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A review by drifterontherun
Cars on Fire by Mónica Ramón Ríos
1.0
Sometimes one just has to be honest — it's not me, it's you. Or, in this case, it's Ríos.
I really wanted to like this short story collection out of Chile. I had high hopes. But these stories read as a collection of empty words stripped of all passion and meaning. There's just nothing here worth recounting, or even remembering.
I had no sooner finished a story than I'd forgotten about it. Never have I felt so unmoved by a piece of writing. The manuals one gets from IKEA on how to put a bookcase together have more feeling in them.
Is this down to the translation or to the writer? I can't say. Because when I read the summary of the book — which I did in order to try and figure out what these stories were actually trying to say — the "feminine desire to subvert the oppressive forces―xenophobia, neoliberalism, social hierarchies within the academic world―that shape life in Chile and the United States," then I'm all on board. But then you read and find that any desire, any force, any attempt to subvert oppression, is woefully lacking here.
The first few stories failed to leave any impression whatsoever, but nevertheless, I pressed on until getting to the title story. That one was just as devoid of passion, of feeling, as the rest. If the title story doesn't do it, why keep going?
So I stopped. No point wasting any more of either of our time. Like a bad date, I'll just chalk this one up to a lack of chemistry, and while I could go on, there's just nothing more worth saying.
Swipe left on this one.
I really wanted to like this short story collection out of Chile. I had high hopes. But these stories read as a collection of empty words stripped of all passion and meaning. There's just nothing here worth recounting, or even remembering.
I had no sooner finished a story than I'd forgotten about it. Never have I felt so unmoved by a piece of writing. The manuals one gets from IKEA on how to put a bookcase together have more feeling in them.
Is this down to the translation or to the writer? I can't say. Because when I read the summary of the book — which I did in order to try and figure out what these stories were actually trying to say — the "feminine desire to subvert the oppressive forces―xenophobia, neoliberalism, social hierarchies within the academic world―that shape life in Chile and the United States," then I'm all on board. But then you read and find that any desire, any force, any attempt to subvert oppression, is woefully lacking here.
The first few stories failed to leave any impression whatsoever, but nevertheless, I pressed on until getting to the title story. That one was just as devoid of passion, of feeling, as the rest. If the title story doesn't do it, why keep going?
So I stopped. No point wasting any more of either of our time. Like a bad date, I'll just chalk this one up to a lack of chemistry, and while I could go on, there's just nothing more worth saying.
Swipe left on this one.