NOT A RIVER

Argentine writer Almada writes about a fishing trip and the ghosts it conjures.

This brief novel, translated from Spanish by McDermott, tells the story of two men, Enero and El Negro, who embark on a fishing trip on a nameless South American river with a teenager named Tilo, the son of their late friend Eusebio. After spending hours struggling to reel in a stingray, they end up shooting it before hanging it from a tree and letting it rot. The narrative alternates between the present, in which local men take offense at the treatment of the stingray and young women distract the fishermen, and a series of past events whose significance is slowly and uncannily laid bare. Curious, dreamlike patterns emerge in the presentation of settings and motifs—the river itself, night clubs, accidental death, toxic masculinity, nature’s indifferent potency—hauntingly connecting disparate characters and times. With the exception of a few more ornate flourishes, the writing, especially the dialogue, is lean and impactful, and often reflects a sense of morbid inevitability: “She lay on the bed with the ashtray on her belly. Planning to stay put and wait for the news. Not of Eusebio’s death, she knew he was dead, there was no hope, the guy had told her. The news that the body had been found.” Repetitions, both verbal and physical, reinforce a sense of fatalism, often suggested in characters’ guilty and inexorable self-interrogations. The world we encounter here is full of its own rot, and a sense of suffocating entrapment is widespread. Tragic things have been and somehow must keep happening in this riverine milieu. Nevertheless, the author skillfully locates an insistent commitment to life and love in several of her characters—a stubborn strength that resists decay and affirms the worth of human bonds.

Poignant storytelling about loss and resilience.