The Possession of Alba Díaz by Isabel Cañas
Berkley (August 2025)
Reviewed by Haley Newlin
Isabel Cañas is a gothic horror revivalist who would appease and astonish the founding mothers of the genre and excite the readers they continue to lure in today. What makes Cañas stand out is her use of classic Gothic tropes — such as isolation, family turmoil, claustrophobic settings, and hauntings —but she re-centers them in Mexico. She symbolizes historical trauma, evangelization, colonization, generational violence, and misogyny throughout her work in a way that’s accessible and impactful.
In her latest genre-defying release, The Possession of Alba Díaz, Cañas conjures an unforgettable, wicked tale so compelling and cinematically evocative that readers will talk about it for years to come. It’s haunting and gory. Fierce and uncanny.
In 1765, a plague descends on Zacatecas. Alba, a woman desperate for control in her life, flees with her wealthy merchant parents and fiancé, Carlos, to his family’s isolated mine. There’s something dark in the mine. And it’s not the infectious greed or mercury poisoning. It’s something malevolent, and it beckons to Alba. Soon, she is sleepwalking, suffering unsettling hallucinations, including one featuring the violent death of a priest, and has frightening convulsions that leave her achy and weak.
Carlos’s cousin, Elías, is strange, and Alba is told not to trust or go near him. He is a convict, after all. But Elías knows a thing or two about what’s happening to Alba and the demon’s thirst for blood. He is the only one she can turn to.
The opening of The Possession of Alba Díaz is ominous and alluring, with mention of the legend of the Monterrubio mine. Some say it’s an ancient terror, while others describe it as a pagan devil or a haunting ghost story. I was immediately hooked.
The pacing is steady throughout the story, perhaps a touch quicker than that of the traditional Gothic novel. This was effective because Cañas, unlike some of the most famous Gothic writers, doesn’t explain away the hauntings. She creates and unleashes monsters, both human and supernatural. This made for one of the most satisfying conclusions I’ve ever read. It was horrific, beautiful, and such a holy-sh*t-that-just-happened moment. I’d reread this book just to experience that ending once more.
The Possession of Alba Díaz will ignite a fire in every woman who reads it. Demonic possession may be the closest men could ever come to experiencing the constant threat to autonomy that women endure every day.
Alba’s character is angry and struggles to find a sense of self. She is relatable and someone readers will root for. She craves freedom, the right to choose, the permission just to be. She is no gothic damsel. She is tough as hell. And because she is such a dynamic character in her own right, the romance doesn’t undermine her power and desire to govern herself.
Elías is equally dynamic with a painful past and an interest in the occult. The emotion portrayed through his character is powerful. He is rejected by his family, deemed a criminal, and kept away from Alba and her parents. He dines alone. Lives in the servant’s quarters. He, too, dreams of freedom. A life without the burden of financial hardship. Without pain and guilt.
His and Alba’s entanglement is natural despite the increasingly peculiar disturbances. Even the most hardened horror fans will swoon over these two.
There’s really something for everyone in The Possession of Alba Díaz. It’s a complex and satisfying blend of romance, historical, and horror fiction. I’d recommend it for fans of pink, gothic, and historical horror, as well as those who enjoy classic possession books like William Peter Blatty’s The Exorcist, or lore-driven and feminist stories like Amanda Jayatissa’s Island Witch.
