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Inspirada en un caso real de infanticidio, Los Buenos se sitúa en el año 1825 en un remoto valle de Irlanda. Allí viven tres mujeres a las que unirán una serie de acontecimientos extraños y trágicos. Nóra Leahy ha perdido a su hija y a su marido el mismo año: solo le queda su pequeño nieto Michael, que no sabe andar ni hablar, y al que tiene oculto para que los vecinos no crean que ha sido víctima de una maldición sobrenatural. Mary Clifford es la joven contratada para cuidarlo y Nance Roche es la vieja curandera que alivia con hierbas y consejos los males inexplicables. La vida de estas tres mujeres se complicará con la llegada al pueblo de un nuevo sacerdote empeñado en limpiar el valle de supersticiones.
En un marco completamente distinto al de Ritos funerarios, la nueva novela de Hannah Kent ya se considera otro gran éxito internacional. Con Los Buenos nos ofrece de nuevo una novela histórica con una trama misteriosa y emocionante.
«Kent tiene un talento maravilloso para tomar hechos históricos y hacer que vivan y respiren a través de su ficción. Ha conseguido igualar su espectacular debut con otra historia inquietante.» Sunday Herald
«Kent tiene un impresionante sentido lingüístico. Y una prosa de textura muy rica con un vocabulario muy evocador.» The Guardian
«Una novela que trata del amor y sus límites.» Psychologies
«Absorbente e imaginativa.» The Times
«Emocionante y convincente.» The Mail on Sunday
434 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 27, 2016

Nóra had always believed herself to be a good woman. A kind woman. But perhaps, she thought, we are good only when life makes it easy for us to be so. Maybe the heart hardens when good fortune is not there to soften it.
She had the sense that something terrible was happening. That in some irreparable way the world was changing, that it spun away from her, and that in the whirl of change she was being flung to some forsaken corner.
There was no telling the shape of a heart from the face of the one who carried it. (Mary)
The valley was beautiful. The slow turning towards winter had left the stubble on the fields and the wild grasses bronzed, and the scutter of cloud left shadows brooding across the soil. It was its own world. Only the narrow road, wending through the flat of the valley floor, indicated the world beyond the mountains.
"It is out of respect that I call them the Good People, for they do not like to be thinking of themselves as bad craturs. They have a desire to get into Heaven, same as you." (Nance)
"All this talk of fairies. Sure, people will tell themselves anything to avert their eyes from the truth of a matter."
‘The cod swims in deeper waters. There’s a mighty peace in the deep, and that is all the cod is after. The untroubled deep. But a storm will toss the water about like a devil. Fish, weed, sand, stones, even the old bones and bits of wrecked ships, ’tis all tossed feathers when the storm hits. Fish that like the deep are thrown into the shallows, and fish that have a need of the shallows are pushed into the deep. ‘Begod, I tell no lie. But what does the cod do when he senses a storm in the water? He swallows stones. Faith, ’tis true or I’m not your da. Your cod will fill himself with stones to stay out of the mighty swell of the sea. He will sink himself. All fish are afraid of thunder, but only some know how to keep themselves out of the way of it."