The Linden Tree
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5.0 • 1 Rating
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- $9.99
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- $9.99
Publisher Description
A delightful fictional account of the small town César Aira grew up in—not so long ago
A delightful fictional memoir about César Aira's small hometown. The narrator, born the same year and now living in the same great city (Buenos Aires) as César Aira, could be the author himself. Beginning with his parents—an enigmatic handsome black father who gathered linden flowers for his sleep-inducing tea and an irrational, crippled mother of European descent—the narrator catalogs memories of his childhood: his friends, his peculiar first job, his many gossiping neighbors, and the landscape and architecture of the provinces. The Linden Tree beautifully brings back to life that period in Argentina when the poor, under the guiding hand of Eva Perón, aspired to a newly created middle class.
As it moves from anecdote to anecdote, this charming short novella—touching, funny, and sometimes surreal—invites the reader to visit the source of Aira's extraordinary imagination.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Aira (Dinner) reveals little of substance in this haphazard "true account" of his upbringing in Pringles, Argentina. "I was born in 1949, at the climax of the Per nist regime," Aira writes; he describes how the iconic (and infamous) presidency of Juan Per n roiled his parents' marriage. Aira's father ("a staunch Per nist") develops a deep ambivalence about life after Per n's government falls. His mother, conversely, becomes an anti-Per nist given to "defamatory and truly delirious" rants. Aira offers clues about the underlying causes of his parents' supposedly political disagreement (including his father's rumored affair), but is more focused on presenting an array of charming but minimally engaging anecdotes. Moths hang from the kitchen ceiling "like little Chinese lanterns," and a statue with a bared breast is erected in the town plaza. Fans of Aira may gain occasional insight into his writerly preoccupations from these discursions, but the seemingly random jumps between recollections prevent an edifying portrait of the novelist as a young man from emerging. While explaining his inclusion of a favored game, Aira wonders, "who can say what might turn out to be important?" This novella cannot overcome his disinclination to make decisions about such crucial questions.
