In the Midst of the Sea

March 18, 2019
McCarthy’s debut is a technically well-wrought but thematically worn-out tale of psychological horror that makes an exhibition of misogyny without substantive engagement. It’s 1994, and newlywed 20-somethings Diana and Ford Barlow move to the hamlet of Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard, having inherited an 1870s Victorian there from Ford’s great-aunt. They are in flight from abusive families—Diana’s dominated by a toxically Catholic mother, Ford’s by an incestuous pedophile of a father. Ford originally charmed Diana with kindness to her daughter, Samantha, and Diana now resignedly excuses his drinking, emotional distance, and abuse. The house is oppressive, and Ford is obsessed with its decorative dolls and with some experience in the cellar that he won’t discuss. Diana finds a diary down there, purportedly written by Elizabeth “Cassie” Steebe and detailing the disintegration of her marriage to Hiram, a Wesleyan zealot whose ostracism by the townsfolk led him to construct the house. The parallels spiral into a multigenerational spectacle of male fury that goes largely uncountered by its female victims—at least while the women are still alive. McCarthy’s writing is capable, but he does nothing new with the age-old story of harm, vengeance, and haunting.