The Daughter of Doctor Moreau
By Silvia Moreno-Garcia
Jo Fletcher, UK
ISBN: 978-1529417999
320pp.

I'm always quite envious when I see my daughter deeply engrossed in a story, blissfully oblivious to the world around her. I remember being the same once: a ferocious reader, keeping my books close in perpetual fear that I might find myself with nothing to read and nothing to do.

I’m sure there must be many like me, who find their reading is not as it used to be. ‘Scrolling’ is today’s time- and attention-eating monster; it’s easy to get distracted and often, a few pages in, my trusty bookmark slips into the crevice between the pages and I head to Twitter or Instagram.

Imagine, then, my absolute delight when I started reading Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s new book and found myself a hundred pages in on the very first day. Not a mean feat by any stretch of the imagination. The Daughter of Doctor Moreau is an attention-grabber and any desire to reach for the phone dissipates as one becomes deeply embroiled in the world Moreno-Garcia has created with painstaking detail.

Inspired by The Island of Doctor Moreau — British writer H.G. Wells’s 1896 science fiction novel about an isolated estate and its brilliant resident who succeeds in pushing the boundaries of science — The Daughter of Doctor Moreau can be thought of as a different perspective, or perhaps twist, on the tale. Or maybe a deeper examination of the original story’s subtext.

A new novel is an attention-grabbing examination of the subtext of H.G. Wells’s classic The Island of Dr Moreau and a shapeshifting force of nature

Set in the 1800s, amidst the strife and conflict happening in Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula, the novel features two narrators. One is the doctor’s daughter Carlota; the other is the melancholic Montgomery Laughton, who oversees the estate which is home to the “hybrids” — a terrifying mix of half-animal, half-human creatures surgically assembled by the vivisectionist Moreau.

Change is an alien concept for Carlota, who has been raised in a secluded environment and is completely unaware of the world outside. When Eduardo Lizalde, the son of Moreau’s patron and financier, suddenly arrives, reality shakes up Carlota’s static and delicately balanced world, putting the island’s fragile existence under threat.

Even though the story is primarily told through the eyes of the acquiescent yet silently rebellious Carlota and the sceptic, forlorn Montgomery, all of Moreno-Garcia’s characters are protagonists in their own right. They all carry emotional baggage from their past and try to cling on to hopes and dreams of the future in a bid to make their lives bigger and better.

The brilliant Doctor Moreau dreams of godlike perfection as he works towards his goal, not realising the havoc that will inevitably follow his decision to play God. Regardless, he is a religious man who has raised Carlota with a strong connection to faith. This is a connection that helps reconcile her with the unanswered questions in her life.

Carlota never questions the identity of her mother, nor harbours any desire to leave the estate she has always called home. For her, life is still and she finds beauty in that stillness. She has been educated by her father that “Change is incremental. Nature proceeds little by little” and this concept, upon which her father’s work is based, is one that she can grasp. She is satisfied with her life and those around her.

Montgomery, on the contrary, has spent most of his life running, initially from an abusive father, then towards love and, later, away from love. He was brought to the island by Moreau’s patron, Hernando Lizalde, to work off a debt, is a man of few words, finds solace in drink and carries with him a broken heart. He is impressed and perhaps also slightly terrified of Moreau’s achievements, but stays aloof and eventually accepts that he, too, is part of this world. As the years pass, he finds some semblance of normalcy and peace at the estate, in his work and in his friendship with Carlota.

Meanwhile, Hernando Lizalde’s capitalist pursuits, fired by colonial hatred, keep him involved and continuing to fund Moreau’s research.

The plot is propelled by themes of racism and exploitation and the Canadian Mexican author amply identifies the hate-mongering and astounding arrogance of colonisers. Take, for example, the declaration spouted by Eduardo’s cousin Isidro: “One must have faith. That is what the Indians here lack. That is their flaw.”

In Bacalar and Belize City, he’d seen plenty of free Maya people, macehuales, they called themselves. The British traded with them regularly. The white Mexicans in the western lands, children of Spaniards who’d kept to their kind, had no love for them, and it was no surprise to see Lizalde was ill-disposed to those free folk. It was not that the British liked the Maya for their own sake, nor that they always remained on friendly terms, but Montgomery’s countrymen thought the Maya rebels might help them carve out a piece of Mexico for the Crown. — Excerpt from the book

To this, Carlota replies: “Christ instructed us to love one another. If the macehuales lack faith, perhaps you lack love.”

This is what sets Moreno-Garcia apart: a protagonist who might have been raised in an isolated corner of the world with little to no social interaction, yet is in complete touch with her voice, her individuality. She is looking for her seat at the table and she will get it, but in her own way.

Carlota’s empathy and sense of fairness is otherworldly. When she realises that these qualities are not shared or prioritised by others around her, she is taken aback. However, instead of withdrawing into her shell, she fights to maintain her beliefs even at the cost of rebelling against her father.

Much like her characters — all embroiled in some kind of internal rebellion that mirrors the larger Mayan rebellion happening on their doorstep — Moreno-Garcia’s writing is determined, as she explores Carlota’s search for her own identity, her need to be seen and heard that develops overtime as she grows older and hints of conflict begin to encroach upon her solitary existence.

The author’s brilliance rests on how quickly the story forms pace. There is no dawdling and none of the characters are left behind.

The doctor’s carefully curated world seems to be at the very edge as the inevitability of life and youth threaten to disrupt the balance. The hybrids, existing in their own realm, are threatened by a human nemesis ruled by fear and hatred of the unknown. Carlota tries to make sense of the changes creeping in, of the fault-lines that become increasingly obvious, but is thrown into an abyss where secrets of her past and her father’s relentless pursuit of his scientific goals threaten to destroy reality as she knows it.

The Daughter of Doctor Moreau is a skilful exploration of complex themes of racism and colonialism, and human beings’ disposition towards cruelty. With an unsure glance, a racial slur, or a hypocritical standard that differs from person to person, country to country, Moreno-Garcia shows she is acutely aware of her goals as a writer and the message she wants to convey, but it does not come at the cost of her plot.

The many strands of the story come together in a climax that is sure to haunt the reader long after they have turned the last page. This is an important book, one that highlights the significance of being tuned into your individual voice, and it is precisely what Garcia has done for herself.

In an essay published in the Los Angeles Times, she writes: “I am determined to continue my genre-shifting. After all, I could have changed my name when I was starting out. I could have become Sylvia Brown and set my work in New York City and written a trilogy. But I didn’t. I decided I wanted to moult and evolve into myself, not become a stranger. So hello, I’m Silvia Moreno-Garcia and I write books. What type of books? That’s a good question.”

Moreno-Garcia is fearless in every aspect of her writing. The Daughter of Doctor Moreau is a shapeshifting force of nature that begins as macabre science fiction and morphs into an anticolonial horror romance. Social upheaval and inequality are at the heart of the book, but it is the author’s passion and sharp focus on Mexico of the 1870s that drives events forward, resulting in a fable that decries the machinations of man and their consequences.

Such authenticity is rare to find. Moreno-Garcia will vex you as a reader, but at the same time, she respects your intelligence, asking you only to “follow me into the forest. You won’t get lost, hold my hand, and I’ll tell you a story.”

The reviewer is a freelance writer with a background in law and literature.
She tweets @ShehryarSahar

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, January 8th, 2023