We Came to Welcome You

This novel promised a compelling blend of Get Out, Midsommar, and suburban horror, but the poor writing and illogical turns fumbled an intriguing premise. The suburban-HOA-as-horror setting had unfulfilled promise and the characters were undeveloped and unlikable. At no point was I fully convinced about the nature of the novel’s central conflict. This is one I would have DNFed, if not for my unfortunate curiosity about how the author would somehow explain all the weirdness.

Our protagonist, Sol Reyes, is an extremely paranoid and anxious individual. She is insecure about her career and her own wife, and at no point does the narrative attempt to even address or develop these themes—they are just a constant presence in Sol’s mind and thus for her internal monologues. Since the novel is primarily from her perspective, we necessarily spend a lot of time in her head; for the most part, it was unpleasant. She takes self-pity to an extreme and is aggressively self-righteous.

For one, Sol seemed incapable of approaching anyone or anything without the lens of race. Almost every page, there was a comment about race thrown in, even when it didn’t make sense. As an example, at one point Sol mocks quinoa as being something only white women eat, suggesting that the food somehow carries a sense of moral superiority. Sol, as a self-respecting Latina woman, apparently only eats normal food and is above such bougie whims! However, I was immediately struck by the fact that quinoa is an indigenous Andean food and is culturally significant to the ancestral people there. Quinoa is also significant for kosher reasons during Passover. It was such an unnecessary and silly remark.

Moreover, Sol constantly compares herself to Alice, her wife; she even compares experiences—literal oppression Olympics. Alice is Korean, and I appreciate that a black woman’s experience of racism is harsher than that of an Asian woman, especially once you throw colorism into the mix. However, often times, it felt like Sol was dismissive of Alice’s experiences entirely—usually because she was focused on her own problems. At other points, characters are dismissed by virtue of the fact that they are white.

Whiteness is almost a character unto itself in the novel. However, while this worked well in Get Out, Tirado does not sufficiently address the nuances of race as Jordan Peele does; it remains superficial—white bad, black/brown good. It is fundamental attribution error but with race: every white person’s actions are inherently bad because they are racist, but Sol’s own actions are above racism and are purely rationally based and not superstitious at all. ...Okay. (It shouldn’t be at all relevant to my criticisms here, but before you come at me with accusations of a rather ironic victimhood complex, I will note that I am not white.)

Additionally, Alice is a somewhat static character; she is given a backstory but rarely do her actions feel an active part of the narrative. I also didn’t find their relationship convincing—they argue for most of the novel and Sol clearly does not seem to be in a sufficiently healthy mindset that would be conducive to sustaining such a relationship. Sol’s interactions with other side characters are repetitive and rather formulaic. Her career conflicts seem to take up a lot of space on the page, yet somehow still manage to feel inconsequential and irrelevant.

The plot ‘twists’, if I’m being generous, range from predictable to nonsensical. The last act of the novel largely infodumps and tries to build suspense, but the pacing is completely uneven. Most of the first half of the novel should have been developing these ideas and creating the needed atmosphere, but it was extremely slow-going; then we get a rushed final act that does not feel satisfying nor makes much logical sense.

This is not a novel I would recommend for spooky season or otherwise. I wish I had rather rewatched Get Out instead.