Not a River
A Novel
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- ¥1,200
発行者による作品情報
* SHORTLISTED FOR THE 2024 INTERNATIONAL BOOKER PRIZE *
It’s not a river, it’s this river.
A hot, motionless afternoon. Enero and El Negro are fishing with Tilo, their dead friend’s teenage son. After hours of struggling with a hooked stingray, Enero aims his revolver into the water and shoots it. They hang the ray’s enormous corpse from a tree at their campsite and let it go to rot, drawing the attention of some local islanders and igniting a long-simmering fury toward outsiders and their carelessness. It’s only the two sisters—the teenage nieces of one of the locals, Aguirre—with their hair black as cowbird feathers and giving off the scent of green grass, who are curious about the trio and invite them to a dance. But the girls are not quite as they seem. As night approaches and tensions rise, Enero and El Negro return to the charged memories of their friend who years ago drowned in this same river.
As uneasy and saturated as a prophetic dream, Not a River is another extraordinary novel by Selva Almada about masculinity, guilt, and irrepressible desire, written in a style that is spare and timeless.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
In this potent novella from Argentine writer Almada (Brickmakers), the killing of a stingray sets off a series of fateful events along an unnamed South American river. Two middle-aged men, Enero and El Negro, are on a fishing trip with a boy named Tilo, the son of their friend, Eusebio. After battling with the ray for hours, Enero shoots it three times with a revolver and the group hangs it from a tree. It's not long before some locals, led by the intense Aguirre, notice the dead ray and take umbrage at outsiders committing such a grisly act. The timeline shifts frequently from the present-day fishing trip to the past, documenting Enero and El Negro's years of friendship with Eusebio, who drowned on a similar trip to the same river. Almada gradually unearths the secrets kept by the three outsiders, as well as two local teenage girls, Mariela and Lucy, who are Aguirre's nieces and who play a pivotal role in how the story unfolds. The novel becomes more ethereal and ghostlike in the second half, and Almada particularly excels at depicting her characters' fragility and vulnerability: "Ties here are made of cobwebs.... One little breeze and they break," one character says. Like a dream, this otherworldly tale lingers in the reader's mind.
