Reviewed by Betty Fall

Punchy, provocative, and full of unshakeable pride, NoNieqa Ramos’s They Thought They Buried Us takes a unique, if messy, approach to selling a horror story to its audience while not compromising the identity of its author or protagonist. The book follows Yuiza (she/they), a young Puerto Rican filmmaker, as they struggle to keep their head above water at Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy, a highly regarded boarding school with a murky past and dangerous present. Isolated from their friends and family, gaslighted and harassed by students and faculty alike, and haunted in their dreams by the memories of their own mother’s history with the school, Yuiza quickly realizes that to survive the school, they’ll have to rewrite the narrative to center themself and others like them.

From the beginning, Ramos establishes Yuiza as an unapologetic, cheeky, attitude-filled youth who knows what they want in life. They love their friends and family, writing and filming horror movies, and themself and their Puerto Rican-Taíno heritage. Ramos goes out of their way to extend that love to other people of color and queer people, as well. The book emphasizes the importance of Black and brown identity and not bending to the whims of a ruling class that wishes to stomp out all resistance. From Yuiza’s dialogue and narration to their connections with their culture via the gifts given to them by their family (Vicks VapoRub with nearly supernatural properties, and a Puerto Rican flag that they use as a blanket, among others), Ramos shows how a connection to one’s culture in the face of discrimination can act as a lifeline of its own.

This alone can’t save Yuiza, though—allies and community are just as necessary to their survival in Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy. The novel first shows how the lack of allyship and community support can beat down and isolate children of color: the school forces Yuiza and other students of color into debt, makes them work to pay it off in its work-study program, and expects them to smile and call themselves lucky the whole time. Other students and faculty exclude Yuiza due to their race, class, and gender, all while acting as if they’re being given a real chance. And Yuiza is expected to simply take these things in stride; when arguing with a history teacher regarding the Eurocentricity of their supposed “World Mythology” class, they are told to be civil. In their words, “Civil discussion meant agreeing with the status quo, keeping your head down.”

Later on, it becomes clear that the only way Yuiza, or any of the other students of color, will survive the school is through understanding one another as individuals and becoming willing to stick their necks out for them, unlike the school’s stance. This is seen in moments where the students share their culture, like when Yuiza’s roommate Glorymar offers them some adobo as a protective agent in place of salt, but it’s also present in moments of affirming gender and sexual identities. One particular sequence sees Yuiza going out of their way to get to know the other scholarship students, their names, and their pronouns—making sure to show them the basic human decency that the staff and wealthy students don’t bother to extend or display. The novel is thematically dense, if at times a little on-the-nose, and clear in its messages of survival through solidarity.

Ramos tells Yuiza’s story with unique prose that plays with screenplay formatting to varying levels of effectiveness, reflecting Yuiza’s characterization as a screenwriter and horror fanatic, which is also uneven. Aspects of the screenwriting style conventions used in the book include scene headings whenever Yuiza goes from one location to another, character names being introduced in all-caps bolded Courier font, and directing phrases being used as a part of the prose (e.g. “CLOSEUP on me, YUIZA… PAN to my bestie QUETZAL” in the opening chapter). While charming, stylistic choices like these are inconsistent and do little to add to the plot or Yuiza’s character except to remind the reader that they like film.

Similarly, Yuiza’s interest in horror doesn’t feel fully realized. Much of their references to horror come across as simple allusions to the genre as a whole rather than the knowledge of someone who lives and breathes it, like some of the dialogue suggests. Rather than nodding to specific examples of horror films that may have inspired Yuiza, most of the references to horror start and end at Yuiza thinking, “If this were a horror movie…” That phrase is repeated often throughout the novel, but it begs the question: which horror movie? What subgenre or era? Horror films aren’t generic and interchangeable, after all. This vagueness when referring to something that Yuiza is supposedly passionate about makes that aspect of their character feel inauthentic and hampers moments that might have been elevated by more specificity unique to Yuiza’s perspective.

Ramos’s nods to screenwriting become more tangible and impactful to the story in the segments written entirely in screenplay format. Most of these moments are flashbacks where Yuiza reminisces on their family life or where they experience their mother’s memories as a child. These moments work to show how Yuiza struggles to make full sense of their life due to past traumas, a possible history of mental illness in their family, and the pressures of generational trauma and societal injustices that impact all the characters. The screenwriting dialogue format is also used in moments where Yuiza’s internal monologue and immediate reactions manifest in their tías speaking to them, adding quippy responses to their narration. The chorus of tías in their mind also show readers how connected they are to their family. The most powerful instance of screenwriting reflecting Yuiza’s state of mind comes at the conclusion of the book, which is left open to interpretation. In this ending, the audience gets to see Yuiza truly write their own story and take control of the narrative. The ambiguity of what “really” happens at the end further highlights this point: it is up to Yuiza, and it is up to us, to decide how their story ends. They take their roommate Glorymar’s advice to heart: “Write a script where you don’t just revise this world. Build a new one.”

They Thought They Buried Us is a messy and heartfelt novel that asks readers to see the world in the eyes of its protagonist to understand them as a person, and to see how the society built around them fails them and others like them every day. While NoNieqa Ramos’s approach to blending the conventions of novel-writing with the craft of screenwriting is ultimately uneven, the story presented is unique and compelling enough in both voice and thematic impact to keep readers engaged until the credits roll.

Betty Fall is a genre writer and media analyst with a love for horror and speculative fiction. She currently resides in North Carolina where she works as a middle school teacher assistant. When not reading or writing, Betty can also be found drawing, sewing, and thinking about writing, the latter of which can be an endeavor in and of itself.