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El hijo del presidente se rebela contra su padre, pero depende de su protección. Una mujer sufre el sadismo de su marido porque recuerda cómo se inició su amor. Una madre dolorosa explica la vida de su hija al hombre que la asesinó. Una pareja sesentona se reencuentra y se pregunta si de veras fueron jóvenes amantes. Un comandante debe escoger quién vivirá de sus dos hijos.
La vieja madre de un joven mariachi lo rescata. Una fiel pareja gay enfrenta la tentación. Una chica fea hace peligrar el matrimonio de su primo. Un cura esconde a su hija en una aldea hasta que aparece un rival. Un mujeriego se niega a casarse con su amante por temor a que eso mate el placer. Un actor es obligado a enfrentar la realidad por su hijo minusválido. Un hermano incómodo desafía la vida de su frater.
El cínico Don Juan juega con dos mujeres que le dan su merecido. Tres hijas se reúnen en torno al féretro de su padre por última vez en diez años.
Estas historias son puntuada por "coros", algunos humorísticos, la mayoría trágicos, que dan voz a los sin-voz: niños mendicantes, hijas violadas, huérfanos, parientes rivales, muchachos ricos, traficantes, pandillas asesinas que descienden de las calles de Los Ángeles o ascienden de las selvas de Centroamérica.
Todas las familias felices es la polifonía narrativa de los ramales conflictivos del México contemporáneo y, por extensión, de la América Latina y del mundo urbano moderno.
360 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2006


“But the past is a mist that moves invisibly over our heads without our realizing it. Until the day it rains.”While at the beginning they delve into the nostalgia of their lost love, they realize that it all might have been a mirage just because it didn’t get ripe. We are all in love with the concepts of “what if?” and “it might have been”, but if sometimes they come true, we might end up realizing that all that charm that we imagine when we strongly desire something we cannot get is only determined by a human ability (or shall I say inability?) to make things we cannot get so desirable, so special and unique! We can lie to ourselves so damn well without even knowing it.
“Is the wait for love to come more tortured than sadness for love that was lost? If it’s any confort to you, let me say that it’s nice to love someone we couldn’t have only because with that person we were a promise and will keep being one forever.”and
“We didn’t really know each other. It’s all fiction. We decided to create a nostalgic past for ourselves. Nothing but lies. Attribute it to chance. Don’t worry. There was no past. There’s only the present and its moments.”And Fuentes chooses to end this story in a very metaphorical way. I thought the comparison was brilliant (the way he presents what it was and what we actually see or choose/want to see), but I guess you will have to read this genuinely brilliant story to get the whole context and see what I am talking about:
“He looked at the Dalmatian Coast. They were approaching the port of Spalato, in reality a huge palace transformed into a city. Emperor Diocletian lived here in courtyards that today are restaurants, chambers that today are apartments, galleries that today are streets, baths that today are sewage pipes…From the deck of the ship Manuel did not see these details. He saw the mirage of the ancient imperial city, the fiction of its lost grandeur restored only by the imagination, by the hunger to know what once was better than what is and what could have been more than anything else.”