It’s a haunted house, but also a story about history, about love, and grief, as These Walls Remember demonstrates the inescapable quality of unreleased pain.
These Walls Remember drives home how trauma and grief can be so powerful, so smothering, that they permeate, capturing everything. While difficult to read and, at times, heartbreaking, it’s no less gripping. Centering three Black women and touching on how resentments can fester to such a degree from the past that they color the present, it is a page-turner. It’s a haunted house, but also a story about history, about love, and grief, as These Walls Remember demonstrates the inescapable quality of unreleased pain.
The author, Del Sandeen, crafts an engaging and emotional story that’s a lesson on handling pain, hurt, resentment, and an all-around wonderful read. The story follows two estranged sisters, Mickie and Delilah, who inherit the recently deceased Aunt Haddie’s home. Though neither really knew their aunt, they head to Savannah, Georgia, with the plan to sell the home, split the money, and separate once more. However, this house and whatever lies within it have other plans. As one of the siblings begins losing herself more and more within the haunted walls, it becomes a race against time to save her and get out.
These Walls Remember Is Horror and Tragedy
Oftentimes, especially with Southern Gothic horror, the two are one. Tragedy fosters grief, which, when unresolved, fosters more pain and anger. One of the most tragic parts is the haunting’s restriction, condemned to remain in one location. Yet, those responsible for creating the harm are usually elsewhere.
Especially with Black Southern Gothic horror, it’s often the people who reside there after—other Black people—that suffer for what someone else—usually white people—has wrought. It’s why the more recent Candyman film left me hopeful. Because, as opposed to the first film, where the hooked killer torments fellow Black people in Cabrini Green projects, the sequel showed a Candyman unleashed.
It’s also why there was no sympathy for the white gentrifying neighbor, Julia, who ignores that the attic is off-limits and enters without their permission. She deserved it because of the constant white affliction of believing all spaces are theirs. Her loss would be neither a horror nor a tragedy.
The Home Is Also a Victim
Homes absorb the experiences within their walls. So, it was also easy to feel sympathy for a house that’s suffering. It’s especially tragic to go from a joyous beginning to a horrible loss. It’s why many faiths cleanse or bless their homes, to try and remove any bad emotions. But sometimes when it stagnates, as it cannot go anywhere, it only worsens. Through the tragedies, the air in the house becomes more oppressive. The story captures that emotional upheaval, and you feel for the house in this Southern Gothic horror story.
Sometimes Negative Patterns are an Assumption
Even before Delilah’s daughter, Joy, arrives to help, there’s constant tension and conflict between the sisters. It’s not only past unaddressed issues. Often our experiences with family as kids and young adults—especially if we have not seen them in years—color how we perceive and interact with them in the present. We forget that growth is not a finite commodity and everyone possesses the capability. But because of those assumptions, it’s easy to fall back into toxic patterns. These Walls Remember captures that challenge of breaking free from the past. Be it a person, a spirit, or a home.
These Walls Remember depicts the on-and-off struggle that comes with family, especially when there is past harm or old resentments. But it also teaches how, when there’s something worth saving, the determination to continue fighting for those we care about can move mountains. The past story is tragic, frustrating, and ties in perfectly with Southern Gothic horror. The walls of many homes have stories to tell and pain to release. These Walls Remember brings every aspect to life with personality and some chilling moments within a house that does not forget.
