nadiajohnsonbooks's reviews
754 reviews

 The Devil and Mrs. Davenport is a haunting story about missing girls, the psychic homemaker trying to find them, and that thing which is the greatest threat to wives: her husband.

Kennedy's book has shades of Shirley Jackson and is set in a house that feels like Daphne du Maurier's Manderley, if it were scaled down to match middle-class budgets and midcentury American sensibilities.

The story follows Mrs. Loretta Davenport, wife of Mr. Peter Davenport, a Pentecostal minister and professor at a nearby Bible college. She is the doting mother to two charming children and, while she isn't a perfect June Cleaver housewife, she tries to be. She tries to WANT to be.

After a bout of illness, Loretta is struck by a dark vision that seems to be showing her glimpses of what happened to a local girl who recently went missing

She thinks her new abilities may be a gift from God. Peter thinks they're the work of the Devil

Loretta's growing commitment to exploring her gifts and learning what happened to the missing girl drives a wedge between her and Peter and brings her to the office of Dr. Curtis Hansen, parapsychologist, as she gets swept up in her search to find the truth about the dark secrets buried in her Missouri town

As is the case in a lot of historical horror, there are ghosts, but the ghosts aren't the thing that brings the terror

Instead, I was horrified by the state of 1950s mental healthcare, the patriarchal oppression in their religious community, and the prison that was midcentury American marriage

Loretta's legal personhood, and that of nearly every other female character in the book, is constrained by the whims of her husband, and a selfish or deceitful husband can be a truly cruel jailer

I loved every single thing about this book, but make no mistake: it was an emotional wrecking ball

It deals with some deeply sensitive subject matter, so proceed with caution if SA, DV, pregnancy/loss, misogyny, or institutionalization are sensitive subjects for you

I personally had to set the book aside a few times, when my own life stresses made the fictional abuses within the book feel too big. But it was so worth it to pick it back up. Loretta will stick with me for a long time, and this book has landed on my list of great works of modern American gothic. 

The premise of this book was delicious, diving into the long history of the textile industry in Southern California and the deeply held prejudices that persist in the world of fashion. It had the gothic elements, family secrets, and "good-for-her" energy that I love to see in thrillers these days.

The protagonist, Samara, ditches her journalism gig on the east coast for a dream job on the creative team of Antonio Mota, an iconic fashion designer who has just set up shop in the small, Californian textile town where her grandmother used to be a seamstress.

The pacing missed the mark for me, though, with some of the anxious "haunting" moments that the protagonist Samara encounters feeling a bit stuffed in, and some of the characters within Mota's fashion house felt a little flat.

That said, the way that Mota shifted his identity, backstory, and presentation based on his audience was handled really well: it's manipulative but understandable and hits on some of the ways that race, culture, and class impact the stories that we want to tell about ourselves, especially for a social climber like Mota who is trying to ingratiate himself to a predominantly white American elite. Rivera's handling of the class dynamics between factory owner and factory worker, designer and seamstress also felt real and important.

Ultimately, this was an enjoyable read that I would recommend to people who are interested in exploring those themes as they relate to latine-American culture at the margins of social power. While I think it would have benefitted from a little more editing, I'm impressed by Rivera as an author, particularly since this was her adult debut. I look forward to seeing what she comes up with next.