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461 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 2016
"I alone hold the key to this savage parade" wrote Arthur Rimbaud in Les Illuminations (here illustrated by Fernand Léger). It might almost have been the epigraph to this novel by Santiago Gamboa, who brings in the French poetic genius as either its presiding deity or devil. I might simply have translated sauvage as "wild" as opposed to "tame," but in this case the cognate is more appropriate; there is a savagery in Gamboa's storytelling be reckoned with; he does not deal with the deer and rabbits of the world, so much as its tigers and vultures.![]()
Ten thousand bodies lie fallen in the mud, while above them, another twenty or thirty thousand are still fighting, still alive. The bodies become deformed. Blood accumulates in the lower parts of the body and suddenly something bursts. A foul-smelling stream gushes out on top of the mud. The birds circle, pulling out eyes, the worms rise to the surface. That's what the soldier sees in battle: the bare bones of his friend, the amputations, the perforated skulls. What he has seen remains on his retina. Nobody who has contemplated such horror can ever be the same again.Why did I pick up this book? It had a strikingly atmospheric cover. It was published by Europa Editions, a firm I have come to trust. It was by a Latin American author from Colombia whom I did not know. And its flap promised an intriguing combination of characters, three living Colombians and a dead Frenchman. In a more or less regular sequence of chapters, we have an expatriate writer, known only as The Consul, summoned from Rome to Madrid by a woman from his past. We have the tormented childhood of another woman, Manuela, including time in a reformatory, but who somehow emerges from it all as a poet of striking originality. We have a frankly incredible character calling himself Tertullian, claiming to be the son of the Pope (yes, the then Cardinal Badoglio), and building a career as a motivational speaker. And we have episodes in the life story of Arthur Rimbaud, who set the literary world ablaze while still in his teens, but gave up poetry altogether when he was only 21, and spent the last 16 years of his life wandering as an exile in the tropics.
"I alone hold the key to this savage parade."![]()