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The Sound of Things Falling
Juan Gabriel Vásquez has been hailed not only as one of South America’s greatest literary stars, but also as one of the most acclaimed writers of his generation. In this gorgeously wrought, award-winning novel, Vásquez confronts the history of his home country, Colombia.
In the city of Bogotá, Antonio Yammara reads an article about a hippo that had escaped from a derelict zoo once owned by legendary Colombian drug kingpin Pablo Escobar. The article transports Antonio back to when the war between Escobar’s Medellín cartel and government forces played out violently in Colombia’s streets and in the skies above.
Back then, Antonio witnessed a friend’s murder, an event that haunts him still. As he investigates, he discovers the many ways in which his own life and his friend’s family have been shaped by his country’s recent violent past. His journey leads him all the way back to the 1960s and a world on the brink of change: a time before narco-trafficking trapped a whole generation in a living nightmare.
Vásquez is “one of the most original new voices of Latin American literature,” according to Nobel Prize winner Mario Vargas Llosa, and The Sound of Things Falling is his most personal, most contemporary novel to date, a masterpiece that takes his writing—and will take his literary star—even higher.
*Winner of the 2014 International IMPAC DUBLIN Literary Award
In the city of Bogotá, Antonio Yammara reads an article about a hippo that had escaped from a derelict zoo once owned by legendary Colombian drug kingpin Pablo Escobar. The article transports Antonio back to when the war between Escobar’s Medellín cartel and government forces played out violently in Colombia’s streets and in the skies above.
Back then, Antonio witnessed a friend’s murder, an event that haunts him still. As he investigates, he discovers the many ways in which his own life and his friend’s family have been shaped by his country’s recent violent past. His journey leads him all the way back to the 1960s and a world on the brink of change: a time before narco-trafficking trapped a whole generation in a living nightmare.
Vásquez is “one of the most original new voices of Latin American literature,” according to Nobel Prize winner Mario Vargas Llosa, and The Sound of Things Falling is his most personal, most contemporary novel to date, a masterpiece that takes his writing—and will take his literary star—even higher.
*Winner of the 2014 International IMPAC DUBLIN Literary Award
302 pages, Hardcover
First published May 1, 2011
1299 people are currently reading
22297 people want to read
About the author
Juan Gabriel Vásquez
71 books1,426 followersJuan Gabriel Vásquez is a Colombian writer, journalist and translator. Regarded as one of the most important Latin American novelists working today, he is the author of seven novels, two volumes of stories and two books of literary essays, as well as hundreds of pages of political commentary.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,208 reviews
October 28, 2023
The things that fall in The Sound of Things Falling are crashing planes and dead bodies…
There is a protagonist who recalls the past right from his first days of teaching…
And there is a man who became his curse… A hoodoo who has crucially changed his entire life…
There are those who twist their fate themselves and there are those whose life is mangled by a sudden twist of fate.
There is a protagonist who recalls the past right from his first days of teaching…
There, standing in front of a wooden lectern, facing rows and rows of baby-faced and disoriented boys and impressionable, wide-eyed girls, I received my first lessons on the nature of power. I was barely eight years older than these inexperienced students, but between us opened the double abyss of authority and knowledge, things that I had and they, recently arrived in the world, entirely lacked.
And there is a man who became his curse… A hoodoo who has crucially changed his entire life…
What I do remember about that day is that he didn’t strike me as intimidating: he was so thin that he seemed taller than he actually was, and you had to see him standing beside a cue to see that he was barely five foot seven; his thin mousy hair and his dried-out skin and his long, dirty nails gave an impression of illness or laziness, like land gone to waste. He’d just turned forty-eight, but he looked much older.
There are those who twist their fate themselves and there are those whose life is mangled by a sudden twist of fate.
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April 3, 2024
If The Sound of Things Falling, Juan Gabriel Vásquez's novel filled with sadness and beauty, were ever made into a film, Edward Elgar's Elegy for String Orchestra would make the perfect theme music.
The Colombian author told an interviewer he was stuck writing his story with allusions to Pablo Escobar and the drug world but then he read a newspaper article about an escaped hippopotamus from the zoo built by the cocaine king during the mid-1980s when Don Pablo enjoyed phenomenal wealth and power. Reflecting on the tragic incident proved the necessary impetus needed to finish his work. Appropriately, the novel opens with these lines:
"The first hippopotamus, a male the color of black pearls, weighing a ton and a half, was shot dead in the middle of 2009. He'd escaped two years before from Pablo Escobar's old zoo in the Magdalena Valley, and during that time of freedom had destroyed crops, invaded drinking troughs, terrified fishermen, and even attacked the breeding bulls at a cattle ranch."
The tale's narrator, Antonio Yammara, professor of law living in Bogotá, Colombia and rapidly approaching his fortieth birthday, recounts the critical events causing his life to take a dramatic shift, events occurring back when he was in his mid-20s, beginning when he struck up an acquaintance with an older man by the name of Ricardo Laverde.
The Sound of Things Falling is a novel so masterfully well-constructed in its interconnecting past and present, the lives of its characters and their families, historical events in Colombia and the United States, as reviewer, I'm hesitant to reveal too much thus depriving readers of all the many fresh discoveries and revelations made when turning the pages.
Therefore, rather than arc of plot, I'll turn the spotlight on a number of themes that contribute to making this one riveting, heartfelt story.
Personal Transformation - "I didn't yet know that an old Polish novelist had spoken a long time before of the shadow-line, that moment when a young man becomes the proprietor of his own life, but that was what I was feeling while my little girl was growing inside Aura's womb." So reflects Antonio when he joins dear wife Aura at the hospital for her ultrasound and he becomes fully aware he is now the proud father of a baby girl. At this point, little does Antonio Yammara realize his life will shortly undergo irreparable damage, that he will become the victim of extreme violence, caught in the crossfire of a drug gang's turf war.
And, of course, that Polish novelist is none other than Joseph Conrad. Prior to writing The Sound, Juan Gabriel Vásquez published his The Secret History of Costaguana, a novel playing off of Conrad's masterpiece, Nostromo. Also worth noting, The Sound is decidedly not a work of Latin American magical realism a la his fellow countryman Gabriel García Márquez but rather a tale of stark realism, for as the author has stated repeatedly, his literary influences have been European and American.
Multigenerational Identity - "But if you really want to know who Ricardo Laverde was, start there." Laverde's daughter Maya invites Antonio to read a magazine article about the time Ricardo's father, still a boy, joined his father (Ricardo's grandfather), a pilot, a much decorated hero of Colombia's Air Force, at a 1938 air show that unraveled into disaster.
Appreciating and understanding individual identity as part of an intergenerational fabric is very much within the Latin American tradition, much different than in countries like the US where the tendency is to separate, to pull away from one's family history in order to establish an independent, individual identity.
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - Following the burst of violence on that fateful day on a street in downtown Bogotá, Antonio's life dips and dips again, leading him to a psychiatrist and eventually to wife Aura giving him a gift "for the both of us." A gift, really? Antonio opens the small package - a purple vibrator or what in Spanish is called a consolador. Antonio's sense of self-worth takes another nosedive.
Pablo Escobar & His Zoo - Like a stone dropped in a pond, the consequences of Don Pablo's cocaine kingdom and the subsequent war on drugs ripple out, touching Colombians for years, for generations. Antonio and Maya visit the former drug lord's now dilapidated zoo, their visit symbolic of much of grim post-Escobar Colombia: "The humid air filled with a dirty smell, a mixture of excrement and rotting food. We saw a cheetah lying at the back of its cage. We saw a chimpanzee scratching its head and another running in circles with nothing to chase. We saw an empty cage, the door open and an aluminum basin leaning against the bars."
The Power of Myth - Frequently men and women will address one another or speak of one another using both first and last names. Reading the novel and listening to the audio book over and over, I had the distinct impression such formality bestows a mythic, archetypal dimension to the tale, very much in the spirit of Ernest Hemingway's use of thee and thou in For Whom the Bell Tolls. For, as Antonio states, his story is one where "as they warn in fairy tales, has happened before and will happen again."
The Sound of Things Falling - The novel's title works on multiple levels: disillusion and dissolving of hopes, of dreams, even the expunging of life, an individual's life as well as the vital life of a nation. Since precise language fuels Juan Gabriel Vásquez's saga (special call-out to Anne McLean's superb English translation), it's only fair I allow the author to have the last word - this from Antonio's memory listening to a Black Box recording of a plane crash:
"There is a faltering scream, or something that sounds like a scream. There is a sound that I cannot or have never been able to identify: a sound that's not human or is more than human, the sound of lives being extinguished but also the sound of material things breaking. It's the sound of things falling from on high, an interrupted and somehow also eternal sound, a sound that didn't ever end, that kept ringing in my head from that very afternoon and still shows no sign of wanting to leave it, that is forever suspended in my memory, hanging in it like a towel on a hook. That sound is the last thing heard in the cockpit of Flight 965."
Colombian author Juan Gabriel Vásquez, born 1973
August 23, 2024
IL LAVORO SPORCO DELL’IO
Le cose che cadono introdotte dal titolo sono un aereo passeggeri, uno di quelli grossi e affollati, che prima dell’atterraggio a Calì (Colombia) esplode perché Pablo Escobar vuole eliminare un avversario (uno dei pochi politici che non era riuscito a comprare).
Si può immaginare il rumore che fece cadendo.
Ma dal cielo, quello dell’innocenza, cade anche Ricardo Laverde, pilota di aerei che voleva compiere imprese eroiche come il nonno militare, e finisce invece per vent’anni in una prigione USA.
Da quel cielo d’innocenza cade anche Elaine Fritts, che di Ricardo s’innamorò e Ricardo sposò e a Ricardo diede una figlia: arrivata in Colombia giovanissima come volontaria dei Peace Corps finì col legarsi ai trafficanti, ai suoi stessi colleghi che per aiutare i contadini insegnavano la coltivazione della marijuana aprendo così la strada a Escobar (convinti, come possono esserlo solo due nuovi amanti, che dire quel che si vuole sia come dire quel che si è.)
L’ingresso della Hacienda Napoles, residenza di Pablo Escobar.
Le cose che cadono sono le vite che precipitano, spariscono nel nulla, e fanno rumore, probabilmente un ronzio simile a quello delle api che Maya coltiva a La Dorada (ero sola, ero rimasta sola, non c’era più nessuno tra me e la morte. Essere orfani è questo: non c’è nessuno davanti, si è prossimi in linea di successione. Il prossimo turno tocca a noi.)
A cucire tutto, Antonio, il protagonista, che parte da una storia privata, la sua, risale nel tempo, e va a incrociarsi con la storia pubblica.
La storia diventa la Storia. (mi stupiva con quanto accanimento frughiamo nei ricordi, esercizio dannoso che non ci porta niente di buono e che serve solo a renderci impacciati, come quei sacchetti di sabbia che gli atleti si legano intorno ai polpacci per allenarsi.)
Il volo Aviana 203 era un volo nazionale partito dall’aeroporto di Bogotá-El Dorado diretto all’aeroporto Alfondo Bonilla Aragón di Calì, Colombia: il 27 novembre 1989 un ordigno esplose 5 minuti dopo il decollo. La bomba piazzata vicino ai serbatoi del carburante esplose incendiando i vapori di carburante presenti in un serbatoio vuoto. L'esplosione divise l'aereo in due parti: la punta dalla coda, e le due sezioni caddero a terra in fiamme. Tutti i 107 passeggeri morirono nell'esplosione e altre 3 persone vennero uccise dai detriti caduti a terra. Secondo le investigazioni la bomba fu caricata all'interno dell'aereo da un uomo in giacca e cravatta, il quale era riuscito a portare la bomba all'interno della propria valigetta. Il candidato presidente César Gaviria, che Escobar voleva eliminare, non era però salito sull’aereo.
Tutte queste storie, grazie al notevole talento narrativo di Juan Gabriel Vasquez, per me bellissima scoperta di quest’anno (insieme al suo conterraneo Santiago Gamboa), scaturiscono una dall’altra come acqua di fonte, in modo naturale, fresco, pressoché spontaneo, crescono, diventano narrazione collettiva, una storia genera l’altra, gemmazione affabulatoria.
Pablo Escobar e il figlio Juan Pablo.
Gli US sono i più grandi consumatori di droga del mondo. E così, quando Nixon per combatterne il traffico decide di chiudere la frontiera col Messico, i consumatori non fanno altro che rivolgersi a nuovi mercati, più a sud: la Colombia che allora si limitava a lavorare la cocaina coltivata in Perù e Bolivia cambia la sua storia e diventa teatro di guerra quotidiana tra polizia, narcos, terrorismo, politici, per lo più sommersi da dollari e immersi nella corruzione. La vita in Colombia diventa un rischio quotidiano, un pericolo 24/7, la tensione è altissima, sfibrante, deformante. Escobar diventa uno dei cinque uomini più ricchi del mondo (entrando nella lista di Forbes), il suo zoo è attrazione nazionale, e trasmette una lezione che è tuttora difficile contraddire: il rispetto della legge è il più grande ostacolo per la felicità (Gabriel Garcia Marquez).
Antonio incontra Maya, una donna che al bacio rivela un fiato pulito e stanco, un fiato da fine giornata, e non credo si possa dire meglio l’amore arrivato tardi.
Copertina
Le cose che cadono introdotte dal titolo sono un aereo passeggeri, uno di quelli grossi e affollati, che prima dell’atterraggio a Calì (Colombia) esplode perché Pablo Escobar vuole eliminare un avversario (uno dei pochi politici che non era riuscito a comprare).
Si può immaginare il rumore che fece cadendo.
Ma dal cielo, quello dell’innocenza, cade anche Ricardo Laverde, pilota di aerei che voleva compiere imprese eroiche come il nonno militare, e finisce invece per vent’anni in una prigione USA.
Da quel cielo d’innocenza cade anche Elaine Fritts, che di Ricardo s’innamorò e Ricardo sposò e a Ricardo diede una figlia: arrivata in Colombia giovanissima come volontaria dei Peace Corps finì col legarsi ai trafficanti, ai suoi stessi colleghi che per aiutare i contadini insegnavano la coltivazione della marijuana aprendo così la strada a Escobar (convinti, come possono esserlo solo due nuovi amanti, che dire quel che si vuole sia come dire quel che si è.)
L’ingresso della Hacienda Napoles, residenza di Pablo Escobar.
Le cose che cadono sono le vite che precipitano, spariscono nel nulla, e fanno rumore, probabilmente un ronzio simile a quello delle api che Maya coltiva a La Dorada (ero sola, ero rimasta sola, non c’era più nessuno tra me e la morte. Essere orfani è questo: non c’è nessuno davanti, si è prossimi in linea di successione. Il prossimo turno tocca a noi.)
A cucire tutto, Antonio, il protagonista, che parte da una storia privata, la sua, risale nel tempo, e va a incrociarsi con la storia pubblica.
La storia diventa la Storia. (mi stupiva con quanto accanimento frughiamo nei ricordi, esercizio dannoso che non ci porta niente di buono e che serve solo a renderci impacciati, come quei sacchetti di sabbia che gli atleti si legano intorno ai polpacci per allenarsi.)
Il volo Aviana 203 era un volo nazionale partito dall’aeroporto di Bogotá-El Dorado diretto all’aeroporto Alfondo Bonilla Aragón di Calì, Colombia: il 27 novembre 1989 un ordigno esplose 5 minuti dopo il decollo. La bomba piazzata vicino ai serbatoi del carburante esplose incendiando i vapori di carburante presenti in un serbatoio vuoto. L'esplosione divise l'aereo in due parti: la punta dalla coda, e le due sezioni caddero a terra in fiamme. Tutti i 107 passeggeri morirono nell'esplosione e altre 3 persone vennero uccise dai detriti caduti a terra. Secondo le investigazioni la bomba fu caricata all'interno dell'aereo da un uomo in giacca e cravatta, il quale era riuscito a portare la bomba all'interno della propria valigetta. Il candidato presidente César Gaviria, che Escobar voleva eliminare, non era però salito sull’aereo.
Tutte queste storie, grazie al notevole talento narrativo di Juan Gabriel Vasquez, per me bellissima scoperta di quest’anno (insieme al suo conterraneo Santiago Gamboa), scaturiscono una dall’altra come acqua di fonte, in modo naturale, fresco, pressoché spontaneo, crescono, diventano narrazione collettiva, una storia genera l’altra, gemmazione affabulatoria.
Pablo Escobar e il figlio Juan Pablo.
Gli US sono i più grandi consumatori di droga del mondo. E così, quando Nixon per combatterne il traffico decide di chiudere la frontiera col Messico, i consumatori non fanno altro che rivolgersi a nuovi mercati, più a sud: la Colombia che allora si limitava a lavorare la cocaina coltivata in Perù e Bolivia cambia la sua storia e diventa teatro di guerra quotidiana tra polizia, narcos, terrorismo, politici, per lo più sommersi da dollari e immersi nella corruzione. La vita in Colombia diventa un rischio quotidiano, un pericolo 24/7, la tensione è altissima, sfibrante, deformante. Escobar diventa uno dei cinque uomini più ricchi del mondo (entrando nella lista di Forbes), il suo zoo è attrazione nazionale, e trasmette una lezione che è tuttora difficile contraddire: il rispetto della legge è il più grande ostacolo per la felicità (Gabriel Garcia Marquez).
Antonio incontra Maya, una donna che al bacio rivela un fiato pulito e stanco, un fiato da fine giornata, e non credo si possa dire meglio l’amore arrivato tardi.
Copertina
October 11, 2020
THIS BOOK HAS TOO IMPORTANT A MESSAGE NOT TO POST IT IN FULL HERE.
Rating: 4* of five
The Publisher Says: In the city of Bogotá, Antonio Yammara reads an article about a hippo that had escaped from a derelict zoo once owned by legendary Colombian drug kingpin Pablo Escobar. The article transports Antonio back to when the war between Escobar’s Medellín cartel and government forces played out violently in Colombia’s streets and in the skies above.
Back then, Antonio witnessed a friend’s murder, an event that haunts him still. As he investigates, he discovers the many ways in which his own life and his friend’s family have been shaped by his country’s recent violent past. His journey leads him all the way back to the 1960s and a world on the brink of change: a time before narco-trafficking trapped a whole generation in a living nightmare.
Vásquez is “one of the most original new voices of Latin American literature,” according to Nobel Prize winner Mario Vargas Llosa, and The Sound of Things Falling is his most personal, most contemporary novel to date, a masterpiece that takes his writing—and will take his literary star—even higher.
I received this ARC from the publisher as part of LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program
My Review: To every rule its exception: This book is praised highly by a writer whose work I abhor, Jonathan Franzen; and ordinarily that means I will avoid the book so as not to read even a Pearl-Rule 46pp of something I'm bound to hate.
Ha ha ha, rules. I liked this book a lot. Well, "like" is a weird word for the emotional resonance of the book. I responded to the book like a tuning fork responds to a smack.
The fact is that I am a fan of Latin American literature because, like this book and author, most of the translated works are political and tendentious in their natures, and so are the authors. So am I. So it's usually a good fit.
This story, which feels as personal as the blurb suggests it actually is, made me very uncomfortable, as I watched Colombia's descent into warlord rule and civil failure. I suspect I'd feel the same fearful anger if I were to visit Montana or Idaho or Wyoming, places that white supremacist/apocalyptic christian cultists have claimed for themselves. When nutball extremists take over a place, it's a failure of civil authority, and that is a crime. The net effect is the same as the drug cartels' takeover of Colombia in the 1970s or the current failure of civil authority in Mexico today or the Cascadian separatist movement here.
These are not positive developments, they have tremendous costs in personal misery, and they are much to be deplored. Vásquez does his deploring by focusing tightly on the emotional and psychic costs of civil failure to a small group of friends, Antonio's friends and his good self. It's a sad, sad chronicle of horror and rage. And it's wrapped in beautiful words expressing solidly grounded truths:
Translator McLean has done a marvelous job of making poetry in the English, and while I haven't read the original Spanish text, I can only say that she is unlikely to have made such handsome bricks without good, abundant straw.
If I must pick a nit, and I must, it's that the structure of the novel is a tad more complex than is strictly speaking necessary to tell the author's very involving story. It's not hard to follow, but it's just artificial enough to pop the reader out of the narrative flow. That's almost never a good thing. (Okay, it's never a good thing, but I've learned not to make absolute statements because some little twidgee or another will come along and say something tiresome about my opinions and frankly I'm over it.)
I hope, that issue aside, that you will all race out to your local bookeries and procure copies of this book. It's got something important to say to us in the USA about the incredibly high cost of allowing dissent to become dissolution. Colombia failed its citizens, and their agony only slowly passes. Mexico is mid-failure, and is much closer to us. And yet we allow our own idiot rebels a far freer hand in obstructing and undermining our governmental institutions and shredding our social fabric in the name of some illusory "right" they assert that they have to do this to us all.
Read the book. Learn the cost. The price of the right wing's version of freedom is too goddamned high, and Vásquez knows it first hand. Please listen to him.
Rating: 4* of five
The Publisher Says: In the city of Bogotá, Antonio Yammara reads an article about a hippo that had escaped from a derelict zoo once owned by legendary Colombian drug kingpin Pablo Escobar. The article transports Antonio back to when the war between Escobar’s Medellín cartel and government forces played out violently in Colombia’s streets and in the skies above.
Back then, Antonio witnessed a friend’s murder, an event that haunts him still. As he investigates, he discovers the many ways in which his own life and his friend’s family have been shaped by his country’s recent violent past. His journey leads him all the way back to the 1960s and a world on the brink of change: a time before narco-trafficking trapped a whole generation in a living nightmare.
Vásquez is “one of the most original new voices of Latin American literature,” according to Nobel Prize winner Mario Vargas Llosa, and The Sound of Things Falling is his most personal, most contemporary novel to date, a masterpiece that takes his writing—and will take his literary star—even higher.
I received this ARC from the publisher as part of LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program
My Review: To every rule its exception: This book is praised highly by a writer whose work I abhor, Jonathan Franzen; and ordinarily that means I will avoid the book so as not to read even a Pearl-Rule 46pp of something I'm bound to hate.
Ha ha ha, rules. I liked this book a lot. Well, "like" is a weird word for the emotional resonance of the book. I responded to the book like a tuning fork responds to a smack.
The fact is that I am a fan of Latin American literature because, like this book and author, most of the translated works are political and tendentious in their natures, and so are the authors. So am I. So it's usually a good fit.
This story, which feels as personal as the blurb suggests it actually is, made me very uncomfortable, as I watched Colombia's descent into warlord rule and civil failure. I suspect I'd feel the same fearful anger if I were to visit Montana or Idaho or Wyoming, places that white supremacist/apocalyptic christian cultists have claimed for themselves. When nutball extremists take over a place, it's a failure of civil authority, and that is a crime. The net effect is the same as the drug cartels' takeover of Colombia in the 1970s or the current failure of civil authority in Mexico today or the Cascadian separatist movement here.
These are not positive developments, they have tremendous costs in personal misery, and they are much to be deplored. Vásquez does his deploring by focusing tightly on the emotional and psychic costs of civil failure to a small group of friends, Antonio's friends and his good self. It's a sad, sad chronicle of horror and rage. And it's wrapped in beautiful words expressing solidly grounded truths:
Adulthood brings with it the pernicious illusion of control, perhaps even depends on it. I mean that mirage of dominion over our own life that allows us to feel like adults, for we associate maturity with autonomy, the sovereign right to determine what is going to happen to us next.
Translator McLean has done a marvelous job of making poetry in the English, and while I haven't read the original Spanish text, I can only say that she is unlikely to have made such handsome bricks without good, abundant straw.
If I must pick a nit, and I must, it's that the structure of the novel is a tad more complex than is strictly speaking necessary to tell the author's very involving story. It's not hard to follow, but it's just artificial enough to pop the reader out of the narrative flow. That's almost never a good thing. (Okay, it's never a good thing, but I've learned not to make absolute statements because some little twidgee or another will come along and say something tiresome about my opinions and frankly I'm over it.)
I hope, that issue aside, that you will all race out to your local bookeries and procure copies of this book. It's got something important to say to us in the USA about the incredibly high cost of allowing dissent to become dissolution. Colombia failed its citizens, and their agony only slowly passes. Mexico is mid-failure, and is much closer to us. And yet we allow our own idiot rebels a far freer hand in obstructing and undermining our governmental institutions and shredding our social fabric in the name of some illusory "right" they assert that they have to do this to us all.
Read the book. Learn the cost. The price of the right wing's version of freedom is too goddamned high, and Vásquez knows it first hand. Please listen to him.
March 28, 2023
A well written novel about the violent period in Colombia's past. The story of the narrator is triggered by an article he reads regarding the killing of a hippo escaped from Pablo's Escobar's zoo. This event leads to painful memories about the murder of a man he knew, Ricardo Laverde, by drug traffickers. Unfortunately, the narrator was a witness to the murder, being also hit by a stray bullet. Suffering from PDSD, he starts to investigate the attack and the reasons behind the hit. It is a complex novel but somehow it did not manage to impress me, to make a lasting impression on me. I cannot understand why exactly, I guess some books work better for some readers.
June 15, 2023
First my thanks to David from Calgary who recommended this book to me.
A story set in Bogota, Colombia. The narrator is a young man who was severely wounded when his companion was murdered in a motorcycle drive-by shooting. The main theme of the book is how the violence of Pablo Escobar’s drug wars impacted not only the narrator’s life but that of a whole generation in Colombia mostly during the 1980’s. The narrator is hospitalized for a long time and ends up with PTSD and agoraphobia that severely impacts his relationship with his wife and infant.
The man becomes obsessed with wanting to know why his friend was killed. He learns about a secret cassette tape. His dead friend was an older man who used to be an airplane pilot and who came from a family of pilots. As he investigates, the story is interwoven with bits of true history involving recent Colombian air crashes. In one crash his friend’s wife had been killed. There are historical crashes such as one in 1938 where a daredevil pilot performing for a national patriotic celebration crashed into stands killing more than 50 spectators and almost killing the President of Colombia. (Thus the title.) Other true history is part of the story such as the zoo and hippos that drug kingpin Escobar maintained at his estate.
The author shifts the focus of the story around on us. We think it’s going to be mainly about the narrator. Then, as he starts investigating his dead friend, we think it will shift to the pilot. But then he gets in contact with his friend’s daughter and it kind of becomes her story. But in the end most of the focus ends up on his friend’s wife (killed in an airline crash) who was an American Peace Corp volunteer in Colombia back in the 1960’s.
His friend’s wife left a collection of letters and news articles that her daughter gathered. We learn quite a bit about the operation of the Peace Corps in Colombia and, to be honest, the book drags a bit at this point. The author creates a parallel between how Americans of that era marked time by dramatic events (Vietnam, Nixon’s resignation, Kennedy and Chappaquiddick, the Manson murders) with how Colombians did the same – “Where were you when that car bomb went off that killed 100 people?”
A good story (translated from the Spanish) that won the 2014 International IMPAC DUBLIN Literary Award. I also enjoyed another novel by this author, The Secret History of Costaguana a historical novel about the building of the Panama Canal.
Photo of Bogata from diana-aqua.com
Newsclip from ebay.com
The author from expansion.mx
[Revised 6/15/23]
A story set in Bogota, Colombia. The narrator is a young man who was severely wounded when his companion was murdered in a motorcycle drive-by shooting. The main theme of the book is how the violence of Pablo Escobar’s drug wars impacted not only the narrator’s life but that of a whole generation in Colombia mostly during the 1980’s. The narrator is hospitalized for a long time and ends up with PTSD and agoraphobia that severely impacts his relationship with his wife and infant.
The man becomes obsessed with wanting to know why his friend was killed. He learns about a secret cassette tape. His dead friend was an older man who used to be an airplane pilot and who came from a family of pilots. As he investigates, the story is interwoven with bits of true history involving recent Colombian air crashes. In one crash his friend’s wife had been killed. There are historical crashes such as one in 1938 where a daredevil pilot performing for a national patriotic celebration crashed into stands killing more than 50 spectators and almost killing the President of Colombia. (Thus the title.) Other true history is part of the story such as the zoo and hippos that drug kingpin Escobar maintained at his estate.
The author shifts the focus of the story around on us. We think it’s going to be mainly about the narrator. Then, as he starts investigating his dead friend, we think it will shift to the pilot. But then he gets in contact with his friend’s daughter and it kind of becomes her story. But in the end most of the focus ends up on his friend’s wife (killed in an airline crash) who was an American Peace Corp volunteer in Colombia back in the 1960’s.
His friend’s wife left a collection of letters and news articles that her daughter gathered. We learn quite a bit about the operation of the Peace Corps in Colombia and, to be honest, the book drags a bit at this point. The author creates a parallel between how Americans of that era marked time by dramatic events (Vietnam, Nixon’s resignation, Kennedy and Chappaquiddick, the Manson murders) with how Colombians did the same – “Where were you when that car bomb went off that killed 100 people?”
A good story (translated from the Spanish) that won the 2014 International IMPAC DUBLIN Literary Award. I also enjoyed another novel by this author, The Secret History of Costaguana a historical novel about the building of the Panama Canal.
Photo of Bogata from diana-aqua.com
Newsclip from ebay.com
The author from expansion.mx
[Revised 6/15/23]
September 1, 2025
The novel transports us to Bogotá. A man sitting in his apartment learns that a male hippopotamus escaped from Pablo Escobar’s old zoo and was recently killed. This news triggers a chain of memories in the man's head. The protagonist, Antonio Yammara, recalls being hit by a stray bullet. He recovered, while the man near him, someone named Ricardo Laverde, was fatally shot. The main character reflects on how his own life has become inextricably linked to Ricardo's story. Antonio has been living with an intangible anxiety for a long time. The repercussions of the bullet that hit him, as well as the past of the man who was killed beside him, continue to echo and reverberate.
Antonio, a young law professor, met Ricardo by chance. They attended the same billiards club. Little did Antonio know how significant this chance encounter would be. He thinks of how he got roped into not only Ricardo's life story, but also those of his wife and daughter.
Antonio learns that Ricardo Laverde was a pilot. His passion for planes and the sky probably began the day his grandfather took him for a walk. Many winters later, Ricardo's life would go into a tailspin because he wished to make the most out of his ability to pilot aircraft. Ricardo's fate would then send Antonio's life into a tailspin, affecting those closest to him.
You might ask, "That's fine, but what's this story about?" It is about human connection, friendship, and love. What would your life be like if your partner had a different childhood and adolescent experience? Can you fully understand a person with very different formative memories?
It is about what one dramatic event can do to a person's entire life and the imponderable heaviness of being most of us feel at some point in our lives.
It explores how the adventures of a stranger can become a treasured part of one's life.
The novel is about Colombia, its recent history and complicated present. The geography also plays a role in how the story unfolds. For example, Bogotá's climate differs greatly from that of other parts of the country. All these aspects could simply serve as a foil, but they appear as characters in their own right. History is experience. The past is not just something that happened at some point in time; it is a living experience.
It is about reaching maturity only to find out that the sense of control over our lives is an illusion.
"Disillusion comes sooner or later, but it always comes, it doesn’t miss an appointment, it never has. <...> Those long processes that end up running into our life – sometimes to give it the shove it needed, sometimes to blow to smithereens our most splendid plans – tend to be hidden like subterranean currents, like tiny shifts of tectonic plates, and when the earthquake finally comes we invoke the words we’ve learned to calm ourselves, accident, fluke, and sometimes fate. Right now there is a chain of circumstances, of guilty mistakes or lucky decisions, whose consequences await me around the corner; and even though I know it, although I have the uncomfortable certainty that those things are happening and will affect me, there is no way I can anticipate them. Struggling against their effects is all I can do: repair the damage, take best advantage of the benefits."
It was also interesting to learn about some of the particularities regarding the use of "usted," a formal "you" in Spanish.
I wavered between four and five stars, ultimately settling on five because I truly enjoyed the book and did not want to put it down before finishing it. Something that rarely happens to me these days.
Antonio, a young law professor, met Ricardo by chance. They attended the same billiards club. Little did Antonio know how significant this chance encounter would be. He thinks of how he got roped into not only Ricardo's life story, but also those of his wife and daughter.
Antonio learns that Ricardo Laverde was a pilot. His passion for planes and the sky probably began the day his grandfather took him for a walk. Many winters later, Ricardo's life would go into a tailspin because he wished to make the most out of his ability to pilot aircraft. Ricardo's fate would then send Antonio's life into a tailspin, affecting those closest to him.
You might ask, "That's fine, but what's this story about?" It is about human connection, friendship, and love. What would your life be like if your partner had a different childhood and adolescent experience? Can you fully understand a person with very different formative memories?
It is about what one dramatic event can do to a person's entire life and the imponderable heaviness of being most of us feel at some point in our lives.
It explores how the adventures of a stranger can become a treasured part of one's life.
The novel is about Colombia, its recent history and complicated present. The geography also plays a role in how the story unfolds. For example, Bogotá's climate differs greatly from that of other parts of the country. All these aspects could simply serve as a foil, but they appear as characters in their own right. History is experience. The past is not just something that happened at some point in time; it is a living experience.
It is about reaching maturity only to find out that the sense of control over our lives is an illusion.
"Disillusion comes sooner or later, but it always comes, it doesn’t miss an appointment, it never has. <...> Those long processes that end up running into our life – sometimes to give it the shove it needed, sometimes to blow to smithereens our most splendid plans – tend to be hidden like subterranean currents, like tiny shifts of tectonic plates, and when the earthquake finally comes we invoke the words we’ve learned to calm ourselves, accident, fluke, and sometimes fate. Right now there is a chain of circumstances, of guilty mistakes or lucky decisions, whose consequences await me around the corner; and even though I know it, although I have the uncomfortable certainty that those things are happening and will affect me, there is no way I can anticipate them. Struggling against their effects is all I can do: repair the damage, take best advantage of the benefits."
It was also interesting to learn about some of the particularities regarding the use of "usted," a formal "you" in Spanish.
I wavered between four and five stars, ultimately settling on five because I truly enjoyed the book and did not want to put it down before finishing it. Something that rarely happens to me these days.
December 1, 2017
This is such profoundly sad book. A life stymied and stunted during the height of the drug wars in Bogotá. I will think about it for a long time to come.
February 15, 2021
4.5 stars. Ha, damn. Who knew it'd take such a quiet and introspective novel to break my heart.
I'm sorry because my fangirling probably won't help, but I found Juan Gabriel Vásquez's storytelling just wonderful. As often when I fall in love with a book - especially when none of my friends have read it, I've been feeling a little self-conscious and read a few reviews with low ratings. I... don't advise doing that, lol. In the end, I'm not able to acknowledge the flaws pointed there - too much telling rather than showing? - because I just did not see that. Shrugs.
My experience with The Sound of Things Falling was :
- opened the book
- started reading
- couldn't stop because really, how could I?!
It takes a great author to lift us out of our every day scenery and make us feel like we're there without smashing us under the weight of too heavy descriptions . In that aspect it was perfect - anecdotes, customs, I was soon absorbed in this Bogotá and was involved in the characters' story almost instantly. I couldn't stop reading - even exhausted, I couldn't put it down, even at 4 in the morning, I had to know, to devour it.
My heart in my throat, and the worry, the worry - the passion - brought me to this - albeit quite ridiculous, but not less valid at the time - epiphany when I wanted to yell that THIS WAS WHY I WANTED TO READ BOOKS FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD (I did not. It was 4 in the morning. I am not an animal) My lassitude with US settings has never been so clear than then, when I wanted nothing more than learn again and again about another country, another history, even fictionalized.
Juan Gabriel Vásquez's talent for weaving the threads of his characters' lives - and attach the reader in the process - forcefully doomed me to care for his characters, no matter how great my disagreement with their actions could be - and disagree I did. That's okay. I quickly understood the role I was meant to take : I wasn't there to love them, I was there to slowly unpack their memories and maybe, maybe, above the solitude and nostalgia, find a little place in myself for them.
Spoiler alert : I did.
Antonio, Elaine, Ricardo - every one of these characters is flawed and unlikeable at times . I can see how their behavior could alienate some readers but in all honesty I understood them, especially Ricardo whose smile I'd protect with my life (MY HEART). As for the plot, I genuinely think that we should go in blind - as I did - that's why I won't develop it. I didn't even read the blurb, only picked it because it was part of my translated books list, and I could not recommend doing the same strongly enough.
I'd recommend this novel to every reader who loves family sagas whose secrets, no matter how trivial, shape the characters into these real people we care about. The Sound of Things Falling is not some action-packed journey getting us from point A to point B : this is rather a very character driven novel , a fucking train wreck where solitude and nostalgia pour through every page and I am not okay.
Not a perfect book by any means - Elaine's Americanism sure annoyed me a lot, for one - yet if you know me, then you're well aware that I can overtake a few flaws if I am certain - as much one can be certain of anything, that goes without saying - that the book I just closed will linger. Well I believe that I won't forget The Sound of Things Falling anytime soon. Oh, no.
TW : One scene contains cruelty towards an animal. Also, drugs.
For more of my reviews, please visit:
August 11, 2022
نمیدانم یادآوری خاطرات چه گلی به سر ما میزند و چه سود و بلکه جزایی همراه میآورد یا آنچه تجربه کردهایم با یادآوری دوباره چه تغییری میکند… جایی خواندهام انسان باید داستان زندگیاش را در چهلسالگی بازگو کند. صفحه ۱۳ کتاب
صدایی هست که هیچ وقت نمیتوانم یا نتوانستهام باز بشناسم: صدایی که انسانی نیست یا فرا انسانی است، صدای جانهایی که میمیرند و ضمنا صدای شکستن اجسام. صفحه ۷۹ کتاب
تجربه، یا آنچه تجربه مینامیم، مجموعه دردهای ما نیست بلکه همدلی عاقلانهای است که به دردهای دیگران روا میداریم. صفحه ۸۱ کتاب
عینکش را برداشت و گوشهی چشمش را فشرد: کاری که همه جای دنیا وقتی میکنند که نمیخواهند گریه کننده. به خودم گفتم این چیزها، این حرکتها که در سراسر دنیا، تمام نژادها و فرهنگها، یا بیشترشان، تکرار میشود، کجای رمز ژنتیکی ما درج شده است. صفحات ۹۹-۱۰۰ کتاب
آئوره لیو آرتورو در شعری میگوید:
بشنو از من که روزی
شهری مجنون، مغرور و پرجمعیت دیدم
که در دل شب میسوخت. پلک نزدم و فروریختن شهر را
سقوطش را به چشم دیدهام
به سان گلبرگی به ضربه سم چارپایی. صفحه ۲۳۹ کتاب
صدایی هست که هیچ وقت نمیتوانم یا نتوانستهام باز بشناسم: صدایی که انسانی نیست یا فرا انسانی است، صدای جانهایی که میمیرند و ضمنا صدای شکستن اجسام. صفحه ۷۹ کتاب
تجربه، یا آنچه تجربه مینامیم، مجموعه دردهای ما نیست بلکه همدلی عاقلانهای است که به دردهای دیگران روا میداریم. صفحه ۸۱ کتاب
عینکش را برداشت و گوشهی چشمش را فشرد: کاری که همه جای دنیا وقتی میکنند که نمیخواهند گریه کننده. به خودم گفتم این چیزها، این حرکتها که در سراسر دنیا، تمام نژادها و فرهنگها، یا بیشترشان، تکرار میشود، کجای رمز ژنتیکی ما درج شده است. صفحات ۹۹-۱۰۰ کتاب
آئوره لیو آرتورو در شعری میگوید:
بشنو از من که روزی
شهری مجنون، مغرور و پرجمعیت دیدم
که در دل شب میسوخت. پلک نزدم و فروریختن شهر را
سقوطش را به چشم دیدهام
به سان گلبرگی به ضربه سم چارپایی. صفحه ۲۳۹ کتاب
May 1, 2014
I'm pretty sure the title of this novel "The Sound of Things Falling," refers to the sound of the book falling on the floor every time you doze off while reading it. The protagonist, Antonio, was neither likable, nor lovable, nor interesting in any way, and the same goes for Maya Fritts and her parents Elena and Laverde who were all flat characters. I looked forward to reading this book after putting my name on a long waiting list at the public library for it, as I love several Latin American authors and Juan Gabriel Vasquez was billed as a rising star. This book attempts to bring to life 1980s Colombia, the drug cartels and the people who lived to experience it firsthand. Unfortunately, the author seems unable or unwilling to successfully recreate this period. For one, the narrative crawls at a snail's pace until the halfway point, and from that point forward, not much else happens. Where does Colombia fall apart, collapse in flames (as a poem the author quotes in the book alludes to)? Where does the fear that Gabriel Vasquez mentions come from, besides one or two isolated incidents? This author needs to show more and tell less (first rule of creative writing 101). The past that Antonio and Maya supposedly share is one we as the readers of this book are never made privy to, not in any detail, and therefore, this book fails to hold together as a successful novel for me.
May 21, 2018
B.R.A.CE. 2018 Ένα βιβλίο με έναν τίτλο με πάνω από 5 λέξεις
3,5/5
Ο Αντόνιο, ένας νεαρός καθηγητής της νομικής στην Μπογκοτά, γίνεται μάρτυρας της δολοφονίας ενός πιλότου που ανακατεύτηκε με τα καρτέλ των ναρκωτικών την εποχή της παντοδυναμίας του Πάμπλο Εσκομπάρ. Τραυματίζεται και ο ίδιος και, μη γνωρίζοντας την αιτία για την οποία έχει γίνει το θύμα μιας ιστορίας που δεν τον αφορά, βυθίζεται σε μια απόγνωση από την οποία δεν μπορεί να γλιτώσει παρά μόνο όταν ένα τυχαίο γεγονός τον αναγκάζει να αναζητήσει την αλήθεια. Και μόνο όταν έρχεται αντιμέτωπος με την ιστορία του ανθρώπου που στάθηκε η αιτία να αλλάξει τόσο δραστικά η ζωή του αρχίζει πραγματικά (και επώδυνα) η επούλωση των πληγών του.
Αυτό που μου άρεσε ιδιαίτερα ήταν το πώς ο Vasquez τοποθετεί το θέμα των ναρκωτικών στην Κολομβία ταυτόχρονα στο κέντρο αλλά και στο παρασκήνιο. Ναι μεν αποτελεί σημαντικό θέμα του βιβλίου, αλλά παρουσιάζεται διακριτικά, υπό το πρίσμα της επίδρασης που ασκεί το εμπόριο της μαριχουάνας και της κοκαΐνης στη ζωή των ηρώων. Κάπως σαν το φως που περνάει μέσα από τις γρίλιες, φωτίζοντας συγκεκριμένα σημεία του δωματίου. Μου θύμισε λίγο Μάρκες αυτό και το βρήκα πολύ έξυπνο.
Γενικά, είναι ένα ωραίο βιβλίο για τον πόλεμο χωρίς κήρυξη πολέμου, τον πιο σκληρό πόλεμο που καθορίζει τη μοίρα της Κολομβίας και όσων μεγάλωσαν μέσα στην αιματηρή του δίνη, τον πόλεμο των ναρκωτικών. Μετά τη μέση δυστυχώς έχασε το μομέντουμ του και δεν είχε την κορύφωση που περίμενα, αλλά ήταν σίγουρα ένα ενδιαφέρον ανάγνωσμα με καλή γραφή και ωραίο θέμα, χωρίς υπερβολές.
3,5/5
Ο Αντόνιο, ένας νεαρός καθηγητής της νομικής στην Μπογκοτά, γίνεται μάρτυρας της δολοφονίας ενός πιλότου που ανακατεύτηκε με τα καρτέλ των ναρκωτικών την εποχή της παντοδυναμίας του Πάμπλο Εσκομπάρ. Τραυματίζεται και ο ίδιος και, μη γνωρίζοντας την αιτία για την οποία έχει γίνει το θύμα μιας ιστορίας που δεν τον αφορά, βυθίζεται σε μια απόγνωση από την οποία δεν μπορεί να γλιτώσει παρά μόνο όταν ένα τυχαίο γεγονός τον αναγκάζει να αναζητήσει την αλήθεια. Και μόνο όταν έρχεται αντιμέτωπος με την ιστορία του ανθρώπου που στάθηκε η αιτία να αλλάξει τόσο δραστικά η ζωή του αρχίζει πραγματικά (και επώδυνα) η επούλωση των πληγών του.
Αυτό που μου άρεσε ιδιαίτερα ήταν το πώς ο Vasquez τοποθετεί το θέμα των ναρκωτικών στην Κολομβία ταυτόχρονα στο κέντρο αλλά και στο παρασκήνιο. Ναι μεν αποτελεί σημαντικό θέμα του βιβλίου, αλλά παρουσιάζεται διακριτικά, υπό το πρίσμα της επίδρασης που ασκεί το εμπόριο της μαριχουάνας και της κοκαΐνης στη ζωή των ηρώων. Κάπως σαν το φως που περνάει μέσα από τις γρίλιες, φωτίζοντας συγκεκριμένα σημεία του δωματίου. Μου θύμισε λίγο Μάρκες αυτό και το βρήκα πολύ έξυπνο.
Γενικά, είναι ένα ωραίο βιβλίο για τον πόλεμο χωρίς κήρυξη πολέμου, τον πιο σκληρό πόλεμο που καθορίζει τη μοίρα της Κολομβίας και όσων μεγάλωσαν μέσα στην αιματηρή του δίνη, τον πόλεμο των ναρκωτικών. Μετά τη μέση δυστυχώς έχασε το μομέντουμ του και δεν είχε την κορύφωση που περίμενα, αλλά ήταν σίγουρα ένα ενδιαφέρον ανάγνωσμα με καλή γραφή και ωραίο θέμα, χωρίς υπερβολές.
December 31, 2017
2,5. Επιτέλους . Το τελείωσα . Και δεν ξετρελαθηκα. Είχα διαβασει τόσα πολλα γι'αυτο και είχα τόσες πολλες προσδοκίες , καμια ομως δεν πραγματοποιήθηκε . Ωραίο βιβλιο . Αλλα μέχρι εκει . Με ενόχλησαν που οι επαναλήψεις . Και η αλήθεια ,καπου κουράστηκα . Γι'αυτο εκανα τοσο καιρο να το τελειώσω . Βαρέθηκα . Μου τελειωσε ο έρωτας . Γιατι τα βιβλία τα ερωτευόμαστε . Αυτο λοιπον μου πήρε τα μυαλά στην αρχη και μετα παπαλα .ενδεχομενος να μην βοήθησε και η μετάφραση
Readathon2017: 4/26ενα βιβλιο συγγραφέα απο την Νότια Αμερική .
Readathon2017: 4/26ενα βιβλιο συγγραφέα απο την Νότια Αμερική .
August 7, 2013
The ambience of this melancholy novel often appeared in my dreams at night while I was reading this book. I am not sure how long-lasting the effect will be, but it has put me into a funk. This is a quiet novel depicting the solitary interior life of a ruined generation. There are frequent pleasures; I really enjoyed the descriptions of the Laverde family, urban life up in the mountains in Bogotá contrasted with the rural tropical areas, the beautiful geography of Colombia and inferring some of the broader changes that took place between the 1960´s through to the 1990´s. This is an enjoyable novel; however, there is something selfish about writing a book that leaves the reader feeling so alone.
Update two months later: I never know if the novel I just finished will linger in my thoughts for weeks, months or if it will quickly fade from my memory. Two months later, however, when the emotional impact of most novels have long passed, I am still occasionally looking longingly out a window, imagining the beauty of Bogota.
Update two months later: I never know if the novel I just finished will linger in my thoughts for weeks, months or if it will quickly fade from my memory. Two months later, however, when the emotional impact of most novels have long passed, I am still occasionally looking longingly out a window, imagining the beauty of Bogota.
August 11, 2020
After reading an invigorating review by Glenn of the English version of this book I decided to reread this book. Why? I remembered many things that he noted in his review but I was curious. This was the very first book that I read in Spanish and I wanted to know how well I read it, as well as how my initial review stood up.
I was very surprised. Yes of course this is a book about the drug violence of Colombia in the later 20th century and it deals with challenging issues such as terrorism and crime.
But I came away with a different angle. At the heart of the story it is a love story and how one faces life’s challenge. Young Antonio Yammara learns painfully about life and love. He makes friend with Ricardo Laverde, a pilot with a shadowy background. During an outing, they are both shot by a drive by motorcyclist. Yammara survives and wants to find out what happened while at the same time almost abandoning his wife and young daughter to understand why.
Vasquez shows his dynamism as a writer as we delve into the painful past of Laverde and the connections to the present. A rollercoaster ride that is truly remarkable. Politics, the drug war, tragedy, and even the past can greatly influence people’s lives. How we deal with it is the challenge. How we cope and it’s outcomes can change our perspectives.
This is what makes this book so good. We fall for the story, wonder about our narrator Yammara, and want a proper outcome. But life changes that.
Would bump this to a 4.5 and my favourite Alfaguara winner read to date.
Here is the original 2012 review.
I first heard a radio interview with Vasquez on CBC Writers and Company last month and was intrigued by his life and his literary interests. He was born in Columbia but educated in London and lived in Paris following after Garcia Marquez, Vargas Llosa and Carlos Fuentes (three writers that I admire). He has spent the last decade living in Barcelona. I was recently there and tracked down his most recent book "The Noise of Things Falling"). This was a challenge as this is the first novel I read entirely in Spanish (since the English translation is not due till the fall of 2012).
This book won the Premio Alfaguara de novela 2011 and there is a reason why it won - it is a great read. The story is a beautiful, tragic and very disturbing tale that neatly unfolds the recent "drug war" in Columbia through the eyes of the main characters. Antonio is a young professor who befriends an older man Ricardo Laverde who enjoys playing billiards. When he is murdered, Antonia begins to discover Laverde's past and uncovers a family caught up in the violent drug world. Imagine a world where when you walk down the road you pay attention to where all the phone booths are because if there is a bombing, you need to call home (in those pre-cell phone days). Imagine a world where children visit a private zoo - owned by the infamous drug lord Pablo Escobar, who killed many people and even blew up planes to make his point. This book had so many revelations on Columbia (good and bad). What I like about Vasquez is he isn't preaching, and our hero truly shows his feelings the more he discovers.
Vasquez has been compared to Vargas Llosa and often I caught the same language and style in his words but he definitely has his own style. He plays with words about sounds and "things falling" and even makes a joke about "100 years of Solitude" by teasing the Columbian master's title. His descriptive qualities are masterful and his characters both real and ambiguous but I like that quality,
Read this book when the English translations comes out.
I was very surprised. Yes of course this is a book about the drug violence of Colombia in the later 20th century and it deals with challenging issues such as terrorism and crime.
But I came away with a different angle. At the heart of the story it is a love story and how one faces life’s challenge. Young Antonio Yammara learns painfully about life and love. He makes friend with Ricardo Laverde, a pilot with a shadowy background. During an outing, they are both shot by a drive by motorcyclist. Yammara survives and wants to find out what happened while at the same time almost abandoning his wife and young daughter to understand why.
Vasquez shows his dynamism as a writer as we delve into the painful past of Laverde and the connections to the present. A rollercoaster ride that is truly remarkable. Politics, the drug war, tragedy, and even the past can greatly influence people’s lives. How we deal with it is the challenge. How we cope and it’s outcomes can change our perspectives.
This is what makes this book so good. We fall for the story, wonder about our narrator Yammara, and want a proper outcome. But life changes that.
Would bump this to a 4.5 and my favourite Alfaguara winner read to date.
Here is the original 2012 review.
I first heard a radio interview with Vasquez on CBC Writers and Company last month and was intrigued by his life and his literary interests. He was born in Columbia but educated in London and lived in Paris following after Garcia Marquez, Vargas Llosa and Carlos Fuentes (three writers that I admire). He has spent the last decade living in Barcelona. I was recently there and tracked down his most recent book "The Noise of Things Falling"). This was a challenge as this is the first novel I read entirely in Spanish (since the English translation is not due till the fall of 2012).
This book won the Premio Alfaguara de novela 2011 and there is a reason why it won - it is a great read. The story is a beautiful, tragic and very disturbing tale that neatly unfolds the recent "drug war" in Columbia through the eyes of the main characters. Antonio is a young professor who befriends an older man Ricardo Laverde who enjoys playing billiards. When he is murdered, Antonia begins to discover Laverde's past and uncovers a family caught up in the violent drug world. Imagine a world where when you walk down the road you pay attention to where all the phone booths are because if there is a bombing, you need to call home (in those pre-cell phone days). Imagine a world where children visit a private zoo - owned by the infamous drug lord Pablo Escobar, who killed many people and even blew up planes to make his point. This book had so many revelations on Columbia (good and bad). What I like about Vasquez is he isn't preaching, and our hero truly shows his feelings the more he discovers.
Vasquez has been compared to Vargas Llosa and often I caught the same language and style in his words but he definitely has his own style. He plays with words about sounds and "things falling" and even makes a joke about "100 years of Solitude" by teasing the Columbian master's title. His descriptive qualities are masterful and his characters both real and ambiguous but I like that quality,
Read this book when the English translations comes out.
October 6, 2016
Ένα βιβλίο που σε ταξιδεύει στην Κολομβία των 60-70s και 90s. Με τόσο ζωντανές εικόνες που νομίζεις ότι έζησες κι εσύ τότε. Ένα βιβλίο που σου δείχνει το αποτύπωμα του πολέμου που είχε ξεσπάσει τα χρόνια της κυριαρχίας του Πάμπλο Εσκομπάρ και των ναρκωτικών.
Όμως, είναι και ένα βιβλίο για τα όνειρα των νέων που κόβονται απότομα. Για αυτούς που κάποτε είχαν όνειρα, αλλά (συνειδητά ή όχι) τα "άφησαν" στην πορεία. Για αυτούς που το παρελθόν το κρατάνε ζωντανό σαν να είναι το παρόν και ζουν μέσα από αυτό.
Πολύ όμορφη γραφή και καθηλωτική αφήγηση από τον Vasquez, σε σημείο που δεν μπορούσα να αφήσω το βιβλίο από τα χέρια μου.
Υ.Γ: Αν θέλετε να μπείτε καλύτερα στο κλίμα της "εσκομπαρικής" Κολομβίας, διαβάστε αυτό το βιβλίο και δείτε παράλληλα τη σειρά Narcos. Έτυχε ξεκινήσω τη σειρά πριν διαβάσω το βιβλίο και με είχε "χώσει" σ' αυτήν την περίοδο.
Όμως, είναι και ένα βιβλίο για τα όνειρα των νέων που κόβονται απότομα. Για αυτούς που κάποτε είχαν όνειρα, αλλά (συνειδητά ή όχι) τα "άφησαν" στην πορεία. Για αυτούς που το παρελθόν το κρατάνε ζωντανό σαν να είναι το παρόν και ζουν μέσα από αυτό.
Πολύ όμορφη γραφή και καθηλωτική αφήγηση από τον Vasquez, σε σημείο που δεν μπορούσα να αφήσω το βιβλίο από τα χέρια μου.
Υ.Γ: Αν θέλετε να μπείτε καλύτερα στο κλίμα της "εσκομπαρικής" Κολομβίας, διαβάστε αυτό το βιβλίο και δείτε παράλληλα τη σειρά Narcos. Έτυχε ξεκινήσω τη σειρά πριν διαβάσω το βιβλίο και με είχε "χώσει" σ' αυτήν την περίοδο.
January 17, 2024
It is a novel set in late 20th-century Colombia, a country struggling with the violence of the drug war.
There, we find the fear and post-traumatic shock of an individual and a society that no longer recognizes each other after attacks that cause deaths and injuries but also collateral victims.
We realize how the simple need to earn money to feed one's family has gradually transformed into international trafficking, which is challenging to get rid of afterward.
We see the need to understand and exorcise our demons.
It's a story of psychology and society, about discovering a corner of the world that we know little about.
There, we find the fear and post-traumatic shock of an individual and a society that no longer recognizes each other after attacks that cause deaths and injuries but also collateral victims.
We realize how the simple need to earn money to feed one's family has gradually transformed into international trafficking, which is challenging to get rid of afterward.
We see the need to understand and exorcise our demons.
It's a story of psychology and society, about discovering a corner of the world that we know little about.
October 10, 2022
4,5*
#outubrohispanoamericano
Tentaria depois recordar a última vez que tinha experimentado algo do género, essa anulação sem considerações do mundo real, esse sequestro absoluto da minha consciência, e cheguei à conclusão de que nada de similar me tinha acontecido desde a infância.
Este livro sugou-me para dentro dele como poucos e apesar das várias pontas soltas, porque na vida real também nem tudo tem explicação nem é possível averiguar, o final não me deixou o mesmo vazio que ao protagonista, Antonio Yammara.
Ali, na rede, enquanto os lia, senti outras coisas, algumas inexplicáveis e sobretudo uma muito confusa: o desconforto de saber que aquela história em que o meu nome não aparecia falava de mim em cada uma das suas linhas. Senti tudo isso, e no fim todos os sentimentos se reduziram a uma solidão tremenda, uma solidão sem causa visível e portanto sem remédio. A solidão de uma criança.
O início de “O Barulho das Coisas ao Cair” trouxe-me à memória “A Festa no Covil” de Juan Pablo Villalobos devido à referência aos hipopótamos de um famoso traficante, mas enquanto o livro do autor mexicano era uma sátira, a obra de Juan Gabriel Vásquez é uma tragédia para todos os seus participantes, joguetes de um drama maior que é a Colômbia retratada aqui nos anos 80 e 90, um antro de violência e narcotráfico.
Ninguém que viva o suficiente pode surpreender-se por a sua biografia ter sido moldada por eventos longínquos, por vontades alheias, com pouca ou nenhuma participação das suas próprias decisões. Esses longos processos que acabarão por embater na nossa vida (...) costumam estar ocultos como correntes subterrâneas, como meticulosos deslocamentos das placas tectónicas, e quando por fim se dá o terramoto invocamos as palavras que aprendemos a usar para nos tranquilizarmos, acidente, acaso, às vezes destino.
“O Barulho das Coisas ao Cair” é um livro muito triste sobre duas famílias desfeitas sob a má estrela de uma Bogotá que atrai e repele as suas personagens, e quando nos apercebemos do porquê do título a meio da narrativa, é o coração que nos cai aos pés.
Não começou a minha própria vida a precipitar-se por terra nesse mesmo instante, não era aquele barulho o barulho da minha própria queda, que começou ali sem que eu o soubesse?
#outubrohispanoamericano
Tentaria depois recordar a última vez que tinha experimentado algo do género, essa anulação sem considerações do mundo real, esse sequestro absoluto da minha consciência, e cheguei à conclusão de que nada de similar me tinha acontecido desde a infância.
Este livro sugou-me para dentro dele como poucos e apesar das várias pontas soltas, porque na vida real também nem tudo tem explicação nem é possível averiguar, o final não me deixou o mesmo vazio que ao protagonista, Antonio Yammara.
Ali, na rede, enquanto os lia, senti outras coisas, algumas inexplicáveis e sobretudo uma muito confusa: o desconforto de saber que aquela história em que o meu nome não aparecia falava de mim em cada uma das suas linhas. Senti tudo isso, e no fim todos os sentimentos se reduziram a uma solidão tremenda, uma solidão sem causa visível e portanto sem remédio. A solidão de uma criança.
O início de “O Barulho das Coisas ao Cair” trouxe-me à memória “A Festa no Covil” de Juan Pablo Villalobos devido à referência aos hipopótamos de um famoso traficante, mas enquanto o livro do autor mexicano era uma sátira, a obra de Juan Gabriel Vásquez é uma tragédia para todos os seus participantes, joguetes de um drama maior que é a Colômbia retratada aqui nos anos 80 e 90, um antro de violência e narcotráfico.
Ninguém que viva o suficiente pode surpreender-se por a sua biografia ter sido moldada por eventos longínquos, por vontades alheias, com pouca ou nenhuma participação das suas próprias decisões. Esses longos processos que acabarão por embater na nossa vida (...) costumam estar ocultos como correntes subterrâneas, como meticulosos deslocamentos das placas tectónicas, e quando por fim se dá o terramoto invocamos as palavras que aprendemos a usar para nos tranquilizarmos, acidente, acaso, às vezes destino.
“O Barulho das Coisas ao Cair” é um livro muito triste sobre duas famílias desfeitas sob a má estrela de uma Bogotá que atrai e repele as suas personagens, e quando nos apercebemos do porquê do título a meio da narrativa, é o coração que nos cai aos pés.
Não começou a minha própria vida a precipitar-se por terra nesse mesmo instante, não era aquele barulho o barulho da minha própria queda, que começou ali sem que eu o soubesse?
May 25, 2024
“What’s there to live for?”
Del perché mi sia ritrovata a leggere un romanzo così intriso di morte ed ineluttabile destino, ancora non lo so.
A meno che, io voglia dar credito che in tutto ci sia un messaggio e soprattutto nelle azioni che compiamo apparentemente senza un senso immediato.
Sta di fatto che, in questi mesi estivi, mi ero ripromessa, di fare letture che non lasciassero strascichi.
Storie coinvolgenti dove la parola Fine è definitiva e non ci sono personaggi da portarsi dietro né tantomeno pensieri scomodi che stanno lì a stuzzicare nel tempo.
Avevo (ho) bisogno di apparente leggerezza eppure questo titolo mi ha irrimediabilmente attratta.
Così mi sono trovata ad oltre 2600 metri di altitudine trasportata dalle parole di Antonio, voce narrante di un racconto che dai giorni nostri torna a ritroso in una serie di racconti concentrici.
Tutto comincia nel 1996 in un’anonima sala da biliardo di un quartiere di Bogotà dove Antonio, giovane docente universitario, conosce Rosario Laverde, uomo dal passato misterioso.
Un terreno neutro, quello del bar dove i tavoli da biliardo uniscono persone di differenti età ed estrazione sociale.
In una Colombia che ancora soffre per le ferite delle stragi degli anni ’80 su cui ancora aleggia la figura di Pablo Escobar.
Antonio e Rosario divideranno una raffica di pallottole mentre camminano su un marciapiede: entrambi cadranno ma solo uno si rialzerà e col tempo sarà perseguitato dal pensiero di voler capire.
Due lampi di luce, due colpi:
” Laverde cadde a terra e io caddi con lui, i due corpi che cadevano senza far rumore, e la gente cominciò a gridare e nelle orecchie sentii improvvisamente un ronzio.”
Un minuto prima ci muoviamo.
Siamo esseri verticali che la morte rende orizzontali con un tonfo.
Si può vivere senza pensare?
Antonio crede di sì anzi, s’illude, di potersi chiudere la porta alla spalle, crogiolarsi nelle sue paure e nelle sue ossessioni, salvo, poi, scoprire che dal passato non si può fuggire e che una volta ascoltato il rumore delle cose che cadono nulla sarà come prima:
” C’è un rumore, che non riesco, e non ci sono mai riuscito, a riconoscere: un rumore che non è umano è più che umano, il rumore delle vite che finiscono ma anche il rumore dei materiali che si rompono. È il rumore delle cose che cadono da quell’altezza, un rumore interrotto e dunque eterno, un rumore che non finisce più, che continua a risuonarmi nella testa da quel pomeriggio e non accenna a voler andarsene, che è sospeso per sempre nella mia memoria, appeso come un asciugamano al suo gancio.”
Dolorosamente bello.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wnjuf...
Del perché mi sia ritrovata a leggere un romanzo così intriso di morte ed ineluttabile destino, ancora non lo so.
A meno che, io voglia dar credito che in tutto ci sia un messaggio e soprattutto nelle azioni che compiamo apparentemente senza un senso immediato.
Sta di fatto che, in questi mesi estivi, mi ero ripromessa, di fare letture che non lasciassero strascichi.
Storie coinvolgenti dove la parola Fine è definitiva e non ci sono personaggi da portarsi dietro né tantomeno pensieri scomodi che stanno lì a stuzzicare nel tempo.
Avevo (ho) bisogno di apparente leggerezza eppure questo titolo mi ha irrimediabilmente attratta.
Così mi sono trovata ad oltre 2600 metri di altitudine trasportata dalle parole di Antonio, voce narrante di un racconto che dai giorni nostri torna a ritroso in una serie di racconti concentrici.
Tutto comincia nel 1996 in un’anonima sala da biliardo di un quartiere di Bogotà dove Antonio, giovane docente universitario, conosce Rosario Laverde, uomo dal passato misterioso.
Un terreno neutro, quello del bar dove i tavoli da biliardo uniscono persone di differenti età ed estrazione sociale.
In una Colombia che ancora soffre per le ferite delle stragi degli anni ’80 su cui ancora aleggia la figura di Pablo Escobar.
Antonio e Rosario divideranno una raffica di pallottole mentre camminano su un marciapiede: entrambi cadranno ma solo uno si rialzerà e col tempo sarà perseguitato dal pensiero di voler capire.
Due lampi di luce, due colpi:
” Laverde cadde a terra e io caddi con lui, i due corpi che cadevano senza far rumore, e la gente cominciò a gridare e nelle orecchie sentii improvvisamente un ronzio.”
Un minuto prima ci muoviamo.
Siamo esseri verticali che la morte rende orizzontali con un tonfo.
Si può vivere senza pensare?
Antonio crede di sì anzi, s’illude, di potersi chiudere la porta alla spalle, crogiolarsi nelle sue paure e nelle sue ossessioni, salvo, poi, scoprire che dal passato non si può fuggire e che una volta ascoltato il rumore delle cose che cadono nulla sarà come prima:
” C’è un rumore, che non riesco, e non ci sono mai riuscito, a riconoscere: un rumore che non è umano è più che umano, il rumore delle vite che finiscono ma anche il rumore dei materiali che si rompono. È il rumore delle cose che cadono da quell’altezza, un rumore interrotto e dunque eterno, un rumore che non finisce più, che continua a risuonarmi nella testa da quel pomeriggio e non accenna a voler andarsene, che è sospeso per sempre nella mia memoria, appeso come un asciugamano al suo gancio.”
Dolorosamente bello.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wnjuf...
August 14, 2013
"There is a sound that I cannot or have never been able to identify: a sound that's not human or is more than human, the sound of lives being extinguished...the sound of things falling from on high...that is forever suspended in my memory, hanging in it like a towel on a hook."
In 1995, when Bogotonian Antonio Yammara was 26 and a few years out of law school, he met two significant people who would transform him, and in some ways, one would destroy him. A few years later, he met someone else that he hoped would help heal him. This is a story about the presence of the past, PTSD, grief, lives falling apart, bodies falling soundlessly. It is a story of love and hope from on high, and the crumbling and dissolution of that love and hope, the profanity of it when it runs out of fuel.
Narrated by Yammara, the story is set against the backdrop of Colombian history, from the sixties through the nineties, during the ruthless, violent years of drug trafficking and drug wars. The story focuses on Yammara and the people in his life, and one tragic event that made time stand still for him while the rest of the world moved on. He witnessed a casual friend, Ricardo Laverde, an ex-pilot and ex-convict, killed in the streets of Bogotá. Antonio was also severely injured. This event consumed him, and he was unable to focus on his family--the woman, Aura, he had met and romanced during the same year as he met Laverde, and the baby they had together shortly afterward.
What happens next is a journey to the past--Laverde's past--one that Yammara is compelled to understand. He follows a cassette tape to the Magdelena Valley, to Laverde's daughter, another walking wounded of Colombia's history, who is also stuck in time by previous events. Together, they attempt to fill in the missing pieces of Laverde's history, with the hope of liberating them both from the prison of pain and trauma.
Narrated with eloquence, intimacy, and warmth, Vasquez' story resonates with a heartbreaking lyricism and poetry that captivated me from the opening pages. I am drawn to stories about time and memory, and about the past events that damage us and paradoxically heal us through our shared connections.
My hat's off to Annie McLean, who did a superb translation of Vasquez' novel.
In 1995, when Bogotonian Antonio Yammara was 26 and a few years out of law school, he met two significant people who would transform him, and in some ways, one would destroy him. A few years later, he met someone else that he hoped would help heal him. This is a story about the presence of the past, PTSD, grief, lives falling apart, bodies falling soundlessly. It is a story of love and hope from on high, and the crumbling and dissolution of that love and hope, the profanity of it when it runs out of fuel.
Narrated by Yammara, the story is set against the backdrop of Colombian history, from the sixties through the nineties, during the ruthless, violent years of drug trafficking and drug wars. The story focuses on Yammara and the people in his life, and one tragic event that made time stand still for him while the rest of the world moved on. He witnessed a casual friend, Ricardo Laverde, an ex-pilot and ex-convict, killed in the streets of Bogotá. Antonio was also severely injured. This event consumed him, and he was unable to focus on his family--the woman, Aura, he had met and romanced during the same year as he met Laverde, and the baby they had together shortly afterward.
What happens next is a journey to the past--Laverde's past--one that Yammara is compelled to understand. He follows a cassette tape to the Magdelena Valley, to Laverde's daughter, another walking wounded of Colombia's history, who is also stuck in time by previous events. Together, they attempt to fill in the missing pieces of Laverde's history, with the hope of liberating them both from the prison of pain and trauma.
Narrated with eloquence, intimacy, and warmth, Vasquez' story resonates with a heartbreaking lyricism and poetry that captivated me from the opening pages. I am drawn to stories about time and memory, and about the past events that damage us and paradoxically heal us through our shared connections.
My hat's off to Annie McLean, who did a superb translation of Vasquez' novel.
April 26, 2021
4.5*
"...τα πράγματα στα σκοτεινά φαντάζουν πιο μεγάλα ή πιο σοβαρά, οι αρρώστιες πιο ολέθριες, η παρουσία του κακού πιο κοντινή, η αδιαφορία πιο έντονη, η μοναξιά πιο βαθιά. Γι' αυτό μας αρέσει να κοιμόμαστε με κάποιον συντροφιά..."
Πολύ μου άρεσε αυτό το βιβλίο. Γλυκό, μελαγχολικό, γεμάτο ακυρωμένες ζωές και όνειρα που έσβησαν.
"...τα πράγματα στα σκοτεινά φαντάζουν πιο μεγάλα ή πιο σοβαρά, οι αρρώστιες πιο ολέθριες, η παρουσία του κακού πιο κοντινή, η αδιαφορία πιο έντονη, η μοναξιά πιο βαθιά. Γι' αυτό μας αρέσει να κοιμόμαστε με κάποιον συντροφιά..."
Πολύ μου άρεσε αυτό το βιβλίο. Γλυκό, μελαγχολικό, γεμάτο ακυρωμένες ζωές και όνειρα που έσβησαν.
September 22, 2016
Εντάξει! Πολύ χαίρομαι που δεν το παράτησα το βιβλίο! Ενώ με κούρασε πολύ στην αρχή, στην πορεία συνήθισα τον τρόπο γραφής και απογειώθηκα για ένα ταξιδάκι μέχρι την Κολομβία. Βιβλίο γεμάτο εικόνες καθημερινότητας στη μακρινή χώρα που συνδιάζονται και με καταστάσεις και γεγονότα των πρωταγωνιστών. Να που μερικές φορές ο ψυχαναγκασμός που με διακρίνει να μην αντέχω να αφήσω βιβλίο ατελείωτο, μου βγήκε σε καλό!
July 25, 2013
My, oh my – what an incredible novel. This is the kind of novel that made me brush everything aside and read voraciously, devouring every single word and dreading arriving at the end. Yes, it’s that good!
Set in Bogota, Colombia, our narrator, Antonio, becomes twinned to an enigmatic and shadowy ex-pilot named Ricardo Laverde, whom he meets in a Bogota billiard hall. Ricardo has been imprisoned for many years for unknown reasons. (The refrain is: “He must have done something.”) Antonio is with Ricardo during a drive-by motorbike shooting that ends one life and destroys the other.
What follows is one of the most harrowing descriptions of PTSD I’ve read as Antonio lives in terror of everything. The only salvation for him is to uncover the facts behind the life of the mysterious “ghosted” Ricardo and Colombia’s ignoble past.
That is only the early foundation of this book. It touches on many themes: the tentacles of the drug business in Colombia and how one person’s actions have a boomerang effect on so many others. How it feels to live with a “terrible awareness of my vulnerability” – where planes fall from the sky, where bullets fell the innocent, where memories burst out of nowhere to transform and paralyze those who live through it.
As Antonio reflects on the unsuspected intensity of his memories, which are “just now beginning to emerge like an object falling from the sky”, he thinks: “My contaminated life was mine alone: my family was still safe: safe from the plague of my country, from its afflicted recent history: safe from what had hunted me down along with so many of my generation (and others, too, yes, but most of all mine, the generation that was born with planes, with the flights full of bags and the bags of marijuana, the generation that was born with the War on Drugs and later experienced the consequence).”
I must note that Mr. Vasquez does not place the drug war as front-and-center of his book; rather, his purpose is to display how things fall apart in a world that forces good people to relinquish their own power. As we fall out of the sky, only redemptive love can save us. By the end of the book, I had tears in my eyes from the sheer power of the writing. Kudos to Anne McLean for a beautiful translation of a must-read book.
Set in Bogota, Colombia, our narrator, Antonio, becomes twinned to an enigmatic and shadowy ex-pilot named Ricardo Laverde, whom he meets in a Bogota billiard hall. Ricardo has been imprisoned for many years for unknown reasons. (The refrain is: “He must have done something.”) Antonio is with Ricardo during a drive-by motorbike shooting that ends one life and destroys the other.
What follows is one of the most harrowing descriptions of PTSD I’ve read as Antonio lives in terror of everything. The only salvation for him is to uncover the facts behind the life of the mysterious “ghosted” Ricardo and Colombia’s ignoble past.
That is only the early foundation of this book. It touches on many themes: the tentacles of the drug business in Colombia and how one person’s actions have a boomerang effect on so many others. How it feels to live with a “terrible awareness of my vulnerability” – where planes fall from the sky, where bullets fell the innocent, where memories burst out of nowhere to transform and paralyze those who live through it.
As Antonio reflects on the unsuspected intensity of his memories, which are “just now beginning to emerge like an object falling from the sky”, he thinks: “My contaminated life was mine alone: my family was still safe: safe from the plague of my country, from its afflicted recent history: safe from what had hunted me down along with so many of my generation (and others, too, yes, but most of all mine, the generation that was born with planes, with the flights full of bags and the bags of marijuana, the generation that was born with the War on Drugs and later experienced the consequence).”
I must note that Mr. Vasquez does not place the drug war as front-and-center of his book; rather, his purpose is to display how things fall apart in a world that forces good people to relinquish their own power. As we fall out of the sky, only redemptive love can save us. By the end of the book, I had tears in my eyes from the sheer power of the writing. Kudos to Anne McLean for a beautiful translation of a must-read book.
February 7, 2014
Me quedé con sentimientos encontrados. Por un lado, Vásquez parece escribir sin esfuerzo, cosa que hace que me encante, y me envuelva con lo que sea, le creo y no hay mucho más que decir cuando eso sucede con un autor. Porque hay muchos autores a los que lees, y casi puedes escuchar el esfuerzo, las ideas saliendo a cuenta gotas, las páginas que se quedan a medias porque tuvo que empezar otra vez. Pero con el no se siente así, parece flotar por encima de los esfuerzos que se sienten en un primer o segundo libro, de un escritor buscando su voz. Pero por otro lado hay cosas que me parecen medio clichés, digo, en serio? una gringa que trabaja en peace corps? Eso no me convenció mucho, todo un personaje que ademas es importante en la historia. Pero todo lo demás sí me gustó mucho. La historia de la huella que deja algo como el narcotráfico, del miedo, porque es mucho sobre el miedo esta historia, y eso es algo con lo que más de uno, ya seamos colombianos, o mexicanos, o venezolanos, nos podemos entender. Así que aunque cojea por algunos detalles de la historia, para mi, igual es un libro con momentos hermosos, con un narrador que claramente tiene una voz propia, al que sí pienso seguir leyendo.
December 12, 2016
Είχα καιρό να παρασυρθώ τόσο όμορφα, σχεδόν νοσταλγικά από μία αφήγηση...η ανάγνωση κυλάει εύκολα, ομαλά και ευχάριστα. Η γραφή του Vasquez σε μεταφέρει από τις πρώτες σελίδες στο κλίμα της Κολομβίας, στο μεγάλο υψόμετρο με την έλλειψη οξυγόνου και την αποπνικτική ατμόσφαιρα, ενώ η ιστορία εκτυλίσσεται με φόντο τον μόνιμα μουντό και γκρίζο ουρανό της Μπογκοτά. Μέσα από την αφήγηση της ζωής του πρωταγωνιστή φανερώνονται στον αναγνώστη σημαντικές στιγμές της κολομβιανής ιστορίας και παράλληλα μεταφέρεται ρεαλιστικά το σκηνικό και η επικρατούσα ατμόσφαιρα με τα αποτυπώματα του πολέμου και της τρομοκρατίας χαραγμένα στους δρόμους της χώρας. Ένα βιβλίο που συνενώνει σε μία μόνο στιγμή παρελθόν, παρόν και μέλλον...αναμνήσεις, γεγονότα και όνειρα.
"και λέω μέσα μου πως είμαστε πιόνια της παρούσας στιγμής, ίσως γιατί το παρόν δεν υπάρχει πραγματικά...όλα είναι ανάμνηση..."
"και λέω μέσα μου πως είμαστε πιόνια της παρούσας στιγμής, ίσως γιατί το παρόν δεν υπάρχει πραγματικά...όλα είναι ανάμνηση..."
December 15, 2020
تازگی کشف کردم چقدر از قلم نویسنده های آمریکای جنوبی لذت میبرم و جذابن برام.
Read
April 11, 2019A history of Colombia in plane crashes
Please don't try to nail me down on this one, because I read it in a complete fug, brought on by a combination of over-indulgence and lack of sleep (the changeover to Summer Time). But as a book to read under such circumstances, it was perfect. Fast-paced, intriguing, frequent changes of scene to prevent boredom, but not so many as to cause confusion, and all combined with a feeling that you were actually learning something, something really quite worthwhile, some history, some insights into love and relationships and a drug economy. I really enjoyed it.
Keep it handy for your next hungover Sunday.
Please don't try to nail me down on this one, because I read it in a complete fug, brought on by a combination of over-indulgence and lack of sleep (the changeover to Summer Time). But as a book to read under such circumstances, it was perfect. Fast-paced, intriguing, frequent changes of scene to prevent boredom, but not so many as to cause confusion, and all combined with a feeling that you were actually learning something, something really quite worthwhile, some history, some insights into love and relationships and a drug economy. I really enjoyed it.
Keep it handy for your next hungover Sunday.
November 10, 2025
¿De qué habla este libro? De superar los miedos, los traumas, de lo complejo que resulta integrarse en el mundo, en la sociedad tras un hecho traumático.
Juan Gabriel Vásquez es un escritor de oficio que nos cuenta una buena historia, habrá que seguirlo. Un terreno muy trabajado en su Colombia natal, pero ¿qué escritor colombiano no habla de los años del narco y el terrorismo? es un tema literario tan recurrente como puede ser aquí en España la Guerra Civil Española, o en Alemania el nacismo, o en Argentina los años de dictadura; no valoro la cuestión como una reiteración en la temática, sino que esté bien tratado, bien contado, y aquí lo está.
Crea personajes que resultan creíbles para narrarnos un momento muy inicial del narco en Colombia y el desconocimiento general sobre esas nuevas plantaciones y cultivos, propiciados en su origen en muchas ocasiones por ONG´s como salida económica para zonas desfavorecidas rurales, sin imaginar las consecuencias de la creación de esos mega imperios económicos, por no hablar del sometimiento de regiones y países enteros al poder del narco.
“(…) pensar en la oscuridad no es conveniente: las cosas parecen más grandes o más graves en la oscuridad, las enfermedades más destructivas, la presencia del mal más cercana, el desamor más intenso, la soledad más profunda. Por eso queremos tener a alguien para dormir”.
Juan Gabriel Vásquez es un escritor de oficio que nos cuenta una buena historia, habrá que seguirlo. Un terreno muy trabajado en su Colombia natal, pero ¿qué escritor colombiano no habla de los años del narco y el terrorismo? es un tema literario tan recurrente como puede ser aquí en España la Guerra Civil Española, o en Alemania el nacismo, o en Argentina los años de dictadura; no valoro la cuestión como una reiteración en la temática, sino que esté bien tratado, bien contado, y aquí lo está.
Crea personajes que resultan creíbles para narrarnos un momento muy inicial del narco en Colombia y el desconocimiento general sobre esas nuevas plantaciones y cultivos, propiciados en su origen en muchas ocasiones por ONG´s como salida económica para zonas desfavorecidas rurales, sin imaginar las consecuencias de la creación de esos mega imperios económicos, por no hablar del sometimiento de regiones y países enteros al poder del narco.
“(…) pensar en la oscuridad no es conveniente: las cosas parecen más grandes o más graves en la oscuridad, las enfermedades más destructivas, la presencia del mal más cercana, el desamor más intenso, la soledad más profunda. Por eso queremos tener a alguien para dormir”.
April 11, 2021
"Ετσι έβαλα μπρος αυτή την αφήγηση. Δεν ξέρω σε τι μας χρησιμεύει το να θυμόμαστε, τι καλό μας κάνει ή πώς μπορεί να μας βασανίζει, ούτε πως γίνεται ν αλλάξουν όσα έχουμε ζήσει με το να τα θυμόμαστε, αλλά η ανάμνησή του πήρε για μένα τον χαρακτήρα του επείγοντος"
Θα συμφωνήσω: Βιβλιάρα, όπως με προιδέασε κι ο φίλος μου ο Φοιβος.
Οι Λατινοαμερικάνοι έχουν αυτή τη βαριά λογοτεχνική κληρονομιά, η οποία είναι και μετάλλιο και βάρος. Είναι δύσκολο να 'σαι συγγραφέας Κολομβιανός, γιατί αναμετριέσαι με Ιερά Τέρατα.
Αυτό, μπορεί να είναι κι αποθαρρυντικό, αλλά μπορεί και να σε πεισμώσει.
Το επιχείρημα του Βάσκες εδω φαίνεται να πετυχαίνει.
Η ιστορια ειναι μια πλεξούδα της Ιστοριας της Μπογοτά συνυφασμένη με την ιστορία των ανθρώπων της Μπογκοτά. Η ιστορια της πολης και ο αντικτυπος της επανω στις ζωές των καθημερινων ανθρωπων, ο απόηχος των ανθρωπων όταν σηκωνονται κι όταν πέφτουν - το πως μια ταραχώδης χωρα, μια ταραχωδης πολη προκαλει και συνεπαγεται μια ταραχωδη ζωή στο κάθε individual.
Οι ιστοριες των ανθρωπων περιπλεκονται συμπτωματικά ή και μοιραία, μ' εναν τρόπο υπέροχα φυσικό και απολύτως πιστευτό, καθως η ζωή φτιάχνει τα πιο ομορφα σεναρια.
Η γραφή του Βάσκες σε παρασέρνει, ελαφρια σαν αερας αλλοτε, και βαριά και δύσκολη σαν να βρισκεσαι ξαφνικά στο μάτι καταιγίδας. Αλλά δε θελεις και να βγείς. Θα ερθει μονη της η λιακάδα και θα ψιυθρίσει ξανά λογια λογοτεχνίας, υπέροχες λέξεις στη σειρά που φτιάχνουν εικόνες, κόσμους ολοκληρωμένους, απο την αστική σαρδελοποίηση μιας θορυβωδους πόλης εως τον βουκολικό παράδεισο της υπαιθριας χασιέντας, με τον τρόπο που μας τ αφηγήθηκε η Αλιέντε στο Επουρανιο Σχέδιο κι όπως μας παραμύθιασε ο Μάρκες.
Απο μένα ειναι ναι.
'Αλλη μια εξαιρετική στιγμή της Λατινοαμερικάνικης Κουλτουρας και η σημαντική συμβολή της στον κόσμο.
+έξτρα ειδική συγχαρητηρια μνεια στην εξαιρετική μετάφραση του Αχιλλέα Κυριακίδη που κάνει το κείμενο να κυλάει σαν πρωτότυπο, και να μη σκοτνάφτει πουθενά. Ειμαστε τυχεροι στην Ελλάδα να εχουμε τέτοιους υπέροχους μεταφραστές.
________________________
"Aκούγεται μια κοφτή κραυγή ή κάτι που μοιάζει με κραυγή.
Ακούγεται ένας ήχος που δεν μπορώ, που ποτέ δεν μπόρεσα να ταυτοποιήσω: ένας ήχος που δεν είναι ανθρώπινος, ο ήχος από ζωές που χάνονται, αλλά και ο ήχος από υλικά που σπάνε. Είναι ο ήχος των πραγμάτων όταν πέφτουν από ψηλά, ένας ήχος διακεκομμένος και εξ αυτού αέναος, ένας ήχος που δεν τελειώνει ποτέ, που συνεχίζει να βοά στο κεφάλι μου από εκείνο το απόγευμα και δε λέει να φύγει, που αιωρείται στη μνήμη μου για πάντα, κρεμασμένος πάνω της σαν πετσέτα στην κρεμάστρα"
November 10, 2025
No todos los libros te pegan en la cara, algunos te meten una bala que se queda dando vueltas dentro, zumbando en tu pecho, atravesando habitaciones, décadas, hasta llegar a donde creías que eras invulnerable. El ruido de las cosas al caer no es ruido; es vibración constante. Un eco viejo que no sabes si llega del futuro o de tu infancia. Y ahí, justo ahí, empiezas a entender el terreno minado donde vas a caminar.
La historia arranca con una noticia que cualquiera podría pasar por alto, como tantas tragedias pequeñas que circulan por las calles de Bogotá. Pero esta no es una historia cualquiera, ni es una ciudad cualquiera, ni mucho menos una época inocente. El narrador —Antonio Yammara, profesor universitario, atrapado entre el azar y el miedo, con la mirada de quien lleva la reflexión como hábito— se cruza con un personaje tan opaco como fascinante, Ricardo Laverde, un tipo con un pasado que nadie —pero sobre todo él mismo— quiere recordar. “Mire Yammara,” le dice Laverde al principio, con voz pausada pero firme, “yo mi vida no se la cuento a cualquiera. No confunda el billar con la amistad, hágame el favor”.
Ese encuentro —aparentemente trivial, casi casual— lo arrastra a una investigación íntima donde lo personal y lo político se entrelazan. Y no porque Antonio quiera ser detective, sino porque necesita entender qué fue lo que estalló cuando todo se rompió. Lo que parecía una anécdota marginal termina abriendo una grieta por la que se cuela todo un país, sus traumas, sus pactos de silencio, sus heridas sin cerrar, los nombres que ya nadie se atreve a pronunciar y sus cadáveres anónimos que siguen esperando respuestas —y que en la boca de Maya se resumen con una frase lapidaria, que golpea más que cualquier verdad: “Algo habrá hecho”—. Y aunque la novela evita el morbo fácil, lo que queda claro es que aquí no se salva ni el lenguaje.
Porque si algo sabe hacer Vásquez es desmontar la frase limpia para que te corte sin aviso. Hay una precisión melancólica en su prosa, como si escribiera con la voz quebrada. Cada frase parece medida al milímetro, pero no para lucirse —no hay fuegos artificiales aquí—, sino para que duela justo donde tiene que doler. Y lo hace con una estructura que se pliega y despliega como un acordeón: presente y pasado dialogan, se interrumpen, se contaminan. El narrador, por su parte, no es un guía confiable ni lo pretende. Es un hombre herido que busca sentido donde solo hay escombros. No es que intente reconstruir la historia de Laverde: intenta reconstruirse a sí mismo, aunque sospeche que ya es tarde.
Y aquí viene lo que suele estropearle la fiesta a cualquier intento de épica: la novela no se convierte en panfleto ni en espectáculo. Las sombras de la violencia y el silencio no se exhiben como un show, sino que se instalan como una herencia maldita, un tatuaje invisible que no pediste pero que te marca para siempre. Esa es la Colombia de los 90 que Vásquez pone sobre la mesa: un cóctel letal de miedo, desconfianza y vidas que se quedaron en la cuneta. Pero lo que realmente importa no es el país de los titulares, sino la cicatriz que deja dentro de quienes lo vivieron: la imposibilidad de una vida normal que nunca llegó.
Porque lo que Vásquez desnuda aquí es mucho más que el retrato de un país quebrado o una época perdida. Es un examen brutal de cómo la memoria, el miedo y el silencio pueden convertirse en cárceles invisibles. La novela no solo habla de lo que pasó, sino de lo que queda: las heridas que no cicatrizan, la culpa que se hereda, la fragilidad de las verdades que intentamos sostener para no hundirnos. Porque en este relato el tiempo no es lineal ni redentor, sino un ciclo de caídas que se repiten, de ecos que vuelven para recordarnos que, a veces, el mayor ruido es el que queda cuando todo se derrumba en silencio.
Y en medio de ese paisaje marcado por el silencio y la desconfianza, aparecen personajes que parecen sacados de otros mapas literarios. Ricardo Laverde, por ejemplo, tiene ese aire de un cuento de Onetti, mezcla de derrota y misterio, pero también es como un Gatsby tropical, un tipo cuya historia le quedó demasiado grande. Sin embargo, no es él el centro emocional del libro, sino lo que provoca. Su caída es el detonante de otra caída, más silenciosa, más existencial: la del propio narrador. Porque, como sugiere el título, lo que más pesa no es el cuerpo al caer, sino el estruendo invisible que deja.
Pero no todo en esta historia es ese eco pesado que arrastra el pasado; también hay destellos de humanidad frágil y profunda. Maya Fritts, uno de los personajes más interesantes de la novela, lanza una frase que te deja clavado: “Lo más triste que puede pasarle a una persona es tener recuerdos de mentira”. Esa verdad no dicha, ese eco de memoria rota, atraviesa la novela. Porque si algo pesa más que la violencia o el miedo, es vivir atrapado en un pasado que no es tuyo o que nunca fue como creíste. Y es ahí donde Vásquez evita con elegancia el melodrama y se adentra en algo m��s difícil de nombrar: el daño real, el que duele en el silencio de la conciencia. Un silencio donde también habita el miedo, el otro protagonista de la novela, ese compañero sigiloso que no produce un ruido estridente, sino que se cuela en la rutina, se mete en los pliegues del día a día hasta que terminas por acostumbrarte a él.
Y todo eso, claro, no funcionaría sin una voz narrativa que sostenga la tensión sin necesidad de levantar la voz. Vásquez se mueve —con más claridad que densidad, que no cunda el pánico— en esa línea que recuerda a Sebald o a Faulkner, no por lo críptico, sino por la manera en que organiza la memoria como si fuera un rompecabezas emocional más que una cronología. Y si has leído Los informantes o Historia secreta de Costaguana, sabrás que este es un tema que le obsesiona: cómo lo íntimo y lo político se contaminan, cómo la historia con mayúsculas termina filtrándose en las pequeñas derrotas domésticas. Pero aquí lo lleva más lejos, con un pulso narrativo que no decae ni siquiera cuando la acción se detiene. Porque esta no es una novela de acción: es una novela de consecuencias.
Quizá por eso recuerda, por momentos, a El año del pensamiento mágico de Didion, en esa forma de narrar la pérdida como un archivo incompleto. O a Desgracia de Coetzee, en la manera en que los personajes se enfrentan a lo irremediable con una mezcla de resignación y lucidez. Pero también hay algo de Bolaño aquí, en la sensación de que debajo de cada historia hay otra historia, y debajo de esa otra, un pozo sin fondo.
Pero si al leer El ruido de las cosas al caer te viene a la cabeza Javier Marías, no estás desvariando. Hay algo —o mucho— de Marías aquí. Antonio Yammara, como tantos narradores maríasianos, está atrapado en su propia conciencia. Reflexiona más de lo que actúa, reconstruye obsesivamente los hechos, duda, teoriza, repiensa. Esa narración en espiral, que vuelve una y otra vez sobre el mismo punto desde ángulos distintos, es marca de la casa en novelas como Corazón tan blanco o Mañana en la batalla piensa en mí.
Y es que tanto Vásquez como Marías construyen ficciones donde el presente está contaminado por lo que no se ha dicho, lo que se ha ocultado o lo que no se ha entendido del todo. La historia con H mayúscula —la posguerra y las heridas no cerradas en Marías, el pasado reciente de Colombia en Vásquez— no aparece como telón de fondo, sino como una presencia espectral que moldea a los personajes incluso cuando creen estar al margen. Y, como en esas dos novelas de Marías, aquí también hay algo que nunca termina de aclararse del todo. Las certezas se evaporan, los juicios se suspenden, y el lector acaba habitando esa zona gris donde las preguntas importan más que las respuestas.
Y sin embargo, lo que hace que El ruido de las cosas al caer destaque no es su ambición temática ni su precisión estilística —que las tiene—, sino algo más esquivo: su capacidad para dejarte tocado. No impresionado. No entretenido. Tocado. Como si al cerrar el libro tuvieras que hacer algo con ese zumbido que se te quedó dentro. Algo que no sabes si viene del pasado o de lo que está por llegar. Pero que ya no te deja en paz.
Y sí, cinco estrellas. Cinco estrellas porque esto no es solo una gran novela: es una herida abierta que se deja leer. Porque pocas veces una historia logra combinar tanta lucidez, tanta melancolía y tanta potencia sin caer en el drama fácil ni en la lección moral. Porque cuando un libro te deja pensando en lo que callamos, lo que heredamos y lo que no sabremos nunca, no puedes ponerle menos. Y porque, al terminarlo, no estás igual que cuando lo empezaste. Y eso, al final, es lo que importa. Porque para eso leemos, ¿no?
La historia arranca con una noticia que cualquiera podría pasar por alto, como tantas tragedias pequeñas que circulan por las calles de Bogotá. Pero esta no es una historia cualquiera, ni es una ciudad cualquiera, ni mucho menos una época inocente. El narrador —Antonio Yammara, profesor universitario, atrapado entre el azar y el miedo, con la mirada de quien lleva la reflexión como hábito— se cruza con un personaje tan opaco como fascinante, Ricardo Laverde, un tipo con un pasado que nadie —pero sobre todo él mismo— quiere recordar. “Mire Yammara,” le dice Laverde al principio, con voz pausada pero firme, “yo mi vida no se la cuento a cualquiera. No confunda el billar con la amistad, hágame el favor”.
Ese encuentro —aparentemente trivial, casi casual— lo arrastra a una investigación íntima donde lo personal y lo político se entrelazan. Y no porque Antonio quiera ser detective, sino porque necesita entender qué fue lo que estalló cuando todo se rompió. Lo que parecía una anécdota marginal termina abriendo una grieta por la que se cuela todo un país, sus traumas, sus pactos de silencio, sus heridas sin cerrar, los nombres que ya nadie se atreve a pronunciar y sus cadáveres anónimos que siguen esperando respuestas —y que en la boca de Maya se resumen con una frase lapidaria, que golpea más que cualquier verdad: “Algo habrá hecho”—. Y aunque la novela evita el morbo fácil, lo que queda claro es que aquí no se salva ni el lenguaje.
Porque si algo sabe hacer Vásquez es desmontar la frase limpia para que te corte sin aviso. Hay una precisión melancólica en su prosa, como si escribiera con la voz quebrada. Cada frase parece medida al milímetro, pero no para lucirse —no hay fuegos artificiales aquí—, sino para que duela justo donde tiene que doler. Y lo hace con una estructura que se pliega y despliega como un acordeón: presente y pasado dialogan, se interrumpen, se contaminan. El narrador, por su parte, no es un guía confiable ni lo pretende. Es un hombre herido que busca sentido donde solo hay escombros. No es que intente reconstruir la historia de Laverde: intenta reconstruirse a sí mismo, aunque sospeche que ya es tarde.
Y aquí viene lo que suele estropearle la fiesta a cualquier intento de épica: la novela no se convierte en panfleto ni en espectáculo. Las sombras de la violencia y el silencio no se exhiben como un show, sino que se instalan como una herencia maldita, un tatuaje invisible que no pediste pero que te marca para siempre. Esa es la Colombia de los 90 que Vásquez pone sobre la mesa: un cóctel letal de miedo, desconfianza y vidas que se quedaron en la cuneta. Pero lo que realmente importa no es el país de los titulares, sino la cicatriz que deja dentro de quienes lo vivieron: la imposibilidad de una vida normal que nunca llegó.
Porque lo que Vásquez desnuda aquí es mucho más que el retrato de un país quebrado o una época perdida. Es un examen brutal de cómo la memoria, el miedo y el silencio pueden convertirse en cárceles invisibles. La novela no solo habla de lo que pasó, sino de lo que queda: las heridas que no cicatrizan, la culpa que se hereda, la fragilidad de las verdades que intentamos sostener para no hundirnos. Porque en este relato el tiempo no es lineal ni redentor, sino un ciclo de caídas que se repiten, de ecos que vuelven para recordarnos que, a veces, el mayor ruido es el que queda cuando todo se derrumba en silencio.
Y en medio de ese paisaje marcado por el silencio y la desconfianza, aparecen personajes que parecen sacados de otros mapas literarios. Ricardo Laverde, por ejemplo, tiene ese aire de un cuento de Onetti, mezcla de derrota y misterio, pero también es como un Gatsby tropical, un tipo cuya historia le quedó demasiado grande. Sin embargo, no es él el centro emocional del libro, sino lo que provoca. Su caída es el detonante de otra caída, más silenciosa, más existencial: la del propio narrador. Porque, como sugiere el título, lo que más pesa no es el cuerpo al caer, sino el estruendo invisible que deja.
Pero no todo en esta historia es ese eco pesado que arrastra el pasado; también hay destellos de humanidad frágil y profunda. Maya Fritts, uno de los personajes más interesantes de la novela, lanza una frase que te deja clavado: “Lo más triste que puede pasarle a una persona es tener recuerdos de mentira”. Esa verdad no dicha, ese eco de memoria rota, atraviesa la novela. Porque si algo pesa más que la violencia o el miedo, es vivir atrapado en un pasado que no es tuyo o que nunca fue como creíste. Y es ahí donde Vásquez evita con elegancia el melodrama y se adentra en algo m��s difícil de nombrar: el daño real, el que duele en el silencio de la conciencia. Un silencio donde también habita el miedo, el otro protagonista de la novela, ese compañero sigiloso que no produce un ruido estridente, sino que se cuela en la rutina, se mete en los pliegues del día a día hasta que terminas por acostumbrarte a él.
Y todo eso, claro, no funcionaría sin una voz narrativa que sostenga la tensión sin necesidad de levantar la voz. Vásquez se mueve —con más claridad que densidad, que no cunda el pánico— en esa línea que recuerda a Sebald o a Faulkner, no por lo críptico, sino por la manera en que organiza la memoria como si fuera un rompecabezas emocional más que una cronología. Y si has leído Los informantes o Historia secreta de Costaguana, sabrás que este es un tema que le obsesiona: cómo lo íntimo y lo político se contaminan, cómo la historia con mayúsculas termina filtrándose en las pequeñas derrotas domésticas. Pero aquí lo lleva más lejos, con un pulso narrativo que no decae ni siquiera cuando la acción se detiene. Porque esta no es una novela de acción: es una novela de consecuencias.
Quizá por eso recuerda, por momentos, a El año del pensamiento mágico de Didion, en esa forma de narrar la pérdida como un archivo incompleto. O a Desgracia de Coetzee, en la manera en que los personajes se enfrentan a lo irremediable con una mezcla de resignación y lucidez. Pero también hay algo de Bolaño aquí, en la sensación de que debajo de cada historia hay otra historia, y debajo de esa otra, un pozo sin fondo.
Pero si al leer El ruido de las cosas al caer te viene a la cabeza Javier Marías, no estás desvariando. Hay algo —o mucho— de Marías aquí. Antonio Yammara, como tantos narradores maríasianos, está atrapado en su propia conciencia. Reflexiona más de lo que actúa, reconstruye obsesivamente los hechos, duda, teoriza, repiensa. Esa narración en espiral, que vuelve una y otra vez sobre el mismo punto desde ángulos distintos, es marca de la casa en novelas como Corazón tan blanco o Mañana en la batalla piensa en mí.
Y es que tanto Vásquez como Marías construyen ficciones donde el presente está contaminado por lo que no se ha dicho, lo que se ha ocultado o lo que no se ha entendido del todo. La historia con H mayúscula —la posguerra y las heridas no cerradas en Marías, el pasado reciente de Colombia en Vásquez— no aparece como telón de fondo, sino como una presencia espectral que moldea a los personajes incluso cuando creen estar al margen. Y, como en esas dos novelas de Marías, aquí también hay algo que nunca termina de aclararse del todo. Las certezas se evaporan, los juicios se suspenden, y el lector acaba habitando esa zona gris donde las preguntas importan más que las respuestas.
Y sin embargo, lo que hace que El ruido de las cosas al caer destaque no es su ambición temática ni su precisión estilística —que las tiene—, sino algo más esquivo: su capacidad para dejarte tocado. No impresionado. No entretenido. Tocado. Como si al cerrar el libro tuvieras que hacer algo con ese zumbido que se te quedó dentro. Algo que no sabes si viene del pasado o de lo que está por llegar. Pero que ya no te deja en paz.
Y sí, cinco estrellas. Cinco estrellas porque esto no es solo una gran novela: es una herida abierta que se deja leer. Porque pocas veces una historia logra combinar tanta lucidez, tanta melancolía y tanta potencia sin caer en el drama fácil ni en la lección moral. Porque cuando un libro te deja pensando en lo que callamos, lo que heredamos y lo que no sabremos nunca, no puedes ponerle menos. Y porque, al terminarlo, no estás igual que cuando lo empezaste. Y eso, al final, es lo que importa. Porque para eso leemos, ¿no?
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