Mayra

Ingrid is surprised when she gets a call from her old best friend, Mayra, whom she had not seen for years – not since she fled home. She’s even more surprised when Mayra invites Ingrid to a getaway in the middle of the Florida swamplands. But their anticipated reunion is spoiled by the unexpected appearance of Benji, Mayra’s boyfriend (whom she failed to mention) and his labyrinthine house, where they will be staying. As the days pass, Ingrid loses her sense of time, place, and herself as everything slows to a halt – it feels like the sticky air is suffocating her and the cacophony of cicadas, owls, and frogs is deafening her with their white noise. Everything puts Ingrid on edge: Benji’s constant presence and supervision, the endless hallways and rooms, and the mysterious diary she’s found. But no matter how hard Ingrid and Mayra try to escape, the house has grown attached to them and will do anything to make them stay.

Switching between memories of Ingrid and Mayra’s adolescence and the mystery they find themselves in now, Mayra is an eerie, dreamlike exploration of female friendship, the good and the ugly sides, and how they influence who we are and what we think of ourselves. Nicky Gonzalez writes with atmospheric and gritty prose about the abusive power dynamics, as Ingrid remembers everything she once admired and hated about Mayra, always getting caught in her web of lies, being left bruised and scarred.

Gonzalez’s slow burn novel evokes an unsettling dread as Ingrid discovers the secrets kept in the house that has a life of its own. Although I wouldn’t exactly call this a horror novel, Mayra possesses Gothic tropes such as a haunted house and a toxic female friendship reminiscent of that in Mona Awad’s Bunny. This story builds to a vivid, surreal ending that is sure to creep out and bewilder all who read it.