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Milongas
From its origins in the gritty bars of Buenos Aires, in his playful conspiratorial tone Cozarinsky moves us through the rich and varied culture of tango, circling the globe to hidden milongas tucked away in the crypt of a London Church, a café in Krakow, the quays of the Seine, to the Red Square of Moscow . At neighborhood dance halls vibrant and alive in the early hours of the morning, where young and old, foreign and native, novice and master come together in a tradi- tion that traverses borders, demographics, and social mores, “it is impossible to distinguish the dance from the dancer .” As erudite as he is candid and informal, Cozarinsky shares the culture of this timeless dance with us through glimmering anecdote, to celebrate its traditions, evolution, and the devotees who give it life .
- GenresNonfiction
144 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2007
7 people are currently reading
26 people want to read
About the author
Edgardo Cozarinsky
49 books40 followersHis family name goes back to his great grandparents, Jewish immigrants from Kiev and Odessa at the end of the 19th century, his first name tells of his mother's infatuation with Edgar Allan Poe.
After an adolescence mostly spent in neighbourhood cinemas showing double bills of old Hollywood films and reading an inordinate amount of fiction in Spanish, English and French (favourite authors - Stevenson, Conrad, some Henry James), he studied literature at Buenos Aires university, wrote for local and Spanish cinephile magazines and published an early essay on James which developed out of graduation work - El laberinto de la apariencia (The Labyrinth of Appearance, 1964), a book he later suppressed. He was barely twenty when he became acquainted with Borges, Bioy Casares and Silvina Ocampo, all writers of prestige whom he saw frequently during his years in Buenos Aires. In 1973 he won a literary prize with an essay on gossip as narrative device in James and Proust. In 1974 he published Borges y el cine, a book enlarged in every reprint (Spain, 1978 and 2002, and translations) which he also does not want reprinted now.
After a first nine-month stay in Europe and a visit to New York between September 1966 and June 1967, he returned to Buenos Aires with the desire and the decision to leave behind his life as a literary idler. After dabbling in journalism, in the culture section of the weeklies Primera Plana and Panorama, he made a first film, an underground feature shot on weekends throughout a year, knowing that it could not pass the local censorship of the period. It was nevertheless screened at festivals throughout Europe and the United States. Its title was already a challenge - ... (Puntos suspensivos - Dot Dot Dot).
In 1974, in the turmoil of political agitation and imminent repression, he left Buenos Aires for Paris. There he embarked into filmmaking that falls roughly into two categories - fiction films and "essays", mixing documentary material with a personal, even private reflexion on the issues raised by the material. The most distinguished of these is La Guerre d'un seul homme (One Man's War, 1981), a confrontation between Ernst Jünger wartime diaries and the French newsreels of the occupation period. At a time when the arts' departments of several European television networks were willing to support such ventures, Cozarinsky was able to develop this approach in a series of very original works.
During the rest of the seventies and the eighties his literary career was mostly dormant. But his only published work of the period became an instant cult book - Vudú urbano (Urban voodoo, 1985), a mixture of fiction and essay not unlike his film work, with prologues by Susan Sontag and the Cuyban writer Guillermo Cabrera Infante.
In the same year, after the end of the military regime in Argentina, he visited briefly to Buenos Aires. Three years later, he made a film in Argentina, in the far South, a "Southern" - Guerreros y cautivas (Warriors and Captive Women). From that date on he started visiting his native country more and more often, occasionally shooting there material for his European "essays". His most adventurous later films were Rothschild's Violin and Ghosts of Tangier, both made between 1995 and 1996.
In 1999, he spent a month in a Paris hospital for a backbone infection, a period during which a cancer was diagnosed. In his own words, he felt the ringing of a bell telling to stop wasting his time - "I always wanted to be a writer, and had not dared publish, even finish what I started..." It was in hospital that he wrote the first two stories in his prize-winning book La novia de Odessa (The Bride from Odessa). From that date on, his film work became sparse and he started publishing "all the books I had not put on paper", fiction mostly but also essays and chronicles. He became immediately established as a writer to reckon with in the Spanish language, and was translated into English, French, German and several o
After an adolescence mostly spent in neighbourhood cinemas showing double bills of old Hollywood films and reading an inordinate amount of fiction in Spanish, English and French (favourite authors - Stevenson, Conrad, some Henry James), he studied literature at Buenos Aires university, wrote for local and Spanish cinephile magazines and published an early essay on James which developed out of graduation work - El laberinto de la apariencia (The Labyrinth of Appearance, 1964), a book he later suppressed. He was barely twenty when he became acquainted with Borges, Bioy Casares and Silvina Ocampo, all writers of prestige whom he saw frequently during his years in Buenos Aires. In 1973 he won a literary prize with an essay on gossip as narrative device in James and Proust. In 1974 he published Borges y el cine, a book enlarged in every reprint (Spain, 1978 and 2002, and translations) which he also does not want reprinted now.
After a first nine-month stay in Europe and a visit to New York between September 1966 and June 1967, he returned to Buenos Aires with the desire and the decision to leave behind his life as a literary idler. After dabbling in journalism, in the culture section of the weeklies Primera Plana and Panorama, he made a first film, an underground feature shot on weekends throughout a year, knowing that it could not pass the local censorship of the period. It was nevertheless screened at festivals throughout Europe and the United States. Its title was already a challenge - ... (Puntos suspensivos - Dot Dot Dot).
In 1974, in the turmoil of political agitation and imminent repression, he left Buenos Aires for Paris. There he embarked into filmmaking that falls roughly into two categories - fiction films and "essays", mixing documentary material with a personal, even private reflexion on the issues raised by the material. The most distinguished of these is La Guerre d'un seul homme (One Man's War, 1981), a confrontation between Ernst Jünger wartime diaries and the French newsreels of the occupation period. At a time when the arts' departments of several European television networks were willing to support such ventures, Cozarinsky was able to develop this approach in a series of very original works.
During the rest of the seventies and the eighties his literary career was mostly dormant. But his only published work of the period became an instant cult book - Vudú urbano (Urban voodoo, 1985), a mixture of fiction and essay not unlike his film work, with prologues by Susan Sontag and the Cuyban writer Guillermo Cabrera Infante.
In the same year, after the end of the military regime in Argentina, he visited briefly to Buenos Aires. Three years later, he made a film in Argentina, in the far South, a "Southern" - Guerreros y cautivas (Warriors and Captive Women). From that date on he started visiting his native country more and more often, occasionally shooting there material for his European "essays". His most adventurous later films were Rothschild's Violin and Ghosts of Tangier, both made between 1995 and 1996.
In 1999, he spent a month in a Paris hospital for a backbone infection, a period during which a cancer was diagnosed. In his own words, he felt the ringing of a bell telling to stop wasting his time - "I always wanted to be a writer, and had not dared publish, even finish what I started..." It was in hospital that he wrote the first two stories in his prize-winning book La novia de Odessa (The Bride from Odessa). From that date on, his film work became sparse and he started publishing "all the books I had not put on paper", fiction mostly but also essays and chronicles. He became immediately established as a writer to reckon with in the Spanish language, and was translated into English, French, German and several o
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
April 11, 2025
24th book read in 2025
Some years ago, I read and adored The Gods of Tango by Carolina De Robertis. That was a historical novel. In Milongas, I learned about the history of tango and milonga in a series of essays about the author’s quest to trace the history of tango around the world.
I confess that I never quite grasped the difference between the terms milonga and tango. As far as I can tell they are as intertwined and interpretive as the dancers and the music of this most exotic form of music and dance.
Which came first, the music or the dance? How did tango spread around Europe and South America? I learned that it began in somewhat seedy bars and cafes until it was adopted by a higher class of people and became a craze. How do any musical or dance forms come into being and spread through composers, musicians and dancers?
I think tango and its accompanying dance form, like any art, has mysterious origins. Edgardo Cozarinksy pursued that mystery for many years and wrote about it in these short pieces. I watched videos of tango dancers and the players of the music. I love to dance but can’t imagine myself dancing to the tango except in my dreams.
Some years ago, I read and adored The Gods of Tango by Carolina De Robertis. That was a historical novel. In Milongas, I learned about the history of tango and milonga in a series of essays about the author’s quest to trace the history of tango around the world.
I confess that I never quite grasped the difference between the terms milonga and tango. As far as I can tell they are as intertwined and interpretive as the dancers and the music of this most exotic form of music and dance.
Which came first, the music or the dance? How did tango spread around Europe and South America? I learned that it began in somewhat seedy bars and cafes until it was adopted by a higher class of people and became a craze. How do any musical or dance forms come into being and spread through composers, musicians and dancers?
I think tango and its accompanying dance form, like any art, has mysterious origins. Edgardo Cozarinksy pursued that mystery for many years and wrote about it in these short pieces. I watched videos of tango dancers and the players of the music. I love to dance but can’t imagine myself dancing to the tango except in my dreams.
November 14, 2021
A companion read to The Gods of Tango, I was hoping to learn a little more about the history of tango and milongas, that is enticingly illustrated in Carolina de Robertis's novel.
I realise that to read Milongas, it would be better to already be familiar with the history and personalities and literature in existence, as much of the narrative is inspired by names mentioned, then anecdotes, by references to books, characters, events.
Occasionally there are flashes of insight I could glean something from, but overall this isn't what I went into it looking for.
I was interested in the final 2% of the book where he mentions a lone woman writer, who has written on of the only inner perspective of the milongas:
Alas, she only gets a page of mention.
I realise that to read Milongas, it would be better to already be familiar with the history and personalities and literature in existence, as much of the narrative is inspired by names mentioned, then anecdotes, by references to books, characters, events.
Occasionally there are flashes of insight I could glean something from, but overall this isn't what I went into it looking for.
I was interested in the final 2% of the book where he mentions a lone woman writer, who has written on of the only inner perspective of the milongas:
The only example among Argentine writers is that of Estela Canto, who left written testimony of her reflections on dancing tango and her own experiences in these halls. Her testament is doubly valuable: for being written by a woman, perhaps the only one at the time to describe her own particular experience with tango, and because she was actually employed as an occasional dancer in one of the halls of Buenos Aires.
Alas, she only gets a page of mention.
January 11, 2022
I didn’t know anything about the tango, nor its history. Now I know a little more than that.
January 9, 2022
In this extended personal essay, Cozarinsky meanders far and wide in his exploration of the history, culture and evolution of the tango – the dance, the music and, of course the dancers themselves. The short book has been described as “a love letter to the tango” and that pretty much sums it up. It’s discursive and rambling, with many anecdotes and observations, so by no means a comprehensive history, but I enjoyed it, and although many of the references were unknown to me, I still found it an entertaining and illuminating read.
June 15, 2022
Edgardo Cozarinsky is an Argentine writer and film maker whose slim book Milongas consists of his observations and practice of milonga dances in cities around the world. His focus is more on the dance than the music, and the success in his prose (as adeptly conveyed into English by Valerie Miles) lies in how well it captures the visual quality and physicality of the dancers and others in the small rooms where these dances take place in Krakow, London, Paris, and Buenos Aires. Names of dancers and dance clubs are provided.
Although Cozarinsky distinguishes between malonga and tango—that malonga is strictly dance only and not a music too, whereas tango can be both tango and music—one can malonga to tango. Which may explain Cozarinsky’s chapter on Astor Piazzolla, except—as Cozarinsky points out from the master himself—Piazzolla felt that his tangos were more to be listened to than danced to. Yet Cozarinsky manages to find dancers who have succeeded in doing both, erasing the line between dancer and dance, as all good milongas should do.
Myth has it that tango began among poor and vulgar Argentines, in a brothel in Buenos Aires around 1880. When the dance hit Europe in the early years of the 20th century, however, especially Paris, until the onset of WWI, it was presented as an elegant dance for the upper classes, who required authentic teachers. So prominent a phenomenon gave rise to invited opinions from some of Europe’s opinion leaders, including H. G. Wells (“silly”), Pope Pius X (ambivalent), Germany’s Kaiser (“censure”), and Georges Clemenceau (“The real tango . . . is disappearing” (!)). Argentine dancers soon headed to Europe, where they earned ten times the income as back home, under better working conditions.
And yet according to one contemporary source, the author and Argentine ambassador to France, Enrique Larreta, “There’s at least one ballroom in Paris where Argentine tango is not danced, and that’s the one at the Argentine delegation. . . In Buenos Aires, tango is a dance exclusive to the cathouses and worst variety of lowlife bars. It’s never danced in the ballrooms of polite society or among distinguished people. To Argentine ears, tango music rouses truly distasteful ideas.”
Tango’s homeland was confused by Europe’s reaction to the Argentine atrocity, which was blamed on the great numbers of unwashed immigrants hitting Argentina’s shores and which led to passage of the Law of Residency in 1902, to “honor and respect the pure vestiges of our national assembly [since] every day we are fewer Argentines. . . [T]ango arrives as the urban form of music par excellence, the dance of a city turning cosmopolitan, anarchistic, and unmanageable.”
One prominent Argentine, Carlos Ibarguren, asserted that “Tango is not properly Argentine; it’s a hybrid, or multi-racial product that was born in the slums, it draws on a blend of the tropical habanera and a doctored form of milonga. How far the crude squirm of tango is from the noble, distinguished cueca (Chilean national dance), performed with aristocratic mimicry similar to that of the pavana or the minuet!” Leopoldo Lugones, a prominent authority in Argentina, dismissed tango as “that brothel reptile.”
And yet, over 140 years later, tango—and milongas—still attracts dancers, musicians, and audiences. Cozarinsky’s history of milongas is concise, briskly paced, crammed with facts and telling, interesting examples. And he’s the only author I’ve read who quotes Julien Green (at least three times), a French-American author whose novels and diaries seem to be almost entirely out of print, in English at least. But that’s another story for another time.
For more of my reviews, please see https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/...
Although Cozarinsky distinguishes between malonga and tango—that malonga is strictly dance only and not a music too, whereas tango can be both tango and music—one can malonga to tango. Which may explain Cozarinsky’s chapter on Astor Piazzolla, except—as Cozarinsky points out from the master himself—Piazzolla felt that his tangos were more to be listened to than danced to. Yet Cozarinsky manages to find dancers who have succeeded in doing both, erasing the line between dancer and dance, as all good milongas should do.
Myth has it that tango began among poor and vulgar Argentines, in a brothel in Buenos Aires around 1880. When the dance hit Europe in the early years of the 20th century, however, especially Paris, until the onset of WWI, it was presented as an elegant dance for the upper classes, who required authentic teachers. So prominent a phenomenon gave rise to invited opinions from some of Europe’s opinion leaders, including H. G. Wells (“silly”), Pope Pius X (ambivalent), Germany’s Kaiser (“censure”), and Georges Clemenceau (“The real tango . . . is disappearing” (!)). Argentine dancers soon headed to Europe, where they earned ten times the income as back home, under better working conditions.
And yet according to one contemporary source, the author and Argentine ambassador to France, Enrique Larreta, “There’s at least one ballroom in Paris where Argentine tango is not danced, and that’s the one at the Argentine delegation. . . In Buenos Aires, tango is a dance exclusive to the cathouses and worst variety of lowlife bars. It’s never danced in the ballrooms of polite society or among distinguished people. To Argentine ears, tango music rouses truly distasteful ideas.”
Tango’s homeland was confused by Europe’s reaction to the Argentine atrocity, which was blamed on the great numbers of unwashed immigrants hitting Argentina’s shores and which led to passage of the Law of Residency in 1902, to “honor and respect the pure vestiges of our national assembly [since] every day we are fewer Argentines. . . [T]ango arrives as the urban form of music par excellence, the dance of a city turning cosmopolitan, anarchistic, and unmanageable.”
One prominent Argentine, Carlos Ibarguren, asserted that “Tango is not properly Argentine; it’s a hybrid, or multi-racial product that was born in the slums, it draws on a blend of the tropical habanera and a doctored form of milonga. How far the crude squirm of tango is from the noble, distinguished cueca (Chilean national dance), performed with aristocratic mimicry similar to that of the pavana or the minuet!” Leopoldo Lugones, a prominent authority in Argentina, dismissed tango as “that brothel reptile.”
And yet, over 140 years later, tango—and milongas—still attracts dancers, musicians, and audiences. Cozarinsky’s history of milongas is concise, briskly paced, crammed with facts and telling, interesting examples. And he’s the only author I’ve read who quotes Julien Green (at least three times), a French-American author whose novels and diaries seem to be almost entirely out of print, in English at least. But that’s another story for another time.
For more of my reviews, please see https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/...
January 9, 2025
Milongas presents a collection of stories by Edgardo Cozarinsky that aim to encapsulate the essence of Buenos Aires through its cultural and historical nuances. The title, invoking the traditional Argentine dance form, sets expectations for a narrative rhythm that captures the city's soul.
Cozarinsky's approach is reflective, delving into themes of memory, identity, and loss within the urban landscape of Buenos Aires. Each story serves as a snapshot, attempting to weave together the city's past with its present through a series of vignettes. The prose can be dense, with a poetic quality that sometimes risks overshadowing the narrative clarity.
The characters in Milongas are portrayed with a focus on their cultural identities, yet some might find them lacking the depth needed for full emotional engagement. The stories meander, sometimes lacking the connective tissue that would make the collection feel more cohesive.
The translation maintains the original tone and style, though readers might find the language occasionally challenging to penetrate, potentially distancing them from the immediacy of the narrative. The attempt to evoke the spirit of the milongas, the tango dance halls, through storytelling is evident, but the execution might not fully resonate with all readers. The anthology navigates between moments of nostalgia and cultural commentary, but the balance between these elements can feel uneven.
In summary, Milongas offers a literary exploration of Buenos Aires, inviting readers to ponder the city's cultural tapestry. However, the collection's impact might vary based on one's connection with the themes and the style of storytelling. Those seeking a deep dive into the cultural soul of Argentina might find both moments of insight and instances where the narrative dance seems to miss a step.
Cozarinsky's approach is reflective, delving into themes of memory, identity, and loss within the urban landscape of Buenos Aires. Each story serves as a snapshot, attempting to weave together the city's past with its present through a series of vignettes. The prose can be dense, with a poetic quality that sometimes risks overshadowing the narrative clarity.
The characters in Milongas are portrayed with a focus on their cultural identities, yet some might find them lacking the depth needed for full emotional engagement. The stories meander, sometimes lacking the connective tissue that would make the collection feel more cohesive.
The translation maintains the original tone and style, though readers might find the language occasionally challenging to penetrate, potentially distancing them from the immediacy of the narrative. The attempt to evoke the spirit of the milongas, the tango dance halls, through storytelling is evident, but the execution might not fully resonate with all readers. The anthology navigates between moments of nostalgia and cultural commentary, but the balance between these elements can feel uneven.
In summary, Milongas offers a literary exploration of Buenos Aires, inviting readers to ponder the city's cultural tapestry. However, the collection's impact might vary based on one's connection with the themes and the style of storytelling. Those seeking a deep dive into the cultural soul of Argentina might find both moments of insight and instances where the narrative dance seems to miss a step.
February 3, 2022
Milonga is a musical genre that originated in Argentina, Uruguay and Brasil, and it is believed to have originated from the music and dance performed by African slaves in South America. The music resembles the tango, but the dance is faster, more sensuous, and requires greater concentration to avoid embarrassing mistakes.
Edgardo Cozarinsky, a filmmaker and writer from Buenos Aires, is also a lover of and an eager participant in milango. He travels to different countries across the world to observe musicians and dancers, and to chronicle performers past and present who contributed to the development of this art form. Unfortunately I have no prior knowledge of milango, and I lost interest in the book after less than 50 pages.
Edgardo Cozarinsky, a filmmaker and writer from Buenos Aires, is also a lover of and an eager participant in milango. He travels to different countries across the world to observe musicians and dancers, and to chronicle performers past and present who contributed to the development of this art form. Unfortunately I have no prior knowledge of milango, and I lost interest in the book after less than 50 pages.
January 29, 2022
Book about Tango the dance. Seemingly Disjointed stories about Tango and those who dance the Tango. Not very compelling
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews