Woodworm by Layla Martínez

translated from the Spanish by Annie McDermott

Martinez is of the belief that all houses are haunted, and it’s just that some of their residents don’t choose to buy into that scenario.

That is not the case however with the young woman who narrates this novel, in turn with her witchlike grandmother.

It begins with the granddaughter’s perspective. Could the worst already happened to her? Her teenage mother was murdered when she was a baby, and now she leads a solitary existence in a cursed house. Amongst her problems are that her teeth have begun to fall out. She has just been released from police custody for an unspecified reason that will be shared midway through the piece. Journalists surround the house trying to pick up a quote that will feed further the rumour’s of the inhabitants of the town.
Set in rural Castilla–La Mancha, that saw some of the worst of the civil war, in a suitably old crumbling house, the girl still dreams of escaping to study in Madrid, but it would be against her grandmother’s will.
The grandmother’s own mother buried her abusive husband alive within the walls of the house, which seems to have stimulated a craving in it.

In this her debut novel, Martinez’s talents are evident, not only for the voice she gives her characters but also for the atmosphere she creates. Irresistibly hostile, the granddaughter’s narrative give the story a dark humour reminiscent of Shirley Jackson in her hatred for outsiders. Underplayed links to the violence of the civil war give the story perspective and a sense of purpose.
It’s a story or revenge, particularly of women’s revenge, and its place in restoring balance and justice.
One can sleep better knowing that one’s enemies are dead, and if that is ever doubted, it can be easily checked upon, so close by are their corpses.

A tremendous first effort.

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supera superiora sequi

SafeReturnDoubtful is my alias.


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Quote of the Week

Alice asked the Cheshire Cat, who was sitting in a tree, ‘What road do I take?’ The cat asked, ‘Where do you want to go?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Alice answered. ‘Then,’ said the cat, ‘it really doesn’t matter, does it?’


Lewis Carroll