As its title suggests, The House of the Spirits is imbued with supernatural elements. Clara, one of the novel’s main characters, is a clairvoyant, and she has the added powers of predicting natural disasters and levitating furniture and saltshakers. Clara’s magic is commonplace in the privacy of her home, but her family attempts to hide her powers—especially after an outburst in church as a young girl causes the parish priest, Father Restrepo, to declare Clara “possessed by the devil!” Clara’s supernatural powers are present throughout her life, and she exposes her children and granddaughter, Alba, to her spiritualist lifestyle. Clara’s husband, Esteban, and even her son, Jaime, are dismissive of Clara’s abilities, which reflects the dismissiveness of women in the novel more broadly. Despite the dismissive way in which Clara’s family approaches her magic, they often turn to her powers in times of great need, which suggests that Clara’s supernatural abilities aren’t as silly as her family first pretends. With the incorporation of magical elements in The House of the Spirits, Allende highlights the mysterious nature of the world and ultimately argues for the power of the supernatural to bring comfort in times of suffering.
Clara’s supernatural powers are an important part of her life; thus, her powers are a prominent part of her family’s lives as well, even though they generally ignore them. From a young age, Clara can “predict the future and recognize people’s intentions.” She foresees her father, Severo’s, hernia, predicts her brother’s horseback riding accident, and even knows the identity of a local murderer before the police find the victims’ bodies. Clara’s supernatural abilities manifest early, and while her family largely ignores them, they only get stronger with age. By the time Clara and Esteban are married and have children, the three Mora sisters, local “students of spiritualism and supernatural phenomena,” are inexplicably drawn to Clara. The sisters—who have a photograph of themselves seated around a table with a “misty, winged ectoplasm,” which Clara sees as “irrefutable proof that souls can take on physical form”—spend an extended period living in Clara and Esteban’s house, even though Esteban considers their spiritual beliefs nonsense. Like Clara, the Mora sisters believe wholeheartedly in the supernatural, and they spend their days and nights summoning spirits together. In the years that follow, “a group of Gurdjieff students, Rosicrucias, spiritualists, and sleepless bohemians” gather around Clara and the Mora sisters. This group of spiritualists and mystics live in Clara and Esteban’s house, too, and they divide their time “between urgent consultations with the spirits of the three-legged table and reading the verses of the latest mystic poet.” Clara’s family tolerates this eclectic group, as they do with the Mora sisters, and accepts them as another one of Clara’s eccentricities.
With the exception of Clara’s son, Nicolás, who shares his mother’s enthusiasm for the supernatural but none of her talent, Clara’s family is largely dismissive of her powers. However, they often turn to her magical gifts for comfort, which implies that on some level they do respect the power of the supernatural after all. Esteban maintains that “magic, like cooking and religion,” is a “particularly feminine affair,” and he merely tolerates his wife’s obsession with the supernatural out of his deep love for her. Within the novel, magic is symbolic of the strength of women and their real-life skills and abilities, and when Esteban dismisses Clara’s magic, he dismisses her as a woman as well. When Esteban runs for senator, he grows increasingly nervous as the election nears, so he goes to Clara and asks if he will win. Clara only nods, and Esteban’s fears are immediately relieved. “You’re fantastic, Clara!” he exclaims. “If you say so, I’ll be senator.” While Esteban merely tolerates his wife’s peculiarities much of the time, he clearly believes in her supernatural abilities and is happy to benefit from them when the occasion arises. Long after Clara is dead, and Esteban is alone in the big house on the corner with his granddaughter, Alba, he fears the sounds of lingering spirits and ghosts are evidence of senility. But these “doubts melt away” whenever Clara’s ghost passes Esteban in the halls, or when he hears her laughter on the terrace. In life, Clara easily communicated “with those of the Hereafter,” and in death, she is likewise able to communicate “with those of the Here-and-Now.” Esteban believes Clara has this power, and it is a comfort to him in his old age. Furthermore, when Alba is arrested during the military coup and is tortured and raped by the police, she invokes “the understanding spirits of her grandmother” to help her die. The spirits don’t come, but Clara does appear in Alba’s semi-consciousness and encourages strength and inner peace. Like her grandfather, Alba shows little interest in Clara’s magic—until she needs it, that is.
At the end of the novel, as Esteban dies an old man, bitter and angry, Alba is convinced of Clara’s presence at the very moment of his death. Initially, Clara is “just a mysterious glow,” but as Esteban slowly loses the rage that plagued him in life, Clara appears “as she had been at her best, laughing with all her teeth and stirring up the other spirits as she sails through the house.” Because of Clara’s ghostly presence and supernatural powers, Esteban is “able to die happy, murmuring her name: Clara, clearest, clairvoyant,” which further underscores the power of the supernatural to bring comfort during times of great suffering.
Magic and the Supernatural ThemeTracker
Magic and the Supernatural Quotes in The House of the Spirits
His house would be the reflection of himself, his family, and the prestige he planned to give the surname that his father had stained. […] He could hardly guess that that solemn, cubic, dense, pompous house, which sat like a hat amid its green and geometric surroundings, would end up full of protuberances and incrustations, of twisted staircases that led to empty spaces, of turrets, of small windows that could not be opened, doors hanging in midair, crooked hallways, and portholes that linked the living quarters so that people could communicate during the siesta, all of which were Clara’s inspiration. Every time a new guest arrived, she would have another room built in another part of the house, and if the spirits told her that there was a hidden treasure or an unburied body in the foundation, she would have a wall knocked down, until the mansion was transformed into an enchanted labyrinth that was impossible to clean and that defied any number of state and city laws.
When the project was complete, I came up against an unexpected obstacle: I was unable to transfer Rosa to the new tomb because the del Valle family objected. I tried to convince them, using every argument I could think of along with gifts and pressure, even bringing my political power to bear, but it was all in vain. My brothers-in-law were unyielding. I think they must have heard about Nívea’s head and were angry with me for having kept it in the basement all that time. In light of their obstinacy, I called Jaime in and told him to get ready to accompany me to the cemetery to steal Rosa’s body. He didn’t look surprised.
“If they won’t give her to us, we’ll have to take her by force,” I told him.
Clara also brought the saving idea of writing in her mind, without paper or pencil, to keep her thoughts occupied and to escape from the doghouse and live. She suggested that she write a testimony that might one day call attention to the terrible secret she was living through, so that the world would know about this horror that was taking place parallel to the peaceful existence of those who did not want to know, who could afford the illusion of a normal life, and of those who could deny that they were on a raft adrift in a sea of sorrow, ignoring, despite all evidence, that only blocks away from their happy world there were others, these others who live or die on the dark side. “You have a lot to do, so stop feeling sorry for yourself, drink some water, and start writing,” Clara told her granddaughter before disappearing the same way she had come.
I write, she wrote, that memory is fragile and the space of a single life is brief, passing so quickly that we never get a chance to see the relationship between events; we cannot gauge the consequences of our acts, and we believe in the fiction of past, present, and future, but it may also be true that everything happens simultaneously—as the three Mora sisters said, who could see the spirits of ail eras mingled in space. That’s why my Grandmother Clara wrote in her notebooks, in order to see things in their true dimension and to defy her own poor memory.