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213 pages, Pocket Book
First published January 1, 2017
Who knows what storms Liz had weathered. Maybe loneliness. She had two missions in life: to resuce her gringo husband and to take charge of the estancia they they were to oversee.
And I began to see other perspectives: the Queen of England - a rich, powerful woman who owned millions of people's lives, but who was sick and tired of jewels and of meals in palaces built where she was monarch of all she surveyed - didn't see the world in the same as, for example a gaucho in his hovel with his leather hides who burns dung to keep warm. For the Queen the world was a sphere filled with riches belonging to her, and that she could order to be extracted from anywhere; for the gaucho, the world was flat surface where you galloped around rounding up cows, cutting the throats of your enemies before they cut your own throat, or fleeing conscription or battles.
I took off my dress and the petticoats and I put on the Englishman's breeches and shirt. I put on his neckerchief and asked Liz to cut my hair short. My plait fell to the ground and there I was, a young lad.
We knew he was talking about his mother and how he'd have preferred her to have grown a beard if it meant she'd have stayed a widow with him by her side instead of that monster.
uniforms for every kind of position on the estancia according to the imagination of the aristocrat and his stewards, Liz and Oscar.
"Although we have been made
to believe that if we let go
we will end up with nothing,
life reveals just the opposite:
that letting go is
the real path to freedom."
Sogyal Rinpoche
Ever since I had the idea of giving China a voice, I had one thing clear in my mind: I wanted her tale to be an experience of the beauty of nature, freedom in body and mind; a story of all the potential and possibilities in store when you encounter other people, of the beauty of light. I wanted to write an elegy to the flora and fauna of Argentina, or whatever is left of it, an elegy to what used to be here before it all got transformed into one big grim factory poisoned with pesticides. I wanted to write a novel infused with light.
Pero la nuestra era una guerra de día a día, no de eternidades
La falta de ideas me tenía atada, la ignorancia. No sabía que podía andar suelta, no lo supe hasta que lo estuve.
Me sorprendió, no entendí, no sabía que se podía y se me había revelado como una naturaleza, ¿por qué no iba a poderse? No se hacía, nomás, allá en el caserío, las mujeres no se besaban entre ellas