Reviewed by Andrew Martino

Ever since the publication of her first short story collection, Things We Lost in the Fire (2017 in English translation by Megan McDowell), Mariana Enriquez has established herself as one of the most powerful voices in contemporary world literature. Born in Buenos Aires in 1973, Enriquez joins a long line of Argentine writers who pushed the boundaries of fiction, but her voice is her own and completely in tune with the complicated and violent history of that country. Her endless curiosity and the power of her writing stand out as something beautiful and magical in a society that continues to be haunted by its past, to say nothing of its current political and economic state.

Somebody is Walking on Your Grave: My Cemetery Journeys (Alguien camina sobre tu tumba in its original Spanish) is a non-fiction account of her pilgrimages to several cemeteries throughout the world. Some are more famous than others, and all have some sort of personal connection to Enriquez. The book, however, is not just a travelogue of cemetery visits, it’s also a highly personal map of her interest in the past, both as a writer and as a human, which may best be explored in places where we bury our dead.

Somebody is Walking on Your Grave explores twenty-one cemeteries from Argentina to Australia. Enriquez’s ability to draw the reader in and give us not only her own perspective but allow us to come to an understanding for ourselves where physical travel is not possible, is exceptional. Moreover, Enriquez situates her readers in positions much more resonant than that of an “armchair traveler.” Instead, we are ghostly companions, lurking in the shadows, there and not there. The power of place, especially when it comes to cemeteries, is paramount here. Like most of her work, and with her “big” novel Our Share of the Night (published in 2022 by Hogarth and also translated by Megan McDowell), specifically, Enriquez’s brand of horror is much more in tune with the horrors of actual events rather than the more commercial brand of the genre. In fact, the horror she writes is not genre at all, but a realistic portrayal of the nightmares which plague a people who have a history of dictatorships and disappearances.

The cemeteries Enriquez covers range from the small to the large. In the first visit, the Monumental Cemetery of Staglieno in Genoa, Italy, she details how her exploration of this particular site coincides with a sexual encounter with a male violinist who ends up disappearing from her life following that encounter. At first, the sexual encounter and Enriquez’s infatuation with the violinist seem to take up most of the chapter. It is not until a few more cemetery chapters that the reader begins to understand that Enriquez is not only describing the cemeteries but is also discussing the aspects of her life and situation as she travels through them, always informed by her own past and the personal and public life of a writer. Once we come to this realization, the book takes on an entirely different meaning. That is to say, Somebody is Walking on Your Grave is only partially about cemeteries. Cemeteries become the location for a much deeper attempt for the writer to understand herself at the time of the visit. This is not a travel book, nor is it a memoir. For this reader, its subject matter and style give it an entirely new theoretical basis from which we explore the writer who is exploring the psychology of place. That place just happens to be cemeteries.

Enriquez’s visit to the old Jewish cemetery in Prague, one I have visited twice myself, explores the myth and history as much as acknowledges what places that are freighted with meaning have for those who visit. The tombstones there are all haphazardly leaning on one another, as if time has forced the stones to cave into each other: “The old Jewish cemetery looks like a giant mouth full of crooked teeth” (230). And yet, it’s one of the most beautiful places in Prague. There is a silence to the cemetery, and an appropriate somberness that falls on the visitors, all the while the noise of the world just a few hundred steps away is ongoing.

One of the more interesting aspects to this book is Enriquez’s love (which may not be a strong enough word) for the Manic Street Preachers, a Welsh rock band. She refers to them continuously throughout the book, and has her photo taken in places where the band had their photos taken. She even sports a leopard-print coat like one worn by a member of the band. The trip to Highgate Cemetery in London could then be interpreted as a “fan” trip for all intents and purposes. Her link to the Manic Street Preachers is, however, beyond just fandom, it’s a connection symbolizing her own sensibilities, influences, and youth. As she writes, “I understand my state of nostalgia perfectly: this trip is the end of my youth, a farewell that is planned and therefore more theatrical, with precise rituals” (202). One of those very rituals is having her photo taken, in that leopard-print coat, in front of the grave of Karl Marx, just as the band did several years prior.

Megan McDowell’s translation of Alguien camina sobre tu tumba is precise and provides an infectious point of entry into the style and themes of Mariana Enriquez’s uncanny world.  McDowell has translated all of Enriquez’s work into English so far, and to read Enriquez is to read McDowell. A translator is also a writer and something of an alchemist, as I’ve written before. For the English-reading audience, McDowell’s special gift allows us to cross the borders of language, and step seamlessly into other worlds. Like all literature in translation, when the translation is done well, we are unaware of the magic that takes place. And perhaps we shouldn’t be. But, to ignore the magic of translation is to only leave the text half read. McDowell’s special kind of magic opens a new horizon, horrifying as it is in this case, but which leads the reader beyond the known world and into the land of the glorious monsters.

Enriquez, Mariana. Somebody is Walking on Your Grave: My Cemetery Journeys. Translated by Megan McDowell. Hogarth, 2025.

Andrew Martino is Professor of English at Salisbury University where he also served as Dean of the Clarke Honors College from 2018-2026. He is a 2021 Fulbright recipient to France and frequently publishes on contemporary modern and world literature.