Her later works have taken a sharp turn into the metaphysical, exploring the "archive of the self." She questions: If we burn all the letters and delete all the emails, does the love still exist? Her answer is hauntingly optimistic: it exists in the habit of the wound—the way your hand still reaches for a phantom hand in the dark.
To read Gheorghiță is to agree to look at the painful, beautiful, ordinary mess of being alive—and to find, in that precise cartography of the wound, a strange and lasting comfort. niculina gheorghita carti
One of her most fascinating techniques is the "negative space" narrative. Gheorghiță often leaves the central trauma of her novels entirely off the page. The reader never witnesses the accident, the abandonment, or the betrayal. Instead, we see its echo —in the way a character now folds a napkin, in a sudden phobia of staircases, in a lifetime of choosing the wrong lovers. This makes reading her books an act of co-creation. You, the reader, become an archaeologist, piecing together the invisible event from the shards of its consequences. Her later works have taken a sharp turn