In this exceptional book-an attempt at what Jorge Luis Borges has called ‘the pure detective story’ - one of the greatest writers of Latin American letters is introduced to American readers for the first time. The book’s opening gambit is a stunning one: a dictator is assassinated in public, but it is soon revealed that the murdered man was a double. The real leader had been killed the night before. On the surface the question is: did the assassin know that he was after the wrong man? But later events seem to distort all sense of logic and reality, until in the final moment the circuitous routes of the labyrinth seem to straighten into a short and too inevitable line. Jorge Luis Borges has remarked in his introduction to this book that there abound, ‘as in the work of the renowned Dostoevsky, shrewd interrogations and treacherous dialogues; the spheres of the search and of what is sought are interwoven and become confused. We experience the melancholy that is the attribute of any dictatorship, the systematic oppression of stupidity, but also mockery and courage. I do not hesitate to declare that Manuel Peyrou is one of the first storytellers of Hispanic letters.’. .
First published in 1948, the Argentinian writer Manuel Peyrou's novel Thunder of the Roses satirizes dictatorships in the immediate wake of the Third Reich, while at the same time unspooling a hypnotic detective story of epic proportions. These two threads, the satire and the mystery, are so finely entwined that one cannot be separated from the other. Character depth runs deep from the top tier to the most minor supportive roles. There is love, humor, suspense, and drama. Peyrou crafted a near-perfect novel, and if you don't believe me, Jorge Luis Borges himself says as much in his introduction. Highly recommended (and deserving of a reissue!).
Less a true detective novel than a genre mutation concerning itself with constant expansion and transformation of its plot, with layers of conspiracy, false confession, and conflicting accounts all creating a universe of possibility where any carefully constructed narrative can be up-ended at any moment. This works against the in-the-moment pleasures of a mystery or suspense plot, but much more in favor of the meta-pleasures of storytelling, and so many of the digressions and misdirections are splendid in their own right: essays on Hamlet, strange confidences, a particularly wonderful bit about regional mythologies as a kind of chamber of echoes. Unsurprising only in that Manuel Peyrou was friends with Borges. All else is a constant delight of the unexpected.
Full of despicable characters, with a plot that revolves around figuring out who committed the murder(s), this book is written beautifully. Since Manuel Peyton is an Argentine novelist, I expected the novel to take place there, but it unfolds in a fictional dictatorship. Lots of intrigue! But also much meditation about the nature of a detective story. It is easy to see why this is considered a classic.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
This deserves a modern translation/publication, the fact that it's a detective novel is deceiving as it's a labyrinthine maze of a story that clearly stands on it's own in the rich world of 1950's Argentinian literature. Very entertaining as well.
Este libro es víctima de esa fastidiosa corriente de publicidad editorial que se basa en contarnos lo bueno que es un libro en vez de resumirnos su historia. La contraportada se complace en explicarnos lo bien que escribe el autor y lo importante que es esta obra. Por el contrario, supongamos que dijera "Año 1942. Félix, un escritor de novela policíaca, asesina de un tiro al dictador de su país. Sin embargo, cuando es detenido, le informan de que ha matado a un doble: en realidad, el dictador murió la noche anterior, también asesinado, presumiblemente por un correligionario de Félix. Ahora Félix estará obligado a buscar al asesino entre sus amigos". ¡Tendríamos muchas más ganas de leerla!
Luego la novela en sí no es gran cosa. Es algo artificiosa, el final se ve venir de lejos y hay demasiados giros poco creíbles hasta llegar a él. Pero un rato entretenido me ha dado.