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False War
An ambitious, panoptic novel about exile as both condition and state of being by a major young Cuban writer
The characters in False War are ambivalent castaways living lives of deep estrangement from their home country, stranded in an existential no-man’s land. Some of them want to leave and can’t, others do leave but never quite get anywhere.
In this multivoiced novel, employing a dazzling range of narrative styles from noir to autofiction, Carlos Manuel Álvarez brings together the stories of many people from all walks of life through a series of interconnected daisy chains. From Havana to Mexico City to Miami, from New York to Paris to Berlin, whether toiling in a barber shop, roaring in Yankee Stadium, lost in the Louvre, intensely competing in a chess hall in Cuba, plotting a theft, or on a junket for émigré dissidents in Berlin, these characters learn that while they may seem to be on the move, in reality they are paralyzed, immersed in a fake war waged with little real passion.
The fractured narrative, filled with extraordinary portraits of ordinary people, reflects the disintegration that comes from being uprooted. At the same time it is full of tenderness, moments of joy and profound release. False War confirms Carlos Manuel Álvarez as one of the indispensable voices of his generation in Latin American letters.
The characters in False War are ambivalent castaways living lives of deep estrangement from their home country, stranded in an existential no-man’s land. Some of them want to leave and can’t, others do leave but never quite get anywhere.
In this multivoiced novel, employing a dazzling range of narrative styles from noir to autofiction, Carlos Manuel Álvarez brings together the stories of many people from all walks of life through a series of interconnected daisy chains. From Havana to Mexico City to Miami, from New York to Paris to Berlin, whether toiling in a barber shop, roaring in Yankee Stadium, lost in the Louvre, intensely competing in a chess hall in Cuba, plotting a theft, or on a junket for émigré dissidents in Berlin, these characters learn that while they may seem to be on the move, in reality they are paralyzed, immersed in a fake war waged with little real passion.
The fractured narrative, filled with extraordinary portraits of ordinary people, reflects the disintegration that comes from being uprooted. At the same time it is full of tenderness, moments of joy and profound release. False War confirms Carlos Manuel Álvarez as one of the indispensable voices of his generation in Latin American letters.
248 pages, Kindle Edition
Published November 4, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews
June 28, 2021
En esta su segunda novela, Álvarez te lleva a un viaje fuertísimo. No se siente como un viaje de placer, sino una huída. Si Los Caídos era una novela que sucedía en los interiores de una familia, este libro se mueve por Miami, Berlin, México, las salas del Louvre, La Habana. Es una novela de movimiento, te muestra personajes, historias distintas, pero no se queda en ninguna parte. Incluso me fascina que a momentos aparece el autor, hablando sobre ese libro que estás leyendo, que está escribiendo, como un viaje alucinado y feroz, en donde el tiempo no existe, y no sabes si estás en el presente o en el pasado de esa historia. Incluso el lenguaje va cambiando, a veces es mexicano, a veces es miami, a veces es inglés.
“Estoy escribiendo algo, dije entonces. ¿De nuevo? De nuevo, sí, va adelantado. ¿Lo necesitas? Parece, dije. ¿Qué es?, preguntó. ¿Acaso novela?, dije, retórico. Se echó hacia adelante en su asiento y pinchó un trozo de queso. ¿Autobiográfica? No, dije, para nada, hay muchos personajes, historias entrecruzadas, nada que ver. Ah, se lamentó, me hubiera gustado salir. Te buscaré un hueco, prometí, te lo mereces. Ninguno de los dos sabíamos lo que estábamos hablando, la verdad.”
Y la rabia. La rabia y la tristeza están al centro, aparecen como la goma que pega todo lo demás. Si Los Caídos no se movía, acá no deja de moverse. Pasan un montón de personajes, de historias distintas, pero son parte del viaje. Y momentos en donde toca lugares muy profundos y dolorosos:
"Quien se haya educado en aquel lugar no puede no haber conocido el sonido de la queja. No puede no haber curtido sus nervios y su temple en ese ruido de fondo. Su configuración sentimental no puede negar los efectos desoladores que tuvo en él o en ella esa cantinela interminable que chirriaba y que ya no se sabía bien de qué se trataba. Una trenza de hierro y servidumbre, un lamento cobarde y un repaso cansino de las cosas que faltaban y que no podíamos tener. El conocimiento, si había uno, se lo debía a la cólera. El odio venía porque no había a quién dirigir la queja, pues si todo el mundo se está quejando, si a toda hora todo el mundo se está quejando, ¿quién escucha? Y esa era la gran pregunta de aquellos años y de los años anteriores y posiblemente de estos también. ¿Quién escucha? Y la respuesta era una y la sabíamos. Nadie."
Me conmovió mucho, creo que te hace sentir lo que es tener que irte de tu lugar, en una balsa, o en un avión, y el saber que al salir eres un exiliado, un disidente, y que nunca podrás volver, o no será igual. Es muy fuerte y doloroso, un libro importante y hermoso. No me había tocado leer sobre Cuba de esta forma. Léanlo gente, no hay manera de quedarse indiferente.
“Estoy escribiendo algo, dije entonces. ¿De nuevo? De nuevo, sí, va adelantado. ¿Lo necesitas? Parece, dije. ¿Qué es?, preguntó. ¿Acaso novela?, dije, retórico. Se echó hacia adelante en su asiento y pinchó un trozo de queso. ¿Autobiográfica? No, dije, para nada, hay muchos personajes, historias entrecruzadas, nada que ver. Ah, se lamentó, me hubiera gustado salir. Te buscaré un hueco, prometí, te lo mereces. Ninguno de los dos sabíamos lo que estábamos hablando, la verdad.”
Y la rabia. La rabia y la tristeza están al centro, aparecen como la goma que pega todo lo demás. Si Los Caídos no se movía, acá no deja de moverse. Pasan un montón de personajes, de historias distintas, pero son parte del viaje. Y momentos en donde toca lugares muy profundos y dolorosos:
"Quien se haya educado en aquel lugar no puede no haber conocido el sonido de la queja. No puede no haber curtido sus nervios y su temple en ese ruido de fondo. Su configuración sentimental no puede negar los efectos desoladores que tuvo en él o en ella esa cantinela interminable que chirriaba y que ya no se sabía bien de qué se trataba. Una trenza de hierro y servidumbre, un lamento cobarde y un repaso cansino de las cosas que faltaban y que no podíamos tener. El conocimiento, si había uno, se lo debía a la cólera. El odio venía porque no había a quién dirigir la queja, pues si todo el mundo se está quejando, si a toda hora todo el mundo se está quejando, ¿quién escucha? Y esa era la gran pregunta de aquellos años y de los años anteriores y posiblemente de estos también. ¿Quién escucha? Y la respuesta era una y la sabíamos. Nadie."
Me conmovió mucho, creo que te hace sentir lo que es tener que irte de tu lugar, en una balsa, o en un avión, y el saber que al salir eres un exiliado, un disidente, y que nunca podrás volver, o no será igual. Es muy fuerte y doloroso, un libro importante y hermoso. No me había tocado leer sobre Cuba de esta forma. Léanlo gente, no hay manera de quedarse indiferente.
May 11, 2021
“Al parecer, la literatura no podía escribirse si no llevaba implícita la conciencia absoluta de que parecía ser siempre una fuerza que huía del sitio al que quería llegar, un cuerpo que salía en busca de un lugar en el que ya se encontraba y del que no tenía que haberse movido”.
Esta novela sobre el exilio y la emigración es como si hubiera explotado en su centro y sus historias fueran esquirlas de la metralla que centrífuga la miseria de la pesadilla cubana. Los caminos de sus personajes se entrecruzan casi como si fuera un milagro, porque sus vidas avanzan y retroceden en el tiempo en una novela no tiene ni principio ni fin.
En dos de las historias que están en el núcleo del libro dos de los personajes caminan por París y Berlín. Uno visita el Louvre y entre apabullado y divertido por la historia de la Humanidad que allí se ordena, termina en la que parece la última sala del museo, la única que parece tener solo una puerta de salida y de entrada, donde se arrinconan las piezas de arte “indígena” de África, América y Oceanía. El otro pasa unos días en Berlín invitado por una ONG de apoyo a los refugiados políticos y sube a cúpula del Reichstag y pregunta dónde ondearon la bandera roja los soviéticos cuando derrotaron a los nazis y ve a un manifestante bajo la puerta de Brabenburgo protestar contra los refugiados sirios. Ambos deambulan y realizan acciones que podrían confundirse con los de los turistas. Sin embargo, estos exiliados, todos los que aparece en este libro maravilloso, llevan a su país en su interior y todos juntos forman una nación infinitamente dispersa.
“No perteneces a un lugar hasta que no lo desprecias. Ese tipo de conexión íntima, irrevocable, me ofrecía la posibilidad de convertirme en un sujeto entero a partir de la rabia (...) Si llegaba a experimentar ese horror en todas partes, era señal de que había diluido la patria, pero también de que la había vuelto absoluta. El exilio era la extensión de un país, no su renuncia (...)”
Esta novela sobre el exilio y la emigración es como si hubiera explotado en su centro y sus historias fueran esquirlas de la metralla que centrífuga la miseria de la pesadilla cubana. Los caminos de sus personajes se entrecruzan casi como si fuera un milagro, porque sus vidas avanzan y retroceden en el tiempo en una novela no tiene ni principio ni fin.
En dos de las historias que están en el núcleo del libro dos de los personajes caminan por París y Berlín. Uno visita el Louvre y entre apabullado y divertido por la historia de la Humanidad que allí se ordena, termina en la que parece la última sala del museo, la única que parece tener solo una puerta de salida y de entrada, donde se arrinconan las piezas de arte “indígena” de África, América y Oceanía. El otro pasa unos días en Berlín invitado por una ONG de apoyo a los refugiados políticos y sube a cúpula del Reichstag y pregunta dónde ondearon la bandera roja los soviéticos cuando derrotaron a los nazis y ve a un manifestante bajo la puerta de Brabenburgo protestar contra los refugiados sirios. Ambos deambulan y realizan acciones que podrían confundirse con los de los turistas. Sin embargo, estos exiliados, todos los que aparece en este libro maravilloso, llevan a su país en su interior y todos juntos forman una nación infinitamente dispersa.
“No perteneces a un lugar hasta que no lo desprecias. Ese tipo de conexión íntima, irrevocable, me ofrecía la posibilidad de convertirme en un sujeto entero a partir de la rabia (...) Si llegaba a experimentar ese horror en todas partes, era señal de que había diluido la patria, pero también de que la había vuelto absoluta. El exilio era la extensión de un país, no su renuncia (...)”
November 5, 2022
In questo suo secondo romanzo, Carlos Manuel Álvarez conferma la sua bravura di scrittore "corale".
Già con "Cadere", https://www.goodreads.com/review/show..., Álvarez aveva intrecciato più voci per parlare della caduta di un Paese, usando la metafora della caduta libera di un corpo.
Anche qui, come in "Cadere", c'è molto dinamismo: i luoghi del romanzo sono Miami, Berlino, Messico, le sale del Louvre e L'Avana. Non è un viaggio di piacere, ma una fuga da una guerra, che non è reale, ma falsa. E l'autore scrive non per il gusto di inventare ma per ricordare quello che è successo.
“Mi piace raccontarti la tua vita. Per fortuna te ne sono successe di cose. C’è gente che se ne sarebbe già andata perché non ci sarebbe stato granché da raccontargli. Persone a cui non è mai successo nulla. E non si può inventare, il medico è stato chiaro. Non riconosceresti qualcosa di inventato, perderesti l’interesse e ti lasceresti andare. Ma non c’è bisogno di inventare niente, basta ricordare quello che è successo.”
Ma perché ci sia un racconto, occorrono almeno tre "soggetti": una voce narrante, un ascoltatore e il mezzo attraverso cui il racconto avviene.
“Ascolta di nuovo la storia delle fughe e delle persecuzioni, della frattura abissale della vita nelle due parti della città, ma sono cose che conosce a memoria e sentirle ancora, francamente, lo annoia.”
E per ben ascoltare, occorre non solo rimuovere la noia, ma anche i rumori che impediscono l'ascolto. Altrimenti va a finire che non ascolta nessuno:
“Chi è cresciuto in quel posto non può non aver conosciuto il suono del lamento. Non può non aver forgiato nervi e tempra in quel rumore di fondo. La sua configurazione sentimentale non può negare gli effetti desolanti di quella cantilena interminabile che strideva e che non si sapeva più bene cosa riguardasse. Un intreccio di ferro e servitù, un lamento codardo e un ripasso lento delle cose che mancavano e che non potevamo avere. La conoscenza, se c’era, era dovuta alla collera. L’odio saliva perché non c’era nessuno a cui rivolgere la lamentela, perché se tutti si lamentano, se tutti si lamentano tutto il tempo, chi ascolta? Ecco la grande domanda di quegli anni e degli anni precedenti e forse anche di questi. Chi ascolta? E la risposta era una sola e la conoscevamo. Nessuno.”
E la vita non può essere ridotta a una partita a scacchi, ridotta solo a fallimenti e successi: “Tutti sono disposti a vedere l’indizio del fallimento in qualsiasi cosa. L’indizio del successo è uniforme, lineare, non lascia spazio a dubbi, ma il fallimento ha molte, infinite facce sempre mutevoli, e una di quelle facce, neanche a dirlo, è la faccia della casa del libro rinchiuso. Passano ancora gli anni e da fuori arrivano altri rumori, i rumori del rinnovamento e della modernità.”
E il tempo passa inesorabilmente, come un film infinito.
«Time passes», diceva. «There are days when memories play for hours like an endless movie. Time passes. There are days I can’t look at myself in the mirror without crying. Time feels as if it were not passing at all».
Già con "Cadere", https://www.goodreads.com/review/show..., Álvarez aveva intrecciato più voci per parlare della caduta di un Paese, usando la metafora della caduta libera di un corpo.
Anche qui, come in "Cadere", c'è molto dinamismo: i luoghi del romanzo sono Miami, Berlino, Messico, le sale del Louvre e L'Avana. Non è un viaggio di piacere, ma una fuga da una guerra, che non è reale, ma falsa. E l'autore scrive non per il gusto di inventare ma per ricordare quello che è successo.
“Mi piace raccontarti la tua vita. Per fortuna te ne sono successe di cose. C’è gente che se ne sarebbe già andata perché non ci sarebbe stato granché da raccontargli. Persone a cui non è mai successo nulla. E non si può inventare, il medico è stato chiaro. Non riconosceresti qualcosa di inventato, perderesti l’interesse e ti lasceresti andare. Ma non c’è bisogno di inventare niente, basta ricordare quello che è successo.”
Ma perché ci sia un racconto, occorrono almeno tre "soggetti": una voce narrante, un ascoltatore e il mezzo attraverso cui il racconto avviene.
“Ascolta di nuovo la storia delle fughe e delle persecuzioni, della frattura abissale della vita nelle due parti della città, ma sono cose che conosce a memoria e sentirle ancora, francamente, lo annoia.”
E per ben ascoltare, occorre non solo rimuovere la noia, ma anche i rumori che impediscono l'ascolto. Altrimenti va a finire che non ascolta nessuno:
“Chi è cresciuto in quel posto non può non aver conosciuto il suono del lamento. Non può non aver forgiato nervi e tempra in quel rumore di fondo. La sua configurazione sentimentale non può negare gli effetti desolanti di quella cantilena interminabile che strideva e che non si sapeva più bene cosa riguardasse. Un intreccio di ferro e servitù, un lamento codardo e un ripasso lento delle cose che mancavano e che non potevamo avere. La conoscenza, se c’era, era dovuta alla collera. L’odio saliva perché non c’era nessuno a cui rivolgere la lamentela, perché se tutti si lamentano, se tutti si lamentano tutto il tempo, chi ascolta? Ecco la grande domanda di quegli anni e degli anni precedenti e forse anche di questi. Chi ascolta? E la risposta era una sola e la conoscevamo. Nessuno.”
E la vita non può essere ridotta a una partita a scacchi, ridotta solo a fallimenti e successi: “Tutti sono disposti a vedere l’indizio del fallimento in qualsiasi cosa. L’indizio del successo è uniforme, lineare, non lascia spazio a dubbi, ma il fallimento ha molte, infinite facce sempre mutevoli, e una di quelle facce, neanche a dirlo, è la faccia della casa del libro rinchiuso. Passano ancora gli anni e da fuori arrivano altri rumori, i rumori del rinnovamento e della modernità.”
E il tempo passa inesorabilmente, come un film infinito.
«Time passes», diceva. «There are days when memories play for hours like an endless movie. Time passes. There are days I can’t look at myself in the mirror without crying. Time feels as if it were not passing at all».
September 25, 2025
I'm writing something, I said. Again? Yes, again, and I'm making progress. You need that? Looks like it, I said. What is it? he asked. Maybe a novel? I said, rhetorical. He leaned forward and took a piece of cheese. Autobiographical? No, I said, not at all, there are lots of characters, interlocking stories, nothing like that. Ah, he said regretfully, I would've liked to be in it. I'll find a way to squeeze you in, I promised, you deserve it. Neither of us knew what we were talking about, frankly.
False War (2025) is Natasha Wimmer's translation of Falsa guerra (2021) by Carlos Manuel Álvarez.
This is a novel about exile (primarily from Havana and Mexico City to Miami) and one of its key themes is the unsettling nature of this mode of existence, essentially trapped in an unstable equilibrium, this when one character confronts the idea of buying an airline ticket 6 months in advance:
And we were doing just fine back then, but however you bend it, immigrant time is different. Aimín, no matter how sweet it is, you got two months' stability as an immigrant, three if you push it. Then something's going to happen. Somebody sideswipes you on the Palmetto, there's a strange charge on your card, the price of gas goes up, the new president has it out for you.
The style of the novel reflects this, jumping between a series of, in some cases connected, different stories. The blurb refers to these employing "a dazzling range of narrative styles", although my experience was more the relative monotonic nature of the voices and stories. I will acknowledge here my own very different experience in having lived in one country all my life.
And for me, the style made it an unsatisfying read. I read it while very busy, and I think it needed more intention than I gave it, but I found myself uninterested in any of the individual threads, and hence lacking any interest in the novel as a whole, and I was skimreading by the end.
I suspect a novel others will find much stronger but a 2 star read for me.
False War (2025) is Natasha Wimmer's translation of Falsa guerra (2021) by Carlos Manuel Álvarez.
This is a novel about exile (primarily from Havana and Mexico City to Miami) and one of its key themes is the unsettling nature of this mode of existence, essentially trapped in an unstable equilibrium, this when one character confronts the idea of buying an airline ticket 6 months in advance:
And we were doing just fine back then, but however you bend it, immigrant time is different. Aimín, no matter how sweet it is, you got two months' stability as an immigrant, three if you push it. Then something's going to happen. Somebody sideswipes you on the Palmetto, there's a strange charge on your card, the price of gas goes up, the new president has it out for you.
The style of the novel reflects this, jumping between a series of, in some cases connected, different stories. The blurb refers to these employing "a dazzling range of narrative styles", although my experience was more the relative monotonic nature of the voices and stories. I will acknowledge here my own very different experience in having lived in one country all my life.
And for me, the style made it an unsatisfying read. I read it while very busy, and I think it needed more intention than I gave it, but I found myself uninterested in any of the individual threads, and hence lacking any interest in the novel as a whole, and I was skimreading by the end.
I suspect a novel others will find much stronger but a 2 star read for me.
August 28, 2025
Many interconnected vignettes across cities and countries. It took me a moment to get the hang of the book - initially the stories felt very disconnected but then I realized that each pov is picked back up after rotating through several other storylines. There are maybe 6 or 7 storylines that are picked up and put back down as you read. The writing was poignant no doubt and the subject matter was meaningful. That said the form didn’t completely work for me. I’m really grateful to Graywolf for the advanced copy and look forward to the book coming out on November 4th.
3.5/5
3.5/5
October 21, 2022
Cadere lo avevo molto amato, questo mi ha lasciato meno stupita.
Alvarez ha una scrittura stupenda, ricca, con delle immagini che restano nel cervello.
I personaggi che raccontano la propria storia sono tutti in qualche modo naufraghi in una eterna fuga.
I racconti si alternano e a volte di sfiorano in maniera forse un po' faticosa, almeno per me, almeno in questo momento. Un libro che forse rileggerò per cercare di cogliere quello che probabilmente ho perso per strada.
Alvarez ha una scrittura stupenda, ricca, con delle immagini che restano nel cervello.
I personaggi che raccontano la propria storia sono tutti in qualche modo naufraghi in una eterna fuga.
I racconti si alternano e a volte di sfiorano in maniera forse un po' faticosa, almeno per me, almeno in questo momento. Un libro che forse rileggerò per cercare di cogliere quello che probabilmente ho perso per strada.
Read
August 22, 2025Had high hopes that were disappointed
October 30, 2025
“I had the feeling we were drawn on a piece of paper and the corner had been set on fire.”
November 4, 2025
Writing a novel about mass-yet-fragmented psychic paralysis is an interesting literary challenge; this effort, unfortunately, makes for a slog.
July 16, 2021
(4'5*)
Un libro ben intelixente sobre algo tremendamente actual sen ser nada dogmático. Que gusto lelo
Un libro ben intelixente sobre algo tremendamente actual sen ser nada dogmático. Que gusto lelo
Read
September 16, 2025Gave up. I know that this is objectively a good book but unfortunately my rotten internet brain does not have the scope or capacity to simultaneously remember multiple interconnected stories and how they relate
December 4, 2025
Rating: 4* of five
The Publisher Says: An ambitious, panoptic novel about exile as both condition and state of being by a major young Cuban writer
The characters in False War are ambivalent castaways living lives of deep estrangement from their home country, stranded in an existential no-man’s land. Some of them want to leave and can’t, others do leave but never quite get anywhere.
In this multivoiced novel, employing a dazzling range of narrative styles from noir to autofiction, Carlos Manuel Álvarez brings together the stories of many people from all walks of life through a series of interconnected daisy chains. From Havana to Mexico City to Miami, from New York to Paris to Berlin, whether toiling in a barber shop, roaring in Yankee Stadium, lost in the Louvre, intensely competing in a chess hall in Cuba, plotting a theft, or on a junket for émigré dissidents in Berlin, these characters learn that while they may seem to be on the move, in reality they are paralyzed, immersed in a fake war waged with little real passion.
The fractured narrative, filled with extraordinary portraits of ordinary people, reflects the disintegration that comes from being uprooted. At the same time it is full of tenderness, moments of joy and profound release. False War confirms Carlos Manuel Álvarez as one of the indispensable voices of his generation in Latin American letters.
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
My Review: Complex narrative told in multiple styles...it requires paying attention...but like the most exciting stories, it repays you with an interlocking puzzle of identities giving a full-color image of exile.
Few times do you get a challenge set you in a long reading life that feels both longer, for its richness, and shorter, for its fascinating concise storytelling across styles, than its page count. Yes, there are a lot of people talking to you; yes, they act as though you're in medias res with them. You will be.
What a bunch these people are! Petty crime, grand theft (there are tech workers everywhere), music makers...all united by the fact of leaving Cuba, their home, for all sorts of reasons. All twine around the central narrative of the writer creating the novel from the stories he's been, is being, told, then telling us: "And right now, reader, neither you nor I can know what it is I’m thinking about this book you’re holding (your right now is not the same as my right now; the right now is always tragically different from the right now of writing)."
Shades of the time slices so beloved of physicists explaining why there is no now due to relativity! Part of that disorienting purpose is also served by the polyphony's voices being labeled, like the time slices needing labels (Observer A, Observer B), and others being job titles, others still (most disorientingly, are they real or invented?) receiving normal names.
The Cuban diasporas having left over the course of sixty years, they are often strangers to each other as much as the places they're staying. A man who learned his dance moves in the 1970s has little chance of making a good showing in a crowd who learned theirs thirty years later;but they're all united by the one main identity: Cuban Exile.
In braiding the many voices telling the different stories of why, of how, of that moment when, exile was the solution, Author Álvarez via Translator Wimmer has handed us the kaleidoscope with no instructions on how to use it. Twisting it a bit to that side, into shade, away from blinding searchlights, Author Álvarez takes your eyeline with him, letting you hold the device but showing you *his* pretty colors.
Made of the numerous rays in the story, he's found beauty in hard and endless toil...to fit in? to stand out? to find, lose, escape, respond? to the endlessness of crafting an identity.
The Publisher Says: An ambitious, panoptic novel about exile as both condition and state of being by a major young Cuban writer
The characters in False War are ambivalent castaways living lives of deep estrangement from their home country, stranded in an existential no-man’s land. Some of them want to leave and can’t, others do leave but never quite get anywhere.
In this multivoiced novel, employing a dazzling range of narrative styles from noir to autofiction, Carlos Manuel Álvarez brings together the stories of many people from all walks of life through a series of interconnected daisy chains. From Havana to Mexico City to Miami, from New York to Paris to Berlin, whether toiling in a barber shop, roaring in Yankee Stadium, lost in the Louvre, intensely competing in a chess hall in Cuba, plotting a theft, or on a junket for émigré dissidents in Berlin, these characters learn that while they may seem to be on the move, in reality they are paralyzed, immersed in a fake war waged with little real passion.
The fractured narrative, filled with extraordinary portraits of ordinary people, reflects the disintegration that comes from being uprooted. At the same time it is full of tenderness, moments of joy and profound release. False War confirms Carlos Manuel Álvarez as one of the indispensable voices of his generation in Latin American letters.
I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
My Review: Complex narrative told in multiple styles...it requires paying attention...but like the most exciting stories, it repays you with an interlocking puzzle of identities giving a full-color image of exile.
Few times do you get a challenge set you in a long reading life that feels both longer, for its richness, and shorter, for its fascinating concise storytelling across styles, than its page count. Yes, there are a lot of people talking to you; yes, they act as though you're in medias res with them. You will be.
What a bunch these people are! Petty crime, grand theft (there are tech workers everywhere), music makers...all united by the fact of leaving Cuba, their home, for all sorts of reasons. All twine around the central narrative of the writer creating the novel from the stories he's been, is being, told, then telling us: "And right now, reader, neither you nor I can know what it is I’m thinking about this book you’re holding (your right now is not the same as my right now; the right now is always tragically different from the right now of writing)."
Shades of the time slices so beloved of physicists explaining why there is no now due to relativity! Part of that disorienting purpose is also served by the polyphony's voices being labeled, like the time slices needing labels (Observer A, Observer B), and others being job titles, others still (most disorientingly, are they real or invented?) receiving normal names.
The Cuban diasporas having left over the course of sixty years, they are often strangers to each other as much as the places they're staying. A man who learned his dance moves in the 1970s has little chance of making a good showing in a crowd who learned theirs thirty years later;but they're all united by the one main identity: Cuban Exile.
In braiding the many voices telling the different stories of why, of how, of that moment when, exile was the solution, Author Álvarez via Translator Wimmer has handed us the kaleidoscope with no instructions on how to use it. Twisting it a bit to that side, into shade, away from blinding searchlights, Author Álvarez takes your eyeline with him, letting you hold the device but showing you *his* pretty colors.
Made of the numerous rays in the story, he's found beauty in hard and endless toil...to fit in? to stand out? to find, lose, escape, respond? to the endlessness of crafting an identity.
December 23, 2025
Veering from the murky alleyways of Havana to the sun drenched beaches of Miami, and making its way through a concourse as various as Mexico City, New York, Paris, Berlin, the characters in this polyphonic storyline follow the chronologically fractured narrative style to eke out tales of exile, displacement and deep estrangement from their home country, stranded in an existential no-man's land. While employing a multitude of narrative styles the author tries to depict the permanent stasis and paralysis that had seeped into the multitude of characters' lives- for while they try to engross themselves with thoughts and action a plenty, and appear to be on the move, in reality they are disintegrating as a whole as a result of this displacement and uprooting. The author is full of disenchantment and melancholy while depicting his characters but, in reality, none of the characters made a lasting impression on me; and, besides, the narrative style did not grow on me probably because of the setting, and also may be due to the very fact that this novel employs a multitude of narrative styles, which unlike the book's description, was very monotonous and tiresome due to the shifting timelines that was completely out of place when compared to the variegated setting and probing theme of the novel. Something had fallen out of place during my reading of the narrative so that by the end of it I was just skimming through the contents. THREE STARS FOR THE UNUSUAL THEME AND SETTING, but most of the narrative could not draw me in deeper!
December 31, 2025
A novel made up of around 13 interlocking stories centered on the migrant crisis between Cuba, Mexico, and the U.S. I really enjoyed this overall, even if a few of the stories didn't quite land for me.
If you're a fan of Latin American literature, this one will likely app.
It has that familiar style of fractured narratives, stories within stories, seemingly random interludes that stand alone yet enrich the whole, all woven together with recurring themes of violence, love, displacement, and art.
What I especially appreciated is that the book doesn't rely on the usual tropes about boats, border queues, smugglers to explore migration. Instead, it digs into the why behind the movement, whether it's successful or not, and what comes after. But it's still plot-driven, you're still given characters and story arcs and that's part of its strength.
If you're a fan of Latin American literature, this one will likely app.
It has that familiar style of fractured narratives, stories within stories, seemingly random interludes that stand alone yet enrich the whole, all woven together with recurring themes of violence, love, displacement, and art.
What I especially appreciated is that the book doesn't rely on the usual tropes about boats, border queues, smugglers to explore migration. Instead, it digs into the why behind the movement, whether it's successful or not, and what comes after. But it's still plot-driven, you're still given characters and story arcs and that's part of its strength.
December 20, 2024
Hay un lugar en el mundo al que huir y otro del que salir para poder algún día regresar. Los personajes de esta novela son gente sin un lugar claro, personas sin lugar al que poder ir, y sin embargo inician el viaje. Novela quebrada, novela parcelada en relatos de personajes sin saberse uno del otro, comparten la ausencia de un techo estable, la necesidad de un lugar allí o acá, pero un lugar. Un suelo estable no un mar capaz de engullirlos. Viajen con la necesidad de encontrar y regresan sin saber a qué y por qué.
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December 17, 2022
Tiene una mirada. La mirada es política pero es cínica también, la visita al Louvre me hizo reír. Tiene muchas voces de muchos personajes que reconoces como exiliados, disidentes, críticos, refugiados. Se van intercalando y todas pueden ser la misma, el mismo personaje.
Es un descubrimiento, tiene una voz. Su escritura es de estas que a veces te dan envidia porque lo lees y te gustaría saber que eres capaz de escribir así pero probablemente no.
Es un descubrimiento, tiene una voz. Su escritura es de estas que a veces te dan envidia porque lo lees y te gustaría saber que eres capaz de escribir así pero probablemente no.
September 30, 2025
A brilliant book, I've never read anything similar. Polyphonic and also abstract but it adds to the effect of how hes trying to display the sort of physcological difficulies in migrants from cuba . Sometimes too high brow/intellectual for the likes of me hence not 5 star but would highly recommend.
October 10, 2023
***1/2
December 4, 2025
Any time I don't like a translation I'm never sure if it's the original author whose writing I don't like, or if it's the translator's. This is a meandering novel that has occasional moments of really wonderful insight. This just didn't hit for me, but I'll give it another try in the future.
May 14, 2021
Disfruté mucho leyéndola, la forma en que es narrada es muy interesante. En el capítulo de la aldea rural quedé casi en shock, la escuela del exiliado fue mi escuela, demasiados recuerdos lindos aparecían en mi cabeza.
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