La falsa calma a la que alude el título de este libro extraordinario es la de la Patagonia, una región inmensa, fría y fantasmal en la que el tiempo parece haberse detenido para siempre. María Sonia Cristoff nació en Trelew, una de las ciudades patagónicas de mayor extensión, pero en su primera juventud se trasladó a casi 1.500 kilómetros de distancia, a Buenos Aires. Para ella, por tanto, la Patagonia también ha sido un lugar lejano, olvidado, rodeado de silencio y misterios. Falsa calma es el documento de su regreso. En estas páginas, la Patagonia no es un paisaje de postal sino más bien la puerta de entrada a un paisaje de pesadilla. Con una mirada aguda y no exenta de humor, Cristoff se convierte en una antena para esos personajes excluidos de toda política estatal, apresados en su aislamiento y tragados por una geografía hostil llena de pozos de petróleo; personajes «que no saben qué hacen ahí, que no saben qué esperan, que giran sobre sí mismos, que no saben qué condena están pagando».
María Sonia Cristoff conecta diferentes mundos literarios –la no ficción narrativa y el paseo psicogeográfico, fundamentalmente–. A su paso, se entrecruzan el deambular de Sebald, el tormento de Poe y el sinsentido de Beckett. El lector atento descubrirá que un recorrido por pueblos fantasma patagónicos puede ser, a la vez, una inquietante metáfora acerca del estado del mundo.
María Sonia Cristoff es una novelista y cronista argentina con tres novelas, dos libros de no ficción y muchos artículos y cuentos publicados en prensa internacional y volúmenes colectivos.
Cristoff’s travelogue tell the stories of the small and isolated towns scattered throughout Argentina’s far south, Patagonia, through the eyes of their residents. I have travelled here myself quite a lot over a five year period, for work and pleasure, so had a particular interest.
Each town she visits has its story to tell, from Santa Cruz, where the story of an amateur pilot is intertwined with Saint-Exupéry‘s writing, and the history of Patagonian aviation, to El Cuy, where superstition surrounding a shrine dedicated to a young boy affects the behaviour of the town’s residents.
The stories she tells have a mix of humour and tragedy, with the darker side coming through in the last part of the book, informing on the poverty of the area, and how it has been ignored by recent governments. In one small town at the very end of the railway line she tells of a spate of suicides amongst children at the local school. It’s the end of the line because the railroad ran out of money.
In another town, in the same area, every TV plays the same channel, the one being watched by the commissioner and his family as nobody else can afford the cost of TV individually.
Most of the stories are fascinating, and a pleasure to read, chiefly because Cristoff lets the local residents shape her writing, rather than having set out with an agenda in mind.
The only bump in an all together smooth, beautiful ride are the metaphors. They never quite worked. Rather forced, and completely devoid of the sublime necessary for the synapse connection the great metaphors encourage.
Her observations of the townspeople; Cristoff’s talent for the anecdote, and the anecdote via an anecdote (a bore under a lesser writer); she gives just enough of herself, as well, without a full on fall into memoir.
I enjoyed her digression on Harris’ Hannibal, a result of the craving for literature in a room with only one choice. She made the most of it.
Part memoir, part travelogue of the small towns and stories in Patagonia, Argentina.
Ten essays vary widely in content. My favorite - Chapter Five - discussed Arab immigration to Patagonia in the early 20th century, and some related stories, including period newspaper clippings and headlines. Cristoff manages to relate this to her own research of FBI profilers (the real-life agent from Netflix's Mindhunter comes up). It's tangential, but she made it work.
Qualche capitolo piuttosto interessante, un paio emozionanti, qualcuno davvero inutile. Per esempio una lunga dissertazione sul thriller coinvolgendo Shining e Hannibal Lecter c'entra, a mio avviso, come i cavoli a merenda. In sostanza, discreto ma ampiamente prescindibile. Non soffro di insonnia e libri del genere rischiano di trascinarsi per giorni: è un anno così, incappo su librini che non mi acchiappano, deludenti, a tratti noiosi, abbastanza inutili. Peccato, col tempaccio che imperversa là fuori da giorni un bel libro sarebbe quello che ci vuole.
I still don’t really understand what this book is about, maybe I’m just disappointed because it didn’t meet my expectations but it felt so cluttered and messy. The stories the author describes are incoherent, and the prose is full of unnecessary metaphors. In the end I was simply bored reading it and had to force myself to finish this book.
Haunting and moving -- this travelogue takes readers to the outskirts of Patagonia and down into the lore of the region. Original and a touch creepy. I would recommend this to anyone who enjoys literary essay collections or travel writing.
Es increíble como podemos desconocer tanto algunas regiones de nuestro país. Empecé este libro después de leer "Los Suicidas del Fin del Mundo" y descubrí lo fundacional que fue y es YPF y la explotación de hidrocarburos para muchísimos pueblos, ciudades y provincias patagónicas.
Reúne diferentes historias, relatos de personas y personajes de distintos pueblos de la Patagonia, cosas que uno desde el tupper de Buenos Aires no tiene idea, ni se nos ocurre que pueden pasar o no lo entendemos y no creo que vayamos a entender jamás.
Los relatos corresponden a: 1, 2, 3, 4 Cañadón Seco (Santa Cruz, 879 habitantes); 5 Maquinchao y El Cuy (Río Negro, 2494 y 498 habitantes). Este relato me resultó bastante tedioso; 6 El Cuy 7 El Caín (Río Negro, 176 habitantes) 8 No refiere a un lugar en específico 9 y 10 Las Heras (Santa Cruz, 30.502 habitantes)
Sobre Las Heras hay un libro de Leila Guerriero muy bueno que cuenta la historia completa de la alta tasa de suicidios de jóvenes alrededor de los 2000 y el ambiente del pueblo ("Los Suicidas del Fin del Mundo"). En ese libro ella refleja en una sola frase todo esto "Cómo será, pensé, no verse reflejado en las noticias, no entrar nunca en el pronóstico del tiempo, en la estadística, no tener nada que ver con el resto del país".
This book reads like ten vignettes from the lives of the inhabitants of more or less abandoned towns in Patagonia. It was a valuable look at the sometimes boring, mundane day-to-day of the less glamorous side of Patagonia. As a tourist, you see the amazing landscapes of mountains, the hiking, the raw beautiful wilderness, but those chapters recounted the hardships of isolation. Not sure I would call them essays, I sometimes had the impression of reading the non-edited transcript of the author, there was a lack of context and very little hindsight. But maybe that was the whole point: to stick as close as possible to the way those people were telling their story. Overall, I came away ambivalent; I enjoy reading the book, but I didn't feel like it ignites any reflections and I don't think I would ever think about this book again now that I finished it.
Cristoff spends time in small towns in the Patagonian meseta (plateau lands), getting to know the rhythms of life and the locals, staying long enough to become a recognisable, if temporary, community feature to whom people open up about their lives.
Cristoff augments testimony with some historical research and, probably, a degree of literary licence, which coheres into a picture of brittle lives dwarfed by a vast landscape, cold and barren, hiding a mineral wealth extracted by a distant government and foreign corporations with little trickle-down to the locals.
There's a hint of David Lynch in the 'dark suburbiana' tone, and of Philip K. Dick in the ordinariness of Cristoff's Everyperson protagonists. The darkness is sometimes in the historical antecedents of the region, including banditry, colonialism and cannibalism, and sometimes contemporary in the domestic and sexual abuse, alienation and psychosis, and unflinching encounters with a spate of teenage suicides.
A collection of vignettes to transport the reader through the ghost towns of Patagonia. The inhabitants followed the money and the oil, leaving much behind, and it is the desolate sense of abandonment - coupled with interesting stories - that make this readable and interesting. The author herself left in the 1980s because government and planners seemed to focus on Buenos Aires, and the outlying villages and towns simply got left behind. In these stories, she connects with the country of her birth.
Each place she visits has an individuality that the author captures well through her writing, with well observed anecdotes and information. Who knew about the Arab immigration into the country in the early 20th Century?
There are gritty and dark aspects to her journey (goodness, a spate of children's suicides in one area she visits), there are humorous interludes and there is a great sense of lives eked out in a relatively poor area of the world.
A good book to pick up if you are choosing to visit Patagonia.
Several years ago I travelled through southern Patagonia. What impressed the was the vastness and emptiness of the stepps. We traveled for hours on a van from Punta Arenas to Perito Moreno and saw one car and one horseman. As the saying goes, "miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles". Ms Cristoff captures the misery of life in he near abandoned settlement on he vast plain. Hopeless, despair, abandonment are major characters of this collection of thoughts, experiences and lives in Patagonia. Perhaps not to everyone's taste, but a soon to be classic account of people less plains of the southern steppes.
I think there is something to the translation of this book where perhaps things are lost, maybe not literally but I think culturally it's hard to translate outside of South America.
While this book reads like a stream of consciousness, but also specific stories, I got a distinct sense of place in each story. Cristoff's writing creates pictures of small towns and conveys a sense of dread and child-like wonder and transports you to these places.
If you want a structured story with a clear moral and a beginning, middle, and end this may not be the book for you. But it is an informative read.
Some parts of this book were fascinating, and some were extremely dull. I have come away from it with more knowledge of Patagonia, (which isn't difficult as I knew pretty much nothing, well nothing at all if I'm honest), but not as much knowledge as I had hoped I would get from it. I would have rated it exactly halfway between dire and great if a rating of 2.5 stars was available. I feel 3 stars is a little generous.
Me gusto porque es algo diferente que nunca había leído, el libro se va formando con las personas que la autora va conociendo en el camino de su viaje y todos los problemas de estas personas hacen referencia a lo aisladas que están por el lugar en donde viven (Patagonia ghost towns), pero sentí que falto un cierre, una opinión personal, una conclusión, se acaba con la historia de Sandra de esa última persona que conoce y me quede con ganas de ese cierre.
While it seems like this a travel book about Patagonia, the book includes no maps and very little landscape descriptions, except for the emptiness of the place. The author, who was born in Patagonia, brings out instead the isolation of the people from each other. Cristoff brings out their stories intimately, so much so, that in the end your feel like you have read a horror movie.
Toda la bajona de gente que ha nacido muerta o que se van a morir de no tener un amigo con el que echar una caña está compensada por las historias de gente que fue asesinada hace cien años. Ojalá contar mis movidas a una señora que luego las hile tan bien como esta.
There are so many books about Patagonia and lament. This is the only one that really gets the place.
(I started this book in Spanish years ago and finished it in English today, which feels appropriate. Katherine Silver’s translation is marvelous. The style is half the fun here.)