Caruncho

A domestic and apocalyptic fable. A house made of mirrors reflecting a Spain corroded by history and the silence imposed by Francoism, even after its surgical dismantling. An empty, scarred Spain. A land as harsh and barren as the fate it condemns the women who live there to. 

The "caruncho" as a metaphor for collective decay, brings to the surface the murmur of the past that recalls what an entire country pretends (and would prefer) to forget.

Written in a radically feminine way, the house is the body, the country, and memory. All slowly crumbling over the resistance, superstition, and small magics that survived post-fascist, post-religious, and post-realist fear; an exorcism.

Layla Martínez (Madrid, 1987) is one of the most provocative voices in new Spanish fiction. A writer, editor, and activist, she blends horror, politics, and popular mysticism to dismantle the myth of the “transition” and normality. Caruncho confirms her as an heir to a lineage that goes from Rulfo to Mariana Enríquez.