I'm wary of fiction inspired by real events at the best of times. Orpheus Builds a Girl isn't as much inspired by the desecration of Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos as more of a beat for beat retelling of the terrible case. To quickly summarize: after having died from tuberculosis in her early 20s, de Hoyos' body was taken from her grave by a doctor 30 years her senior who had grown obsessed with her, and who subsequently lived with her corpse for seven years, trying to preserve it by making her into a grotesque wax puppet so "her spirit could reenter it." Not only that, after having been reclaimed by authorities and brought into a funeral home, her body was displayed for the public before, finally, being returned to the cemetery.

In her afterword, Heather Parry states that the central question of the novel is who owns a woman's body, both in the context of abortion and sensationalism. This, painfully clearly, is not the central question of the book, because it's never negotiated. The answer is already there, and I think the novel features many themes more prominently. The idea of narrative autonomy and power, for example, is different and handled more interestingly. Orpheus Builds a Girl features a preface written by Gabriela, the sister of Luciana (the character who suffers the same fate as Maria Elena), stating that the following pages contain the journal of von Tore, the doctor who did all these horrible things and got away without suffering consequences, supplemented by her own version of the events. Von Tore is immediately established as an unreliable narrator while the female voice is presented as the "rational" one, possibly even obfuscating that Gabriela might herself be unreliable - that's interesting. In said preface, Gabriela laments that the story of Luciana's life, death, and desecration has only been told in a way that is still dominated by von Tore's narrative. The sensationalism surrounding Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos' case and body (and female bodies in general) is mentioned in the afterword as well. And here, I'm wondering if Heather Parry isn't culpable of doing the same thing: dragging de Hoyos' story into the public eye, displaying a literary version of her violated body with as many unsavory details as possible. I only learned how closely the author followed the events of the case after finishing the book and was super taken aback by that. I genuinely don't know how to feel about this yet and will have to let my thoughts settle a bit more.

From a literary standpoint, Orpheus Builds a Girl definitely develops some compelling and interesting themes and motifs - especially relics and worship. The church vis-à-vis religion and the question whether both constitute patriarchal institutions, devotion within and outside of publicly recognized channels, Luciana's MILD SPOILER aborted fetus MILD SPOILER END as the much more powerful relic compared to a supposed saint's finger - it's all very compelling, albeit sometimes a little too on the nose or repeated ad nauseum. The novel also has this cool approach to unreliable narration I already mentioned where the obvious unreliable narrator might actually obfuscate a second one. On the other hand, I found the pacing pretty bad and a lot of the events and points of thematic emphasis repetitive.

This may not be much of a review, but I wanted to try to structure my complicated feelings a little bit. Don't know if I can translate my thoughts into a star rating yet.

I received this book as an eARC in exchange for an honest review, thank you to Heather Parry, Pushwick Press, and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this work.

In the Author's Note at the end of the novel, Parry states that the fundamental question this novel is asking is "who owns a woman's body?" And while I can see and understands the themes of autonomy, misogyny, and violation in the text, I asked myself a different, more concerning fundamental question. What right does this novel have to exist?

While there are several cases presented in the Authors Note, it would be dishonest to pretend that this novel doesn't primarily retell the story of Elena Milagro de Hoyos, a victim of a man who felt his desire to possess her was more important than her finding peace in death. This man was absolved by the courts, and Elena's corpse was further disrespected by being used as essentially a sideshow attraction during the case.

Seeing these specific detailed repeated in this novel, as told from the point of view of a fictionalized version of the vile and reprehensible man (whom I refuse to name) who did this to her. Seeing these horrific deeds done to an even younger girl in the fictionalized "Luci" who stands in for Elena. It feels deeply disrespectful and distasteful. What does this novel seek to tell us, to teach us, beyond what we can learn from the case itself? Is this author herself engaging in an act of resurrection- parading Elena's story before us under the thin guise of changing a few details- therefore equally violating her decency and autonomy? Is it really the place of readers to enjoy the gory details of how the sanctity of Elena's body was taken from her. This is a question typically reserved for the True Crime genre, which this doesn't seem to be marketing itself as, wether or not that is a fair presentation of the novel is up for debate.

I take the lack of mention of any surviving relatives of the victims in the Acknowledgements as an implicit admission that they were not consulted on wether or not they want Elena- and the other women mentioned in the Author's Note- story to be told in this way. I am personally of the belief that it is unethical to release this book, in its current state, without their approval. That is why I am rating this book one star, for the fact it could be actively harmful and disrespectful to the memories of these women. Sensationalizing their and their families trauma for profit.

As for the quality of the novel, while the content reviled me, I have to admit that the writing is very skillfully executed. I enjoyed the distinct voices of Von Tore and Gabriela, in particular Gabriela's chapters were a breath of fresh air after having to endure the POV of a deranged, racist, misogynistic, ex-Nazi piece of trash. I loved the tenderness with which Gabriela described her family, her home, and her sister. I found myself wishing Luciana herself got to have a POV, at least in the first half, as her story is only told through the lens of those who love and obsess over her. Another way which the narrative robs her of autonomy.

Were it not for how heavily this novel draws on it's real life inspirations, I believe I could've enjoyed reading it. The gothic elements are very well executed and the horror was palpable, but the entire time I read felt this knot of disgust in my stomach that ran deeper than just the repulsion I felt towards Von Tore, instead it was a disgust with the way this novel seems to champion feminist themes and claims to represent the importance of autonomy- all while discarding how that applies to the women outside of the bound of it's fiction.

As the Author's Note states: "I know that change does come." And the change I hope to see is one where we stop using the stories of murdered and abused women for our entertainment.