and feeling,” Enriquez observes, “and, as always in these cases, an attempt to mitigate any fury. Turning the Unknown Indian into a saint is better than the other possibility: that he become an avenger.”
Historic reminiscence, she suggests, has by no means been extra needed. Empires proceed to spark atrocities; and in our second of rising authoritarianism, we should look to the previous for clues to the long run. Grief, too, steers us, a cleaning ritual, as I recall every time my spouse and I meander beneath Inexperienced-Wooden’s leafy cover, parakeets swooping and chattering overhead, or sit quietly in its hushed chapel. Cemeteries are invaluable compasses, a theme that binds Enriquez’s essays, and “Somebody Is Walking on Your Grave” is an immersive testomony to her genius.
Cain is a guide critic and the writer of the memoir “This Boy’s Faith: Notes From a Southern Baptist Upbringing.” He lives in Brooklyn, N.Y.
