You are not ashamed of what you do, but of what they see you do. Without realizing it, life can be an accumulation of secrets that permeates every last minute of our routine . . .
The narrative history of José Ovejero’s Nothing Ever Happens lies in its five protagonists (the chapters are titled with the names of the characters; almost everyone gets two chapters to his or her name). Carmela, an excessively independent woman, and her husband Nico, a too gentle man respectively, lead a quiet and comfortable life of middle-class marriage, full of almost imperceptible silences. But the secret of Olivia, their Ecuadorian immigrant housekeeper, could bring down the appearance of normality. Especially with the potential involvement of Claudio, a gifted boy of convoluted ideas who has fun in revealing what is hidden.
As we enter into Nothing Ever Happens, we will find the secrets, sins, and fears of the young couple and Olivia, as well as the activities of Claudio, who, while denouncing the hypocritical vision of an established society order, is not a model of behavior. And Julián, the gardener, who tries to profit from Olivia through the debt she has contracted with him for his help.
Nothing Ever Happens is a humorous book at times, and at times tragic. In it, José Ovejero unfolds his narrative arts (along with the masks of his characters), playing with the idea of “Nothing ever happens around here . . . Or does it?” to dismantle the mechanisms of our good conscience, and to show the underlying conflicts and tensions in a world where appearances rule over reality.
“Rambling Jack—what’s that?”
“A novel. Novella, I guess.”
“Yeah, it looks short. What is it, a hundred pages?”
“Sorta. It’s a duel language book, so really, only about… 50 pages total.”
“And this—what. . .
Many authors are compared to Roberto Bolaño. However, very few authors have the privilege of having a Roberto Bolaño quote on the cover of their work; and at that, one which states, “Good readers will find something that can be. . .
In Josep Maria de Sagarra’s Private Life, a man harangues his friend about literature while walking through Barcelona at night:
When a novel states a fact that ties into another fact and another and another, as the chain goes on. . .
César Aira dishes up an imaginative parable on how identity shapes our sense of belonging with Dinner, his latest release in English. Aira’s narrator (who, appropriately, remains nameless) is a self-pitying, bitter man—in his late fifties, living again with. . .
Originally published in French in 2007, We’re Not Here to Disappear (On n’est pas là pour disparaître) won the Prix Wepler-Fondation La Poste and the Prix Pierre Simon Ethique et Réflexion. The work has been recently translated by Béatrice Mousli. . .
Even though the latest from Jean Echenoz is only a thin volume containing seven of what he calls “little literary objects,” it is packed with surprises. In these pieces, things happen below the surface, sometimes both literally and figuratively. As. . .
Who is this woman? This is the question that opens Xiao Bai’s French Concession, a novel of colonial-era Shanghai’s spies and revolutionaries, police and smugglers, who scoot between doorways, walk nonchalantly down avenues, smoke cigars in police bureaus, and lounge. . .