This novel set during the 70s junta in Argentina (and its kidnappings, tortures, rapes and killings) is gritty, imaginative, dark and hopeful - all at the same time. What happens when citizens respond to a military junta with imagination and storytelling (which may even be prophetic and creating a new reality)? How does that impact the way that people choose to believe and to fight the terror they live with?

A fascinating look at imagination, memory, story. And birds. I started highlighting those themes as I read the book.

(recommeded by Matthew Rock) ( )

Here comes another "I read this so long ago, can I put together enough memories to really talk about it?" Senior year of high school during the spring we had an international literature class, and this was I guess our "South America" book. It's a magical realism story where someone imagines people who have been disappeared by the government coming back and kind of creates them. I liked it well enough, but my favorite magical realism piece was a play called "Marisol" that I went to with a friend when we visited San Francisco. ( )

I've fallen behind writing reviews of the books I've been reading this year, so I thought I'd try to write some shorter reviews just to catch up.

So, Imagining Argentina is one of the books Goodreads has been recommending to me for yonks, because I've read a number of other novels set in South American dictatorships in the same period – Of Love and Shadows, Senselessness, The Story of the Night, and most of Carolina de Robertis' work – and those are all fantastic reads if you're considering picking up this. This book, obviously, deals with many of the same issues as those: political repression, disappearances, torture. But it also has a bit of a different feel about it. It certainly has some magical realism vibes, with the main character, Carlos Rueda, blessed with some clairvoyance enabling him to reveal the fates of many of Buenos Aires' disappeared. But it's also, if I can say it, a little less engaging than the other books I've mentioned. The many vignettes within are, I think, emotionally impactful in isolation… but they're all rather disconnected from each other, so the novel feels a bit disjointed and lacks a compulsive, “must read more!” quality.

I want to be clear that I did like this book, and it's as good a reminder of the regressive bloodlust of right-wing regimes as anything else. Parts of it have certainly stuck in my mind: there is a subplot where one of the fates Carlos Rueda reveals is that of a boy who “disappeared” in Nazi Germany, which has stuck in my mind, and some of the commentary on how the Argentine regime saw it as their duty to “purify” the country of all “subversive”, left-wing influences before they could leave the way clear for a restoration of democracy. Really, lots of parts. It just wasn't the kind of book that keeps you reading anxiously to the end. ( )

This novel set during the 70s junta in Argentina (and its kidnappings, tortures, rapes and killings) is gritty, imaginative, dark and hopeful - all at the same time. What happens when citizens respond to a military junta with imagination and storytelling (which may even be prophetic and creating a new reality)? How does that impact the way that people choose to believe and to fight the terror they live with?

A fascinating look at imagination, memory, story. And birds. I started highlighting those themes as I read the book.

(recommeded by Matthew Rock) ( )

In Argentina, during the brutal military rule known as The Dirty War, thousands of students, scholars and unionists simply "disappear" and the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo begin their marches to bring attention to the regime's policies of terror, kidnapping, and murder. Carlos Rueda, a playwright for a children's theater in Buenos Aires, is married to Cecelia, an outspoken editor at a large newspaper. They have a teenage daughter. One day Cecelia is kidnapped from their home by the regime, and in his grief Carlos joins the Mothers in marching. Hearing their stories, he begins to have visions of the fates of their loved ones. Sometimes all he can report are details of pain and death; other times he is able to predict returns which come true, to the wonderment of the crowds that flock to his home each Thursday evening, hoping he can help. But Cecelia, the one "disappeared" he wants so badly to find, appears to him only in bits and pieces as the months stretch into years.

This is the third time I've read this book, and it is as magical, moving, and disturbing as when first published. Carlos' visions tell the story of Argentina's misery, of how young people and even children were kidnapped, mercilessly tortured and raped, and often killed. We see a previously-civilized country ruled by those who indulge themselves in the name of "order", and the fight put up by those willing to risk everything to imagine a different future for their country. In our current political climate, where thugs again proclaim the benefits of unfettered hate and violence against "others", the book is a vivid reminder of the trap waiting for any nation, even ours, when evil overcomes common sense and convinces the easily-lead that their worst tendencies can be justified. ( )