When I first picked up Carmen Maria Machado’s memoir, In the Dream House, I was unsure of how I would feel about reading it. I have never been a huge fan of anything nonfiction, and I knew it would be a tough book to get through. Even so, I began reading it and was quickly pulled in by the narrative style and the story telling.
Both emotional and innovative, In the Dream House is Machado’s account of her life while in a psychologically abusive queer relationship that warped both her world and her mind. Referring to her abusive ex partner exclusively as “The Dream House”, a devastating tale unfolds as Machado describes the violence, pain, and highs and lows of being in an abusive relationship. She details how it shaped her views of herself, her sexuality, and the world around her. She is deeply vulnerable on every page, perfectly depicting the complexity of abuse from an intimate partner.
What I really loved about In the Dream House, and what I believe makes it truly stand out among other books of its kind, is the narrative structure. Unlike most stories that follow a chronological structure, Machado opts to tell hers in a non-linear style, with each chapter acting as its own small narrative within the larger story. She moves from thought to thought, from childhood to adulthood, from destructive violence to Disney characters, in a way that is reminiscent of fragmented memories coming to you in bits and pieces. Additionally, much of the story is told from a second person point of view, creating personal pieces of texts akin to letters addressed to younger versions of herself. Overall, Machado presents her story in a way that is unlike any other memoir I have ever read.
I also think it’s important to note that the memoir explores a topic that seems to mostly exist within a knowledge gap: domestic violence in queer relationships. It’s not something you hear about often, and yet it is a reality for a number of individuals within the LGBTQ+ community. Although the subject matter is quite heavy, I think that a lot of importance comes with actively fighting against archival silence, especially within marginalized communities. With that, I really appreciated the representation and perspective that is offered through the memoir.
This was, as I predicted, a difficult book to get through. I felt the entire range of emotions, crying was followed by laughter, which was then followed by rage. The fragmented storytelling creates a vivid and heartbreaking mosaic that poignantly reminds us that domestic abuse does not only exist within the bounds of heterosexuality. “Important” feels like the best word to describe this memoir, and as someone who rarely reads anything other than fiction, this is one I know I’ll pick up again.
Content warnings: Depictions of domestic abuse, psychological abuse, violence, sexual assault, body shaming, and suicidal ideation.
