Chilean poet

The book begins with an earthquake, seen through the eyes of an unnamed nine-year-old boy living in a middle-class housing estate in Maipu, Chile. In the second part, the protagonist is the author of the first part of the novel. His father is a man of few words who, whilst claiming not to be interested in politics, silently sides with the Pinochet regime. The narrative alternates between the author and the protagonist, the past and the present, portraying with melancholy and anger the history of a nation and a generation – who, as the author says, learnt to read and write whilst their parents became collaborators or victims of the dictatorship. This is the most personal novel by Alejandro Zambra (author of ‘Bonsai’), who is perhaps the most important Chilean writer since Roberto Bolaño. ‘…Once, I got lost. I must have been six or seven years old. I’d wandered off and, suddenly, I couldn’t see my parents anymore. I was scared, but I found my way straight away and got home first – they’d been searching for me all along, desperately, but I thought they’d got lost; that I knew how to get home and they didn’t. ‘You came by a different route,’ my mother said later, her eyes still tearful. ‘You came by a different route,’ I thought, but I didn’t say it…’ writes Zambra in the book, and the translator Achilleas Kyriakidis notes: Alejandro Zambra said this later, whilst writing this marvellous novel of nostalgia for childhood, lost innocence and the guilt of that loss. The concept of loss dominates the narrative, the tale of an endless, imaginary return, where the crumbs of Kontorevithoulis have long since been eaten… Reviews ‘In this novel, Zambra employs a magnificent language, in the shadow of Carver: precision, melancholy, harshness, tenderness.’ Joaquín Arnáiz, La Razón ‘The metafictional and autobiographical interplay is reminiscent of Coetzee at his best.’ Ignacio Echevarría, El Mercurio ‘With precision and melancholy, Zambra reflects on Chile’s past and present. Ways of Returning Home is the most personal novel by one of the finest storytellers of the new generation.” Patricia Espinosa, Las Últimas Noticias “Ways of Returning Home places Zambra at the forefront of new Chilean literature, alongside other Latin American writers such as the Colombian Juan Gabriel Vásquez, who tackle the continent’s most delicate historical issues in the most compelling way.” Mina Holland, The Observer “Alejandro Zambra’s books are like a phone call in the middle of the night from an old, good friend.” Nicole Krauss

Every Sunday, Julián devotes time to writing a novel. And every evening, he improvises and tells his adopted daughter, Daniela, original stories about trees just before she goes to sleep. But tonight is not like any other: Verónica, Julián’s wife and Daniela’s mother, is inexplicably late coming home. And as the night wears on and Verónica does not return, Julián reflects on their life and imagines what thoughts Daniela might have about his novel as she grows up… without a mother. A novel imbued with a unique sense of nostalgia and melancholy, which confirms Alejandro Zambra as one of the leading figures of the new generation of Latin American writers. It is rare to find a story—even rarer a short story—that offers such pleasure and manages to remain in the reader’s mind as an unsolved mystery… as captivating as the finest daydream. The Second Pass

To say that The Skills Test is a novel is just as risky as saying that it is not. Perhaps it is better simply to say that it is a book by Alejandro Zambra, because the style and themes that have made him a significant voice in Latin American literature are unfolded here in a substantial and intense manner. Taking as his starting point the structure of the university entrance examination system implemented in Chile from 1967 to 2002, the author creates an unexpected work in which stories coexist with literary excerpts and linguistic exercises that are, in essence, moral dilemmas: the need to lie in order to be validated by others, the desire to form bonds despite mistrust in love and family, the difficulty of navigating a minefield of secrets, the desperate conviction that, rather than learning to think, we have been trained to obey and repeat. Alejandro Zambra’s enchanting prose is a thrilling path to exploration. Imaginative and original, Zambra is a master of the short form. I adore his incredible audacity. —Enrique Vila-Matas

Gonzalo is a ‘bad poet’ who dreams of one day becoming a true poet, but also a stepfather who behaves as if he were the biological father of Vicente, a boy addicted to cat food. Years later, Vicente refuses to go to university because his dream is to become a poet himself, despite the advice of Carla, his proud and solitary mother, and Leon, a mediocre father devoted to his collection of miniature cars. The powerful myth of Chilean poetry (as one character in the book notes, ‘the Chileans, according to the Swedish Academy, are two-time world champions of poetry”) is called into question by Prue, an American journalist who accidentally becomes entangled in a bustling and lively community of literary heroes and eccentrics. The Chilean poet explores the highs and lows of love and family (a recurring theme in Zambra’s fiction), the ever-present distrust of institutions and authority, and the experience of writing and reading in a hostile world that seems to be falling apart. [Read what Achilleas Kyriakidis wrote on our blog about the translation of the book.](https://ikarosbooks.gr/blog/o-achilleas-kiriakidis-gia-tin-metafrasi-tou-vivliou-chilianos-piitis-tou-alejandro-zambra)

Children’s literature is NOT intended for children. It is a literary game brimming with wisdom, tenderness and brilliance that teeters vertiginously between childhood and adulthood, short story and essay, writing and lived experience. A unique, unclassifiable book which, amongst other things, describes a man’s attempt, whilst under the influence of hallucinogenic mushrooms, to relearn the extremely difficult art of diving. At the same time, it explores fishing passions, parental blunders and a condition known as ‘football melancholy’. In Sabra’s prose, a diary of fatherhood, a paternal ‘letter to his son’ and – as in every one of his books – masterfully pure fiction coexist in marvellous harmony. An unorthodox handbook for new parents and, at the same time, a brilliant new chapter that enriches the fascinating work of one of the most important Latin American writers of recent years. “I love his destructive audacity.”―Enrique Vila-Matas