The Hacienda(97)
It was power.
The Hacienda is a story about the terrible things people will do to cling to power. A story about resilience and resistance in the face of a world that would strip you of power. A story about a young mestiza woman’s battle of wills with a house and all it represents, a house haunted by both the supernatural and its colonial history.
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THE HACIENDA IS NOT intended to be a source for the study of this period of Mexican history. At its heart, it is a horror novel, a suspenseful yarn about witchcraft, forbidden romance, and things that go bump in the night. I am leaving the academy to devote myself to the life of a novelist, a métier that demands that I close the history books and lie colorfully in the name of plot and character.
For example, Padre Andrés’s belief system is fictional. I wanted to build a worldview for this character that was respectful of and informed by folk beliefs I learned from my mother and other family members, but also influenced by the specific colonial context of nineteenth-century Mexico and its religious syncretism. I am deeply indebted to the primary texts and secondary analysis included in Local Religion in Colonial Mexico by Martin Austin Nesvig, Nahua and Maya Catholicisms: Texts and Religion in Colonial Central Mexico and Yucatan by Mark Christensen, and The Witches of Abiquiu: The Governor, the Priest, the Genízaro Indians, and the Devil by Malcolm Ebright and Rick Hendricks.
I encourage readers who are interested in the facts of this period to look up overview texts like Everyday Life and Politics in Nineteenth Century Mexico: Men, Women, and War by Mark Wasserman and The Women of Mexico City, 1790-1857 by Silvia Marina Arrom.
If reading The Hacienda encourages you to pick up these books and others, I hope you will discover what I did: that homes like Hacienda San Isidro were haunted by more than the supernatural.
Colonialism has carved the landscapes of our homes with ghosts. It left gaping wounds that still weep.
Reading historical fiction can teach us about worlds long gone, but in doing so, it must also inspire reflections on the present. As a historian, a Mexican-American woman, and a fellow reader, I hope this novel inspires the courage, anger, and compassion we all need to face the ghosts of colonialism that linger today.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I must first thank my agent, the indomitable Kari Sutherland, the most passionate advocate of my writing and career. Words cannot describe how grateful I am to have signed with someone who fights so hard for my work, whose business acumen and editorial eye I trust, and who so kindly humors my need for utterly arbitrary deadlines to chase. I raise my glass to you and to many books to come.
To my fierce champion Jen Monroe, whose sharp editorial insight helped me push myself to the best of my current capabilities and shape this novel into something I am truly proud of: thank you. I have grown so much working with you. I can’t wait to see how high we soar with the next one!
To the incredible team at Berkley, whose hard work I deeply admire and appreciate: Lauren Burnstein, Jennifer Myers, Christine Legon, Marianne Aguiar, Jessica Mangicaro, and Daniela Riedlová, and the publishing team: Claire Zion, Craig Burke, and Jeanne-Marie Hudson. I especially thank Vi-An Nguyen and Kristin del Rosario for bringing my first novel to life—it is a long-held dream to hold this book in my hands, and I am so grateful for your part in making that a reality.
I am endlessly grateful to the Clarion West class of 2018, but especially to B. Pladek and N. Theodoridou’s insightful critiques, daily encouragement, accountability, and love in our beloved Slack channel. I thank the ’21–’22 Berkley debut group (a.k.a. the Berkletes), CPs I have had the brilliant luck of meeting over the internet (Tanvi Berwah, Rae Loverde), and my brilliant agent sisters (especially Kelly Coon) for laughter, levity, wisdom, and commiseration. Thank you to my PitchWars mentors, Monica Bustamente Wagner and Kerbie Addis, and to writers I met through that cohort, especially Hannah Whitten and Marilyn Chin: your advice and critiques made this book real. Thank you.
Te?ekkür ederim, Hakan Karateke, for your early and continued support as I juggle fiction with finishing my dissertation (in?allah by the time you read this we’ll be at the finish line). To all my friends from the University of Chicago—Sam, Annie, Kyle, Mohsin, Betül, and Sarah L.—I appreciate you so much. To Mireille, who cheered me through my first NaNoWriMo and many manuscripts besides. To Christine and Liam, whose reading enthusiasm renews me every time.
Some friends require special thanks for being pillars of strength through tumultuous years. To Debbie, for laughter and companionship during seasons of rejection and success alike, but especially for championing the bad boys in every book. To Erin, a dear friend, artistic inspiration, and confidante without peer for the last thirteen years and counting. To Kara, my rock in this publishing adventure, for your boundless loyalty, sharp eye for story, character troubleshooting, career scheming, and salt on the toughest days.
I thank my beloved in-laws, Mary, Michael, and Alison, for love, food, and cheerleading through many discouraging rounds of submissions and for celebrating every hard-earned accomplishment. (Alison—I promise I will rewrite Fang, I swear.) I adore you all.
I am endlessly grateful for my crazy family: for inspiration, encouragement, loving teasing, and for reading my writing (even when it spooked you!). You are my home. To Elvira Ca?as and Arnulfo Flores: every book I write is because of you and for you. Te amo mucho.