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White is for Witching Paperback – February 4, 2014
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One of Granta’s Best Young British Novelists
From the acclaimed author of What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours, Gingerbread, and Peaces
There’s something strange about the Silver family house in the closed-off town of Dover, England. Grand and cavernous with hidden passages and buried secrets, it’s been home to four generations of Silver women—Anna, Jennifer, Lily, and now Miranda, who has lived in the house with her twin brother, Eliot, ever since their father converted it to a bed-and-breakfast. The Silver women have always had a strong connection, a pull over one another that reaches across time and space, and when Lily, Miranda’s mother, passes away suddenly while on a trip abroad, Miranda begins suffering strange ailments. An eating disorder starves her. She begins hearing voices. When she brings a friend home, Dover’s hostility toward outsiders physically manifests within the four walls of the Silver house, and the lives of everyone inside are irrevocably changed. At once an unforgettable mystery and a meditation on race, nationality, and family legacies, White is for Witching is a boldly original, terrifying, and elegant novel by a prodigious talent.
- Print length304 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherRiverhead Books
- Publication dateFebruary 4, 2014
- Dimensions5.15 x 0.78 x 7.99 inches
- ISBN-109781594633072
- ISBN-13978-1594633072
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Editorial Reviews
Review
—The New York Times Book Review
“Profoundly chilling . . . a slow-building neo-Gothic that will leave persevering readers breathless.”
—The Boston Globe
“If you’ve been missing Shirley Jackson all these many years . . . here’s a writer who seems to be a direct heir to that lamented one’s gothic throne.”
—The Austin Chronicle
“Superbly atmospheric. . . . The dark tones of Poe in her haunting have also the elasticity of Haruki Murakami’s surreal mental landscapes.”
—The Independent (UK)
“[Oyeyemi’s] technical skill as a novelist is remarkable, her range of reference formidable and her use of language virtuosic.”
—The Daily Telegraph (UK)
"Appealing from page one.... Unconventional, intoxicating and deeply disquieting."
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Laced with thought-provoking story lines."
—Booklist
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
is not tall. He is pale and the sun fails on his skin. He used to write restaurant reviews, plying a thesaurus for other facets to the words "juicy" and "rich." He met Lily at a magazine Christmas party; a room set up like a chessboard, at its centre a fir tree gravely decorated with white ribbons and jet globes. They were the only people standing by the tree with both hands in their pockets. For hours Lily addressed Luc as "Mike," to see what he had to say about it. He didn't correct her; neither did he seem charmed, puzzled, or annoyed, reactions Lily had had before. When she finally asked him about it, he said, "I didn't think you were doing it on purpose. But then I didn't think you'd made a mistake. I don't know what I thought. I suppose I thought you were calling me Mike because Mike was my name, if you see what I mean."
He wooed his wife with peach tarts he'd learnt from his pastry-maker father. The peaches fused into the dough with their skins intact, bittered and sweetened by burnt sugar. He won his wife with modern jazz clouded with cello and xylophone notes.
His fingers are ruined by too close and careless contact with heat; the parts that touch each other when the hand is held out straight and flat, the skin there is stretched, speckled and shiny. Lily had never seen such hands. To her they seemed the most wonderful in all the world. Those hands on her, their strong and broken course over her, his thumbs on her hip bones.
One night she said to him, "I love you, do you love me?" She said it as lightly as such a thing can be said without it being a joke. Immediately he replied, "Yes I love you, and you are beautiful," pronouncing his words with a hint of impatience because they had been waiting in him a long time.
He seems always to be waiting, his long face quiet, a dark glimmer in his heavy-lidded eyes. Waiting for the mix in the pot or the oven to be ready. Waiting for blame (when, at twelve, Miranda's condition became chronic he thought that somehow he was responsible; he'd let her haunt the kitchen too much, licking spoons. He forgot that he had allowed Eliot to do the same.) Waiting, now, for the day Lily died to be over, but for some reason that day will not stop.
Meanwhile he has the bed-and-breakfast to run, he has cooking to oversee, peach tarts to make for the guests who know to ask for them. The peach tarts are work he doesn't yet know how to do without feeling Lily. He has baked two batches of them since she died. Twice it was just him and the cook, the Kurdish woman, in the kitchen and he has bowed his head over his perfectly layered circles of pastry, covered his face and moaned with such appalled, amazed pain, as if he has been opened in a place that he never even knew existed. "Oh," he has said, unable to hold it in. "Oh." Luc is very ugly when he cries; his grief is turned entirely inward and has nothing of the child's appeal for help. The Kurdish woman clicked her tongue and moved her hands and her head; her distress was at his distress and he didn't notice her. The first time he cried like that she tried to touch her fat hand to his, but he said, "Don't--don't," in a voice that shook her.
Nobody knew what to say to Luc. His children were closest to knowing, but Miranda was mad and when she saw him those first few weeks after Lily's death, she wasn't sure who he was. Eliot noticed Luc more, as an eye does when something is removed from a picture and the image is reduced to its flaw, the line where the whole is disrupted.
I find Luc interesting. He really has no idea what to do now, and because he is not mine I don't care about him. I do, however, take great delight in the power of a push, a false burst of light at the bottom of a cliff, just one little encouragement to the end. Sometimes it seems too easy to toy with him. Other times . . . I don't know. But he is always so close by that it doesn't matter so much.
My father is very brief. All in the most likeable manner possible--he gets this look of discomfort whenever someone tries to discuss something with him at length. He looks as if he would very much like to spare you the effort. He used to go through horrors with Miri on the subject of her day at school, his replies cautious and neutral in case he appeared to be disapproving of something that was a good thing. Miri would chatter and chatter about our teacher having been unfair or the disappearance of her pencils. "Ah," Dad would say, and, "Right." And, "Really?"
If I was going on a trip or something it was a simple matter of handing him a letter or an itinerary and saying, "Dad, it's £300," or whatever it was. He'd scan the paper and say, "Fine," or he'd say, "Here's the thing; can't afford that this term. Are you now resentful?"
Are you now resentful is always a genuine question from him. We never, ever said yes. It was my dad's idea to open Lily's house as a bed-and-breakfast. Lily's grandma, our GrandAnna, had raised Lily herself, and when she died she left Lily the house in Dover. I heard my Dad on the phone to someone about it: "Seven bedrooms, four bathrooms and God's own 1940s kitchen . . ."
Lily wanted to put the Dover house up to let and use the money to pay the rent on our flat in London, which, Dad said, made no sense at all. But: "Why on earth would I want to live in Dover again? I spent my childhood in a state of inertia."
Dad spent about six months working on Lily. The facts, figures and written proposals he'd prepared for the bank left her completely unmoved; she always tried to ignore things she didn't understand rather than be intimidated by them. But apparently it was the bed linen that changed her mind. Cool blue silk and cotton patchwork. When Dad laid the stitched pillowcase and duvet out for her on the sofa, the colours reminded her of something she'd never seen. She said to us, "Imagine everyone in the house--even people we don't know--all wrapped up safe in blue, like fishes. What fun . . ."
Miri and I were ten; Dad spent some time with a big map, planning a scenic route, and then he drove the moving van himself. Miri and I fidgeted at first, then settled when we saw cliffs bruising the skyline and smelt birds and wet salt on the air.
Our new house had two big brown grids of windows with a row of brick in between each grid. No windows for the attic. From the outside the windows didn't look as if they could be opened, they didn't look as if they were there to let air or light in, they were funny square eyes, friendly, tired. The roof was a solid triangle with a fat rectangular chimney behind it. Lily bounced out of the van first and I scrambled out of the other side and crooked my arm so as to escort her to the door. The house is raised from the road and laid along the top of a brick staircase, surrounded by thick hedge with pink flowers fighting through it. "Careful on the steps," Lily said. The steps leading up to the house bulge with fist-sized lumps of grey-white flint, each piece a knife to cut your knee open should you slip. Opposite our house there is a churchyard, a low mound of green divided into two. The graves beneath it are unmarked. Lily took my arm and held Miri's hand and when we got up to the front door she rubbed the crescent-moon-shaped door knocker and laughed a little bit and said, "Hello, hello again."
The first thing Lily showed us inside was the dusty marble fireplace. It was so big that Miri could crawl into the place where the wood was supposed to sit. She tried to make crackling, fire-like noises
(when we were ten I always knew the meaning of the sounds she made, even when they were unsuccessful)
but ended up choking on a puff of dust that bolted down the chimney. Next Lily showed us the little ration-book larder behind the kitchen; the shelves were wonky and the room had a floor so crazily checked that none of us could walk in a straight line in there. I remember how brilliant I thought it all was; there was nothing for it but to jump in the air and yell and kick and make kung-fu noises.
Miri and I conferred and decided that we liked the tallness of the house, the way the walls shoot up and up with the certainty of stone, "Like we're in a castle," Miri put it. We liked the steep, winding staircase with the gnarled banister. We especially liked the ramshackle lift and the way you could see its working through a hole worn into the bottom in the back left corner. We liked that the passageways on each floor were wide enough for the two of us to stand beside each other with our arms and legs spread, touching but not touching. I climbed one of the apple trees and surveyed the garden, the patches of wild flowers that crumpled in the shade, the Andersen shelter half-hidden by red camellia shrubs. I was well pleased. "Wicked house," I said. "Magic," said Miri, from somewhere below.
We thought it would be hard to make friends because of the way people came out and stared at us in the moving van as it passed through the streets. But Miri is good at making friends, and I am good at tagging along on expeditions and acting as if the whole thing was my idea in the first place. Miri was very pleased with Martin Jones's curly hair; the boy's head was like a sheep's. He became our first friend in the area and he brought most of the rest.
Actually, when we were sixteen Miri gave me the task of telling Martin that he didn't stand a chance with her. Miri called me into her room, fixed me with a look of dread and whispered, "He asked me out and now I just can't look at him anymore." I refused point-blank to be her messenger or to have anything to do with any of it, but she said, "Then I'll write him a letter." I cringed and said, "Don't do that."
Martin and a couple of others came around to smoke and watch what promised to be "strange and unusual porn." Women with horses, women with lizards, women with women plus horses and lizards. I pretended to be leaner than I was and at one point mentioned aloud one of the "actor's" resemblance to Miri's boyfriend. The others groaned.
"What the fuck--"
"Er, no--"
"Too gay, Silver."
Martin didn't say anything himself, but I knew that he was gutted and I didn't let him pay for his share of the weed; he put a note down and when he wasn't looking I screwed it up and threw it into his coat pocket with a sense of relief so huge it was disabling. I wrote something in my diary about it a few days later, about our teenage years being a realm of the emotionally baroque. I wasn't even lean when I wrote that.
So Martin was the first friend, but the other kids he brought liked the house too.
For a few months after we moved in it was just Lily, Miri, Dad and me in the house, no guests. Decorating happened, the kitchen got updated; Lily went away to Mexico and came back with a pair of shrivelled corn-husk dolls that she put on a shelf in her studio when Miri and I rejected them. During that time there was no better place in the neighbourhood for hide-and-seek, or for Robin Hood versus Sheriff of Nottingham swordstick fighting in the back garden. There was no better place to play Hitler Resistance Force, a game I made up so I could be Churchill. My first kiss was in the Andersen shelter, more a percussion of heads, faces, mouths than anything else. We were thirteen. Emma's the sort of girl who likes boys who have unpredictable moods and write poetry and imagine things, so I played up to that. We were in the shelter because she was supposed to be a Nazi double agent giving me secret information. For some reason whilst kissing her my main preoccupation was not hurting her or bruising her. I tried not to hold her too hard. Her hair and skin were so soft.
There is another shelter inside the house. It is beneath the sitting room with the fireplace; it is under a trapdoor set in the floor. The room is dim and long and deep; a room for sleeping in. Sleeping and not much else. I tried to revise for exams in there and ended up curled up on my side on the floor, snoring.
What took getting used to in Dover were the gulls and their croaky sobs, and the sense of climbing upstairs when walking on some roads and downstairs when walking on others. The house, the garden, moving. The whole thing was like a dream; for weeks Miri and I couldn't believe it and wandered around the place with pangs in our stomachs, pre-emptive homesickness ready for the tiem when Dad and Lily would announce it was only a holiday and it was time to leave. Aside from our great-grandmother dying, we knew that it was Dad that had made it all happen, and we revered him as a wizard.
Miri's room was darker than mine, even before she took to keeping her curtains drawn at all times and Lily started calling her room "the psychomantium." That first day, Miri found something on the floor of that room she'd picked as hers. I didn't see what it was, but it was very small, and I thought that it must have cut her or something because just after she dropped it into her pocket she sucked thoughtfully at her finger. It took me about an hour of my best teasing and insults to get the secret out of her; finally she sighed and showed me. It was a ball of chalk.
Product details
- ASIN : 159463307X
- Publisher : Riverhead Books; Reprint edition (February 4, 2014)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 304 pages
- ISBN-10 : 9781594633072
- ISBN-13 : 978-1594633072
- Item Weight : 8.2 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.15 x 0.78 x 7.99 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #142,741 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #136 in Vampire Horror
- #1,712 in Folklore (Books)
- #9,103 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Helen Olajumoke Oyeyemi (born 10 December 1984) is a British novelist. In 2013 she was included in the Granta Best of Young British Novelists list.
Bio from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
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Helen Oyeyemi is one of my favorite authors. Her writing is beautiful, her stories are original and unpredictable, and her commentary is amazing. So read this book, probably with the lights on all night. Because, you never know when the next scare is about to take hold of you.
BTW - HINT: When you finish the book go back and read the introductory chapters over again.
Let's start with the way the book is written, people have described it be lyrical and I have to agree. There's something soothing about reading a book that flows. Where the words on the page float like in a soft breeze. It's light and ethereal. I did sometimes day dream during the book, but not in a way because I was bored, but in a way where I was picturing the scenes and the scenes after.
The book is about a house on the cliffs of Dover. A family home that has been passed down from mother to daughter in the Silver family. Lily Silver met Luc Dufresne at a Christmas party. They married had twins, a boy Eliot, and a girl Miranda. They moved into Lily's family home and turned it into a bed and breakfast. The family home or estate was quite large and could accommodate a few families at a time. The house is a character in this book and narrates. It keeps close watch on the Silver woman. Protects them.
There is an attribute the Silver women share and that is Pica. Pica is a medical term for a particular kind of eating disorder. It's the eating of non-food items. Miranda or Miri, as she likes to be called, is partial to chalk. Her mother too used to eat chalk. Miranda is in a hospital for her eating disorder. Luc and her brother are hopeful she will grow out of it.
If you've read 'The Fall of the House of Usher', then you'd know that the story is about a house and the twins that live within it. The house is decaying day by day. It keeps the twins prisoner in their own home. The sister is very sick. The brother is losing his mind. I've read several books over the years that had houses that watched it's occupants, 'Rooms' by Lauren Oliver for example. Although it is actually ghosts that are watching the family within, it feels the same. In 'Women in the Walls' by Amy Luckavics, the mother disappears like in this book and the daughter feels like the house has secrets. In 'House of Leaves' by Mark Danielewski the house itself can transform at will. Creating rooms where there was none. So reading White is for Witching felt similar and new at the same time.
It's hard to explain what the book is about after reading it once. I feel like I must read it again to find the hidden meanings within the pages. On the back of the book it says, "The mazy house on the cliffs near Dover has been home to generations of Silver women-and it never lets them go." This is true. Somehow the women are stuck in the house. Whether that is as spirits I can not say.
The book has several POV's. We listen to Miri, Eliot, Ore(a friend) and the house itself. They are all telling the story of Miri, her slow decent into madness? Maybe not. But they witness a change in Miri and one day she is gone. They don't know what happened to her. Only the house who watches everything knows. And so this is that story.
I loved everything about this book. I gave it 4 stars because I definitely think I need to re-read it at some point in the future to get a better understanding of it. It has room to improve in my eyes on a second read. I highly recommend if you haven't picked up anything from Helen Oyeyemi. She writes dark fairy-tales and this one is eerie.
Top reviews from other countries
where is miranda?
With this sentence we are thrown into the happenings around the Silver House in Dover. And believe me when I say, I went right back to this sentence once I had finished the book – because it is perfectly cyclical. We are introduced to Ore and Eliot, as well as the rather odd concept of “29 barton road”. It took a while for me to understand, that it really is the house talking there. Perspective changes in the text aren’t marked, so it can be confusing at first, who might be talking in a given passage. But I made a game of it and tried to guess it by the first sentence. Usually, it becomes clear sooner or later, though the “I”-perspective of everyone but Miranda doesn’t make it any easier.
Summary
Miri and Eliot are twins, whose mother died recently in Haiti while working. Now they live with their father in the Silver House, which was turned into a B&B. After news of their mother’s death came, something happened that put Miri in a mental health clinic. She has been suffering from pica – an eating disorder, in which people consume things not meant for consumption, in Miri’s case mostly chalk. The house gets stranger everyday, something the new housekeeper Sade, a Nigerian woman, notices as well. Young men with migration background are stabbed in Dover, which Tijana, whose cousin was stabbed, but survived, thinks is Miri’s fault. Miri and Eliot apply to Cambridge, but only Miri gets in. There, we meet Ore, who first befriends Tijana, who got into Cambridge as well. Later Miri and Ore grow closer and get together. However, this relationship seems to harm them – Miri’s vampiric essence peeks through. In the holidays, Miri invites Ore over to the Silver House – which is when the truly horrific happenings start. Visions, hallucinations, voices and an ever stronger presence of the goodlady, a malignant, ghostly force. A racist and xenophobic house, that wants Ore away from Miri. And that would rather see Miri dead than be with a Black woman.
Analysis
I read this novel in a Seminar titled “Critical Whiteness in Literary Studies”, in which we discussed and analysed it mainly focused on the way Blackness and whiteness are portrayed. We read some secondary literature as well. So, these thoughts are based off of these circumstances, the literature and discussions with others, but still my personal interpretations, not fact. These are also the reasons I thoroughly recommend this book!
There are many different things happening in this novel, all equally tied together and intriguing, but I will limit myself to some of the most interesting aspects to me.
Whiteness
If you look at the way objects and places described, one cannot miss the heavy focus on whiteness. The chalk, Miri consumes, the White Cliffs of Dover, the white milk Eliot drinks, the bleach that kills Agim, the white part of the apples. Miri and Eliot consume whiteness, the nationalism, that the House wants to instil in them. It itself was created through hatred for “Others”, mainly racialised and national “Others”. But whereas Eliot (and Luc) don’t reflect on that consumption, that sort of naïve ignorance of issues of race and nationality, Miri does. It shows in the way she thinks about talking about the killed people in Dover (“…stabbing these people?” She didn’t want to say “refugees”. She didn’t want to say Kosovans. She didn’t know why. Or maybe it seemed feeble somehow, like making a list of things that were a shame, grouped in order of quantity” [p.30]). Dover itself is a place associated with migration, the White Cliffs of Dover a national symbol, a border of whiteness. This also shows, when Luc and Eliot talk about Moby Dick, and how they seemingly don’t “get it”. Miri struggles against the House, against her Blood, the Blood of Anna Good, her maternal ancestors. Lilly managed in some ways to get away – she died in Haiti, without succumbing to the House. Miri still fights it, fights the goodlady, the soucouyant, the amalgamation of her maternal ancestors within herself. She doesn’t want to harm Ore and she knows, the only way to end the horror of the House, its racism, is by ending its Blood.
Sade
Seemingly the only people who notice something is wrong with the House are the non-white and/or non-british people (with the exception of the French Luc, whose white male perspective seems to hinder his understanding of the House’s danger). The first housekeepers leave after the incident with the lift. Sade stays, but only because the voices tell her to. She consumes the apple yet keeps her independence from the House somehow. And once she has saved Ore with the white net, it is her time to leave. She is the polar opposite to Luc and Eliot’s (wilful) ignorance. She also brings a tie again to the immigration aspect of Dover, by bringing food to the Immigration Removal Centre. She also subverts gender roles by having marks on her chin, scars that usually only the men of her people wear. Sade is a very interesting character. Like Ore she stands for being both Black and British, though her relationship to this identity is quite different, as she only came to Britain later in life. She still kept her cooking, believes and rituals. Now in comparison:
Ore
Was born in Britain and adopted by a British family. Her biological mother was a legalised immigrant from Nigeria – however Ore seemingly doesn’t want anything to do with this part of her heritage. She rejects it at Cambridge, as well as from Sade, when she talks about “us” and offers her Supermalt, a Nigerian drink. She is interested in the soucouyant and fairy-tale-like stories. But she doesn’t want to sacrifice her Britishness for it. With her character, Oyeyemi shows again, that Blackness and Britishness are not mutually exclusive. Contrary to the trope of the deviant, dangerous, racially “other” woman, Ore here is not the monster. Not she is the vampire, but the white Miri. Furthermore, Ore acts rationally in the House when she notices strange things going on. She doesn’t eat the apple, she prepares salt and pepper, she leaves to safe her live. She doesn’t fall victim to the racist House. She is a strong person and character.
Miri as Vampire
I have to admit, I didn’t pick up on Miri being a vampire until I read the secondary texts. But it really does make sense – she is hungry not for food, even chalk can’t satiate her forever. Yet she refuses to drink Ore’s blood, she rather fights herself and the Blood, the goodlady, within her. She is the white, British, tragically gothic looking woman – yet she is “the monster” as far as a vampire is inherently a monster. But she doesn’t let herself truly become one. She fights it, fights the House and … dies? We don’t know. And that is wonderful.
Who is the goodlady?
The question that probably stuck most with me. Is she the House? Is she Anna Good? Is she both, all the Silver women combined? The Racism and Xenophobia of Anna Good, what is left of her in this realm? It is pretty clear, that it was her who killed the people in Dover, the one’s she and/or the House didn’t want there. Is she therefor simply an extension of the House? Agim said, that the one who stabbed him called herself Anna – Anna Good? Apart from the name similarity, this seems to be evidence for the goodlady being Anna Good in some way, yes? Maybe, I am not sure. But it certainly is an interesting question, not answered by the text – like so many other things that are left open. So in the end, you are still left asking, amongst other things:
where is miranda?
Style and overall opinion
The style this novel is written in is absolutely amazing. Half poetry, half prose and a whole wave to carry you through. Sometimes there are breaks in the prose, a single word left in the centre of the line, only to connect one passage with the next, changing perspective in a smooth yet obvious way. Truly masterful. The start had me confused, but in a good way, and reading it a second time it made perfect sense. It heightened my curiosity, made me all the happier when I met Ore for the second time in the main text itself. And the book is queer! Which really surprised me and made me love reading it even more. The meanings and symbolisms are sometimes rather hidden, but that only means, I can read it many more times and still find new things. I am not familiar with the typical gothic novels, but I really feel like this is something different, while still encapsulating that sensation of horror.
I can’t recommend this book enough it truly is a masterful piece of writing and storytelling! The analysis and discussions I had about it made me enjoy it so much more, which is why I wanted to summarize some of my thoughts here.
Reviewed in Germany on February 2, 2022
where is miranda?
With this sentence we are thrown into the happenings around the Silver House in Dover. And believe me when I say, I went right back to this sentence once I had finished the book – because it is perfectly cyclical. We are introduced to Ore and Eliot, as well as the rather odd concept of “29 barton road”. It took a while for me to understand, that it really is the house talking there. Perspective changes in the text aren’t marked, so it can be confusing at first, who might be talking in a given passage. But I made a game of it and tried to guess it by the first sentence. Usually, it becomes clear sooner or later, though the “I”-perspective of everyone but Miranda doesn’t make it any easier.
Summary
Miri and Eliot are twins, whose mother died recently in Haiti while working. Now they live with their father in the Silver House, which was turned into a B&B. After news of their mother’s death came, something happened that put Miri in a mental health clinic. She has been suffering from pica – an eating disorder, in which people consume things not meant for consumption, in Miri’s case mostly chalk. The house gets stranger everyday, something the new housekeeper Sade, a Nigerian woman, notices as well. Young men with migration background are stabbed in Dover, which Tijana, whose cousin was stabbed, but survived, thinks is Miri’s fault. Miri and Eliot apply to Cambridge, but only Miri gets in. There, we meet Ore, who first befriends Tijana, who got into Cambridge as well. Later Miri and Ore grow closer and get together. However, this relationship seems to harm them – Miri’s vampiric essence peeks through. In the holidays, Miri invites Ore over to the Silver House – which is when the truly horrific happenings start. Visions, hallucinations, voices and an ever stronger presence of the goodlady, a malignant, ghostly force. A racist and xenophobic house, that wants Ore away from Miri. And that would rather see Miri dead than be with a Black woman.
Analysis
I read this novel in a Seminar titled “Critical Whiteness in Literary Studies”, in which we discussed and analysed it mainly focused on the way Blackness and whiteness are portrayed. We read some secondary literature as well. So, these thoughts are based off of these circumstances, the literature and discussions with others, but still my personal interpretations, not fact. These are also the reasons I thoroughly recommend this book!
There are many different things happening in this novel, all equally tied together and intriguing, but I will limit myself to some of the most interesting aspects to me.
Whiteness
If you look at the way objects and places described, one cannot miss the heavy focus on whiteness. The chalk, Miri consumes, the White Cliffs of Dover, the white milk Eliot drinks, the bleach that kills Agim, the white part of the apples. Miri and Eliot consume whiteness, the nationalism, that the House wants to instil in them. It itself was created through hatred for “Others”, mainly racialised and national “Others”. But whereas Eliot (and Luc) don’t reflect on that consumption, that sort of naïve ignorance of issues of race and nationality, Miri does. It shows in the way she thinks about talking about the killed people in Dover (“…stabbing these people?” She didn’t want to say “refugees”. She didn’t want to say Kosovans. She didn’t know why. Or maybe it seemed feeble somehow, like making a list of things that were a shame, grouped in order of quantity” [p.30]). Dover itself is a place associated with migration, the White Cliffs of Dover a national symbol, a border of whiteness. This also shows, when Luc and Eliot talk about Moby Dick, and how they seemingly don’t “get it”. Miri struggles against the House, against her Blood, the Blood of Anna Good, her maternal ancestors. Lilly managed in some ways to get away – she died in Haiti, without succumbing to the House. Miri still fights it, fights the goodlady, the soucouyant, the amalgamation of her maternal ancestors within herself. She doesn’t want to harm Ore and she knows, the only way to end the horror of the House, its racism, is by ending its Blood.
Sade
Seemingly the only people who notice something is wrong with the House are the non-white and/or non-british people (with the exception of the French Luc, whose white male perspective seems to hinder his understanding of the House’s danger). The first housekeepers leave after the incident with the lift. Sade stays, but only because the voices tell her to. She consumes the apple yet keeps her independence from the House somehow. And once she has saved Ore with the white net, it is her time to leave. She is the polar opposite to Luc and Eliot’s (wilful) ignorance. She also brings a tie again to the immigration aspect of Dover, by bringing food to the Immigration Removal Centre. She also subverts gender roles by having marks on her chin, scars that usually only the men of her people wear. Sade is a very interesting character. Like Ore she stands for being both Black and British, though her relationship to this identity is quite different, as she only came to Britain later in life. She still kept her cooking, believes and rituals. Now in comparison:
Ore
Was born in Britain and adopted by a British family. Her biological mother was a legalised immigrant from Nigeria – however Ore seemingly doesn’t want anything to do with this part of her heritage. She rejects it at Cambridge, as well as from Sade, when she talks about “us” and offers her Supermalt, a Nigerian drink. She is interested in the soucouyant and fairy-tale-like stories. But she doesn’t want to sacrifice her Britishness for it. With her character, Oyeyemi shows again, that Blackness and Britishness are not mutually exclusive. Contrary to the trope of the deviant, dangerous, racially “other” woman, Ore here is not the monster. Not she is the vampire, but the white Miri. Furthermore, Ore acts rationally in the House when she notices strange things going on. She doesn’t eat the apple, she prepares salt and pepper, she leaves to safe her live. She doesn’t fall victim to the racist House. She is a strong person and character.
Miri as Vampire
I have to admit, I didn’t pick up on Miri being a vampire until I read the secondary texts. But it really does make sense – she is hungry not for food, even chalk can’t satiate her forever. Yet she refuses to drink Ore’s blood, she rather fights herself and the Blood, the goodlady, within her. She is the white, British, tragically gothic looking woman – yet she is “the monster” as far as a vampire is inherently a monster. But she doesn’t let herself truly become one. She fights it, fights the House and … dies? We don’t know. And that is wonderful.
Who is the goodlady?
The question that probably stuck most with me. Is she the House? Is she Anna Good? Is she both, all the Silver women combined? The Racism and Xenophobia of Anna Good, what is left of her in this realm? It is pretty clear, that it was her who killed the people in Dover, the one’s she and/or the House didn’t want there. Is she therefor simply an extension of the House? Agim said, that the one who stabbed him called herself Anna – Anna Good? Apart from the name similarity, this seems to be evidence for the goodlady being Anna Good in some way, yes? Maybe, I am not sure. But it certainly is an interesting question, not answered by the text – like so many other things that are left open. So in the end, you are still left asking, amongst other things:
where is miranda?
Style and overall opinion
The style this novel is written in is absolutely amazing. Half poetry, half prose and a whole wave to carry you through. Sometimes there are breaks in the prose, a single word left in the centre of the line, only to connect one passage with the next, changing perspective in a smooth yet obvious way. Truly masterful. The start had me confused, but in a good way, and reading it a second time it made perfect sense. It heightened my curiosity, made me all the happier when I met Ore for the second time in the main text itself. And the book is queer! Which really surprised me and made me love reading it even more. The meanings and symbolisms are sometimes rather hidden, but that only means, I can read it many more times and still find new things. I am not familiar with the typical gothic novels, but I really feel like this is something different, while still encapsulating that sensation of horror.
I can’t recommend this book enough it truly is a masterful piece of writing and storytelling! The analysis and discussions I had about it made me enjoy it so much more, which is why I wanted to summarize some of my thoughts here.
Reviewed in India on January 30, 2018