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A review by alexaisreading
Hurricane Season by Fernanda Melchor
dark
emotional
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
Squalor. Destitution. Hatred. Lust. Greed. Corruption. Jealousy. Bitterness. Misery. Just a handful of words evoked by the setting and characters of Fernanda Melchor’s Hurricane Season.
Beginning and ending in a distant third— at one point shifting seamlessly from close third, to first person, to the style of a police report, and back to close third— this novel is divided into chapters that center characters all connected by the common thread of Luismi, one of La Matosa’s young men known for taking too many pills and being the Witch’s lover: Yesenia, Luismi’s cousin; Munra, his stepfather; Norma, his girlfriend; and Brando, a friend in his circle. And oh— “the Witch,” the Mexican town’s ostracized, black-clad spellwoman, is dead, found floating face up in an irrigation canal with a slashed throat.
Really, this narrative is not about her at all, but about the innate vileness of humanity, about the gross biases that a machismo-centered culture creates for those who exist outside of it. Melchor presents the taboo in a particularly interesting way, as though La Matosa has determined certain correct and incorrect ways of engagement; Chabela, Luismi’s mother, takes pride in her profession but shames other sex workers who operate differently from her; sexual relationships between men are acceptable only if they meet certain social criteria.
Most of this novel is page-long sentences dripping with vitriol and malice, as the characters’ individual traumas, more than the circumstances of the witch’s murder, are laid bare. Hurricane Season is a difficult read, one I was reluctant to pick up for how emotionally taxing it is, but if you feel compelled to read it, as I did for many months, do so.
Beginning and ending in a distant third— at one point shifting seamlessly from close third, to first person, to the style of a police report, and back to close third— this novel is divided into chapters that center characters all connected by the common thread of Luismi, one of La Matosa’s young men known for taking too many pills and being the Witch’s lover: Yesenia, Luismi’s cousin; Munra, his stepfather; Norma, his girlfriend; and Brando, a friend in his circle. And oh— “the Witch,” the Mexican town’s ostracized, black-clad spellwoman, is dead, found floating face up in an irrigation canal with a slashed throat.
Really, this narrative is not about her at all, but about the innate vileness of humanity, about the gross biases that a machismo-centered culture creates for those who exist outside of it. Melchor presents the taboo in a particularly interesting way, as though La Matosa has determined certain correct and incorrect ways of engagement; Chabela, Luismi’s mother, takes pride in her profession but shames other sex workers who operate differently from her; sexual relationships between men are acceptable only if they meet certain social criteria.
Most of this novel is page-long sentences dripping with vitriol and malice, as the characters’ individual traumas, more than the circumstances of the witch’s murder, are laid bare. Hurricane Season is a difficult read, one I was reluctant to pick up for how emotionally taxing it is, but if you feel compelled to read it, as I did for many months, do so.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Rape, Child abuse, Sexual assault, and Murder
Moderate: Addiction, Transphobia, Homophobia, and Sexism
Minor: Racism