64 pages • 2 hours read
Carmen Maria MachadoA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The Dream House is the memoir’s central motif and organizing force. Not only is the memoir named after it, but every chapter title is a unique inflection of the concept ("Dream House as…”). The Dream House’s nature and significance shifts so continually that it is less a unified symbol than a vehicle for exploring Machado’s many and sometimes contradictory experiences of domestic abuse. Sometimes, the Dream House is her Iowa City residence, where she lived when she met her partner. Elsewhere, it is her partner’s house in Bloomington. Other times, the Dream House is a psychological situation or condition: a naïve fantasy, an aspiration, an imprisonment, a sense of guilt.
In most cases, however, the Dream House is a setting, whether psychological or physical. In Chapter 43, “Dream House as World Building,” Machado elaborates on this idea, explaining, “Places are never just places in a piece of writing. If they are, the author has failed. Setting is not inert. It is activated by point of view” (72). The Dream House begins as a symbolic setting for Machado’s experiences, but once her partner’s abusive tendencies are revealed, this setting reflects Machado’s point of view as a target of abuse. She later imagines that the Dream House will transition into a haunted setting carrying the atmosphere of her accumulated, painful emotions (127). Though the Dream House’s definition changes based on Machado’s point of view, it remains a setting for her most honest and deeply felt emotions.
The motif of archival silence ties to the memoir’s very creation. The abusive relationship is only a secondary subject, as the text primarily concerns the perplexity of its own composition. This perplexity arises partly from how Machado must create her own language for her story; the world has never given her a language, because there exists no cultural consciousness of experiences like hers. This relates to archival silence, a concept involving the idea that some histories never find their way into the cultural record; histories that fall outside the heteronormative narrative have overwhelmingly been ignored, punished, misrepresented, or erased, creating a “silence” in the record. Before enduring her partner’s mistreatment, Machado hadn’t encountered stories of domestic abuse in lesbian relationships, so she had no context for her experience.
Proposed in the Prologue with reference to Saidiya Hartman’s essay “Venus in Two Acts,” the term “archival silence” relates to the memoir’s theme of Queering the Archive. Machado expands upon Hartman’s term, arguing that the absence of queer abuse from the archive coincides with how targets of abuse are silenced by their abusers. Her memoir contributes to queering the archive by breaking the silence and “[p]utting language to something for which you have no language” (134). Archival silence also ties to the motif of the Dream House. The Prologue notes that the word archive derives from the ancient Greek arkheion, or “house of the ruler.” And in one of the memoir’s first epigraphs, Machado cites Louise Bourgeois’s concept of memory as a kind of architecture. Her memoir’s venture is to build an archive, or structure, in which her history can find a home—and in which she can speak.
The band ‘Til Tuesday released a music video for their 1980s single “Voices Carry” depicting abuse in a heterosexual relationship, even though the original version of the song describes an abusive lesbian relationship. Decades later, singer songwriter Aimee Mann rereleased the song’s concept under the title “Labrador,” and the song retains feminine pronouns for the abuser. As a motif, this Mann’s recomposition signifies gradual cultural acceptance of queer relationships and contributes to the theme of Queering the Archive through art.
Machado's Halloween costume is a weeping angel, an alien from the Doctor Who series that “feed[s] on the potential energy of the life no longer lived in the present. A terrible undeath” (83). The weeping angel symbolizes Machado’s tendency to live in the memories of the beginning of her relationship as a way to escape the reality of the present.
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