It is rare to find a book that feels like it’s actually bleeding on your hands while you read it. Mariana Enriquez didn’t just write a horror novel with Our Share of Night; she basically performed a public autopsy on Argentina’s traumatic history and stitched it back together with black magic. If you’ve spent any time in online book circles lately, you’ve probably seen the cover—the one with the tangled, dark imagery that looks like a fever dream. People are obsessed.
The book is massive. It’s a 700-page beast that follows a father and son, Juan and Gaspar, who are caught in the clutches of "The Order." This isn't your typical movie cult with cheap robes and candles. This is a multi-generational, terrifyingly wealthy organization that worships an entity called the Darkness. They want Juan because he is a medium. He can summon the Darkness, but the process is physically destroying him. Honestly, the gore isn't even the scariest part. It’s the way Enriquez ties the supernatural horror to the very real, very human horrors of the Argentine military dictatorship.
Why Our Share of Night Feels So Different
Most horror writers stick to ghosts or slashers. Enriquez goes deeper. She uses the occult as a metaphor for how power works in the real world. Think about it. In the 1970s and 80s, people in Argentina "disappeared." They were taken by the state and never seen again. In the world of Our Share of Night, the Order makes people disappear too, but for ritualistic sacrifice. It’s a chillingly effective way to talk about political trauma without sounding like a history textbook.
The prose is jagged. One minute you're reading a tender moment between a dying father and his terrified son, and the next, you're hit with a description of a ritual that is so visceral you might need to look away from the page. This isn't "elevated horror"—a term many critics use when they're too scared to admit they like a scary book. It’s just horror. Pure, unadulterated, and deeply literary.
The Influence of the "New Argentine Gothic"
You can't talk about this book without talking about the movement it belongs to. Writers like Samanta Schweblin and Agustina Bazterrica are part of this wave, but Enriquez is arguably the queen of the scene. They take the "Gothic" tropes we know—haunted houses, cursed bloodlines, ancient evils—and transplant them into the humid, politically charged landscape of South America.
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It works because the setting is so specific. Instead of a Victorian mansion in England, we get the wilds of Misiones or the suffocating heat of Buenos Aires. The environment is a character. It’s damp, it’s decaying, and it feels like it’s closing in on you. Megan McDowell, who translated the book from Spanish, deserves a massive amount of credit here. Translating horror is tricky because you have to maintain the "vibe" and the "ick factor" without it becoming campy. She nailed it.
The Relationship at the Heart of the Darkness
At its core, Our Share of Night is a story about inheritance. What do we owe our parents? And what happens when the things they leave us are literal curses? Juan is a tragic figure. He loves his son, Gaspar, but he knows that the Order wants Gaspar to replace him. To save his son, Juan has to be cruel. He has to push him away. It’s a brutal dynamic to watch unfold.
There's a specific scene involving a "house that isn't a house" that perfectly illustrates this. It’s a place where the laws of physics don't apply, a manifestation of the Darkness. When Juan enters it, he isn't just performing a job for the cult; he’s losing pieces of his soul. The way Enriquez describes the physical toll of his mediumship—the scars, the coughing fits, the sheer exhaustion—makes the supernatural feel grounded in biology.
Breaking Down the Timeline
The book doesn't follow a straight line. It jumps around. We see the 1960s, the 80s, and the 90s. This isn't just a stylistic choice to be fancy. It shows how the Order—and the evil it represents—is persistent. It doesn't care about human time.
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- The 1960s London Scene: This part is wild. It captures the hedonism of the era but adds a sinister undercurrent. It reminds us that the Order isn't just some local Argentine problem; it’s a global network of the elite.
- The Dictatorship Years: This is where the book is most grounded and most terrifying. The overlap between the occult rituals and the military "Death Flights" is handled with a devastating hand.
- The 1990s and Gaspar’s Coming of Age: We see the aftermath. We see a boy trying to piece together who his father was while realizing he might be doomed to the same fate.
Real-World Context: What Most People Miss
Critics often compare Enriquez to Stephen King. While she’s a fan (she’s talked about Pet Sematary being a huge influence), her work is much bleaker. King usually offers a glimmer of hope or a "good vs. evil" structure. Enriquez doesn't give you that luxury. In her world, the "bad guys" are often the ones who won. They are the wealthy families who kept their money after the dictatorship ended. They are the ones who own the land and the people on it.
This reflects a very specific Argentine reality. The country is still dealing with the scars of the "Dirty War." By using Our Share of Night to explore this, Enriquez is engaging in a form of collective exorcism. She’s named names, even if they are fictionalized. She’s showing the "shadow history" of a nation.
Handling the Gore and the Occult
Let's be real: this book is not for everyone. It is graphic. There are descriptions of bodies being mangled that will stay with you long after you close the book. But it’s never gratuitous. Each instance of violence serves to show the power of the Darkness and the desperation of those who serve it.
The occultism in the book is also deeply researched. While "The Order" is fictional, the way they use folk saints and local myths feels incredibly authentic. Enriquez draws on real-life legends like San La Muerte (Saint Death) to flesh out the world. This isn't "spooky" for the sake of it; it’s a reflection of how people actually interact with the supernatural in parts of South America.
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Why the Ending Hits So Hard
Without giving away the specific spoilers, the conclusion of the book is a masterclass in tension. It brings all the threads together—the family drama, the political allegory, and the cosmic horror. It leaves you feeling hollowed out.
The title itself comes from a poem by Emily Dickinson: "Our share of night to bear / Our share of morning." It suggests that darkness is a fundamental part of the human experience. You can't have one without the other. But in Enriquez’s world, the night seems much larger than the morning.
Actionable Insights for Readers and Writers
If you’re a fan of the genre or just someone who appreciates high-level storytelling, there is a lot to learn from how this book was constructed. It’s a blueprint for how to write "big" fiction that doesn't lose its soul.
- Don't shy away from the local. Enriquez’s success comes from her specificity. She didn't try to write a "generic" horror story. She wrote an Argentine one. If you're writing, lean into your specific geography and history.
- Use horror to tell a larger truth. Scaring people is fun, but scaring them while making them think about the world around them is what makes a book a classic.
- Vary the pace. Our Share of Night works because it knows when to slow down. The long, atmospheric stretches make the bursts of violence much more impactful.
- Character is king. Even in a book about an interdimensional void of darkness, we care about Juan and Gaspar. If the readers don't love the characters, the monsters don't matter.
Final Thoughts on the Legacy of the Book
It’s already being hailed as a landmark of 21st-century literature. It has won the Premio Herralde and the Critics' Award in Spain, which are huge deals. It’s being adapted for the screen, though one has to wonder how they will capture the sheer internal dread that the prose provides.
Ultimately, Our Share of Night is a reminder that the most terrifying monsters aren't the ones under the bed. They are the ones who sit in boardrooms, the ones who run governments, and sometimes, the ones who share our blood. It’s a grueling read, but an essential one.
Next Steps for Readers:
- Check out Enriquez’s short stories: If 700 pages feels too daunting, start with Things We Lost in the Fire or The Dangers of Smoking in Bed. They are bite-sized versions of the same dark magic.
- Research the "Dirty War" in Argentina: Understanding the real-world context of the "Desaparecidos" will make the events of the novel hit ten times harder.
- Look into the "Southern Gothic" vs. "Argentine Gothic": Compare how American writers like Flannery O'Connor use the landscape versus how Enriquez does it. It’s a fascinating study in regionalism.
- Support your local indie bookstore: Books this thick and this niche thrive when readers recommend them to each other in person.