66 pages • 2 hours read
Content Warning: This section discusses sexual assault, child abuse, violence, and murder. Stigmatizing language about mental health is reproduced in quotations only.
The novel’s main sources of shock are Mary supernatural and societal experiences as a woman. Much of the novel’s horror comes not from people being murdered but from the frailties of middle-aged female bodies. Mary is tormented by vivid hallucinations whenever she looks at herself or other women: “My flesh sags, crumbles, oozes in clotty, rancid rivulets. My lower lip pulls down, revealing black gums and gravestone teeth. Like a corpse left to rot in the desert sun. […] Kill rip tear peel useless mother motherf—” (19). The imagery creates terror in two ways. Most obviously, it is disturbing and alienating for Mary to see bodies as the site of such destruction. More insidiously, she is forced to hear the way Damon views middle-aged women and the things he would like to do to erase them from the world. However, because it is not yet clear that this inner monologue is generated by a murderer, the text implies that Mary has internalized this misogyny from patriarchal messaging.
The world around Mary contributes to her feelings of worthlessness and insignificance, as the societal implications of being middle-aged also make Mary feel invisible. Male doctors always assume that her symptoms are caused by perimenopause—a diminishing and wrong supposition that is based on the mistaken idea that women are solely the sum of their reproductive parts. This aspect of the novel relies on the fact that male practitioners of Western medicine have a long history of ignoring and dismissing women, often with deadly results. she is often overlooked by other people, so much so that her boss takes weeks to fire her because he keeps simply forgetting about her.
Eventually, however, Mary and the middle-aged women victims of Damon Cross leverage this invisibility to their advantage. Turned into vengeful Furies after death, these women have power over who gets to see them, revealing themselves only to those they choose. They force Mary to see them, both to make Damon see what he did to them through her eyes and also because Mary has the ability to give them the undivided attention that fuels their strength. Eventually, the Furies come to see Mary as a fellow invisible woman and seek comfort and solace in her. Mary finds the Furies inspiring:
It’s not that they’re not beautiful—my God, they are—but that word has too much baggage. It’s an outsider’s word and it was weaponized to render these women invisible in the first place. They are full of so much more than beauty. I tell them they’re amazing. Powerful. I tell them they’re here. I will learn all their names in time (360).
By making these women feel seen as individuals and as a force to be reckoned with, Mary empowers them to enact violent revenge on the Arroyo cult. As a result, their middle-aged female bodies become the site not of helpless ruin but of agency and justice.
Mary critiques the way mental illness is used to shame people into compliance. Mary has an aversion to the word “crazy” because she believes that “[t]hat’s a word people use to make you small” (114). Mary’s reading of the word as a gendered insult is accurate; dismissing women as overly emotional or irrational has a long history in patriarchal thought. However, Mary’s aversion also prevents her from recognizing her complicated relationship with her mental health. As a child, after she attacked classmate Anna-Louise violently with a bat, she spent time at Clearview, an abusive psychiatric institution that demanded complete obedience: “Little, perfect boys and girls, faces pristine, sitting in chairs, lying in beds, shuffling in rooms. Except for those moments when they weren’t perfect, and then it was needles in the arm, pills down the throat” (195). In response to this mistreatment, Mary developed her mantra, “Be Good. Be porcelain” (195), like her Loved Ones figurines. Neither she nor the reader realizes that these were the actions of Damon Cross, who has been reincarnated into her body.
Mary suppresses her memories of Clearview and instead constantly repeats her desire to be like her porcelain statues. This shows how deeply Clearview affected her: She defines her behavior as the opposite of “good,” which is how the institution portrayed mental illness. Although the institution was called Clearview, Mary never got a “clear view” of her time there, primarily because Nadine refuses to discuss it—another symptom of the stigma associated with mental illness.
Mary’s medical trauma, which stems from her experiences at Clearview, has wide-ranging ramifications. Most significant is her antagonistic and fearful relationship with male doctors, whom she primarily wants to mollify and appease. When her first doctor dismisses her symptoms as perimenopausal, she smiles and leaves without asking questions—her impulse is to keep him happy rather than provoking him. At the same time, Mary conflates medical intervention with other bodily intrusions. She mentions early in the book, “I hate taking pills. I hate putting anything foreign into my body” (89). This comment has a sexual undertone, implying that Mary has an aversion to the idea of penetrative sex as well. Mary is portrayed as uninterested in romance or sex, a characterization that aligns with societal assumptions that desire in older women is unseemly and unnatural. Instead, the novel’s only depiction of sexual interest is the monstrous harvest—a violent group sexual assault—that cult members respond to with desire. Mary’s resistance to participating in this violation is partly a revolt against Damon’s influence and partly a result of her medical trauma, which in the end allow her to free herself from Arroyo, the cult, and the influence of the past.
At its heart, Mary is a novel about who gets to wield power. Dr. Burton, the leader of Arroyo’s cult, is primarily interested in maintaining control over the flock. He praises his father for transforming Damon Cross’s journal into a religion that has allowed the Burtons to dominate Arroyo, occupies several positions of authority as council leader and doctor, and espouses the doctrine that men have a right to control women. In the desert, as he tries to kill the only threat to his power—Mary, who is the reincarnation of Damon—Burton exposes his overinflated self-image: “That’s my legacy. You ask me if I’m a real doctor? If the Cross House is a real hospital? It is, but fuck all that. What you really tried to mess with? Is a king” (336). The Cross family had higher social standing than the Burtons; however, Burton claims the throne that they vacated after Damon’s death.
In Damon’s mind—and in Dr. Burton’s perpetuation of Damon’s ideas—women can only be of procreative use. Middle-aged women who attempt to gain power or agency must be killed in gruesome ways because their one use—being objects of sexual desire and having children—is over. This is why the main Damon victim that the reader gets to know is Jane Mayhew, who in life was primarily known for her intellect and creativity. As a published and well-received poet, Jane threatened Damon’s ideas about aging women being worthless; he not only murdered her but also carved off her face to deprive her of this identity.
The ghosts that Damon’s murder spree created are filled with rage but lacking purpose. When Mary rebels against Damon’s control, she imbues them with a new mission: They become the vengeance-seeking Furies. Only then do they reclaim their agency and identities, literally reattaching the faces that Damon removed:
Each woman steps forward when a face calls to her. […] A few even pull their faces off the shelf, remove them from their cases, and place them on their own. The physical sliver of skin falls through them, onto the floor with a soft lunch meat plip, but their spectral selves take on the look of the reattached faces. […] they can’t go back to what they were. They’re not these people anymore. They’re something new. Something changed. What’s important is they were seen and acknowledged (359-60).
By taking on the dual personas of ghostly apparitions and the women they once were, the Furies recover some measure of control over how they want to spend the rest of their existence. The novel ends on an ambiguous note—the Furies are bent on murder without a particular stopping point; their vengeance seemingly knows no bounds.
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