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spacestationtrustfund's review against another edition
3.0
No estoy enamorado de ti. Ni siquiera despiertas en mí una de esas nostalgias aberrantes que los hombres de mi edad sienten con la proximidad de una vida joven: eres un ser inferior, Iris Mateluna, un trozo de existencia primaria que rodea a un útero reproductor tan central a tu persona que todo el resto de tu ser es cáscara superflua.Well, ouch.
juaneco's review against another edition
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
screen_memory's review against another edition
4.0
Holy shit this book was good, but yo, this book made almost NO sense, but therein lies the marvel. This novel demands much of the reader, and it becomes exceedingly difficult to tell if the language is literal or figurative between lines or, hell, even within the same line; characters assume numerous forms, like the narrator/Humberto/Mundito who's an aged, ugly creature, a well-dressed writer, an infant, and one of the aged nuns living in the Casa, a sort of convent where an order of old nuns take care of orphan children.
Reversals and shifts in identity occur by abstract means or arbitrarily; Humberto takes a bullet meant for a politician, Don Jeronimo, and thereby becomes Don Jeronimo which leads to his making love with Jeronimo's wife, Ines, impregnating her, and consequentially negating the actual Jeronimo's potency. But another reversal is told to have happened later in the text: Ines became Peta Ponce, an old ugly nun covered in warts. These reversals result in the birth of an ugly creature who Humberto is tasked with isolating with other freaks and monsters so the child thinks himself normal, but this means that Humberto, of lesser ugliness, becomes the freak and struggles with the resulting alienation and solitude.
The novel is described as a "haunting jungle," but I believe the narrative in certain ways parallels the Casa the major characters inhabit, that labyrinthine structure in which children vanish, whose walls collapse in earthquakes and thunder storms, and in whose somber rooms the aged pass away, and all of these passages are sealed off, hidden away as if they never existed, though they are returned to at various points in the circumbound narrative, each time with varying details and changes in identities which composes a portrait of a much different reality than the one we came to know through earlier passages.
It isn’t clear where Mundito or Humberto came from - his origin stories are many - or from whom he was born - his mothers are multiple - or if he is himself the ugly creature born from his tryst with Ines (who may or may not be the prospective saint, Iris, who may or may not have conceived of the child through immaculate conception), but it was written that he was tasked with writing the false history of the world he was creating to shelter his son (himself?) in. I wonder if this confused and puzzling narrative was not pitiful Mundito’s attempt to mythologize his own origins, or to rewrite the either tragic or terribly plain story of his birth and his and Ines' lives, or to canonize himself in the history of the false, bizarre world he may or may not have created.
Which of the possible realities are true? Perhaps all of them. Which of them false? Perhaps all of them. But therein lies the joy: The world and its false mythologies are new to us. We are able to enjoy a world without bias, with our conceptions of what is false and true exploded, and our expectations obliterated. Simply put, we are free to encounter the world in all of its fantastical novelty. Magical realism without its primary constitutuent leaves us with nothing but realism, a realm of diminished possibilities we all know well enough, which we have suffered and endured for long enough; a world which cannot rival a world lush with or haunted by the fantastic. No answers are given in the text, but that is all for the best since that which becomes known loses its magic, and so the world loses much of its marvel since that which is marvelous is that which can only be seen in partial form by spark or flicker of intuition but whose full-bodied figure remains relegated to the shadows, unilluminated by the light of understanding.
Reversals and shifts in identity occur by abstract means or arbitrarily; Humberto takes a bullet meant for a politician, Don Jeronimo, and thereby becomes Don Jeronimo which leads to his making love with Jeronimo's wife, Ines, impregnating her, and consequentially negating the actual Jeronimo's potency. But another reversal is told to have happened later in the text: Ines became Peta Ponce, an old ugly nun covered in warts. These reversals result in the birth of an ugly creature who Humberto is tasked with isolating with other freaks and monsters so the child thinks himself normal, but this means that Humberto, of lesser ugliness, becomes the freak and struggles with the resulting alienation and solitude.
The novel is described as a "haunting jungle," but I believe the narrative in certain ways parallels the Casa the major characters inhabit, that labyrinthine structure in which children vanish, whose walls collapse in earthquakes and thunder storms, and in whose somber rooms the aged pass away, and all of these passages are sealed off, hidden away as if they never existed, though they are returned to at various points in the circumbound narrative, each time with varying details and changes in identities which composes a portrait of a much different reality than the one we came to know through earlier passages.
It isn’t clear where Mundito or Humberto came from - his origin stories are many - or from whom he was born - his mothers are multiple - or if he is himself the ugly creature born from his tryst with Ines (who may or may not be the prospective saint, Iris, who may or may not have conceived of the child through immaculate conception), but it was written that he was tasked with writing the false history of the world he was creating to shelter his son (himself?) in. I wonder if this confused and puzzling narrative was not pitiful Mundito’s attempt to mythologize his own origins, or to rewrite the either tragic or terribly plain story of his birth and his and Ines' lives, or to canonize himself in the history of the false, bizarre world he may or may not have created.
Which of the possible realities are true? Perhaps all of them. Which of them false? Perhaps all of them. But therein lies the joy: The world and its false mythologies are new to us. We are able to enjoy a world without bias, with our conceptions of what is false and true exploded, and our expectations obliterated. Simply put, we are free to encounter the world in all of its fantastical novelty. Magical realism without its primary constitutuent leaves us with nothing but realism, a realm of diminished possibilities we all know well enough, which we have suffered and endured for long enough; a world which cannot rival a world lush with or haunted by the fantastic. No answers are given in the text, but that is all for the best since that which becomes known loses its magic, and so the world loses much of its marvel since that which is marvelous is that which can only be seen in partial form by spark or flicker of intuition but whose full-bodied figure remains relegated to the shadows, unilluminated by the light of understanding.
philippsburg's review against another edition
challenging
dark
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.75
alostarre's review against another edition
challenging
dark
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
kingkong's review against another edition
5.0
This book is very strange and cool and also, the Imbunche is a really messed up thing to invent, in fact the entire Chilote mythology is really far out (look it up on Wikipedia)
femto's review against another edition
5.0
Era el año 2002, ese año se estreno la pelicula de el aro, la cual fue promocionada en esos años como la mejor pelicula de terror del ultimo tiempo, eso fue hace 14 años, por lo que deberia tener 10 años cuando la vi en formato pirata, si bien no me dio el miedo que pense me daria, a excepcion de la escena del caballo, que quien se acuerde sabe que es la unica escena que podria sorprender, siempre recordare la escena del video el cual es el nucleo de la pelicula, era un serie de imagenes y escenas inconexas sin ningun sentido, obviamente perturbador, y te inspiraba a ser uno el que buscara el sentido, algun tipo de significado a lo que veias, claramente ese era el objetivo, el cual no cumplia muy bien y no iba mas alla una vez terminada la pelicula.
Este libro es eso, algo confuso, caotico y demencial, no tiene reglas, y las reglas que crea, las rompe unos capitulos mas tarde, este libro es lo que ese video debio haber sido, este podria ser el "libro maldito" y yo aun espero mi llamada diciendome "seven days".
Realente no se de donde empezar con este libro, y no creo que pueda decir todo lo que se puede de este libro, pero comensare con una confesion: me senti fuertemente identificado con mudito, su furia y su odio, su envidia, su frustracion, mi envidia, mi frustraacion, observar desde la perisferia a un mundo del que no puedes ser parte, porque tu lugar es ser invisible, detras de la cortina, y quizas detras de esa cortina hay muchas personas en tu misma posicion, pero no puedes verlas, como puedes verlas si para hacerlo debes ver en la oscuridad y obligarte a verte a ti mismo, y mas importante, obligarte a dejar de ver la luz, porque eso es jeronimo, el sol, la belleza, el todo, todo lo que el mudito no era, el era un cascaron vacio, no tenia un linaje, no tenia sangre, nacio de la nada y una vez muriera volveria ahi, no azcotia, su sangre viviria por siempre, jeronimo era lo que su sangre le dictaba, humberto era un copia de todo lo que pudo tocar y se convertia en todo lo que podia, por que el no era nadie. es ese sentimiento generalizado entre la clase media, o solo aparece mientras mas cerca esta de la otra clase, cuando estas en el borde, como en la casa de los mostruos, solo cuando estas cerca de la verdadera belleza es que de das cuenta de tu mostruosidad??.
(odie a azcotia debo decirlo)
si uno tratara de definir el mundo del libro, podria decir facilmente que es azcotia vs mudito, una parte del mundo contra el otro, y todos lo demas personajes son aberraciones nacidas del combate entre estas, mostruos nacidos como resultdo de la belleza y la nada, pero en esta idea me cuesta meter a las viejas, ellas son algo mas, ellas estan ahi al principio y al final, sobreviven a todos, se van intercambiando, se mueren y aparecen otras, pero no cambian, sus tradiciones, sus creencias y sus irracionalidades perduran, pero no es la sangre lo que las mantiene, es otra cosa, algo mas fuerte, ese masterial del que esta hecha la rueda que mueve al mundo.
Este libro es eso, algo confuso, caotico y demencial, no tiene reglas, y las reglas que crea, las rompe unos capitulos mas tarde, este libro es lo que ese video debio haber sido, este podria ser el "libro maldito" y yo aun espero mi llamada diciendome "seven days".
Realente no se de donde empezar con este libro, y no creo que pueda decir todo lo que se puede de este libro, pero comensare con una confesion: me senti fuertemente identificado con mudito, su furia y su odio, su envidia, su frustracion, mi envidia, mi frustraacion, observar desde la perisferia a un mundo del que no puedes ser parte, porque tu lugar es ser invisible, detras de la cortina, y quizas detras de esa cortina hay muchas personas en tu misma posicion, pero no puedes verlas, como puedes verlas si para hacerlo debes ver en la oscuridad y obligarte a verte a ti mismo, y mas importante, obligarte a dejar de ver la luz, porque eso es jeronimo, el sol, la belleza, el todo, todo lo que el mudito no era, el era un cascaron vacio, no tenia un linaje, no tenia sangre, nacio de la nada y una vez muriera volveria ahi, no azcotia, su sangre viviria por siempre, jeronimo era lo que su sangre le dictaba, humberto era un copia de todo lo que pudo tocar y se convertia en todo lo que podia, por que el no era nadie. es ese sentimiento generalizado entre la clase media, o solo aparece mientras mas cerca esta de la otra clase, cuando estas en el borde, como en la casa de los mostruos, solo cuando estas cerca de la verdadera belleza es que de das cuenta de tu mostruosidad??.
(odie a azcotia debo decirlo)
si uno tratara de definir el mundo del libro, podria decir facilmente que es azcotia vs mudito, una parte del mundo contra el otro, y todos lo demas personajes son aberraciones nacidas del combate entre estas, mostruos nacidos como resultdo de la belleza y la nada, pero en esta idea me cuesta meter a las viejas, ellas son algo mas, ellas estan ahi al principio y al final, sobreviven a todos, se van intercambiando, se mueren y aparecen otras, pero no cambian, sus tradiciones, sus creencias y sus irracionalidades perduran, pero no es la sangre lo que las mantiene, es otra cosa, algo mas fuerte, ese masterial del que esta hecha la rueda que mueve al mundo.
atenagorica's review against another edition
5.0
que alguien me ayude a superar a Donoso porque no puedo dejar de querer leer este libro para siempre, ayuda.