Embracing the Shadows: A Review of Clean by Mariana Enriquez
Sometimes a book comes along that catches you off guard, beckoning you to peer through its keyhole and bear witness to the hidden stories of lives we might never understand fully. Clean by Mariana Enriquez is one such experience. As I immersed myself in Estela García’s world—a live-in maid entrenched in a life marked by both demanding chores and profound silence—I was struck by how powerfully her narrative gripped me. The haunting beauty of her testimony left an indelible mark on my heart.
From the very opening, Enriquez has established a tone that is unflinching and raw. The stark declaration, “The girl dies,” propels us into a narrative that delves into the very anatomy of death, weaving a tapestry of emotions tied to loss, power, and identity. Estela becomes our guide through this forensic mosaic of life within the walls of a Santiago household, where she serves a cold-eyed doctor and a trauma-sculpting paper tycoon. The dynamics are both uncomfortable and riveting, as Estela navigates her role in a world where nothing is ever truly "clean."
What struck me most about Enriquez’s writing is her masterful use of language, elucidated beautifully in Sophie Hughes’ translation. The vivid metaphors land like soft punches to the gut; phrases like “It’s like cradling a grenade, a velvety time bomb” encapsulate Estela’s perpetual dance with fear and servitude. The author expertly lays bare the rituals of daily life—the meticulous plumping of pillows, the haunting echoes of laughter interspersed with grief—and captures the threshold between familiarity and despair. It’s a chilling reminder that the mundane can often conceal the most profound tragedies.
Estela’s interactions are nothing short of poignant. The innocence of Julia, the "girl" who holds both the promise of life and the shadow of its inevitable end, reflects the fragility of existence. I found myself both enchanted and unsettled by the moments when Julia’s refusal to eat unless Estela makes airplane noises dances alongside Estela’s wish for her employer’s death, revealing a landscape where love and jealousy coexist dangerously. It’s a testament to how deeply entwined our lives can be with those we serve—and the complexities of that intimacy are explored with surgical precision.
But perhaps the moment that resonated with me most was Estela’s realization in the street, where she sees a fellow maid: “Her face was my face.” The existential dread that comes from the fear of becoming a mere type, a faceless unit of service, resonates deeply in a world where identities can easily become flattened. This unsettling moment pulls us from voyeurism into an uncomfortable reflection on our own lives and roles in society.
Clean is not just a tale of servitude; it’s a poignant allegory for the hidden layers of Chilean society in the wake of dictatorship. The shimmering glass doors of wealth serve as a striking contrast to the unacknowledged lives within, turning the narrative into a chilling reflection of our own complicity in systems of power. Enriquez’s work compels us to question our own memories and perceptions of reality, encapsulated so vividly in Estela’s poignant reflections.
I would recommend Clean to anyone who relishes deeply immersive narratives that explore the darker undercurrents of human existence. It’s a challenging read, full of discomfort and beauty, perfect for those who appreciate books that provoke thought long after the last page is turned. This novel not only engaged my mind but left me with a lingering sense of responsibility toward the untold stories surrounding us, urging me to look closer, to listen more deeply. Would you dare to peer through the keyhole?