The Remainder

by Alia Trabucco Zerán, Sophie Hughes (Translator)

Longlisted for the 2019 Man Booker International Prize

Felipe and Iquela, two young friends in modern day Santiago, live in the legacy of Chile’s dictatorship. Felipe prowls the streets counting dead bodies real and imagined, aspiring to a perfect number that might offer closure. Iquela and Paloma, an old acquaintance from Iquela’s childhood, search for a way to reconcile their fragile lives with their parents’ violent militant past. The body of Paloma’s mother gets lost in transit, sending the three on a pisco-fueled journey up the cordillera as they confront the pain that stretches across generations.

Genres: Fiction, Contemporary, Historical Fiction, LGBT, Queer, Translated Fiction, Literary Fiction

207 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 2015

About the author

Alia Trabucco Zerán (born 1983) is a Chilean writer. She was awarded a Fulbright scholarship for her MFA in Creative Writing at New York University and has a PhD in Spanish and Latin American Studies from University College London. Her debut novel La Resta (The Remainder) was critically acclaimed. The English translation was shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize in 2019.

From Wikipedia

Reviews

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Now shortlisted for the 2019 Man Booker International Prize.

And Other Stories is a small UK publisher which “publishes some of the best in contemporary writing, including many translations” and aims “to push people’s reading limits and help them discover authors of adventurous and inspiring writing”. They are set up as a not-for-profit Community Interest Company and operate on a subscriber model – with subscribers (of which they now have around 1000 in 40 countries) committing in advance to enable the publication of future books. This was the first book to which I subscribed – and it is always pleasing to feel one has contributed, in a very small way, to facilitating a work of art.

Famously and admirably, And Other Stories were the only publisher to respond to Kamilia Shamsie (subsequent winner of the 2018 Women’s Prize)’s 2016 challenge to only publish books by women in 2018.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...

This debut novel, first published as La Resta in 2014 has been translated by Sophie Hughes.

The book starts in Santiago Chile, sometime near to the present day – and features three children of left wing militants (Felipe, Iquela and Paloma).

The limited plot of the novel features the half-German Paloma returning to Chile after many years of exile with her Chilean mothers body (having decided it would be appropriate for her to be buried in her homeland). Iquela is asked by her mother (and old aquaintance of the deceased), to meet Paloma at the airport – but when the latter discovers that a volcanic ash cloud has lead to the flight with her mother’s body being diverted to Argentina, the two together with Felipe (who shares an apartment with his childhood friend and companion Iquela) set off on a road trip in a hearse to recover the body.

An early chapter, set on the day of the 1988 national plebiscite (which ended the Pinochet dictatorship and restored democracy) shows the tension between Paloma’s and Iquela’s father, as the ex-militants come to terms with their past actions and their consequences for the orphaned Felipe.

The story is told in first person chapters which alternate between Felipe and Iquela. Felipe’s chapters are largely internal and figurative – haunted, literally, by the many dead of the post Allende years, he engages in a bizarre mathematical quest to count down the death toll through the dead he encounters – fixated always on the remainder. At one stage he also counts down the ages of the dead he observes towards his own age, and the chapters themselves are numbered in decreasing order. Iquela’s chapters are more conventional narrative – but with a stylistic tick where her inner thoughts are augmented by parenthical asides, the chapters themselves sharing a () title.

Further the book relies heavily on imagery – the ash cloud (based on real life Chilean volcanic eruptions which grounded flights) ends up blanketing Chile in dust – a clear metaphor for the mourning and death that still lingers from the Pinochet years (although as an aside I was surprised the ash stopped at the border given the desaparecidos).

The remainder image is also important – the children themselves suffering from the generational remainder of the traumas and hard choices of their parents; Iquela’s mother as the only remaining member of those parents who did not either die (of natural or unnatural causes) or take exile.

I found other parts of the book harder to understand – and in particular felt that the book weakened considerably in Argentina, particularly after a cancer drug induced trip, albeit bought back on track when Felipe finally comes face to face with the multitude of exiled dead of Chile.

Overall an interesting book – if not one that I felt I was fully able to appreciate. I think the book would have benefited from a translator’s note, as well as a foreword/afterword for the non-Chilean reader.

[Paula Mota · Rating 3 out of 5]

2,5*

And I switched off again, trying to avoid falling under the weight of those sentences, convinced, as I had been as a little girl, that we don't live for a set number of years, but rather that we’re assigned a set number of words that we can hear over the course of our lives. (…) Each of my mother’s words was worth a hundred, a thousand regular ones, and killed me quicker. Perhaps that’s why I’d learnt another language: to buy myself more time.

Depois de ler outras chilenas suas contemporâneas (Lina Meruane, Nona Fernández) que recorrem a eficientes alegorias para explorar o trauma intergeracional provocado pela ditadura de Pinochet, esta estreia de Alia Trabucco Zerán parece-me um fracasso, um livro que se esforça demasiado mas dá muito pouco.
Embora não seja aqui explicada a importância dessa data, “A Subtração” abre com os muito aguardados resultados do referendo de 5 de Outubro de 1988, em que os chilenos responderam na sua maioria “não” quando inquiridos sobre se o General Pinochet deveria continuar a governar o país. Logo aí se insinua um passado de clandestinidade dos progenitores dos três protagonistas: os pais de Iquela que têm nomes de código; o pai de Paloma, acabado de chegar do exílio, que chama bufo a Rodolfo; os pais desaparecidos de Felipe que agora é criado pela avó, que o deixa largas temporadas na casa de Rodolfo e Consuelo.

All those stories were either about Rodolfo, Consuelo, Ingrid, Hans or all those other names: Victor, Claudia, those doubles of our parents from back before they were parents. Rootless names with no antecedents or surnames, which made them feel fictional (…). Only characters from novels had just a first name.

Estruturalmente, é uma obra bem pensada, com secções alternadas entre o febril fluxo de consciência de Felipe e a perspectiva mais linear de Iquela. Em capítulos numerados em contagem decrescente, seguimos o discurso frenético e desequilibrado de Felipe que, por ver cadáveres por todo o lado, está obcecado com a diferença entre o número oficial e o número real de vítimas mortais do regime ditatorial.

Because adding them up is a big mistake, yeah, counting them up is not the answer: how can I square the number of the dead and the number of graves? How will I work out how many are born and how many remain? How can I reconcile the death toll with the actual sum of the dead? By deducting, tearing apart, rending bodies, that’s it, by using this apocalyptic maths to finally, once and for all, grit my teeth and subtract them: 16 million 341 thousand 928, minus 3000 and something, minus the 119, minus one.

Já a narração de Iquela é encabeçada por parêntesis e é esta que dá conta da chegada de Paloma a Santiago para vir enterrar a mãe morta no exílio, numa altura em que a capital está coberta de misteriosas cinzas que obrigam o avião que traz o caixão a aterrar do outro lado dos Andes, na Argentina. Para o recuperar, embarcam os três com os seus traumas numa carrinha funerária para uma road trip que resvala para uma trip alucinogénica em que Trabucco Zerán perde as coordenadas de GPS do enredo e da verborreia mental do seu protagonista.

[Antonomasia · Rating 4 out of 5]

I haven't read as much Latin American literature as some of the eventual readers of this book - I read it because of its Booker International longlisting. For an insightful review from someone who has read plenty from the region, I'd recommend Lascosas' review (posted within a discussion thread). What follows here is mostly a personal response to the book, and the few extra insights I may offer are about more distant history (and appear later in the review).

I spent the first third of the book disgruntled that The Remainder was not what I thought and hoped it would be while I was reading first chapter. (Later I became interested in the book it actually was.) I initially thought the first narrator - whom I assumed was the only narrator - was a woman using a style that usually codes as male: the muscularity of style and lack of squeamishness made it refreshing, I was really looking forward to following this character who, even more unusually for a female character in literary fiction, combined that with some kind of madness. Literature has often seemed to me to be more conventionally gendered about such things than other forms, and coming from Latin America, a culture known for being heavy on conventional gender expectations, this idea seemed even more awesome, especially in what seemed to be a dystopian setting with action-adventure story material ensuing. (However, that's just how Felipe views the world.)

And when I realised that narrator was male, named Felipe, and the alternating female narrator sounded more delicate and passive, I was disappointed. But it soon became apparent that she was a child in her first chapter. If Iquela is the same age as the author, she was only five in 1988, and of course small children don't direct their lives as much as someone of 30, so what I was trying to describe as passivity is actually not fair as a criticism.

Among the MBI longlisted books, this is the one in which I had most complaints about the translation. (A friend who's fluent in French, and has done some translation, has, however, just pointed out the "awkwardness" of some passages from The Pine Islands.)

Translations from small specialist publishers sometimes keep a few words from the original language when they best explain a meaning, and it would, IMO, have been better if The Remainder had followed suit. There are several discussions of differences in meanings between words which don't click when all the words are English. As it is, I found it clumsy. Spanish is well-enough known in the UK and US that it should be as reasonable to include Spanish as French or German. (Spanish is rapidly overtaking French as the most popular foreign language taught for public exams in UK schools.) In a similar vein, I want to see direct translations of original metaphors, proverbs and rhymes, not English equivalents. Learning the different ways of looking at the world, embedded in another language's metaphors, should be one of the pleasures and benefits of reading translated fiction. It has the sort of over-anglicisation I'm resigned to from major publishers, but I expect better from And Other Stories.

Some British readers enjoyed the use of British English as the Chilean characters' norm: the Chileans correct the German-raised Paloma's European Spanish, which in its turn is translated as American English. I found this very annoying, and thought that the translator should have shown them correcting her from British (European) to American English. I generally like a British English translation - and I wish more Americanisms in translations of European texts were changed to UK English - but in this instance, it felt all wrong.

When I'm reading a book from another country, I mentally reorientate in space in the same way that you do after you arrive in a new area and watch the weather on TV and see that you are now in a different place on the map. With the book, I hold in mind a sense of what is now nearby and what has become far away, and the changed directions of other places from 'here'. In that context, correcting American to British English in Chile, using American English to represent European Spanish, is like back-to-front, inside-out clothing. (I hope it's being changed for the US edition, which is due out in the summer.)

Apart from all these quibbles about over-anglicisation/britification, the writing is beautiful and is literary without being being particularly challenging, compared with, e.g. the poetic prose of another longlisted book, Sara Stridsberg's The Faculty of Dreams. It has some references to history, and to local figures such as TV presenters, but these are relatively few, making the book more accessible; it is not like (also-shortlisted) Annie Ernaux's The Years, which has cultural and political allusions on almost every page. (There may be hidden references, however. A few days ago, browsing some other Spanish literature, I stumbled on a link to Fernando Arrabal, and one review's description of his writing made me wonder if he is an influence on the character Felipe Arrabal's narrative.

I'd never really thought before about what it would be like to be *in* Chile, so aside from the irritation with language-correction, this reorientation was one of the most invigorating and interesting experiences of the book for me. The narrowness of the country initially brought a sense of space similar to that of being in a particularly narrow corridor, or in one of those very skinny terraced houses. But I soon realised it wouldn't be quite that physically felt, and I relaxed. Britain would feel very small to a North American doing the same thought exercise, yet spaces in Britain can still feel big. (However, since finishing The Remainder, I've started listening to an audio travel guide to Chile, and it mentions that Chileans can feel remote and cut off from the rest of the world, behind the Andes. And of particular relevance to this novel, it suggests that this makes them especially interested in travel.)

I'm not a fan of this UK cover. The cover should give some sense of the roadtrip that takes up more than half the book. This was one of the MBI-eligible books I might have read before the longlist was announced, and if I'd had a sense of the roadtrip plot, I think I would have. I thought it was a book about miserable people wandering about abstractly in a city. (I don't think I'd expanded the blurb on GR, or I'd been on the book page enough times that only the first, unexpanded, bit stuck with me.) The cover also fails to communicate the youthfulness of the book. Having piercings and tattoos is normal and incidental to these characters, as is queerness. An older author might make a big deal of these. The characters seem even younger than they are (30) - they seem like students or new graduates - because no-one apparently has a fixed job they have to excuse themselves from to go on the journey. Iquela appears to be a part-time translator. (It sounds like Felipe might not be able to manage a job given his state of mind... Yet he's allowed to drive. Maybe he seems more okay to the outside world than he does to the readers who hear his internal monologue.)

A comment from another member of the bloggers shadow jury - which I read before the book - was very helpful, pointing out its theme of having parents who'd spent much of their lives under a dictatorship, and the resonance for millenials from the former Eastern Bloc. I don't think I would have otherwise noticed this so much, and all the subtle implications of the legacy of Pinochet's rule in in the characters' lives.

A lot of other readers have described the book as dreamlike, but for whatever reason, I didn't find it that way. It felt direct and vivid, and I liked the concrete communication of a strange series of events, including an ashfall, a coffin flown to an inconvenient location, an impromptu roadtrip and doing drugs. The roadtrip makes use of the sort of serendipity more typical of light fiction than real life, as the characters are readily offered the loan of a picturesque and eccentric car older than they are (its name, The General, an evident metaphor), but it doesn't have the oneiric atmosphere of several other books on this list. (Thankfully, as I was tiring of it.)

A few scenes of Felipe's earlier life contain formulaic indicators for fictional villains, yet he never becomes an outright villain, more of a nuisance for his companions. This rejection of standard tropes seems intended to show that people with problems are more complicated than stories often show.

I suspect the last chapters may be meant to echo traditional myth and religion. Pre-Hispanic Chilean mummies found at high altitudes had been taken on long journeys up into the mountains to die. As The General inadvertantly is - by the younger generation trying to put the legacy of the past behind the. Felipe's drug-fuelled transformation into a bird possibly hints at shamanism.
There may be bird spirits/gods from the area, but I only know about Quetzalcoatl. Or is it syncretic? (And part of shamanism was communication between the worlds of the living and the dead, echoed in Felipe's obsession with counting the dead and matching them up with those born. His fixation seems to refer both to the years of dictatorship and disappearances, and to a more ancient past.)
I really liked the mythological feel of these chapters, but also wondered if there is any controversy about predominantly European-descended writers using indigenous mythology in Latin America.

One of the MBI judges, translator Maureen Freely, said of the submitted books “We had this almost spooky attention to rumblings on behalf of a natural world that seems ready to fight back, this environmental disaster moment”. (Also relevant to The Remainder, she mentioned another theme of “younger generations grappling with the political legacies of their parents, unable to shake them off”.) The ash which covers Santiago in the novel can feel like part of this, seen in conjunction with current dystopian literature, although it is a naturally-occurring phenomenon - a Pacific Ring of Fire with much volcanic and seismic activity - and, as others have mentioned, partly a metaphor for political problems in Chile (a more neoliberal economy than its neighbours), which is why, in the novel, the ash stops so neatly at the border.

If I read fiction from a country for the first time (I don't think I've read any other Chilean novels, though I did read a short volume of Neruda's poems) it often sweeps away previous impressions of the place. My main associations with Chile were the 400+ year-long drought of the Atacama Desert, and volcanoes and earthquakes and archaeology. Yet all of this was present in The Remainder - there is general talk of drought in the early chapters. So, a country in which natural phenomena and disasters have always had a more obvious impact on life than in many parts of Europe - but as Freely indicates, prescient for other places. The effect of the book was rather to show that there are people living among all this who are also much like Millenials elsewhere.

(read & reviewed April 2019)

[Hugh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize 2019

I am not sure that I understood this fractured, allusive story well enough to review it coherently, but I enjoyed reading it.

The surface story tells of three young adults, all of them children of Chilean radicals. The narration alternates between two of them, Iquela and Felipe, who have an almost sibling like relationship as they were brought up together by Iquela's mother. Iquela's narrative is relatively straightforward. She starts by describing her first meeting with Paloma, who has a German father and lives in exile in Germany - Paloma is slightly older and encourages her to drink and smoke.

The other narrator Felipe is harder to follow - he has an obsession with counting the dead, and his account is rambling and sometimes incoherent.

The story proper begins when Paloma returns from Germany intending to bury her Chilean mother, whose coffin is expected on another flight. Santiago is covered in ash, and the second plane is diverted to Argentina.

The three manage to borrow a hearse and embark on a surreal road trip with the intention of retrieving and repatriating the body.

Although the story can be difficult to follow, its language, symbolism and imagery are very powerful, making me wonder whether it was written with half an eye on cinema.

I have been deliberately avoiding reading detailed reviews of this one, so I will now do that.

Reread June 2021 for a discussion in the 21st Century Literature group.

I won't edit the original review. Second time round certain elements stood out more - the review doesn't mention that Felipe's sections are all written in chapter long sentences, whereas Iquela's are in normal sentences. I still don't think I followed everything, but there is a central theme of the way traumatic events such as those in Pinochet's Chile have lingering effects on younger generations, and much of the more surreal content is symbolic or reflective of the characters' drug-addled confusion. I liked the book slightly more second time.

[Eric Anderson · Rating 5 out of 5]

It's usually only in retrospect that we can consider the seismic importance of major political events we lived through in our childhood. “The Remainder” opens with an account of the children of Chilean revolutionaries whose parents are having a party on the evening of 1988 when Pinochet is voted out of office. Of course, the children are more interested in sneaking sips of alcohol and fostering their own obsessions while the adults are embroiled in politics. Many years later the three children Paloma, Iquela and Felipe embark in a hearse on a surreal road trip. They want to retrieve the body of Paloma's mother which has been lost in transport because a volcanic eruption has covered nearby cities in ash and has caused the plane transporting the body to be redirected. The lyrical prose describe the rich intricacy of their interactions and shifting relationships with each other as well as their stumbling efforts to make sense of the political circumstances they were raised in. This is vibrant story that captures all the complexities of feeling experienced by a particular country's new generation burdened with the weight of the past.

Read my full review of The Remainder by Alia Trabucco Zerán on LonesomeReader

[محمد الفولي · Rating 5 out of 5]

واحدة من أصعب وألذ تجارب الترجمة التي خضتها.

سعيد بقرب صدور الرواية أخيرا وبعد طول انتظار ❤️

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 4 out of 5]

The objects turn into digits, which fill the different compartments of your mind,’ Felipe would say, ‘so that the sad thoughts don’t have anywhere to live and we’re just left with the numbers. The bad thoughts become homeless,’ he’d say, pulling a knowing face, an absent face, a sad, blank face.

The Remainder has been translated by Sophie Hughes from Chilean author Alia Trabucco Zerán's 2014 debut novel La Resta and published by the wonderful And Other Stories an independent, not-for-profit publisher of innovative contemporary writing from around the world.

The English translation was, appropriately, published in English on the 30th anniversary of the Chilean national plebiscite that ousted General Pinochet, on 5th October 1988 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1988_Ch...) an event which forms one key early scene in the novel and in the narrators' childhoods.

This is the second Hughes translation I have read, and she does another excellent job. Although her real - frustrated ambition - is to translate the world's greatest novelist of the 2nd half of the 20th Century, Thomas Bernhard:

Every now and then a book makes my fingers itch to translate it from the very first pages. Thomas Bernhard, Vladimir Nabokov, and Natalia Ginsburg have this effect (alas, they are already expertly translated … what’s more, from languages I don’t speak …).
https://pen.org/from-the-remainder/

The first Hughes novel for me was the brilliant The Boy Who Stole Attila's Horse by Iván Repila, an odd oversight from the 2018 Man Booker International shortlist: my review https://www.goodreads.com/review/show....

Both books share a fascination with numerology, including in the chapter headings. The Boy Who Stole Attila's Horse had chapters numbered with all the primes between 1 and 100 - the chapters titles also corresponding to the number of days elapsed in the story, as well as a wonderful hidden coded message with one of the characters pronouncing that every number could correspond to a word, and that one day he would be capable of expressing himself only through numbers.

Here the novel is narrated alternately by two twenty-something characters, Iquela and Felipe, both children of anti-Pinochet militants in the oppressive 1970s and 1980s. Each has their own way of coping, or perhaps avoiding, the handed-down trauma from their parents' generation.

Felipe, whose parents are dead and who himself has something of a ghostly presence, narrates chapters whose numbering counts downward. His sections are told in a rather feverish style (proto-stream of consciousness but narrated in the past tense): he is obsessed with the mordid maths and with the dead bodies he believes she sees everywhere, and eventually decides it is better to count down rather than count the bodies up, trying to reconcile the bodies with the missing:

One week there, the next nowhere to be seen, that’s how my dead began, out of control, every other Sunday then two in a row, catching me unawares in the strangest of places: lying at bus stops, on curbs, in parks, hanging from bridges and traffic lights, they were scattered all over Santiago, these Saturday stiffs, weekly or bimonthly corpses which I totted up methodically, and the tally rose like foamy scum, like rage and lava it rose, till I twigged that adding them up was the problem because it makes no sense for the number to rise when we all know the dead fall.
...
Counting up is not the answer: how can I square the number of deaths and the number of graves? how will I work out how many are born and how many remain? how can I reconcile the death toll with the actual sum of the dead? by deducting, tearing apart, rending bodies, that’s it: by using this apocalyptic maths to finally, once and for all, wake up on the last day, grit my teeth and subtract them: sixteen million three hundred and forty-one thousand nine hundred and twenty-eight, minus three thousand and something, minus the one hundred and nineteen, minus one.

(The last paragraph in the original for comparison:
Porque agregar siempre fue un problema y sumar la respuesta equivocada: ¿cómo igualar la cantidad de muertos y las tumbas?, ¿cómo saber cuántos nacemos y cuántos quedamos?, ¿cómo ajustar las matemáticas mortales y los listados?, sustrayendo, descomponiendo, desgarrando cuerpos, eso es, usando la aritmética del fin de los tiempos, para así, de manera rotunda y terminal, amanecer el último día, apretar los dientes y restar: dieciséis millones, trescientos cuarenta y un mil novecientos veintiocho, menos tres mil y tantos, menos los ciento diecinueve, menos uno.)

Aquela also uses counting - random objects - as a coping strategy and her technique is more around distraction and not really living her life (she notes that despite an ambition to travel, she has journeyed to live just eight and a half blocks from her mother). Her chapters are 'numbered' with empty brackets, ( ), symbolically representing her absence.

The narrative drive comes from the return to Chile of a third member of their generation, Paloma. Aquela first met Paloma, son of two German descended militants, associates of Aquela and Felipe's parents, at a party at Aquela's family home to celebrate the 1988 referendum, when they were children/teens. Paloma made a strong impression including a sexual frisson between them. Paloma's parents later fled Chile, seeking asylum in the Germany embassy to live overseas. When, in the present day of the novel (presumably the early 2010s), Paloma's mother dies of cancer, she decides to bring her body back to Chile for cremation. However, due to volcanic ash clouds - presumably based on the 2011-2 Puyehue-Cordón Caulle eruption (https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-lati...) the separate flight carrying the coffin is diverted to Mendoza in Argentina, and the second half of the novel consists of a rather odd road trip, in a borrowed hearse, for the three to retrieve it, over the cordillera (the long mountain range between Chile and Argentina, which looms oppressively over Santiago in another of the novel’s many symbols).

The ash that disrupted the flight forms another key motif: in the novel it falls like rain on a regular basis in Santiago and carpets the city (at one point Aquela notes that the ghostly Felipe leaves no footprints).


(a photo of a golf course near to the Puyehue-Cordón Caulle volcano in June 2011)

The ash in the author's schematic represents the toxic legacy of the Pinochet regime and the, in her view, toxic neo-capitalism that lingered even into the President Michelle Bachelet era (seen as a progressive in most of the world - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michell... - Trabucco Zerán seems, from interviews, to see Bachelet as just another useful tool in the capitalist system - see e.g. https://elasombrario.com/alia-trabucc...).

Language also plays another key role - e.g. the use of the language in the dissident era ('rats' meant something different to a rodent), the alias and hence dual identities of the characters' parents, and Aquela herself works as a translator. The translator of the novel has some fun when Felipe decides to correct the expatriate Paloma's language:
 
‘Let’s see know, Fraulein Paloma,’ Felipe began. ‘What do we call sports shoes?’

And Paloma fell into the trap.

‘Sneakers.’

‘Trainers,’ he corrected her. ‘Iqueala, where did you pick up this textbook foreigner?’

And Paloma, fighting back the giggles, reeled off a list of words she knew:
‘Diaper … sidewalk …. restroom…’

And Felipe went on correcting her.

‘Nappy, Fraulein, we say nappy and pavement. And don’t get me started on restroom ….’

(well said Felipe!)

And for a translation it has just the right amount of googlable colour without needing footnotes or afterwords - references to someone being more lost than Lieutenant Bello - a Chilean colloquialism 'más perdido que el Teniente Bello' (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disappe...) and to the exhumation of Pablo Neruda (https://www.independent.co.uk/news/wo...), which rather confuses Felipe's body count.

The book also has strong echoes with a number of similar novels published in 2018 by Charco Press, most notably the Republic of Consciousness longlisted Resistance by Julian Fuks tr. Daniel Hahn (a disappointing omission from the MBI), and this informative essay in The White Review connects the two: http://www.thewhitereview.org/reviews...
 
A worthy inclusion on the MBI list: certainly worth its longlist place, a shortlist contender. 4 stars.

[Sarah ~ · Rating 4 out of 5]

حاصل الطرح - أليا ترابوكو ثيران

حاصل الطرح رواية عن الماضي والأسر التي دمرتها دكتاتورية بينوشيه، حكاية متعددة الأصوات وقوية وفريدة، تنتمي لنوع جديد من الأدب التشيلي يعرف بأدب الأبناء.
ساعدتني ملاحظات المترجم محمد الفولي وهوامشه في قراءة الرواية وفهمها بشكل أفضل .

[Britta Böhler · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5*

[Maria Hill AKA MH Books · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dark, disturbing yet devastatingly beautiful. My third And other Stories subscription book and my favourite to date.

The remainder is a tale of three broken children, now all grown up, a city smothered in ash and the meanings and weights of language and words.

Felipe tells us his story in single sentences the length of chapters. He sees dead bodies everywhere and is slowly subtracting them down until he finds the remainder.

Iquela, an English language translator, is obsessed with Paloma, a child more of her parents past and memories than her own. I admit she made me a little obsessed with Paloma too.

Then one day a pisco (brandy) swilling, chain-smoking Paloma turns up in Chile to bury her mother Ingrid. Like a fairytale, ash falls on Santiago and the body gets diverted to Argentina. All three travel over the Cordillera and back into their pasts to retrieve the body.

This book is recommended to readers who love language, appreciate translators and who were not overly disturbed by violent imagery (if you didn’t mind Han Kang’s the Vegetarian you will probably be okay).

I should hate this book for the parrot scene alone (I own parakeets/budgies) but I love it.

[Taghreed Jamal El Deen · Rating 3 out of 5]

رواية مجنونة ومختلّة، عن جيل ما بعد الدكتاتوريات، وندوب الماضي التي تعبر جلد الآباء لتصل إلى الأبناء حتى إن لم يعاصروها.

" مهما قالوا في علم الرياضيات إن الترتيب لا يغيّر الناتج، فهذا كذب، وكل شخص يعرف هذا الأمر. "

رواية ستحبها وتكرهها في ذات الوقت؛ ستعجبك لكنك لن ترغب بالمزيد منها، ستنغمس بها حتى العمق وستتمنى انتهاءها بأسرع ما يمكن أيضاً.

" يجب عليّ أن أسرع وأجتهد إذا كنت أود فعلاً أن أصل إلى الصفر. "

هناك أمر أود التعليق عليه لكن لا أدري كنهه بالضبط، هذا العمل ومع كل الجهد المبذول فيه هناك شيء ينقصه؛ شيء تم التغاضي عنه وطمسه بإضافة المزيد من الغرابة والاختلال، لكن رغم المحاولات لا يزال فراغه يدل عليه.

الترجمة من أفضل ما مرّ عليّ، والعمل الذي قام به المترجم من حيث الحواشي والشروحات لا يمكن أن يتم بصورة أحسن من هذه.

[diario_de_um_leitor_pjv · Rating 5 out of 5]

Aloa Trabucco Zeran é, definitivamente, uma das minhas escritoras preferidas. Um livro tenso sobre a dolorosa memória da ditadura de Pinochet na vida dos filhos sobreviventes dos jovens que lutaram e foram mortos.

[Ward Khobiah · Rating 5 out of 5]

الصفحات الأولى لهذه الرواية هي صفعات مجردة بحق، صراخٌ فقط؛ صراخٌ بحق الحياة وعُنفها، اضطرارٌ لمعاشرة الموت والتعامل معهُ، وما في ذلك من أزمة حقيقية في الحساب، حسابٌ يُخلَطُ مع الموت والحاصل نتائج كارثية، نتائج مفاجئة دائمًا، صادمة، فيتكسّر علم الحساب مُعلنًا عن هشاشة واضحة لم تعبّر عنهُ من قبل.

لـ"أليا" قدرةٌ بارعة على السرد، وهذا ما التقطتهُ منذ بداية الفصل الثاني تقادميًا (إذ إن ترتيب الفصول مسألة مفقودة، تستشعرها تحديدًا في اللحظات الأولى)، فهي تمتلك قدرة شجاعة على التنقّل الرشيق بين شخوص روايتها ضامنةً لكل منها صوته المتفرد، وصفاته الإنسانية الخاصة، وهذا ما يجعل منه بوصلتك الشخصية إذ لا تحتاج الكثير لمعرفة من يتحدث فكلٌّ له لواعج نفسه واضطراباته الوجودية الخاصة!
تَثبْ "أليا" بخفة بينَ حادثتين في ذات الغرفة فتشعرك بحصولهما بنفس الوقت وبذات الشدّة والمقدار. وهذه نُقطةٌ مهمة يجب إثارتها، إذ إنه غالبًا هناك حدثين الأول يوميٌ يصنعُ حاضرًا، والثاني يبدو هامشيًا ولكنه يصنعُ مستقبلًا، فتمكنتْ أخيرًا ككاتبة بارعة –تحديدًا في هذه النقطة- من الإحاطة بالأهمية الوجودية لكلا الحدثين، فتختفي بذلك ثنائية الحدث الرئيسي والهامشي، ويصبحان حدثين مهمّين مُعبّرين عن وجودهما، و"الهامشية الحدثية" هو منطق خاضع غالبًا/ دائمًا إلى عين فاحصة وحيدة، فتكون رؤيةً قاصرةً كالكثير من الأفعال البشرية فتعبر بأمان.

الصمتُ خوف، الصمتُ موت، الصخب والضجيج حياة، إنه "فيليبو" شخصية النتائج الكارثية، يحب المشي ويكره الجلوس، يكره الأماكن المُغلقة ويُفضّل الأماكن الرحبة، حتى إنه في حالة حرب مع جفنِ عينه -الذي يعبّر برأيه عن حالة انغلاق- ليبقيه مشرّعًا، هو طيف خاص ما بين السادية والمازوخية إذ يستمتع بالألم، ولكنني لا أظنه هكذا تمامًا إذ إن مُبررات اختلاقه للألم أكبر من ذلك فهو يرى أن الألم هو مرآة للحياة والواقع فيُفرط فيه، أصبح مهووسًا بعلم الحساب – حساب الأموات، عمليته المفضلة هي الطرح، وهو شخصيتي المفضلة!

هل يمكننا النجاةُ من تذكر طفولتنا؟ حتى من كانت طفولته تحمل طبائع سلميّة؛ لا تحمل بالضرورة الألم إذ إنني سأُغالي وأقول إن نسيان ما كانته هذه المرحلة هو مكسبٌ على اختلاف درجاته، وأحيانًا هذه السلمية تخفي وراءها الكثير من ألمٍ ما فتصبح سلمية دموية وذلك لأننا لا ننسى وتحديدًا المبالغات – مبالغات السعادة والحزن معًا نحن الأطفال أكثر الكائنات حساسية وتيقظًا، وعلى سبيل الذكر والتدليل هذا ما كانت تؤكده لي جدتي –دون أن تعلم أنني سأتوصل إلى هذه النتائج الكارثية فلو علمت لامتنعت- عندما أتلفظ بـ"ألفاظ بذيئة" أمام أحد الأطفال فتلومني حرصًا قائلةً: "الصغير متل السفنجة شو ما شربته بيغبّ" وهذا تحديدًا ما عادت إليه هذه الكاتبة المُتعلمة، إنها حكمة جدتي غير المستكملة لتعليمها وغير المتقنة إلا إلى ما علمتها إياه باقي النسوة والزمن سويًا. فهي ذاكرة الطفولة باختصار، هنا/ هناك تكمن الأجوبة والحلول، فهي جزء حاضر بقدر ما هو ماضٍ، لا يمكن محوه، ولا يُمكن المُضيّ قدمًا دون العودة إليه وتحليله وتقليبه والتأمل فيه والاستزادة منه، فالحاضر ومن ثم المستقبل مرهونٌ جدًا بما كان عليه شكل هذا "الماضي" والطفولةُ بمسراتها وأوجاعها جزء من جواب.

للرواية عدة مقولات فنية رغم عدد الصفحات القليل، وكلها مهمة وحاضرة في النص، وهذا إنجازٌ فنيٌ آخر يُضافُ للعمل.

أخيرًا: تحية محبة كبيرة للمترجم ودار النشر على هذا التضامن الواضح من الصفحة الأولى على إنتاج نصٍ واضحٍ وأمين ويحتوي على القيمة الفنية اللازمة دون إخلال، شكرًا على الحرص والأمانة وتكريم القارئ واحترامه، في وقت باتت فيه القيمة الدُنيا مشاعٌ ويُكافأ صاحبها بالقول والفعل.
شكرًا على الهوامش وعلى التنبيه الديمقراطي الرشيق في بداية الكتاب، وأنا مؤمنٌ بأن القيمة الحقيقية لهذه الترجمة العربية للرواية لم تصنعها مجرد مصادفة، إنه عملٌ دؤوب واختيار عارف وشراكة حقيقيّة بين مترجمٍ مجتهد وناشرٍ حريص، فلا يمكن لعينٍ واحدة متفحصة أن تكفي.

[Ensaio Sobre o Desassossego · Rating 4 out of 5]

No ano passado li "Limpa" de Alia Trabucco Zerán e adorei. Foi uma das minhas melhores leituras de 2023, fiquei encantada com a escrita e, acima de tudo, fiquei absolutamente rendida à narradora e protagonista da história. Um livro que trata a luta de classes, a solidão, o luto, o silêncio. É um livro extraordinário, que recomendo mesmo muito.

Por tudo isto, estava com muitas expectativas em relação a este livro. "A subtracção" é o romance de estreia da autora, lançado em 2016 e foi considerado uma das estreias literárias mais importantes desse ano. Já o "Limpa" saiu em 2022 e posso afirmar que notei uma evolução na escrita. Ainda assim, neste primeiro livro, Alia Trabucco Zerán já mostra mestria em construir uma narrativa tensa e em criar personagens magníficas e peculiares.

Iquela, Felipe e Paloma são personagens inesquecíveis, tão imperfeitas, mas tão reais. Esta é a história destes três jovens - dois chilenos e uma alemã - que partem em busca do corpo da mãe de Paloma, que foi desviado para o país vizinho. Os três amigos juntam-se numa road trip até à Argentina... e o resto têm de ler no livro 😉

Três personagens descendentes de radicais chilenos, três almas inquietas, num texto sobre o luto, em que se contam os mortos, em que se tenta equilibrar entre o número dos que nascem e o número dos que morrem, em que o objectivo é igualar o número de mortos e o número de sepulturas. Que é feito de toda aquela gente que morreu às mãos da ditadura?

As personagens de Alia são vozes poderosas da América Latina, retratam a sociedade chilena de uma forma muito real e, ao mesmo tempo, muito mágica. Isto faz sentido? Faz, porque é de literatura latino-americana que estamos a falar 😝

Numa sociedade em que ainda se sentem os fantasmas deixados pela ditadura de Pinochet e em que se encontram cadáveres anónimos por todo o lado, há demasiados mortos sem corpo, sem memória, sem história. "A subtracção" é um livro sobre o trauma herdado da ditadura, e o que fazer com essa memória?

[راضي النماصي · Rating 5 out of 5]

عمل عالٍ رفيع عن جروح الظرف الإنساني التي تأبى أن تندمل، إذ ما تحت حاضر هادئ ليس سوى شخصيات مضطربة كل منها سلك خطًّا من خطوط التصرف الثلاثة في مواجهة ما لا قِبَلَ لهم به أفرادًا، وكشأن الذاكرة، يأتي السرد بضمير المتكلم غائمًا ومشتتًا إلى درجة تستفز التركيز، في نص تجريبي على مستوى الأصل والترجمة التي أداها الأستاذ محمد الفولي حق أداءها.

أزعم أنها لن تروق للجميع، لكن الخوض فيها يستحق المحاولة.

[Youssef · Rating 5 out of 5]

أحزن على الأبناء القادمين الذين سيحملون شظايانا، محاولين جمعنا، قبل أن يدركوا بأنهم هم أيضا من كسور وشظايا غير قابلة للإصلاح. حزني علينا أيضا، نحن أبناء الديكتاتوريات...
واحدة من أهم قراءات العام.

[Michelle · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tournament of Books LonglistI have to sit down and process this. Maybe even reread some passages.

[Gaspar Alvarez · Rating 5 out of 5]

“La resta” me dejó helado y movido, como después de un terremoto, sin saber qué hacer. Parte como una novela y a la mitad se convierte en otra y termina siendo otra, y del mismo modo que las palabras viajan de una forma a otra, como un liquido, los protagonistas viajan y vuelan, y nosotros tambien, obligados a seguirlos.

(Me parece muy curioso que haya sido seleccionada para el Man booker, porque siento que es una novela profundamente chilena. Sale de lo más profundo de lo que es ser chileno post dictadura, pero luego vuelvo a la forma en que Trabucco trabaja las palabras, haciéndolas vibrar, y bueno, ahí está la respuesta. Leía un review de un gringo que leía la ceniza que cubría Santiago como una metáfora para lo que nos dejó la dictadura, y claro, podemos empezar a buscar símbolos en todos lados, y que lindo verlos desde acá, porque para mi la ceniza no es tanto la dictadura, sino algo nuevo que aun no identifico que podría ser, así como los muertos que resta Felipe no se si son DDDD como argumentaba otro gringo.)

El fantasma de la dictadura está en todo el libro, titilante en el personaje de la mamá de Iquela, pero siento que es eso, un fantasma, y que lo que sucede va más allá de eso. Es una búsqueda por entender algo nuevo que está pasando y que va a ocurrir a pesar de los fantasmas, que los va a atravesar. Felipe cuenta muertos para llenarse a si mismo, y Iquela se aloja en las palabras extranjeras para distanciarse de las de su mamá y crearse a si misma.

Hay tanto que conversar sobre este libro, tantas miradas como lectores. Está tan abierto que llega a ser doloroso.

[Sidharth Vardhan · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is like one of those paintings which you could love without knowing their cultural or historical background which have high influence on the work of art. Coetzee talked about a scene in Robinson Crusoe in which the titular character discovered some shoes or something to realise that there would be read bodies in here. This whole book occurs in a sort of world that is like those shoes - an afterburn of immense violence that occurred in as Chile fought it's military rule as it rediscovers democracy. The story is written from point of view of militants' children. Not much happens in the book but it is still amazing. Psychological depth with which characters are built, an impresssionist style while building the world full of death, the somewhat obvious metaphors like children of militants carrying the dead weight of corpses of their parents looking for a place to bury them and often some timely humour amidst all that.... They all make this small book a powerful pill of literature.

[Tommi · Rating 4 out of 5]

The premise of Chilean author Alia Trabucco Zerán’s debut novel The Remainder, translated into English by Sophie Hughes, feels similar to other Latin American novels I’ve read recently, as it follows the aftermath of tumultuous political events through the experiences of a younger generation. Resistance by Julián Fuks comes to my mind first, a beautifully written novel set in Argentina and Brazil. The Remainder, on the other hand, is set in Santiago, Chile, covered in a layer of gray volcanic ash. The story follows a trio of characters, Felipe, Iquela, and Paloma, driving a hearse to Argentina in order to recover the body of Paloma’s mother, who is to be buried (“repatriated”) in Chile. The plane carrying the mother’s body from Germany to Chile had never made it to the destination, the volcanic ash having disrupted the flight and hence landing in Argentina. Solution: a road trip through the cordillera in search of the mother’s lost remains.

It’s a rather impressive novel that has that ‘something’ in it that makes me want to revisit scenes in order to make sense of the finely structured whole, as well as to appreciate the language in Hughes’ great translation. The chapters alternate between two narrators: Felipe’s chapters are numbered in decreasing order, beginning with chapter 11 and ending with chapter 0, which simply reflects his increasingly psychotic tendency to subtract all the dead bodies he sees around him (real or not). Iquela’s chapters are named “( )”, referring to her disposition to use brackets in the narration, where, ostensibly, we hear her innermost thoughts. I also saw an interpretation on GR (I think Paul said it) according to which the brackets represent the absence in her life after the traumatic events experienced by her parents who were militants during the Pinochet regime.

And trauma is definitely something these characters share. Felipe narrates in continuous sentences with full stops only at the end of each chapter, creating a sense of urgency and restlessness. I couldn’t help thinking about one of the most famous characters in English literature suffering from PTSD: Septimus Smith in Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, who similarly maintains deluded and increasingly dangerous notions about the reality around him, albeit in central London.

It’s a very fine read altogether, and I’m happy to see it shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize 2019. It’s a novel I could envision myself reading again at some point: it’s full-fledged and subtly layered. I find it somewhat similar to Valeria Luiselli’s recent novel Lost Children Archive, which I admittedly liked even more.

[Abbie | ab_reads · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thank you so much @andotherpics for sending The Remainder to read and review - despite some confusing sections, I loved this one and it’s definitely a favourite out of the International Man Booker long-list for me!
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It’s Alia Trabucco Zerán’s debut novel and I will certainly be keeping my eyes peeled for her future works, especially if they’re also going to be translated by Sophie Hughes. They complement each other so well, with Hughes mirroring the rhythmic tone Zerán was intending in the Spanish. She did such an amazing job with the chapters narrated by Felipe, as they’re four or five pages long and all one sentence and she captures his intensity perfectly!
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There’s also a lot to be said for her translation of Iquela’s chapters, as Iquela is a translator herself and often muses on the untranslatability of her work, how certain Spanish words have other nuances in different parts of South America - translating those into English must have taken so much effort! Zerán is also quite playful with language from what I gather from the translation, and again that must have been a challenge for Hughes but she rose to the occasion with aplomb! (I love that phrase.)
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In terms of plot, it’s quite loose in that three children of militant parents who fought against the Pinochet dictatorship come together as adults (around 23-25 I’d say), still under the shadow of their parents actions and consequences. When Paloma’s mother dies in Germany, Paloma comes back to Chile with the hope of having her mother buried in her home country, but the volcanic ash cloud over Chile forces the plane with her mother’s coffin in it to be cancelled. The trio head across country in a rented hearse in an attempt to repatriate Paloma’s body - it sounds weird but honestly I thought it was compelling!
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It’s interspersed with a lot of scenes from the trio’s childhood, often dark and quite disturbing, which tallies with Felipe’s bizarre present-day notion of counting dead bodies... I’m gonna stop here because I feel like I’m doing a terrible job of explaining it 😂
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Overall I thought it was an incredible translation and a compelling debut!

[Tamara Agha-Jaffar · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Remainder by Alia Trabucco Zerán, translated from the Spanish by Sophie Hughes, is set in Chile after the end of the Pinochet dictatorship and the restoration of democracy. It focuses on three individuals whose parents were allies involved in the struggle to overthrow the dictator. The chapters alternate between the first-person narrative of Iquela, the young woman whose mother was one of the anti-Pinochet activists, and the rambling stream of consciousness of her quasi-sibling and childhood friend, Felipe, whose father was killed for his political activities. Weaving in and out of both narratives are drug-induced hallucinations that blur the lines between what is real and what is imagined.

The novel opens with a 1988 flashback as a young Iquela recalls the gathering in her home on the day the radio announcer declared Pinochet had lost the election. There is tension in the room with Hans, a German, accusing Iquela’s father of being a snitch. Iquela doesn’t fully understand what is happening. She is more concerned with emulating Hans’ daughter, Paloma, who is a few years older than her.

Years later, Iquela is on her way to pick Paloma up from the airport. Paloma’s mother has died, and her daughter is honoring her wish to be buried in her native Chile. But a volcanic eruption diverts the plane carrying her mother’s body to Argentina. So Felipe, Iquela, and Paloma rent a hearse to retrieve her mother’s corpse for burial in Chile.

It is the telling of this simple plot which makes it a compelling read, earning it a place on the short list for the 2019 Man Booker International Prize. The chapters are numbered in reverse order, beginning with chapter 11. The numbered chapters consist of Felipe’s rambling stream of consciousness. He sees dead people everywhere and has assigned himself the task of counting the corpses so the number tallies with the official death toll with no remainders. His narrative is haunting, confused, and confusing. It unravels as one sentence, pages long. Felipe’s instability is reflected in violent acts and obsession with gore and death.

Alternating with Felipe’s numbered chapters are Iquela’s chapters, indicated by a parenthesis, as ( ). Her narrative is more conventional and easier to understand even though it is peppered with flashbacks. Iquela constantly dips in and out of the past as if it has never left her. She is haunted by her mother’s constant reminders of the past and is burdened by her mother’s refrain, “I want you to know that I do all this for you.”

The faltering children of former activists, a city smothered in ash, the ubiquitous presence of corpses—real or imagined—and the search for a missing corpse powerfully evoke the complexities of a traumatic, inherited past. The fractured narrative, lyrical diction, vivid imagery, and powerful symbolism capture the trauma experienced by the children of militants. Haunted by their parents’ past activism, the protagonists are the remainders, burdened with the corpses of the past and seeking a way to bury them.

A compelling narrative capturing the long-lasting trauma of military dictatorships on subsequent generations.

My book reviews are also available at www.tamaraaghajaffar.com

[Lubomír Tichý · Rating 5 out of 5]

Román o paměti, který zároveň tlumí (nebo se o to podobně jako jeho protagonisté snaží) vše minulé, nechává historii zaznít jen v dozvucích, které však chtě nechtě hýbají lecčím. Myslím, že pro českého čtenáře nemusí být od začátku úplně zřejmé, že se dění knihy podstatně váže k dějinám Chile – k období pinochetovského teroru, kdy došlo za pomoci USA k odstavení demokraticky socialistické vlády, kdy byly zavražděny tisíce lidí, kdy stovky občanů nezvěstně zmizely. Zerán ale nepředkládá krvavé výjevy z období diktatury. Ke slovu se dostává generace dětí těch, kteří se aktivně účastnily odboje vůči totalitě – a jejich postoj k minulému není veden heroickou euforií z konce režimu na konci 80. let, spíš potřebou najít balanc mezi zapomenutím a pohlcením. Prazvláštní trojice se snaží kolektivní trauma ukončit mj. pohřbením matky jedné z účastnic – ale to není jen tak, když z nebe padá popel a nejistota cloumá i dospělými těly.

Příběh je nesen dvěma vypravěčskými liniemi, které nemohou být stylově odlišnější, stejně jako nemohou být odlišnější (byť vedeni stejnou motivací) vypravěči – "nevlastní sourozenci" Felipe a Iquela.
Felipeho kapitoly tvoří vždy jedna jediná nekončící věta, vedená rozvernou mluvností, lehkovážností typu "nazdar bazar" a "no jasně" a potřebou skrz "hlučné myšlenky" zahnat nesnesitelnost ticha. Zároveň je řečový proud nesen i vážným posláním, dost možná pouze halucinačním, to ale není důvod pro snížení jeho závažnosti – Felipemu se zjevují mrtvoly, nezvěstní a nepohřbení z předchozího politického režimu, přičemž je jeho konání vedeno představou zarovnání počtu hrobů a mrtvých, titulního "odpočtu", který jako by mohl zastavit působení kolektivního traumatu. Právě kvůli této "matematice smrti" jsou jeho kapitoly nadepsané číslicí, vždy o jedno nižší (jenže co si počít, když se došlo k nule a něco nevychází?). Posedlost dopočítat se k nule se projevuje zálibou v násilí – Felipe bez zlých úmyslů oškubává papouška, zvídavě tráví slepice a vytváří brutální překážkové dráhy, aby se dopátral podstatě smrti.
Pasáže náležící Iquele jsou chladně koncentrované, svou pozorností nejčastěji upřené k lidským interakcím. Ty se ovšem spíš než jasnými výpověďmi vyznačují gesty a náznaky, které lze ve své zastřenosti vyjádřit pouze skrz "jako", přímé pojmenování jako by bylo nedosažitelné. Nejistota představuje zásadní rys tohoto vyprávění – v odstavcích se množí ambivalentní prožitky ("přicházeli stejnou měrou euforičtí a úzkostní", "otec vypadal mnohem živěji než kdy jindy, ale zároveň jako by měl každou chvíli zemřít", "její hlas zněl sladce, i když cize"), hojně užívané závorky nenechají napsané na pokoji – vše je potřeba upřesnit, tím spíš tedy znejistit: "Paloma těžce dýchala, zakrývala si jednou rukou nos a druhou se mě držela za paži, s něhou (nebo jen aby neztratila rovnováhu.").

Závorky ale nefungují pouze jako potřeba neustále zpochybňovat skutečnost, leckdy se mezi nimi nacházejí pouze výčty. Již naznačený motiv počtu hraje totiž v celé knize důležitou roli – mimo jiné v sebezáchovném rituálu, během nějž Iquela evidencí věci kolem sebe rozkládá nepříjemnou situaci na pouhá čísla a tím se z ní snaží uniknout. Určité číslo se vyjevuje v souvislosti s pamětí také jako pevný bod, kolem nějž lze sestavit zapomenutou scénu – třeba když dochází ke sčítání volebních hlasů, tak ke každému průběžnému součtu náleží určitá vzpomínka. Obecně lze říct, že se nutkání potýkat se s čísly vyjevuje jako potenciální způsob, skrz nějž by mohlo dojít k určitému ujištění, uklidnění či ukončení – převedení problému na exaktní rovinu však představuje řešení pouze iluzorní.

Dalším zásadním motivem se stává samotný jazyk – Iquela je profesí překladatelka, tudíž je citlivá k různým "trhlinám" k jazyce, nedorozumění si vykládá v metaforách z oblasti translatologie a v závorkách vyjmenovává řadu synonym vztahujících se k poslednímu slovu. Vyjevuje se však také jako osoba, která není schopna unést váhu a počet určitých slov (představuje si jejich přijímání jako "odměřování" lidského života), přičemž přikládá již samotnému vyslovení značnou sílu ("jako bych se tím jménem pokoušela napravit něco nenávratně rozbitého"). Slova jsou pak zostřeně vnímána zejména jako nositelé paměti – Paloma, jejíž matku v rakvi celé trio shání, od rodičů-emigrantů přebírá jejich španělštinu, která se svým kontextem váže k politickému dění. Mluvou Palomy (třeba jejími "nedokonalostmi") jako by pak byly dřívější události neustále kříšeny: "a také se naučila další, jiná slova, ta, na kterých se zadrhávala a pletla, protože pro její matku, pro tu moji (pro všechny naše rodiče), měla jiný význam: protože krytí neznamenalo sterilní obvazy, buňka nesouvisela s biologií, hnutí nesouviselo s pohybem a svazky nebyly knihy...". Stejně tak matka Iquely se stává přenašečem určitých frází, které pocházejí z období diktatury (variace "čekat, dívat se, vědět") nebo na něj odkazují ("Dělám to pro tebe.", "Nikdy nezapomeň."), a které se vypravěčce zadírají pod kůži.

Stát se nezávislým na paměti ostatních se ukazuje jako nemožné, ač se Iquela pohledu své matky, který se stává symbolem pro přenos paměti, snaží vyhnout sebevíc – padající popel z nebe připomíná zpopelněné, dětská hra "na zmizení" dostává znepokojivé konotace a během hraní "město jméno" v zadní části pohřebního vozidla dochází k nemístným přeřekům. Mísení tváří a jmen z různých období jednotlivých osob nutí chápat je nikoliv pouze jako "teď a tady", ale nutně s celou pošramocenou historií. K harmonii dochází pouze v nečekaně něžných momentech, kdy chvíle dětství obnaží od zlověstných významů a alespoň na chvilku mezi hlavní trojkou dojde k jakémusi (nejen) kamarádskému bezčasí. Kdy není potřeba si škrábat kůži do krve, aby se dosáhlo "vlastní" bolesti.

Jeden z nejlepších románů, co jsem kdy četl. Nevím, jestli to bylo zamýšlené, ale celou dobu mi na mysl přicházela ironie toho, že očistná cesta pryč je zároveň cesta "ze Santiaga" (jakožto de Chile, ne de Compostela).

[Tuna · Rating 3 out of 5]

Şili’de bir seçim gecesinde neticeleri, elektrik kesintileri, gerilen sinirleri, sıkıntılı kadehleri, tütün mamülleri eşliğinde konuklarıyla birlikte takip eden bir ailenin hikayesi. Bu aile ve konukları; yapılan serbest seçim sonuçlarıyla iktidara gelen demokratik hükümeti askeri bir darbeyle devirecek olan cuntaya karşı mücadele konusunda ne yapılacağı hususunda farklı düşüncelere kapılır.

Yıllara yayılan dostluk ve yoldaşlık paydaları dönüm noktası olan bazı gelişmelerle sınanır. Maalesef o meşum senelerde pek çok genç daha otuzunu göremeden hayattan koparılır. Aralarına giren somut ve soyut mesafeler zamanla açılır. O dönemin çocukları şimdinin yetişkinlerinin yolları bir vesileyle Santiago’da tekrardan kesişir. Hep birlikte ortak bir amaç uğruna yeni bir mücadeleye girilir.

Askeri vesayetten demokrasiye geçiş sancılarının yaşandığı, o kara günlerde buhar olan kayıp ruhların bulutlardan kül olup yağdığı, yakıcı güneşe rağmen karanlığın dağılmadığı Şili semalarını bunaltıcı ve sıkıcı bir hava kuşatır. Önceki nesillerin yaşadığı acıların akıllardan çıkmadığı, kötü anların sık sık hatırlandığı, ölenlerin ansızın ayaklandığı gündüz karabasanı yaşanır.

İki farklı anlatıcı ile bambaşka biçim ve anlatım teknikleri üzerinden aktarılan romanın klasik olanı hikayeye bağlarken diğeri kopmalara neden olabiliyor. Yazarın bu tercihi gerçek ve gerçek üstünün çatışmasını, ailelerinden ve ülkelerinden geriye kalanı okura düşündüren bir yapı kuruyor.

[untercioamargo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Díos mío, qué maravilla de libro.

Me demoré más de un mes en leerlo, pero no lo abandoné en ningún momento (cosa extraña, porque yo generalmente si tardo en leerme un libro es porque lo dejé a la mitad y luego lo retomé.

Este caso es distinto. Es de esas historias que ameritan ser leídas con cuidado, digiriendo de a poco cada una de las páginas y, aún más específicamente, las palabras que expresan los protagonistas. Eso hizo que mi lectura fuera aún más agradable, y estoy seguro que esa fue la intención de la autora.

La construcción de voces narrativas es simplemente perfecta. La novela está contada en primera persona por dos de los tres personajes principales, Felipe e Iquela.
Alia no te aclara cuándo está hablando cada personaje (aunque con los títulos igual se da a entender, más o menos), sin embargo no es necesario: ambas voces son tan originales y distintas entre ellas que es imposible no reconocerlas por separado.

La narración de Felipe me dejó loquísimo. Es original, interesante, muy bien planteada y maravillosamente escrita. Nunca antes me había encontrado con una voz así, que es como una ametralladora que no se detiene jamás. La mayor pausas que existen en sus capítulos son las comas (lo que significa que no hay párrafos, ni puntos seguidos ni aparte).
Es obsesiva y enternecedora. Siempre que aparecía se me hacía muy difícil despegarme de ella, cual si fuese un imán. Muchas veces me dejó el corazón en la garganta, y eso ocurrió también porque Felipe es un personaje medio turbio, que dice y hace cosas bastante cuestionables, pero su personalidad y sobretodo su voz está tan bien desarrollada que se entiende a la perfección cada una de las acciones.

Iquela igual me encantó. Es confusa a ratos, incluso más que la de Felipe, en mi opinión. Ella muestra una especie de obsesión con las palabras, que se podría entender como la obsesión de Felipe por la aritmética.
Me gustaron sobretodo los últimos capítulos narrados por Iquela, en donde comienza a fraguar toda su personalidad, que incluyen sus recuerdos, sus miedos y los problemas que acarrea por el trauma generacional.
Al principio esto igual se deja ver, pero son simples pinceladas que no dejan nada claro, aunque eso no me parece necesariamente algo negativo. Por el contrario, parece un método intencionado para mostrar el carácter más racional y contenido que ella posee, para después estallar como una bomba y mostrarnos todo el potencial que tiene.

Paloma es nuestra tercera protagonista, que no se siente tan desarrollada como los anteriores dos, pero me gusta que sus acciones estén bien justificadas y que su temperamento sea muy reconocible. Se logra darle cierta profundidad, a pesar de que es un personaje que (lamentablemente) nunca podemos escuchar.

Me gustó cómo la autora integró los modismos chilenos a su narración, que se ve sobretodo en la voz de Felipe. No es nada relevante, lo sé, pero se siente muy bonito sentirte identificado con una historia solo por el lenguaje que se usa, y además entender cada una de las palabras que solo los chilenos entendemos, como si fuera una lengua en clave.

Creo que la historia en sí es lo que menos me gustó, y fue lo único que me hizo que me desentendiera un poco del libro mientras avanzaba.
La idea es buena y está bien trabajada (más adelante ahondaré un poquito más en eso), pero se pierde con el desarrollo que se le da. Ya desde la mitad de la novela parece una historia de aventuras sin el entretenimiento. No se vuelve aburrido, pero sí menos interesante de seguir, porque las cosas que le pasan a los tres personajes en este road trip se escapa un poco de la trama original y es un giro muy extraño, que parece casi de relleno.
Peeero, no es relleno, porque igual se toma el tiempo de desarrollar a los personajes a través de las situaciones que les ocurren. La relación entre ellos tres se vuelve mucho más importante (que no daré detalles para no dar spoilers), y el desenlace de los temas planteados en el libro también perecen aquí, en este viaje.

Pasando al último punto que voy a tocar, me gustaría hablar del mensaje. Generalmente no me gustan los libros que intentar dejar mensajes a cada rato para sonar más profundos o cosas así, pero en este caso fue distinto.
Para empezar no es algo evidente o que parezca de relleno. Tampoco es un intento (o al menos un intento mal hecho) de volver al libro mucho más ¿inteligente? No sé cuál es la palabra. Ja, ja, ya parezco la Iquela.
Habla del trauma generacional, en este caso el trauma de las personas que vivieron en la dictadura, y como eso afecta en mayor o menor medida a los hijos que no vivieron esta época, pero que sí crecieron observando los problemas que este hecho desembocó en sus padres.
Iquela nos cuenta a través de situaciones la relación con su madre, que es muy inquietante por esto mismo. Felipe ahonda en el nombre de su padre, que genera en él un desasosiego enorme porque es igual al suyo. Eso y todo el tema relacionado con la resta y lo de contar muertos, que también me encantó, por cierto.
E igual podemos ver la travesía de Paloma por encontrar a su madre.

Nada más que decir. Es un libro casi perfecto. Sin duda se lo recomendaría a todo el mundo. Qué lata que no tenga más reconocimiento.

[Shaymaa Bedeir · Rating 4 out of 5]

"علينا أن نصارع الستارة التي ترغب في حبسنا، يا إيكي، إنها ترغب في محاصرتنا إلى الأبد."

هنا كان "فيليبي" يخبر "إيكيلا" بأن تلمس بياض عينيه! لا أعلم بالضبط لما استوقفتني تلك الجملة بالذات، لكنني أعلم جيداً بأن هذه الرواية، الرواية التي أود كتابتها في يوم.

في "حاصل الطرح"، نجد ضالتنا في كنس الموت، هطوله من سحب الأرمدة، في جنازة ميتة/ راحلة/ فقيدة/ جثة/ رقم/ حاصل طرح يساوي صفراً!

ل"فيليبي أرّررررابال" صوت غير الصوت، لون غير اللون، هيئة غير الهيئة، عين جلده غير أي عين، فكرة غائمة، وجود شبحي يائس، فسيح يضم كل شيء ولا شيء، ل "فيليبي أرابال" حرف راء ليس مثله أي راء!

تحكي "آليا ترابوكو ثيران" عن جنازة تشيلي، أعتبر "انغريد" بطلة مساوية لإيكيلا، بالوما، فيليبي في الفعل والوجود، وإن كانت جثة، فقد كانت الجنازة المهيبة أيضا، جنازة المسرات والأوجاع.
كنت أشتري من الرواية نفسها شيء بعينه، عدة مرات متكررة، حتى حسبت الأمر عادة، فقد اشتريت من الرواية أعين مزررة، وعيون بالجلد، كنت أنتظر، أنظر، وأعرف.

يحكي "محمد الفولي" عن بالوما، إيكيلا، فيليبي، يقول "ناقص واحد، ناقص واحد، ناقص واحد"
من منهم الفولي، فيليبي، آليا؟! سؤال طرحته على نفسي قبل أن أقرأ كلمة المترجم، كلمة المترجم المهووس.
هذا النص كان له منذ البداية، كان هو جواز مرور صوت "آليا" إلينا، أنا هنا أكتب منتشية بروح "فيليبي" التي تلبست المترجم، روح إيكيلا، بالوما، انغريد!
أقول على الدوام أن هناك نصوص لا يمكن انتزاعها من رأسك بسهولة، تحكم سيطرتها عليك، لا مجال للفكاك منها، هذا النص أحدها.

حمد لله فلم أولد مستئَصَلا مني فَصّ الدهشة، لكنت فوتُ على نفسي هذه اللذة.

[Felipe Fuentealba · Rating 2 out of 5]

La prosa de la autora es ejemplar, pero el problema es que es demasiado evidente su intención de que cada escena, cada tic de los personajes sea un símbolo. El trío de protagonistas se hallan marcados por la muerte de sus mayores. Deciden hacer un viaje ¿y en qué van? En carroza mortuoria. Hacen el amor ¿y dónde lo hacen? El la parte trasera de la carroza. ¿Con qué se embriagan cuando se van de carrete? Pues, obvio, con los jarabes contra el cáncer que tomaba la difunta madre de una de las protagonistas. Por ese afán tan obvio por el simbolismo se derrumba toda verosimilitud. Ningún chileno podría creerse esta historia. En cambio, si yo fuera escandinavo y la leyera desde mi cabaña de vacaciones en Los Alpes, exclamaría: "qué curiosos y simpáticos son los chilenitos".

[Darryl · Rating 4 out of 5]

This darkly comic story about three children of ex-militants who opposed the regime of the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet is set in the capital of Santiago, a city in a valley surrounded by volcanoes that is encased in ash, a fitting metaphor for the political and social fallout during the last days of the regime and the years that followed. The novel opens in December 1989 during a party hosted by Consuelo, one of the former militants who has changed her identity and her name to remain hidden in public view, and her husband, as their friends gather to watch the coverage of the election that would remove Pinochet from power and restore Chile to a democracy that ended with the assassination of Salvador Allende in 1973. Iquela is the teenage daughter of Consuelo, and she is tasked with welcoming Paloma, the moody and defiant daughter of Consuelo's exiled militant in arms, who has come from Germany with her parents to witness this momentous event. The girls bond over cigarettes and alcohol, and Iquela is fascinated by Paloma's European style and self confidence.

The story then fast forwards to modern day Santiago—which is still covered in ash. Paloma's mother has just died in Germany, and Paloma arrives in Santiago in advance of her mother's coffin, as she intends to bury her in her homeland. Paloma arrives safely, but the plane carrying her mother is diverted to Argentina, due to a heavy ash cloud that covers the capital and prevents flights from landing. The two women enlist the help of Felipe, Iquela's disturbed adopted brother and the son of ex-militants who were disappeared during the Pinochet regime, in a half baked and surreal road trip to claim Paloma's mother and bring her back to Santiago.

The three main characters are meant to represent the post-Pinochet generation, who were only children when he was deposed in 1990 but continue to be affected by his regime, and the sacrifices that their parents made during that time for them. Consuelo repeatedly tells her daughter, "I did this all for you", and Iquela is trapped by a daily sense of duty to her mother, and is seemingly more of a post-adolescent who has not yet matured into an independent adult 25 years after Pinochet's downfall. The story is told in alternating chapters, in which Iquela and Felipe are narrators, while Paloma is cast as a secondary character despite being the center of this account.

The Remainder is a very enjoyable and impressive début novel, which is another worthy selection for this year's Man Booker International Prize shortlist.

[Simona · Rating 3 out of 5]

Story is set in the Chile after the fall of Pinochet’s regime and the focus isn’t on the direct victims of the dictatorship, but on the second generation, children of those who fought against the repression. I think that this was great idea, to tell the story how dark parts of the history doesn’t end with a single generation. Story is told through two main characters, which are diametrically opposed to each other in perceiving events around them. The author perfectly succeeds in showing this contrast through the prose (two extremely different types of narration), but unfortunately the chapters quite quick becomes very repetitive. While I do think that the prose is beautiful, premise of the story very intriguing and that characters are interesting ... but I also think that the execution is weak, lacking of something more deeper and constructive, and especially hallucinogenic end spoils the whole story.

[Filipa Silva · Rating 3 out of 5]

Estava a ser um quatro até ao último quarto do livro. Uma leitura muito mais difícil do que esperava para um livro de estreia, e sobretudo depois de ter lido Limpa, que é incrível. Ainda assim, muito interessante na forma como explora as cicatrizes de uma geração filha da resistência e dos horrores da ditadura de Pinochet.

Como li numa review por aqui, parece que com a trip de ácidos, a autora perdeu o controlo da narrativa e, para mim, ficou aquém do seu potencial.