A Journey Through Grief and Ghosts: A Review of "Bochica" by Florez-Cerchiaro
As someone who adores stories steeped in history and emotion, "Bochica" by Florez-Cerchiaro immediately caught my attention. The promise of an atmospheric novel set above a hauntingly beautiful waterfall, coupled with the intrigue of a family grappling with their past, drew me in like a moth to a flame. Thank you to Atria Books Publicity Department and NetGalley for providing me with an e-ARC; below is my honest reflection on this eerie yet poignant tale.
At its core, "Bochica" is less about the supernatural and more about the emotional landscapes we inhabit. Antonia, our protagonist, navigates a labyrinth of grief that has shadowed her family since her mother’s tragic passing. The setting—a family home being transformed into a hotel—serves as a powerful metaphor. While one might expect a straightforward horror narrative akin to "The Shining," the true horror in "Bochica" lies in regret and unresolved memories. As Antonia faces both the ghosts of her family’s past and the unsettling atmosphere of the hotel, the novel poses a compelling question: What haunts us more—ghosts or the weight of our regrets?
My initial foray into "Bochica" felt a bit like stumbling through a hazy fog. The early chapters are laden with cryptic references to Antonia’s dreams and memories, which, while atmospheric, sometimes muddled the clarity of the narrative. However, once I settled in, I found myself turning pages feverishly, eager to uncover the secrets buried within the walls of the hotel.
One of the novel’s shining achievements is its dialogue. Florez-Cerchiaro has crafted authentic voices for each character, especially Antonia, whose distinct perspective reverberates throughout the story. The interactions between her and Alejandro—her partner in unraveling the hotel’s mysteries—are particularly striking. While Alejandro may not have the same depth as Antonia, their dynamic enhances her journey, contrasting her inner turmoil with his more straightforward character.
Throughout the reading experience, the palpable paranoia crafted within "Bochica" stood out. Antonia’s reliability as a narrator often came into question, giving the reader a sense of unease that mirrored her own. This internal conflict was a highlight for me, transforming simple moments into an atmospheric tension that lingered long after I’d put the book down.
Yet, "Bochica" does stumble in places. The early vagueness and repetition regarding Antonia’s nightmares felt slightly excessive, taking away from the otherwise rich atmosphere. Some scenes, too, seemed to abandon coherence, with abrupt transitions that left me grasping for clarity. However, my most significant disappointment lay with the ending. While I’m a firm believer that not all stories need a neatly tied conclusion, I felt that the supernatural elements were underutilized, leaving me yearning for a bolder finale that resonated with the gothic themes introduced earlier.
In the end, "Bochica" is an ambitious work that captures the essence of grief and family in a unique, haunting package. While it doesn’t fully deliver on its thrilling promise, it successfully invites readers to reflect on their pasts and the ghosts that tether them to it. I believe that fans of literary fiction who appreciate gothic narratives will find value in its themes, even if the execution has its flaws.
Overall, I emerged from "Bochica" enchanted yet yearning for more—a testament to both its strengths and its missed opportunities. But isn’t that the mark of a good story? It lingers, calling for further exploration and introspection, and I, for one, am grateful for the journey.