Ghosts may make their unwelcome presence in a house for any variety of reasons, but the specter haunting the Hacienda San Isidro is there for reasons so deeply rooted in the land that it might never be fully purged. In Isabel Cañas’ assured debut The Hacienda, the ghost of the eponymous home is meant to be a sanctuary for Beatriz, a young woman trying to piece some security together after her general father is killed as a traitor following Mexico’s brutal War of Independence. Branded a traitor’s daughter and shunned by snobbish city society for her lower casta and darker complexion, Beatriz seizes the opportunity to marry the wealthy Don Rodolfo Solórzanos and escape to his maguey (agave) plantation. Yes, his background is mysterious, and there are whispers surrounding the death of his first wife, the fair criolla Maria Catalina. And rather than the sanctuary that Beatriz longs for, Hacienda San Isidro is angry—and the anger extends to some of its other inhabitants. Don Rodolfo’s sister Juana and the cook Ana Luisa don’t bother to hide their hostility towards Beatriz, and when strange happenings start occurring at the house, the new Doña Solórzano finds herself with few allies—except one. Padre Andrés grew up on the hacienda, learning the ways of old from his beloved grandmother until the war prompted him to seek safety in the seminary. Now back living near San Isidro, Andrés keeps the Solórzanos at arms’ length as much out of fear for his own safety as from his banishment by Maria Catalina. As the malevolence of the house grows deadly towards Beatriz, though, Andrés realizes that only his particular gifts might be able to save her. But in spite of the elites proclaiming a new day has arrived in Mexico, the old realities of intolerance and racism are still very present, feeding the evil that inhabits San Isidro. And it might be too powerful for Beatriz and Andrés to defeat.
Cañas set her ghost story in the Mexican countryside of the 1820s, as its traumatized population attempts to rebuild after so much death and destruction. It’s a period and location ripe for the Gothic treatment—true, the Inquisition no longer holds sway and the revolution has ensured Mexico can determine its own fate. But barely under the surface the same ghosts remain—the casta system keeps the fair-skinned, landowner criolla class ruling over the mestizo laboring class, and little has been done to stop the corrupt rot in the Church and the justice system that still linger from colonial days. Cañas skillfully weaves the conventions of the traditional Gothic ghost story—the mysterious new husband, an isolated estate, terrifying bumps in the night—against the background of the vividly rendered Mexican hacienda community and leads in Beatriz and Andrés that are complex and compelling. The Hacienda would be a great read for fans of ghost stories of any sort, especially those who enjoy the atmospheric worlds rendered in the works of du Maurier and her ilk. Historical fiction fans looking for fresh material may also try it, as Cañas portrays a landscape and period that has had little attention from authors until recently.