Grasping Horror: Samanta Schweblin’s ‘Good and Evil and Other Stories’ Unveiled!

At its core, horror explores the unsettling idea that our personal boundaries are not as solid as we believe. It delves into the notion that if spirits can return from the dead or if our bodies can decay to the point of vulnerability or possession, our illusions of safety and individuality are profoundly challenged.

In her latest collection of stories, her third translated into English, Argentine author Samanta Schweblin transcends traditional horror but captures its essence. Schweblin blurs the lines between entities—what is desired and what is not, the natural and the personal, the harmless and the harmful—pointing out that true horror is rooted in the harsh realities of life, rather than in the supernatural.

The compelling opening tale, “Welcome to the Club,” sets the stage with recurring motifs and imagery—oceans, insanity, and the invasion of external forces into private spaces. A woman, weighed down by rocks, tries to drown herself but experiences a moment of clarity as she touches the seabed. Surviving her suicide attempt, she emerges with a new perspective on her unsatisfactory domestic life. A neighbor, who perceives her dark fascination with death, teaches her how to manage it through hunting and skinning animals, advising her to “open it like a book,” suggesting a deeper understanding within. Intriguingly, she imagines him skinning her, symbolizing a deep desire to understand and perhaps escape her own existence.

In another profound story, “An Eye in the Throat,” the vulnerability of the human body is dramatically exposed when a child, after swallowing a battery, undergoes a tracheotomy. This new opening alters his perception of himself and the world, blurring the lines between interior and exterior. He reflects on his condition, questioning whether a body so compromised still qualifies as a body. His life, and that of his parents, becomes centered around this hole in his throat, symbolizing an intense vulnerability and shared suffering. The child feels his parents’ pain through his own physical wound, illustrating a poignant interconnection of their emotional states.

Schweblin’s writing, beautifully translated by Megan McDowell, avoids the clichés of mystical ambiguity and instead opts for a direct and clear approach that pierces through life’s superficial layer, inviting readers to see the world more deeply. This approach aligns with true mystical vision, which finds the extraordinary within the ordinary.

This clarity in Schweblin’s prose establishes a space where fear and compassion are intertwined. The fragility and openness that evoke fear are also the very conditions through which we reach deeper human connections—intimacy, care, and healing. In “The Woman from Atlántida,” two young girls care for Pitys, an aging alcoholic poet, washing her and cleaning her home in hopes of reigniting her creative spark. Years later, one of the girls, now a hairdresser, continues to help Pitys by washing out the remnants of her troubled past from her hair, symbolizing the persistent need for care and renewal.

Caring for others brings us closer to a collective vulnerability—the inevitable realities of sickness, aging, and death, which are central to our fears. Schweblin’s stories cycle through these themes, showing how exposure to such raw truths allows for genuine care but also opens up potential for new wounds. In the collection’s final narrative, “A Visit from the Chief,” the themes of fear and healing converge in a startling encounter. Lidia, visiting her senile mother in a care home, ends up taking home another lost resident for safety. However, the resident’s son arrives, brandishes a gun, and demands Lidia confront her deepest pains in a bizarre, threatening manner. Through this intense experience, Lidia is transformed, finding herself in a realm beyond fear—a realm of vulnerability and odd comfort.