tienen razón que conectas distinto con libros de tus país, puedo imaginarme un barrio argentino, reconozco algunos lugares (estuve en Tigre y fui a las islas) y las palabras, los modismos. pero así también, ver como los femicidios son iguales en todos lados, con gente que olvida o deja pasar las desapariciones. todo tan crudo. la verdad que lo leí por la curiosidad de saber porque ahora quieren censurarlo (lo cual me parece una re pavada porque la excusa es cualquiera, un pibe de 16-17 años puede leer estas cosas) y me llevó una historia que resonó en mí.

A heartbreaking and raw story. It addresses the femicides happening in Latin America, specifically Argentina.

 

Al principio, hasta digamos un poco antes de las 100 páginas no me gustó casi nada. Me parecía que era poco específico, otras cosas, pero seguía enganchada.
  Después sentí que empezaron a pasar más cosas, más adentrándome en la segunda parte, se volvió más dinámico, había más acción por así decirlo y además de que Ezequiel me cayó mejor que Hernán. Pero igual no me parece un RE libro.
  Porque todavía hay cosas que no me terminaron de agradar.

1. No saber bien que pasó con Ana
El personaje sigue apareciendo y yo pensé que eso implicaba que en algún momento cometierra iba a juntar el valor para investigar más sobre su muerte,  pero no.
2. Nunca especifican las edades de nadie 
No es malo pero, me genera rechazo a las parejas que se forman. Ejemplo, con Hernán y Cometierra, yo sabía que eran menores pero no sabía cuántos años se llevaban entonces me daba cosita que estén juntos. Con Ezequiel y Cometierra no me pasó porque entendí que eran adultos los dos. El tema es cuando aparece Miseria y parece que tiene onda con el Walter. Nonono, TODO MAL. Porque Cometierra le calcula 13 a Miseria, y yo entiendo que Walter es más grande que Cometierra, y también entiendo que son adultos, o sea, que miedito lpm.
3. Me hubiera gustado que tratar más sobre femicidios
Siento que esta vendido así pero el libro realmente no trata sobre eso, y me decepcionó. 
4. No se porqué, pensé que cometierra iba a enfermar y morir
Lo había asumido, capaz leí mal una reseña o algo que dijo alguien en booktok. No sé, pero me había parecido bien, lógico. O sea, la mina come tierra, bastante, desde como los 11 creo. Le duele la panza cuando lo hace, pero no le genera ningún daño severo. raro. No sé, yo quería que se muera.
Me imaginaba que la mina comía, y comía tierra tratando de averiguar sobre femicidios en su barrio, tratando de ayudar y al viciarse con esto se iba a ir enfermando y descomponiendo y se iba a morir. 
Capaz como vine con esa idea me desilusione.
Igual, ojo, la segunda mitad me gustó un poco más, no es que me haya parecido malo, solo que hubo varias cosillas que me hicieron ruido.

If you love Selva Almada, I think you'll enjoy this book, it's very similar to her writing.

 I think this book had a lot of potential. It's written in a brilliant voice and it's vibey. Even though it's very dark throughout, I would describe it as ethereal, in the way that you can never really grasp onto what point the author is making before she's reminding you of this other point you need to pay attention. Unfortunately for such a short book, that means that a lot of the points she was trying to make were never fully delivered upon or developed completely. I thought it had a lot going for it but the ending was somewhat disappointing. 

 Another shoutout to The Reading Women Challenge 2021 for the “rush” to pick up this one. The “South American Author in Translation” prompt had a few contenders for it on my TBR list, but the cover for this one was the tipping factor. Plus the base concept is one that I was really interested in, as South American authors have a phenomenal tradition of writing in the dark-magical-realism realm.  

 

Our unnamed narrator has a special skill – eating earth from areas where women and children have disappeared gives her visions about where they’ve gone or what happened to them.  In a slum in Argentina, these visions are never anything but dark, terrible, hard to “watch.” When word gets out, Eartheater is pulled into a relationship with a local police officer and is overwhelmed by the requests for information from people missing loved ones.  

 

This was such a fast read! I mean, it’s not a super long book, but the writing is also very sparse, in a poetic (in its rhythm) way, and it leant itself to quick page-turning. It was, in fact, the perfect style for this story: the no-frills, staccato style of the sentences contributed to the overall vibe really well. It communicates the terse interactions of the young woman at the center, the reluctant Eartheater (because how else could she be, with the horror of what she’s forced to experience first hand from all the requests after her skills), so well, adding a great literary atmospheric depth to the story. It’s also spot on for the age and outlook of the narrator – a young women living in poverty, having witnessed familial violence to the most extreme degree, and living in the aftermath of that, while still being, at base, still almost a child (in her interests, at least). With that, the translation was overall really solid – the note from the translator at the end, with commentary on the difficulty of translating some of the barrio-specific language, was fascinating. And I’m always so impressed with this type of literary translation. There was one word, in particular, that struck me weird every time I read it though. Every time the book mentioned the MC “scarfing” earth, I got kicked out of the flow for a minute. It is not a huge thing, but it did some up a lot, considering the premise, and I just never settled with it as the right word choice. But that’s a super personal thing and the rest was amazing, literarily.  

 

I want to highlight here, if I haven’t enough already, how incredibly clever the earth-eating “visions” at the center of the story were. The idea that the earth can tell what happened on it, can give insight to the last moments of life or the current location of kidnapped women, is brilliant. And also, so completely creepy (like eating dirt is definitely some horror-leaning stuff, conceptually), which is in perfect parallel to the terrible dark realities that it’s giving insight into. This novel highlights, with unflinching yet mystical clarity, the ongoing prevalence of violence against women and femicide in South America; specifically the way that law enforcement and policy have abandoned poor communities to, essentially, just live with the violence and loss and grief and death and the “fend for yourself lawlessness” reality that those left behind, even and especially youth, live within. 

 

Phew. Fast though this read may be, it is full-on heavy and gritty. And it does bring that perfect South American magical realism spirit, with an extra feminist bruja lens that I was completely here for. Unique and harrowing. 

 

“I’d started noticing a special trait in people who were looking for someone, a mark near the eyes, the mouth, a mixture of pain, anger, strength, and expectation made flesh. A thing broken, possessed by the person who wasn’t coming back.” 

 

“No blue was the same and no earth tasted alike. No child, sibling, mother, or friend was missed like another.” 

 

“The world must be larger than I’d imagined for so many people to have disappeared in it.” 

 

“It isn’t just love that makes the heart race, but music too.” 

 

 

 

 

 

A short, but intriguing book that follows a woman, Eartheater, with a gift to help the dead. Sanches, the translator, provided a note which provided greater context behind the story's intent; not that I think you require it; I thought the book was more than sufficient in reflecting them: violence against women, neglected children, failed state.

The mysticism inherent in Eartheater's gift & how she make-use of it was gripping from the start. But there were certain sense of apathy, or maybe best described as weariness, imbued within Eartheater's responses to the attrocities she'd witnessed.

Having the ability to provide some sort of closure to those who'd lost a loved ones made her gift incredible; but it also isolated her (by her own choice & from others' "fear" of her) - to have a life centred around death, a life filled with obstacles that may add into the aforementioned weariness.

Eartheater's detachment was, what I understood, her form of defence against something that would understandably burdened many. She had to be stone-cold, brash to carry the weight of her being.

Upon further thoughts, my heart felt heavy for her, for the humans being less in human-form she had to see, for the griefs she was inundated with. For all that, I'm glad she had the love & support from her brother, Walter; also, the brief reprieve with Ezequiel.

Eartheater may be short, but it packed a heartbreaking punch with a twist of mystique. It was a quick & fascinating read. Highly recommended for a fan of mystery & the supernatural