Davids assembles the requisite parts of a Gothic novel — a hysterical woman, a haunted dwelling, a perverse family secret — into an elegant narrative, one roomy enough to accommodate revenge ... [Davis] has written that one of her grandmothers worked for a diplomat’s wife as a maid, and at several moments Cape Fever resembles an alternate life for her, one that might have afforded her a measure of self-determination. Knowing this history, one can forgive the moments in which Mrs. Hattingh is particularly clownish or diabolical, even by white colonial standards, or the occasional plot device that strains belief.
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