Monastery

by Eduardo Halfon, Lisa Dillman (Translation), Daniel Hahn (Translation)

The nomadic odyssey of Eduardo Halfon continues as he searches for clues about his identity across Central America and Europe, New York and Jerusalem In Monastery , Eduardo Halfon’s eponymous wanderer travels from Guatemalan cities, villages, coffee plantations, and border towns to a private jazz concert in Harlem, a former German U-Boat base on the French Breton coast, and Israel, where he escapes from his sister’s Orthodox Jewish wedding into an erotic adventure with the enigmatic Tamara. His passing encounters are unforgettable; his relationships, problematic. At once a world citizen and a writer who mistrusts the power of language, he is pursued by history’s ghosts and unanswerable questions. He is a cartographer of identity on a compelling journey to an uncertain destination. As he draws and redraws his boundaries, he confronts us with the limitations of our own.

Genres: Fiction, Novels, Latin American, Short Stories

160 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2014

About the author

Eduardo Halfon nació en 1971 en la ciudad de Guatemala. Ha publicado Esto no es una pipa, Saturno (2003), De cabo roto (2003), El ángel literario (2004), Siete minutos de desasosiego (2007), Clases de hebreo (2008), Clases de dibujo (2009), El boxeador polaco (2008; Libros del Asteroide, 2019), La pirueta (2010), Mañana nunca lo hablamos (2011), Elocuencias de un tartamudo (2012), Monasterio (Libros del Asteroide, 2014), Signor Hoffman (Libros del Asteroide, 2015), Duelo (Libros del Asteroide, 2017), Clases de chapín (2017), Biblioteca bizarra (2018), Canción (Libros del Asteroide, 2021), Un hijo cualquiera (Libros del Asteroide, 2022) y Tarántula (Libros del Asteroide, 2024).

Su obra ha sido traducida a más de quince idiomas. En 2007 fue nombrado uno de los treinta y nueve mejores jóvenes escritores latinoamericanos por el Hay Festival de Bogotá. En 2011 recibió la beca Guggenheim, y en 2015 le fue otorgado en Francia el prestigioso Premio Roger Caillois de Literatura Latinoamericana. Su novela Duelo fue galardonada con el Premio de las Librerías de Navarra (España), el Prix du Meilleur Livre Étranger (Francia), el International Latino Book Award (EE. UU.) y el Edward Lewis Wallant Award (EE. UU.). Su novela Canción recibió el Premio Cálamo Extraordinario. En 2018 le fue otorgado el Premio Nacional de Literatura de Guatemala, el mayor galardón literario de su país natal.

Actualmente vive en Berlín.

Reviews

[Paula Mota · Rating 4 out of 5]

At some point, I recall, the five of us were sitting around the dining room table at my parents’ house, when my sister announced coldly that, as far as she and the Orthodox rabbis and teachers saw it, the four of us were not Jews. My father yelled once or twice. My mother stood and stormed off in tears, and my brother went after her. Well, I replied, at least that’s one thing we agree on.

Em “Monastery”, Eduardo Halfon chega com o irmão a Tel Aviv para assistir ao casamento ortodoxo da irmã mais nova. Ainda que o judaísmo seja a religião da sua família, é palpável o desconforto do autor desde que aterra em solo israelita.

I was going to tell him that my grandfather had been an Arab Jew from Beirut, and my grandmother an Arab Jew from Alexandria, and my other grandmother an Arab Jew from Aleppo, and so that made me a little Arab too—three parts Arab, in fact, one part Polish.

Quando confrontado com o ódio de um taxista xenófobo, Halfon dá livre curso à sua irritação.

You’re right, I said into his black eyes, we have to kill them all. His black eyes finally smiled a bit. But how should we do it? I inquired. Eh? he grunted, his eyes flitting in the rearview mirror. What method do you propose we use to kill them?

Todo o ambiente de intolerância e fervor religioso acabam por afectar o ânimo de Halfon, que desiste de comparecer ao casamento, partindo antes num passeio de carro com uma hospedeira que conhecera uns anos antes.
Uma das primeiras paragens é o Muro das Lamentações, que o faz lembrar o muro do gueto de Varsóvia que visitara aquando de uma viagem à Polónia, o país que o seu avô abandonou quando pôde sair do campo de campo de concentração, para nunca mais voltar. Mas não só de muros antigos vive Israel, razão pela qual surge esta reflexão:

A wall is the physical manifestation of man’s hatred of the other. A palpable, concrete manifestation that attempts to separate us from the other, isolate us from the other, eliminate the other from our sight and from our world. But it’s also a clearly useless manifestation: no matter how tall and thick the construction, no matter how long and imposing the structure, a wall is never insurmountable. A wall is never bigger than the spirit of those it confines. Because the other is still there. The other doesn’t disappear, never disappears. The other’s other is me. Me, and my spirit, and my imagination.

Apesar do tom frequentemente irreverente, “Monastery” é uma meditação séria sobre a identidade religiosa de um povo que persegue mas também já foi perseguido, tendo por base vários episódios em que judeus tiveram de renegar e disfarçar a sua origem para poderem sobreviver.

Whether you like it or not, he said, whether you accept it or not, you’re as Jewish as all of them. That’s the way it is. That’s your heritage. It’s in your blood. It struck me then, watching my brother stand there in front of all of the gray buildings of Kiryat Mattersdorf, that the discourse about Judaism being in the blood, the discourse about Judaism not being a religion but something genetic, sounded the same as the discourse used by Hitler.

[Lahierbaroja · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cuando entras en el mundo de Halfon, ya no quieres salir.
Quizá Monasterio no sea mi preferido de él pero cuando te gusta el modo en el que te cuentan la historia ya no puedes dejar de leer.

Esto es literatura. Qué gran descubrimiento.

https://lahierbaroja.com/2021/04/20/m...

[Nancy Oakes · Rating 5 out of 5]

Once again, Halfon has entranced me with his writing, his travels, and above all, his storytelling. I was especially struck by something that he said here while writing about his grandfather " a story is really many stories," and that "a story grows, changes its skin, does acrobatics on the tightrope of time." This is more or less how he himself writes as he tells of traveling from place to place in an effort to uncover how people (including himself) define/identify themselves. Is it through religion? He is a Guatemalan Jew, but his Orthodox Jewish sister, for example, tells them on a visit home that "as far as she and the Orthodox rabbis and teachers saw it," the rest of the family weren't Jews. Is it through place? His grandfather's siblings all fled Beirut at the beginning of the 20th century, each ending up in a different country. Through experience, memories or history? In the names our parents give us? Through the eyes of others? In the clothes we wear?

The book may only consist of 150+ pages, but it speaks to very big questions. It also speaks to the art of writing. Halfon may be not be the most reliable storyteller, but even there, not all stories are built on absolute truths, a point he very clearly gets across not only in this book, but in his earlier book The Polish Boxer as well. People who are expecting a tidy ending in either book might be a bit disappointed, but Halfon is on a journey, and as he notes,

"all our journeys are really one single journey, with multiple stops and layovers...every journey , any journey, is not linear, and is not circular, and it never ends." (83)

I loved the bird imagery in this book, and that of walls - but even more, I absolutely love the way this man writes. Highly, highly recommended.

my sincere thanks to LT for offering me the chance to read this book, and to Bellevue Literary Press as well. Both of Mr. Halfon's books are truly outstanding.

[Ruben · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sometimes you discover a new author and immediately want to read their entire backlist. This is the case for Eduardo Halfon, a Guatemalan author who writes little semi-autobiographical gems about his family history and travels. The books are beautifully published by Libros del Asteroide.

Of Jewish descent (one of his grandparents survived Auschwitz), in this slight novella Eduardo's sister has decided to marry an insufferable orthodox Jew from Brooklyn. The book starts when Eduardo - not happy with the marriage - arrives in Jerusalem for the wedding and at the airport meets an old girlfriend.

I loved it, the style is clear and light but profound at the same time. My Spanish is good but not perfect and this is definitely very accessible (some of his books are translated in English).

Highly recommended!

[Skip · Rating 3 out of 5]

All our journeys are really one single journey, with multiple stops and layovers. That every journey, any journey, is not linear and is not circular, and it never ends.<\I>

Author Halfon writes beautifully in this travelogue. He is a Guatemalan Jew, and his eight vignettes provide background on his family and the recent histories of both Guatemala and Jews. Funny at times, poignant at others. For me anyway, the choices about where to stop each story and the lengths were perplexing.

[Guillermo Jiménez · Rating 5 out of 5]

Novela brutal. Novela sobre la familia, la hermandad, sobre los orígenes de una persona. ¿Dónde comenzamos realmente? ¿Con nuestros padres? ¿Nuestros abuelos? ¿Más atrás o cuando cumplimos 13 años?

Novela sobre la intolerancia religiosa y el odio. Sobre los cambios horarios y la incomprensión. Novela sobre cómo nos relacionamos con otros que apenas alcanzamos a entender y que en el fondo no nos interesan.

Novela también sobre el judaísmo. Sobre la herencia de los campos de concentración y sobre el nomadismo.

Eduardo Halfon sigue siendo ese boxeador polaco que te noquea con las palabras. Un tipo que escribe como los más bragados, sin petulancia, sin bravuconería. Un autor que es capaz de asombrarse del valor, del peso de las palabras.

Monasterio es una novela que se desenvuelve con un gran ritmo. Sabemos que no es extensa, pero no podemos adivinar ese golpe certero hacia el final. Un golpe contundente que te mueve las ideas, que te mueve a reflexionar sobre algunas de ellas. A reafirmarte o cambiarte de opinión.

[SilviaG · Rating 3 out of 5]

Un pequeño relato que habla de las raíces, de los orígenes de uno mismo. Que aunque uno pretenda escapar y renegar de ellos, siempre están allí, e influyen en nuestra vida.

[Lucas Sierra · Rating 4 out of 5]

Huir de nuestra imagen, o de forjar el propio rostro a fuerza de palabras (Reseña, 2021)

(También disponible en: https://cuadernosdeunbibliofago.wordp... )

La unidad mínima de la identidad es el relato. Sea individual o colectivo. Es a través de la historia de sucesos cómo respondemos a la amabilidad de los huéspedes. Quién eres. Quiénes son tus padres. De dónde vienes. Qué buscas en esta tierra. Las preguntas típicas de la hospitalidad terminan siendo la base desde la cual construimos nuestra narrativa vital. No son preguntas que podamos responder con absoluta libertad, en ellas hay algo de azar, algo de destino. Podemos, eso sí, rechazar lo que el azar o el destino pone en nuestro relato. Reescribirlo. Darle la vuelta. Versionarlo. Hacer de nuestra manera propia de contarlo una estrategia de salvación. Hay ahí una constante en la obra de Eduardo Halfon, y ese esfuerzo abunda a lo largo de Monasterio.

La anécdota de la novela es sencilla. La hermana del narrador se convierte en judía ortodoxa y decide casarse en Jerusalén. Su familia viaja, entonces, para asistir a la boda. Para el narrador el choque es inminente. Convivir en medio de una religión que no comparte, a la luz de un dios antiguo con el que siente rotas las relaciones, reencontrando códigos que hacen parte de su profundidad con la misma fuerza con que se esmera en restarles importancia. Ser o no ser. Hamlet lo plantea en términos de permanecer con vida. Halfon lo pregunta en términos de aceptar o no ciertas líneas de vida que pueden mantenerlo en el barco, evitar que se ahogue en mar abierto, pero que no dejan de servir, también, como ataduras que evitan el nado libre, el descubrimiento de las costas feacias.

Ahora, plantear Monasterio sólo en términos de identidad sería una injusticia pagana. Aquí hay historias y lenguaje y eso significa que lo particular deja sitio para la comprensión de lo humano a través del acto de la conversación. Toda buena obra, incluso narrada en primera persona a manera de monólogo interno entre el yo y el yo que toma nota, termina siendo una conversación con quien lee, y acá la conversación discurre por senderos de erotismo, espiritualidad, costumbre, moral, humor, guerra, violencia, memoria, violencia, recuerdos, familia, violencia. La reiteración en listado hace mucho más evidente lo que en la novela es sutil. Hay una violencia agazapada en el mundo que el narrador describe, una violencia vieja, asentada en pactos de fuego.

Hay también, por suerte, la terquedad de la vida que sigue con su prosaica salud en medio de todo. Los pasos en falso, los carros que rodean agentes antibombas, las espaldas que bajo el sol se tuestan en playas desiertas, los hombres que rezan en una habitación caldeada, la comida en los hoteles, un gato que duerme o que creemos que duerme, un papel donde el ruego anónimo es desconocido. La mirada de Halfon consigue cargar todo lo anterior, y todo lo que me tomaría jamás enumerar, con la limpidez de los presagios, y asistimos en esta lectura al milagro de la mística. Entrar en sí para salir de sí y conectar con el todo. Ir adentro para descubrir el exterior total.

Quizás de allí la incógnita del título, el sentido sencillo de la institución monacal, la idea de austeridad, trabajo y oración que resuena en las palabras de Benito hasta nuestro presente. Quizás de allí esa cualidad de tensa claridad que Halfon erige a lo largo de su obra con un cariz de luto luminoso que aspiramos, como lectores, poder incorporar en nuestras vidas. Para que sea nuestra también esa tristeza calma, esa calmada insatisfacción, ese dolor íntimo de no saber cómo esquivar el enredo que nos teje y que se acompaña de la felicidad, quizás momentánea, de reconocer, pese a todo, la belleza de su patrón.

Las manos de la tejedora que ignoramos.

[Jill · Rating 3 out of 5]

"I considered telling him that all our journeys are really one single journey, with multiple stops and layovers. That every journey, any journey, is not linear and is not circular, and it never ends. That every journey is meaningless."

So says the nomadic narrator of Monastery, whose name just happens to be the same as the author's -- Eduardo Halfon. Eduardo is a Guatemalan Jew and at the start of the journey, we meet him during the days leading up to his fanatically devoted sister's wedding in Jerusalem. By the end of the journey, he's in his grandfather's hometown in Poland, where, years ago, the grandfather was sent captured while playing dominoes and sent to the concentration camps.

In between, Eduardo travels far and wide and meets others who are striving to save themselves: perhaps "with a fundamentalist doctrine, or a series of fables and allegories, or a book of rules and norms and prohibitions" or sometimes, through sheer force of will. From a Harlem woman who hosts jazz concerts to an entrepreneur family of coffee growers in Guatemala, everyone is acting out "the role of our best disguise."

This spare yet pithy novel starts and ends with a bang, with a middle section that is necessary albeit less compelling.

[jeremy · Rating 4 out of 5]

like a companion volume or literary reverberation, eduardo halfon's monastery continues the itinerant wanderings begun in his beautifully-composed the polish boxer. monastery's narrator, a certain eduardo halfon, encounters and engages the world around him - be he beside the west bank barrier, seeking an intimate jazz performance in harlem, or visiting a coffee plantation in guatemala. reflective and reminiscent, the short stories/tales/vignettes that make up halfon's second work to be translated into english are effortlessly gratifying. halfon needn't employ a stylistically singular prose style (although he writes magnificently) or rely on compelling, convoluted plots to evince the wonder of the world around him. each of the eight pieces contained within monastery (one of which, "white smoke," curiously appeared also - albeit in a different translation - within the polish boxer) offers a melodic yet transitory glimpse of the seemingly insignificant moments that eventually merge into memories of consequence.

halfon, honored as one of the bogotá 39, has about a dozen works to his name. el ángel literario ("the literary angel") - a 2004 semifinalist for the premio herralde (won previously by the likes of marías, bolaño, vila-matas, and sada) - appears to be, like both monastery and the polish boxer after it, an astounding semi-autobiographical work that blends genres and transcends the merely fictional. seeing more of the guatemala city-born author's works in translation would be a gift.

maybe it was her driving. maybe it was the combination of hash and the heat inside the citroën and the adrenaline rush i'd gotten with the soldiers. maybe it was something much darker and more fleeting. i rolled the window all the way down, stuck my head out and, breathing in the warm fresh air, thought of other walls. chinese walls and german walls and american walls. holy walls of temples and damp mossy walls of cells. the brick walls of a ghetto, the walls surrounding an entire people imprisoned in a ghetto, starving in a ghetto, dying slowly and silently. all of a sudden, i saw or imagined i saw on the wall (we were driving very fast and my eyes were almost closed and my pupils were dilated) the all-black figure of the girl in the banksy painting: her black braid, black bangs, little black skirt, black shoes, black face looking up, her whole body facing up toward the sky as she floats up the wall with the help of a bunch of black balloons held in her tiny black hand. it occurred to me, my head halfway out the window and already experiencing a delicious lethargy from the hash, that a wall is the physical manifestation of man's hatred of the other. a palpable concrete manifestation that attempts to separate us from the other, isolate us from the other, eliminate the other from our sight and from our world. but it's also a clearly useless manifestation: no matter how tall and thick the construction, no matter how long and imposing the structure, a wall is never insurmountable. a wall is never bigger than the spirit of those it confines. because the other is still there. the other doesn't disappear, never disappears. the other's other is me. me, and my spirit, and my imagination, and my black balloons.

*translated from the spanish by lisa dillman and daniel hahn (both of whom, with three others, rendered the polish boxer into english)

[Julio Reyes · Rating 4 out of 5]

¿Es el origen, identidad? ¿Podemos dejar de ser quienes somos, con tal de sobrevivir? ¿Cuanta tradición está dentro de nosotros, a pesar de nuestro afán de individualizarnos?

[Lotte]

gelezen voor spaanse en spaans-amerikaanse literatuur

[roberto · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5⭐️
pffffffff….

[Michael H. Miranda · Rating 1 out of 5]

Ligera, banal, maniquea.
Me sorprende la cantidad de buenos reviews que tiene esta novela. Un crítico como Nadal Suau la elogió en El Mundo y creo que algunos críticos dan por sentado que si la editó Libros del Asteroide tiene por fuerza que ser un buen libro.
No lo es. La anécdota inicial (el viaje a Israel para la boda de la hermana) queda disuelta muy pronto. Se desembaraza de ella para dar inicio a lo que parece en realidad importarle: el examen personal de su relación con el judaísmo, el recuento de la travesía familiar, el cruce de sus orígenes, cómo algunos sobrevivieron al Holocausto.
La irrupción del personaje de Tamara acaba consumiendo, más bien anulando, el resto de la novela. Pero dejar tantos cabos sueltos induce a creer en una contracción narrativa que es desprecio hacia la anécdota y como actitud revela soberbia. Lo que decía Onetti de cierto escritor: tiene los colores pero al mezclarlos le da siempre blanco.
¿Es este uno de esos casos de libros que los autores no saben cómo cerrarlos, terminan odiándolos y ahí se los dejo, lectores, hagan ustedes el trabajo?
Lo peor de este libro puede que incluso no sea eso, sino su tono moralizante, que roza la visión maniquea y sermoneadora en torno a algunos fenómenos complejos. Un chofer de taxi que desea matar árabes, judíos antipáticos a tutiplén, un muro que le recuerda al de ciertas fronteras...
No acierta uno a saber por qué el narrador siente la necesidad de ponernos ante tales disyuntivas. Ni que el narrador tenga que decir cosas como que beber cerveza oscura le hace pensar en tabernas antiguas y duelos de sables. Prefiero ante eso ser supersticioso, la superstición de un estilo.
Pudiendo haber sido un libro relevante para su autor (y con él sus lectores) por lo que de travesía personal posee, es de creer que en realidad debió tenerle poquita fe.

[The Reading Bibliophile · Rating 5 out of 5]

Une quête d'identité marquée par l'histoire familiale.

[Kapuss · Rating 5 out of 5]

Allí, ante mí, en otra ciudad, en un monumental pilar blanco de la iglesia de la Santa Cruz, estaba el corazón de Chopin. No entendí si éste yacía dentro del pilar blanco o debajo del pilar blanco. Pero allí estaba, ante mí, en el interior opulento y lóbrego de una iglesia de Varsovia, según los últimos deseos de Chopin. Dos días después de morir en París, en 1849, su corazón fue extraído y conservado en alcohol. En brandy, dicen algunos. En coñac, dicen otros. Su hermana Ludwica luego lo transportó de París a Varsovia, de contrabando por la campiña y la frontera y los varios puestos de gendarmes prusianos, en una urna de cristal herméticamente sellada y, dicen algunos, bien escondida debajo de su falda: el corazón de su hermano menor, flotando en brandy o coñac, entre el calor de sus piernas. Y así, en una urna de cristal, éste pudo por fin ser sepultado en ese pilar blanco de la Iglesia de Santa Cruz que yo ahora tenía ante mí, y donde ha reposado desde entonces. Salvo los últimos meses de la segunda guerra mundial. En agosto de 1944, durante el levantamiento de Varsovia, el corazón fue exhumado por un general nazi de apellido Zelewski: no sólo el responsable del asesinato en masa de cientos de miles de civiles polacos, y el ideólogo primero de la ubicación y funcionamiento de Auschwitz, sino también un apasionado amante de la música clásica. Para así proteger el corazón de Chopin de los bombardeos alemanes, dicen algunos; para así guardarlo él mismo, dicen otros, entre su colección de mementos y curiosidades.

[Magdalena · Rating 5 out of 5]

Read in Spanish (available in English as “Monastery” by Eduardo Halfon).
When one of your grandparents is from Aleppo, another one from Lebanon, and yet another one from Łódź, Poland, then, who are you? What’s your identity? The fact that you were born in Guatemala but left for the US when you were ten, does not make things easier. Halfon’s book is a gripping and intensive journey into one’s identity and the process of constructing it. By traveling to Israel for his sister’s wedding and while being there recounting the story of his Polish grandfather, the author untangles the Gordian knot of his Jewish identity. What does being Jewish mean, can you be Jewish “sometimes”? Can you shed your “Jewishness” to survive? Similarly to many Jewish children during the war who hid in the monasteries and who, once the war was over, stepped back into the world stripped of their identity, family, language and memory? My first Halfon, definitely not the last one. Cannot praise it enough.

[Alonso Diaz · Rating 5 out of 5]

Medio autobiográfico o quizás no. Muy cautivadora la manera de narrar. Una delicia.

[María Fuertes · Rating 3 out of 5]

Una novela sobre, el autodescubrimiento, los orígenes y la aceptación de las raíces.

[Judith · Rating 4 out of 5]

Un libro sobre la identidad, la memoria y el viaje, donde el protagonista intenta encontrar un hueco donde encajar presionado por la intolerancia religiosa de su entorno.

[Alberto Delgado · Rating 4 out of 5]

Este libro me llamó la atención por la portada con ese niño judio ortodoxo que te mira. No conocía al autor pero al estar publicado por libros del asteroide decidí leerlo y como al lado estaba otro libro del mismo autor decidí llevarme los dos. Ha sido un gran descubrimiento, Halfon da una lección a muchos compañeros de profesión al demostrar que 120 páginas son suficientes cuando lo que cuentas es
brillante. Una pequeña joya en la que el autor nos cuenta su viaje a israel para asistir a la boda de su hermana y como esto le va a llevar a un viaje mucho mas importante en el que que reflexiona como el pertenecer a una familia nos marca en nuestra vida y el que se espera de nosotros.

[Pablo]

Está guay. Me da la sensación de que deja historias a medias en cada librito, y las retoma a medias en el siguiente para volver a dejarlas a medias o enlazarlas con otras. Es interesante pero empieza a ponerme nervioso.

[Buccan · Rating 2 out of 5]

Halfon escribe bien, pero apenas tiene nada que contarnos en Monasterio. Retazos de mucho y de nada, donde lo existencial (que vendría a ser un poco la temática del libro) resulta hasta mediocre.
Sorprendido que uno de Asteroide no me agrade, pero así ha sido...

[Canal-L El canal de los libros en Internet · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Tomar postura siempre molesta". Entrevista a Eduardo Halfon por su última novela, "Monasterio", una reflexión sobre la identidad y la intolerancia religiosa. Más vídeos en http://www.canal-l.com/

[Anne Sophie · Rating 3 out of 5]

Monasterio is an atypical short novel, which follows the narrator from Guatemala to Israel for his sister's wedding. This is an opportunity for the main character to ask questions about religion, Judaism…

There are some very good thoughts but I still had a taste of unfinished business. The novel could have been treated differently. In the narration, first of all, we move from one subject to another, from the past to the present and I think I would have liked a more linear novel.

I would have liked to have had the point of view of a secondary character, to contrast the central character who rejects religion with his sister and his future brother-in-law who are arch-religious. And the other brother in all this, he only sleeps and complains. But what is his point of view on all this?

Finally Tamara and Yaël, I didn’t really understand their role in this story. Are they there to open Eduardo’s eyes?

[Gustavo Lozano · Rating 4 out of 5]

Es dificil hablar de un libro de Halfon. Cuando arranque timidamente con uno, y en diez dias ya leí cinco. Hay todo un rompecabezas que se va armando. Los libros se intectan. Historias que vuelven. La Biblioteca Bizarra o El boxeador polaco pueden ser un punto de partida, para empezar a tirar de la punta del ovillo.

[Edward Rathke · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hard to exactly pin this novel down. It's episodic to the point that it sort of reads like a short story collection that connects and intersects in varying ways. The narrator is addictive, funny, and surprisingly emotional.

I don't have tons to say about this except that I liked this a whole lot. Just beautiful and surprising and at times quite gutting.

[Chris · Rating 4 out of 5]

I do love this author. I love his insights into people and the world. I enjoy the way he writes. I found The Polish Boxer to be more powerful and with more take-aways for me. Still an excellent book and well worth the time to read following The Polish Boxer.

[Timothy Hoiland · Rating 4 out of 5]

“She asked where I was from. I finished chewing a mouthful, my tongue stunned by the chiltepe, and said I was Guatemalan, just like her. She smiled politely, perhaps suspiciously, perhaps thinking the same thing I was thinking, and turned her eyes up toward the cloudless sky. I don’t know why I always find it hard to convince people, to convince myself even, that I’m Guatemalan. I suppose they expect to see someone darker and squatter, someone who looks more like them, to hear someone whose Spanish sounds more tropical. And I never pass up any opportunity to distance myself from the country either, literally as well as literarily. I grew up abroad. I spend long stretches of time abroad. I write about it and describe it from abroad. As though I were a perpetual migrant. I blow smoke over my Guatemalan origins until they become dimmer and hazier. I feel no nostalgia, no loyalty, no patriotism—despite the fact that, as my Polish grandfather liked to say, the first song I learned to sing, age two, was the national anthem.”

[Anne Huyghebaert · Rating 4 out of 5]

4,5