On Political Violence, the Occult, and Class in Mariana Enriquez’s Our Share of Night
It’s a tale as old as time. A powerful, rich family who could have nearly anything, still wants more, especially as they’re getting older and begin to see their end in sight. The thought of death strikes a fervor in their desire to live, a desire so strong that they would do anything to achieve immortality to keep their power, their status, and others beneath them, even if that means serving an evil force that thirsts for death and suffering.
Let’s break that down further. You’re in Argentina living during a violent military dictatorship. You are a brown child with a heart condition. You are taken away from your parents and are purchased by a rich white doctor who believes you can be a medium, a way to connect to the Darkness to grant immortality to a bunch of other rich people. You are alone. You are not alone. You wonder where you came from. You aren’t sure what the cult has planned for you. You hope you never find out.
Queer subplots. A ghost story. Horror elements. The occult. A starving Darkness. Non-monogamy. Violence. A Fated Father and Son. A political commentary. Our Share of Night accomplishes a rich complexity that is strong enough to balance every detail, every theme, every discourse. It makes sense that the novel is over six hundred pages; Enriquez has a lot to say, and readers will cherish every word. Some might argue that this novel could’ve been shorter, but I enjoyed the length and full immersion into the story because I was attached to the characters, their journeys, their complex relationships, and wanted to see how they could escape the grasp of the Darkness.
Our Share of Night achieves a blending between the real and the fantastic by creating a bridge to the Other World while also keeping the reader in Buenos Aires and surrounding areas. The novel simultaneously highlights the political upheaval ravaging through Argentina like a sweaty, violent mosh pit. It is both nightmare and dream. The line between Darkness and Light.
In Our Share of Night, Enriquez does not shy away from the political violence of the State and of the maltreatment towards lower classes; instead, she finds a way to force the reader to pay attention to the violence.
For example, a journalist in the novel states: “There was something bleak about the story of the disappeared girl, it’s true, and maybe that’s why they didn’t follow it up. Those things happen in journalism. The public’s imagination falls in love with certain horrors and is indifferent to others.”
This quote struck me because Enriquez, as a writer, realizes that the world may not want to hear about inhumane treatment, starving children, unjust arrests. So Enriquez finds another way to get our attention. She gives us dark magic; she shows us the darkness, and in a twisted, awe-inspiring turn of events, possibly finds a way to break the cycle.
Our Share of Night is a powerful piece of literature. Told in five parts, Enriquez moves back in time from London in the 1960s to the brutal years of Argentina’s military dictatorship and its rocky aftermath. It’s important to note that this work is translated, so if you’re able to read the book in Spanish, I’d recommend it. Silva Moreno-Garcia and Mariana Enriquez sat down to discuss her newest book, where they talk about how translation can transform a text and how, while the translator, Megan McDowell, did a wonderful job, the translated version doesn’t fully feel like Enriquez’s work. They also dive into the other complex themes Enriquez grapples with and it’s an engaging listen. Do yourself a favor and listen to these two talented women writers of color talk craft. It’s worth it.
Enriquez utilizes the fantastic and supernatural elements to show us the real horrors of what can happen when the wealthy and privileged gain access to deadly power. Our Share of Night begs the question: Who gets access to immortality? Who deserves to live forever? And how do we, the people, take back the power if it falls into the wrong hands?
