Following the death of his wife, a man takes his son on a journey to escape the sadistic cult that is their destiny. On the surface this is a simple enough premise — but the story is told both out of order, and from a half dozen narrative perspectives extending over 30 years, a time surrounding the dictatorship in Argentina of the 1970’s.

I won’t hedge — this book is brutal, and it is not for everyone. It’s an unapologetic look at what lengths parents may look towards to protect their children, indelibly wrapped in the generational trauma of a toxic family and a violent environment.

No character is perfect, and their flaws and reactions to grief are realistic portrayals of the kind of harm people impose on the ones they love in spite of doing their absolute best. Throughout the book is a pervasive taste of magic, of forbidden places, of elusive knowledge with startling, incomprehensible costs.

I was enthralled the whole way through. When I wasn’t reading this book, I was thinking about it. The translation into English is masterful, and the story is laden with breadcrumbs and threads that come beautifully to fruition en route to the tragic ending.