Except one of them is being slowly overtaken by a dune of sand and for years the house has been empty, abandoned by its owners. Each historic mansion is facing in a different direction, all three identical.

There are three mansions hidden away off the Gulf Coast in Alabama, cut off from the world inside miles of private property between the oceans and lagoons. Of everything in this story, that was what struck me most: The strange acceptance of and blindness to the unknown. The unknown that is never knowable, no matter how thickly you drape religion over it or decorate it with superstitions. It’s a story about loyalty and family and how that never really looks like we’re taught it does.Īnd, of course, it’s a story about the supernatural. Of the alcoholics that are doted on, of the affairs that are ignored, of the weak willed gentle natures of men who have grown up under domineering women. Of the gay son that no one ever, ever, not once, acknowledges as gay (even the author) though everyone, and I mean everyone, knows full well he is. Written in the early 80s, this book is a glimpse into the past. You rearrange your schedule to fight against the hottest time of the day. The mind-numbing pleasantness of just lounging around in swimsuits on sandy towels, napping in rockers on front porches, whittling away at a puzzle on a table somewhere in the house at night while your family members are spread out… reading, napping, talking quietly. The descriptions were spot on, especially when the author sought to capture that lazy, lull of summers in hot climates. This book is a classic Southern gothic tale, complete with decaying mansions, thick summer heat, and generations of secrets.

Not that it wasn’t good – in fact, it was too good. I would read a bit, and sit it down… almost exhausted by the effort.

Instead, I found myself wading through a story that took me a few weeks to finish. I ordered a reprint and sat down to read this tale, set in the American Deep South, expecting a quick read. The story of a haunted mansion slowly being overtaken by sand… by the elements… by the Elementals. It’s what drew me to the book The Elementals by Michael McDowell. Two worlds that are generally separate, collided. The pale faded paint of the walls, the sturdy frames of the doors, and the mounds of sand that had gently, but fatally, invaded the homes. I remember the first time I ran across one of the pictures from Kolmanskop, a German diamond mining town in Namibia, Africa.

The elementals by michael mcdowell