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Seven Empty Houses
The seven houses in these seven stories are empty. Some are devoid of love or life or furniture, of people or the truth or of memories. But in Samanta Schweblin's tense, visionary tales, something always creeps back in: a ghost, a fight, trespassers, a list of things to do before you die, a child's first encounter with a dark choice or the fallibility of parents.
This was the collection that established Samanta Schweblin at the forefront of a new generation of Latin American writers. And now in English it will push her cult status to new heights. Seven Empty Houses is an entrypoint into a fiercely original mind, and a slingshot into Schweblin's destablizing, exhilarating literary world.
In each story, the twists and turns will unnerve and surprise: Schweblin never takes the expected path and instead digs under the skin and reveals uncomfortable truths about our sense of home, of belonging, and of the fragility of our connections with others. This is a masterwork from one of our most brilliant writers.
This was the collection that established Samanta Schweblin at the forefront of a new generation of Latin American writers. And now in English it will push her cult status to new heights. Seven Empty Houses is an entrypoint into a fiercely original mind, and a slingshot into Schweblin's destablizing, exhilarating literary world.
In each story, the twists and turns will unnerve and surprise: Schweblin never takes the expected path and instead digs under the skin and reveals uncomfortable truths about our sense of home, of belonging, and of the fragility of our connections with others. This is a masterwork from one of our most brilliant writers.
208 pages, Hardcover
First published May 1, 2015
About the author
Samanta Schweblin
44 books3,112 followersSamanta Schweblin was chosen as one of the 22 best writers in Spanish under the age of 35 by Granta. She is the author of three story collections that have won numerous awards, including the prestigious Juan Rulfo Story Prize, and been translated into 20 languages. Fever Dream is her first novel and is longlisted for the Man Booker International Prize. Originally from Buenos Aires, she lives in Berlin.
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April 10, 2024
*Winner of the 2022 National Book Award for Translated Fiction*
Our homes are our safe places, or so we would like to believe. How easily and quickly that peace can be ruptured and we realize how thin the walls, how unguarded the gates, or how fragile the lives inside truly are. In Seven Empty Houses, the newest translated work from Samanta Schweblin, the Argentine master of uneasiness that brought us the tightly packed terrors of Fever Dream, the concept of homes and stability is constantly challenged. And not just from externally. Across these seven stories the idea of home becomes a space of disquiet as Schwebelin instills the anxieties of her narrator’s into the reader until we, too, are rocked by emotional discomfort. Neighbors begin to take on a tone of menace and grief cannot be held out even by locking the door. Beautifully translated by Megan McDowell, Seven Empty Houses is a chilling little collection that examines the spaces left by loss, our association with our own possessions (or lack of) and how stability and wellbeing is a fragile concept always ready to collapse.
‘What kind of madness was all that?’
Schweblin is able to turn any situation into one rife with fear, something best exemplified in all the domestic horrors in her previous short story collection, Mouthful of Birds. There is a uniqueness to her frights though, more creeping dread and unease than blunt terror which she builds by placing the reader in a narrator’s mind being destabalized by the vagueness and subtly threatening atmospheres around them. Houses plays with tropes of haunted houses, with grief being the lingering ghost to haunt the occupants (though one narrator does receive ghostly visits, something we are unsure is a haunting of specters or a haunted mind). The streets of Buenos Aires are cast in gothic atmospheres in stories such as Two Square Feet or Out, the former story featuring a woman on a quest for a pharmacy and the latter with a woman escaping a difficult conversation with her husband to wander the labyrinthian streets in just a bathrobe, both at night in the harsh contrast of shadows and streetlights. With Schweblin there is no need for monsters, as we are often our own most terrifying threats, a theme well explored in her look at our inability to use social technology without turning it into a nightmare in her previous novel, Little Eyes.
‘She was sitting on two square feet, and that was all the space she took up in the world.’
Occupying your own space is a concept always threatened in these stories, and windows figure prominently in several stories as a reminder of the gaze of our neighbors and society that seems bent on voyeurism into our personal lives. In It Happens All the Time in This House, even something as commonplace as taking out the trash becomes an opportunity for judgment from others, with the garbage man returning a bag of old clothes from the curb because they could be put to better use. Clothes become another common symbol in these stories, often as reminders of people now past or the selves we once were, and in the same story a couple’s feuding always ends with their deceased son’s clothes scattered in the neighbors yard. My Parents and Children a surreal story about the mental deterioration of a man’s parents—resulting running around the neighborhood leaving a trail of removed clothes in their wake—runs parallel to the deterioration of his former marriage as a new lover begins to replace him as a father figure.
In these ways, possessions are often used as a signifier of one’s life. Packing objects into boxes becomes highly symbolic in several of these, such as the longest story Breath from the Depths where packing up a life is mirrored in the narrator's desire to pack up her life into the grave, or Two Square Feet where the boxes are a constant reminder of her transitional state and instability in life. Though the lack of objects also resonates with ideas of loss as well. The opening story, None of That, which is one of my favorites and made me feel so uncomfortable urging the characters to ‘get out of there’ with the same intensity of discomfort as in the scene hiding under the table in the film Parasite, features a mother’s fascination with fancy homes contrasting with her own lack. She is distraught that the people who have don’t even seem to appreciate what they have or know how to care for it like she can. It makes for a deliciously distressing story as the narrator must watch their mother’s instability threaten her own safety as she also watches the horror of the young mother and her own child as this woman races about their home.
The use of contrasting homes and houses speaks of a larger class issue, but also just a desire to be seen and understood by those who would turn their nose up otherwise.
As is often with Schweblin, she hits parental horror the hardest. Which was a great success for her in Fever Dream. Here we often gaze into the absence left behind by the loss of a child, resonating years and years later such as in Breath from the Depths, a story featuring two different families that face the death of their sons. But there is also the horrors of seeing a child in peril or being unable to help. The Unlucky Man is a particularly good story that combines many of the themes, such as how the young girl narrating the story sees what should be the stability of joy on a birthday become a nightmare of a night. Her sister swallowing bleach, causing chaos as the family rushes to the hospital feels like a ‘affront’ to her. Later, sitting in the hospital without underpants, she must navigate by herself a man who is either a helpful stranger or, more likely, a sexual predator. The fear on the face of the parents in the final scene is palpable.
‘A deterioration that led knowhere.’
The longest story, Breath from the Depths is more a novella than a short story and deals with all the themes of loss and deterioration from the failing mind of an old woman wishing for her own death as she begins ‘to fear the worst: that death required an effort she could no longer make.’ She suspects everyone of foul play, distrusting the neighbors and suspecting unhealthy relationships forming between her aged husband and the 12 year old boy next store. It is the best in the collection and is quite distressing, all culminating into a left-hook punch of a conclusion.
‘Say something to solve this problem.’
Life comes alive in all its menace in the words of Schweblin and Seven Empty Houses is a minor-key collection of anxieties. Winner of the National Book Award for Translation, this is a hit that holds to its themes like a center of gravity but allows the stories to drift in creative ways to address the themes from a wide variety of vantage points. Schweblin will sink under your skin in the best ways.
3.5/5
Our homes are our safe places, or so we would like to believe. How easily and quickly that peace can be ruptured and we realize how thin the walls, how unguarded the gates, or how fragile the lives inside truly are. In Seven Empty Houses, the newest translated work from Samanta Schweblin, the Argentine master of uneasiness that brought us the tightly packed terrors of Fever Dream, the concept of homes and stability is constantly challenged. And not just from externally. Across these seven stories the idea of home becomes a space of disquiet as Schwebelin instills the anxieties of her narrator’s into the reader until we, too, are rocked by emotional discomfort. Neighbors begin to take on a tone of menace and grief cannot be held out even by locking the door. Beautifully translated by Megan McDowell, Seven Empty Houses is a chilling little collection that examines the spaces left by loss, our association with our own possessions (or lack of) and how stability and wellbeing is a fragile concept always ready to collapse.
‘What kind of madness was all that?’
Schweblin is able to turn any situation into one rife with fear, something best exemplified in all the domestic horrors in her previous short story collection, Mouthful of Birds. There is a uniqueness to her frights though, more creeping dread and unease than blunt terror which she builds by placing the reader in a narrator’s mind being destabalized by the vagueness and subtly threatening atmospheres around them. Houses plays with tropes of haunted houses, with grief being the lingering ghost to haunt the occupants (though one narrator does receive ghostly visits, something we are unsure is a haunting of specters or a haunted mind). The streets of Buenos Aires are cast in gothic atmospheres in stories such as Two Square Feet or Out, the former story featuring a woman on a quest for a pharmacy and the latter with a woman escaping a difficult conversation with her husband to wander the labyrinthian streets in just a bathrobe, both at night in the harsh contrast of shadows and streetlights. With Schweblin there is no need for monsters, as we are often our own most terrifying threats, a theme well explored in her look at our inability to use social technology without turning it into a nightmare in her previous novel, Little Eyes.
‘She was sitting on two square feet, and that was all the space she took up in the world.’
Occupying your own space is a concept always threatened in these stories, and windows figure prominently in several stories as a reminder of the gaze of our neighbors and society that seems bent on voyeurism into our personal lives. In It Happens All the Time in This House, even something as commonplace as taking out the trash becomes an opportunity for judgment from others, with the garbage man returning a bag of old clothes from the curb because they could be put to better use. Clothes become another common symbol in these stories, often as reminders of people now past or the selves we once were, and in the same story a couple’s feuding always ends with their deceased son’s clothes scattered in the neighbors yard. My Parents and Children a surreal story about the mental deterioration of a man’s parents—resulting running around the neighborhood leaving a trail of removed clothes in their wake—runs parallel to the deterioration of his former marriage as a new lover begins to replace him as a father figure.
In these ways, possessions are often used as a signifier of one’s life. Packing objects into boxes becomes highly symbolic in several of these, such as the longest story Breath from the Depths where packing up a life is mirrored in the narrator's desire to pack up her life into the grave, or Two Square Feet where the boxes are a constant reminder of her transitional state and instability in life. Though the lack of objects also resonates with ideas of loss as well. The opening story, None of That, which is one of my favorites and made me feel so uncomfortable urging the characters to ‘get out of there’ with the same intensity of discomfort as in the scene hiding under the table in the film Parasite, features a mother’s fascination with fancy homes contrasting with her own lack. She is distraught that the people who have don’t even seem to appreciate what they have or know how to care for it like she can. It makes for a deliciously distressing story as the narrator must watch their mother’s instability threaten her own safety as she also watches the horror of the young mother and her own child as this woman races about their home.
’That’s how I realize what it is that I want. I want her to look. I want her to move our things. I want her to inspect, set aside, and take apart. To remove everything from the boxes, to trample, rearrange, to throw herself on the ground, and also to cry.’
The use of contrasting homes and houses speaks of a larger class issue, but also just a desire to be seen and understood by those who would turn their nose up otherwise.
As is often with Schweblin, she hits parental horror the hardest. Which was a great success for her in Fever Dream. Here we often gaze into the absence left behind by the loss of a child, resonating years and years later such as in Breath from the Depths, a story featuring two different families that face the death of their sons. But there is also the horrors of seeing a child in peril or being unable to help. The Unlucky Man is a particularly good story that combines many of the themes, such as how the young girl narrating the story sees what should be the stability of joy on a birthday become a nightmare of a night. Her sister swallowing bleach, causing chaos as the family rushes to the hospital feels like a ‘affront’ to her. Later, sitting in the hospital without underpants, she must navigate by herself a man who is either a helpful stranger or, more likely, a sexual predator. The fear on the face of the parents in the final scene is palpable.
‘A deterioration that led knowhere.’
The longest story, Breath from the Depths is more a novella than a short story and deals with all the themes of loss and deterioration from the failing mind of an old woman wishing for her own death as she begins ‘to fear the worst: that death required an effort she could no longer make.’ She suspects everyone of foul play, distrusting the neighbors and suspecting unhealthy relationships forming between her aged husband and the 12 year old boy next store. It is the best in the collection and is quite distressing, all culminating into a left-hook punch of a conclusion.
‘Say something to solve this problem.’
Life comes alive in all its menace in the words of Schweblin and Seven Empty Houses is a minor-key collection of anxieties. Winner of the National Book Award for Translation, this is a hit that holds to its themes like a center of gravity but allows the stories to drift in creative ways to address the themes from a wide variety of vantage points. Schweblin will sink under your skin in the best ways.
3.5/5
December 25, 2023
Schweblin sabe cómo hacer de la cotidianidad algo incómodo y tensionante.
Creo que la cosa que más me gusta de esta autora es que te deja con algo incrustado dentro de ti. Una sensación rara e incómoda que te producen sus historias, que sin más ni menos en esta colección se desenvuelven en la cotidianidad y las vivencias de sus personajes. Sin embargo, el realismo que enfrentan es tremendamente caótico y muy inquietante.
Las situaciones son extrañas, las motivaciones de sus personajes parecieran no tener explicación alguna pero a la misma vez es como si todo estuviera allí, escondido entre líneas para generar muchísima más expectación y tensión dramática en un ambiente envilecido. La narración es ligera, directa y muy accesible. Para ser mi primera toma de contacto con sus relatos la recomiendo porque te entretiene y te los lees del tirón. La voz narrativa de Schweblin tiene estilo propio y sin duda alguna uno puede reconocerlo a leguas.
Siete casas vacías son historias de personajes que en algún momento dejan el nido, regresan a él de una u otra forma o están atrapados dentro de esas casas. Pero simbólicamente es la representación de familias y parejas que tienen lazos rotos, a punto de romperse o simplemente ya lo están, solo que no lo aceptan directamente o se niegan a verlo aunque esté más claro que el agua. También es el claro ejemplo de la soledad instaurados en el interior de ellos y de las cuales son directamente conscientes.
🏡Nada de todo esto: una madre y su hija recorren en un carro viejo y desvencijado las calles con el único objetivo de observar casas. Esta situación puede parecer a simple vista un hecho casual o muy banal pero es el eje de una extraña relación de una madre y su hija, en la que la obsesión por lo ajeno y la ignorancia a lo propio es un mal que parece transmitirse y en el que no hay una explicación explícita a sus comportamientos.
🏡Mis padres y mis hijos: lo que empieza siendo como una simple y esperada reunión en la que el protagonista gozará de tener a sus padres y a sus hijos en la misma casa termina convirtiéndose en una llamada urgente a la policía en la que te preguntas si era necesario o si todo fue una completa exageración. El bichito de la duda queda implantado.
🏡Para siempre en esta casa: por un lado tenemos a una pareja que ha perdido a su hijo y están pasando por un largo luto en el que el duelo es esencial y en el otro costado una mujer y su hijo. La contraparte entre ambos parece ser la empatía y/o la indiferencia nula al sentir del otro.
🏡La respiración cavernaria: el mejor, de hecho mi puntuación es única y exclusivamente a este relato. Es el que mejor ejemplifica lo que tanto me gusta de la autora, esa creciente incomodidad y sensación tirante de que algo está pasando o está a punto de pasar. Para mí trata de la identidad pero sobre todo es la representación de la vejez, de la muerte siempre acechando pero nunca llevando a sus víctimas, del sufrimiento, el olvido y la soledad y todo eso narrado con esa aura espeluznante que envuelve la historia. Además, hay que ver que se lleva la mitad del libro, por lo que es el relato más jugoso.
🏡Cuarenta centímetros cuadrados: es el peor por lejos. Quizás lo mejor que tiene es su corta extensión pero de resto no tiene un contenido sustancial, interesante o tensionante como el resto. Ni siquiera diré de qué trata porque no vale la pena.
🏡Un hombre sin suerte: este fue agregado de último y se nota porque desentona un poco comparándolo con el resto de relatos. Aunque sin duda alguna también tiene ese cariz incómodo en medio de la historia que se desarrolla entre la protagonista y el hombre que conoció el día de su cumpleaños.
🏡Salir: un relato sobre evadir los problemas, sobre ocultarse mientras tomas oxígeno lejos del lugar que te incomoda o tiene silencios embarazoso. Sin embargo, tarde o temprano se regresa a la jaula.
Creo que la cosa que más me gusta de esta autora es que te deja con algo incrustado dentro de ti. Una sensación rara e incómoda que te producen sus historias, que sin más ni menos en esta colección se desenvuelven en la cotidianidad y las vivencias de sus personajes. Sin embargo, el realismo que enfrentan es tremendamente caótico y muy inquietante.
Las situaciones son extrañas, las motivaciones de sus personajes parecieran no tener explicación alguna pero a la misma vez es como si todo estuviera allí, escondido entre líneas para generar muchísima más expectación y tensión dramática en un ambiente envilecido. La narración es ligera, directa y muy accesible. Para ser mi primera toma de contacto con sus relatos la recomiendo porque te entretiene y te los lees del tirón. La voz narrativa de Schweblin tiene estilo propio y sin duda alguna uno puede reconocerlo a leguas.
Siete casas vacías son historias de personajes que en algún momento dejan el nido, regresan a él de una u otra forma o están atrapados dentro de esas casas. Pero simbólicamente es la representación de familias y parejas que tienen lazos rotos, a punto de romperse o simplemente ya lo están, solo que no lo aceptan directamente o se niegan a verlo aunque esté más claro que el agua. También es el claro ejemplo de la soledad instaurados en el interior de ellos y de las cuales son directamente conscientes.
🏡Nada de todo esto: una madre y su hija recorren en un carro viejo y desvencijado las calles con el único objetivo de observar casas. Esta situación puede parecer a simple vista un hecho casual o muy banal pero es el eje de una extraña relación de una madre y su hija, en la que la obsesión por lo ajeno y la ignorancia a lo propio es un mal que parece transmitirse y en el que no hay una explicación explícita a sus comportamientos.
🏡Mis padres y mis hijos: lo que empieza siendo como una simple y esperada reunión en la que el protagonista gozará de tener a sus padres y a sus hijos en la misma casa termina convirtiéndose en una llamada urgente a la policía en la que te preguntas si era necesario o si todo fue una completa exageración. El bichito de la duda queda implantado.
🏡Para siempre en esta casa: por un lado tenemos a una pareja que ha perdido a su hijo y están pasando por un largo luto en el que el duelo es esencial y en el otro costado una mujer y su hijo. La contraparte entre ambos parece ser la empatía y/o la indiferencia nula al sentir del otro.
🏡La respiración cavernaria: el mejor, de hecho mi puntuación es única y exclusivamente a este relato. Es el que mejor ejemplifica lo que tanto me gusta de la autora, esa creciente incomodidad y sensación tirante de que algo está pasando o está a punto de pasar. Para mí trata de la identidad pero sobre todo es la representación de la vejez, de la muerte siempre acechando pero nunca llevando a sus víctimas, del sufrimiento, el olvido y la soledad y todo eso narrado con esa aura espeluznante que envuelve la historia. Además, hay que ver que se lleva la mitad del libro, por lo que es el relato más jugoso.
🏡Cuarenta centímetros cuadrados: es el peor por lejos. Quizás lo mejor que tiene es su corta extensión pero de resto no tiene un contenido sustancial, interesante o tensionante como el resto. Ni siquiera diré de qué trata porque no vale la pena.
🏡Un hombre sin suerte: este fue agregado de último y se nota porque desentona un poco comparándolo con el resto de relatos. Aunque sin duda alguna también tiene ese cariz incómodo en medio de la historia que se desarrolla entre la protagonista y el hombre que conoció el día de su cumpleaños.
🏡Salir: un relato sobre evadir los problemas, sobre ocultarse mientras tomas oxígeno lejos del lugar que te incomoda o tiene silencios embarazoso. Sin embargo, tarde o temprano se regresa a la jaula.
January 18, 2016
Buenísimo descubrir a S. Schweblin. No conocía nada de ella, y me encantó. Tiene personalidad, algo de locura, tensión, en fin, me gustó mucho, y ya les contaré sobre sus otros libros, pues en definitiva la seguiré buscando.
Fue una de esas recomendaciones de librero, y una de las razones por lo cual me sigue gustando ir a librerías chicas, en donde los que venden los libros también los leen.
Fue una de esas recomendaciones de librero, y una de las razones por lo cual me sigue gustando ir a librerías chicas, en donde los que venden los libros también los leen.
July 17, 2018
4,5
No soy de apostar, y menos en lo que concierne a la lectura, pero el día que compré "Siete casas vacías" le comenté a mi novio que tenía tantas ganas de leerlo que podría terminarlo en una sentada. Comentario al cual respondió con humor, incrédulo, "cómo te lo vas a leer en una noche...". Y así nació un desafío. La cosa terminó con una apuesta donde había un libro a elección para el que la ganara, y este desafío consistía en leer el título mencionado en una sentada, en una noche. La idea en sí fue una tontería, porque el libro no es muy extenso, y yo tiendo a quedarme despierta leyendo hasta la madrugada, además de que llevo un ritmo de lectura bastante ágil en términos generales, pero en estos días estuve agotada físicamente y el cansancio me daba pelea cada vez que me sentaba a leer, quizá por eso ambos dudamos sobre lo que podría ocurrir.
Como resultado de la experiencia puedo concluir con dos cosas: ya estoy pensando qué libro voy a elegir como premio, y por otro lado, qué bien hice en leer este libro de un tirón. Fue maravilloso, y su lectura fue tan amena y adictiva que no me costó ni un poco leerlo en unas poquitas horas. Indefectiblemente hubiera deseado seguir su lectura aun si me hubiera propuesto leerlo en cómodas cuotas, como siempre. Lo sentí emocionalmente pesado, pero no en un mal sentido, sino que se notaba la carga psíquica que tenía, la nostalgia, la melancolía, lo cotidiano. Las cosas que uno tiene a mano, la cercanía que ofrecen los relatos de Samanta es lo que los hacen tan perturbadores. Lo atractivo en sus cuentos se encuentra en la vuelta de tuerca que tienen situaciones mundanas que descolocan al lector.
No soy de apostar, y menos en lo que concierne a la lectura, pero el día que compré "Siete casas vacías" le comenté a mi novio que tenía tantas ganas de leerlo que podría terminarlo en una sentada. Comentario al cual respondió con humor, incrédulo, "cómo te lo vas a leer en una noche...". Y así nació un desafío. La cosa terminó con una apuesta donde había un libro a elección para el que la ganara, y este desafío consistía en leer el título mencionado en una sentada, en una noche. La idea en sí fue una tontería, porque el libro no es muy extenso, y yo tiendo a quedarme despierta leyendo hasta la madrugada, además de que llevo un ritmo de lectura bastante ágil en términos generales, pero en estos días estuve agotada físicamente y el cansancio me daba pelea cada vez que me sentaba a leer, quizá por eso ambos dudamos sobre lo que podría ocurrir.
Como resultado de la experiencia puedo concluir con dos cosas: ya estoy pensando qué libro voy a elegir como premio, y por otro lado, qué bien hice en leer este libro de un tirón. Fue maravilloso, y su lectura fue tan amena y adictiva que no me costó ni un poco leerlo en unas poquitas horas. Indefectiblemente hubiera deseado seguir su lectura aun si me hubiera propuesto leerlo en cómodas cuotas, como siempre. Lo sentí emocionalmente pesado, pero no en un mal sentido, sino que se notaba la carga psíquica que tenía, la nostalgia, la melancolía, lo cotidiano. Las cosas que uno tiene a mano, la cercanía que ofrecen los relatos de Samanta es lo que los hacen tan perturbadores. Lo atractivo en sus cuentos se encuentra en la vuelta de tuerca que tienen situaciones mundanas que descolocan al lector.
December 29, 2022
I kept waiting for something to happen. Then the end came.
October 9, 2022
These stories are not nearly as disconcerting as I'd hoped for. Almost all of them turn on the eponymous houses, long established in literature as symbols of stability, interiority and domesticity, and encoded as particularly feminised spaces which can be entered, violated and also emptied out, things from which one can depart.
And these thematics can be traced in the stories though without containing anything especially revelatory - a mother and daughter go into strangers' houses and find the dynamic can be overturned; grandparents create a ludic space outside of the house by dancing naked in the backyard to the consternation of their family; neighbourhoods feels strange and alien once an inhabitant leaves their house.
My favourite, 'An Unlucky Man', layers these concerns more explicitly on an adolescent female body alternatively stripped and then reclothed in contested underwear.
The writing is plain and unstylised, straightforward and unnoticeable. I didn't dislike this book but am not raving about it either.
Thanks to the publisher for an ARC via NetGalley
And these thematics can be traced in the stories though without containing anything especially revelatory - a mother and daughter go into strangers' houses and find the dynamic can be overturned; grandparents create a ludic space outside of the house by dancing naked in the backyard to the consternation of their family; neighbourhoods feels strange and alien once an inhabitant leaves their house.
My favourite, 'An Unlucky Man', layers these concerns more explicitly on an adolescent female body alternatively stripped and then reclothed in contested underwear.
The writing is plain and unstylised, straightforward and unnoticeable. I didn't dislike this book but am not raving about it either.
Thanks to the publisher for an ARC via NetGalley
August 11, 2022
Schweblin’in öyküleri ile barış anlaşması imzalıyorum. Herbiri birbirinden güzel yedi öykü ama,
Ama kitabın tam orta yerinde tıpkı Musa’nın asası ile Kızıldeniz’i ikiye ayırdığı gibi, Schweblin de “Mağaramsı Nefes” isimli 50 sayfalık olağanüstü güzellikte öyküsüyle diğer öyküleri yarıp arasından geçiyor. Spoiler vermeden tarif edebilmem mümkün değil ama en azından şunu diyebilirim; o öyküyü yazan kişi ben olmalıydım diyorum iki gündür, öyle bir kıskanmak :)
Ama kitabın tam orta yerinde tıpkı Musa’nın asası ile Kızıldeniz’i ikiye ayırdığı gibi, Schweblin de “Mağaramsı Nefes” isimli 50 sayfalık olağanüstü güzellikte öyküsüyle diğer öyküleri yarıp arasından geçiyor. Spoiler vermeden tarif edebilmem mümkün değil ama en azından şunu diyebilirim; o öyküyü yazan kişi ben olmalıydım diyorum iki gündür, öyle bir kıskanmak :)
November 25, 2022
Schweblin escribe despojada. No hay mucha metáfora ni giro poético. Narra lo que quiere narrar y listo, con simpleza y llanura crea tensión. Todos los relatos están en el borde de lo extraño sin llegar a caer en lo inverosímil.
La respiración cavernaria merece una mención aparte. Sobresale entre los otros cuentos. Una vieja inventando conspiraciones a la espera de la muerte.
Yo ya estoy un poco en esa creo...
*Nada de todo esto
*La respiración cavernaria
*Salir
La respiración cavernaria merece una mención aparte. Sobresale entre los otros cuentos. Una vieja inventando conspiraciones a la espera de la muerte.
Yo ya estoy un poco en esa creo...
*Nada de todo esto
*La respiración cavernaria
*Salir
November 17, 2022
Winner of the 2022 US National Book Award for Translated Literature
“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I really understand what’s happening anymore.”
Seven Empty Houses is Megan McDowell's translation of Samanta Schweblin's 2015 story collection Siete casas vacías.
Schweblin's breakthrough book in English, in McDowell's translation, was Fever Dream (2017), from Distancia de rescate (2014). That firmly and brilliantly occupied the Todorovian 'fantastic'. Mouthful of Birds (English 2019, original Pájaros en la boca, 2009) was tilted a little more to the uncanny, with a little less on supernatural elements, and more on strange situations and behaviour.
This collection does away with anything supernatural at all, but uncanny behaviour is one common thread. In several of the stories a key character appears to be suffering from dementia, and past trauma is also another key trigger.
There are of course seven stories, six around the 10-15 page length, and one more like 80 pages. In order:
None of That
For as long as I can remember, we’ve gone out to look at houses, removed unsuitable flowers and pots from their gardens. We’ve moved sprinklers, straightened mailboxes, relocated lawn ornaments that were too heavy for the grass. As soon as my feet reached the pedals, I started to take over driving, which gave my mother more freedom. Once, by herself, she moved a white wooden bench and put it in the yard of the house across the street. She unhooked hammocks. Yanked up malignant weeds. Three times she pulled off the name “Marilú 2” from a terribly cheesy sign.
This is perhaps typical of the collection, with the narrator's mother showing increasingly eccentric behaviour, including marching into a stranger's house and taking something which turns out to have strong sentimental value connected with loss.
My Parents and My Children
Where are your parents’ clothes?” asks Marga. She crosses her arms and waits for my answer. She knows I don’t know. On the other side of the picture window, my parents are running naked in the backyard. “It’s almost six, Javier,” Marga tells me. “What’s going to happen when Charly comes back from the store with the kids and they see their grandparents chasing each other around?” “Who’s Charly?” I ask.
This story, with its riotous grandparents running around naked, to the delight of their grandchildren and horror of their daughter-in-law (now divorced from their son) has elements of The Governesses, here with a theme of adult censorious attitidues to innocent play.
It Happens All the Time in This House
Mr. Weimer is knocking at the door of my house. I recognize the sound of his heavy fist, his cautious, repetitive raps. So I leave the dishes in the sink and look out into the yard: there they are again, all those clothes scattered over the grass
At first sight this seems like a continuation of the theme in My Parents and My Children but instead is one of the collection's key themes, compulsive behaviour triggered by a traumatic loss.
Breath from the Depths
She wanted to die, but every morning, inevitably, she woke up again. What she could do, on the other hand, was arrange everything in that direction, attenuate her own life, reduce its space until she eliminated it completely. That’s what the list was about; that, and remaining focused on what was important. She turned to it when her attention wandered, when something upset or distracted her and she forgot what it was she was doing. It was a short list:
Classify everything.
Donate what is expendable.
Wrap what is important.
Concentrate on death.
If he meddles, ignore him.
The longest story in the collection but my personal favourite, with shades of Sammy Jankis from Nolan's Memento. An elderly, and possibly dying but not as quickly as she'd like, woman runs her life with notes, as well as an obsession with preparing for her passing on by putting everything in boxes. She gets increasingly suspicious of her husband who has, in a neighbourly fashion, befriended a boy who moved in next door, but who she suspects of being responsible for all the trouble in the area from minor nuisances to an armed robbery.
Then he said: “The boy is missing.” She understood the close relationship this bore to her own personal desires, and for a moment she felt guilty. “He didn’t go home last night either, and it’s almost noon now.” She thought about the robbery at the rotisserie, about the banging on the fence, the fixed wrench, the chocolate milk, and the stool the boy sat on in the garden, their stool. But she said: “Isn’t there anything of yours you want to box up?”
Two Square Feet
My mother‑in‑law wants me to buy aspirin. She gives me two ten‑peso bills and tells me how to get to the nearest pharmacy. “Are you sure you don’t mind going?” I shake my head and walk toward the door. I try not to think about the story she’s just told me, but the apartment is small and I have to dodge so many pieces of furniture, so many shelves and cabinets full of knickknacks, that it’s hard to think about anything else. I leave the apartment and enter the dark hallway. I don’t turn on the lights; I’d rather let the light come of its own accord when the elevator doors open up and illuminate me.
This story begins with a woman, who has recently returned to Argentina after a move overseas unsuccessfully, sent out, late at night,to buy aspirin by her mother-in-law. The streets and shops of Buenos Aires is less familiar to her than before she emigrated, plus it is past normal opening hours so the task isn't easy; and her frustration is compounded by suspecting their is some hidden in chaos of her mother-in-law's bathroom, and knowing there is some in the shipping crates that hold her own belongings. But the experience actually brings her closer to an understanding of her mother-in-law's own sense of loss.
An Unlucky Man
The day I turned eight, my sister— who absolutely always had to be the center of attention— swallowed an entire cup of bleach. Abi was three.
A story, narrated by a girl looking back on her 8th birthday, that starts as per the opening quote soon turns into something else. As her parents frantically try to drive Abi to A&E, the girl is asked to remove her knickers and wave them through the window to alert passing cars to their distress. Waiting in the hospital while her sister undergoes emergency treatment she chats to a stranger, a man, who takes her off to buy another pair. A friendly gesture or an abuser taking advantage? There are echoes here of My Parents and My Children.
Out
“Are you a new maintenance man in the building?”
“Well, depends what you count as ‘new’ . . . I’ve been at the building for six months now, miss.”
“And are you a roofer as well?”
“I’m an escapist, really.” We’re driving very close to the sidewalk, almost on the heels of a woman who’s carrying an empty supermarket bag and walking quickly; she looks at us sideways.
“An escapist?”
“I fix fire escapes.”
“Are you sure that’s what an escapist does?”
“I can assure you it is.”
The narrator, frustrated with her husband, walks out of their flat and ends up on a journey into the city night with the maintanence man, the self-proclaimed escapist. This was fishing in similar territory to Two Square Feet, but for me not so successful.
My verdict
Schweblin as rendered by McDowell is a highly effective writing and nearly all the stories are individually very effective. If anything though, as a collection, I found it less of a success since, as with Mouthful of Birds, there is a sense of the author reworking similar themes. Indeed as a novella fan, I suspect I might have preferred it if Breath from the Depths has been published as a standalone work.
3.5 stars - rounded to 3, more by comparison to the high standard of the author/translator's own previous work.
Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC
“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I really understand what’s happening anymore.”
Seven Empty Houses is Megan McDowell's translation of Samanta Schweblin's 2015 story collection Siete casas vacías.
Schweblin's breakthrough book in English, in McDowell's translation, was Fever Dream (2017), from Distancia de rescate (2014). That firmly and brilliantly occupied the Todorovian 'fantastic'. Mouthful of Birds (English 2019, original Pájaros en la boca, 2009) was tilted a little more to the uncanny, with a little less on supernatural elements, and more on strange situations and behaviour.
This collection does away with anything supernatural at all, but uncanny behaviour is one common thread. In several of the stories a key character appears to be suffering from dementia, and past trauma is also another key trigger.
There are of course seven stories, six around the 10-15 page length, and one more like 80 pages. In order:
None of That
For as long as I can remember, we’ve gone out to look at houses, removed unsuitable flowers and pots from their gardens. We’ve moved sprinklers, straightened mailboxes, relocated lawn ornaments that were too heavy for the grass. As soon as my feet reached the pedals, I started to take over driving, which gave my mother more freedom. Once, by herself, she moved a white wooden bench and put it in the yard of the house across the street. She unhooked hammocks. Yanked up malignant weeds. Three times she pulled off the name “Marilú 2” from a terribly cheesy sign.
This is perhaps typical of the collection, with the narrator's mother showing increasingly eccentric behaviour, including marching into a stranger's house and taking something which turns out to have strong sentimental value connected with loss.
My Parents and My Children
Where are your parents’ clothes?” asks Marga. She crosses her arms and waits for my answer. She knows I don’t know. On the other side of the picture window, my parents are running naked in the backyard. “It’s almost six, Javier,” Marga tells me. “What’s going to happen when Charly comes back from the store with the kids and they see their grandparents chasing each other around?” “Who’s Charly?” I ask.
This story, with its riotous grandparents running around naked, to the delight of their grandchildren and horror of their daughter-in-law (now divorced from their son) has elements of The Governesses, here with a theme of adult censorious attitidues to innocent play.
It Happens All the Time in This House
Mr. Weimer is knocking at the door of my house. I recognize the sound of his heavy fist, his cautious, repetitive raps. So I leave the dishes in the sink and look out into the yard: there they are again, all those clothes scattered over the grass
At first sight this seems like a continuation of the theme in My Parents and My Children but instead is one of the collection's key themes, compulsive behaviour triggered by a traumatic loss.
Breath from the Depths
She wanted to die, but every morning, inevitably, she woke up again. What she could do, on the other hand, was arrange everything in that direction, attenuate her own life, reduce its space until she eliminated it completely. That’s what the list was about; that, and remaining focused on what was important. She turned to it when her attention wandered, when something upset or distracted her and she forgot what it was she was doing. It was a short list:
Classify everything.
Donate what is expendable.
Wrap what is important.
Concentrate on death.
If he meddles, ignore him.
The longest story in the collection but my personal favourite, with shades of Sammy Jankis from Nolan's Memento. An elderly, and possibly dying but not as quickly as she'd like, woman runs her life with notes, as well as an obsession with preparing for her passing on by putting everything in boxes. She gets increasingly suspicious of her husband who has, in a neighbourly fashion, befriended a boy who moved in next door, but who she suspects of being responsible for all the trouble in the area from minor nuisances to an armed robbery.
Then he said: “The boy is missing.” She understood the close relationship this bore to her own personal desires, and for a moment she felt guilty. “He didn’t go home last night either, and it’s almost noon now.” She thought about the robbery at the rotisserie, about the banging on the fence, the fixed wrench, the chocolate milk, and the stool the boy sat on in the garden, their stool. But she said: “Isn’t there anything of yours you want to box up?”
Two Square Feet
My mother‑in‑law wants me to buy aspirin. She gives me two ten‑peso bills and tells me how to get to the nearest pharmacy. “Are you sure you don’t mind going?” I shake my head and walk toward the door. I try not to think about the story she’s just told me, but the apartment is small and I have to dodge so many pieces of furniture, so many shelves and cabinets full of knickknacks, that it’s hard to think about anything else. I leave the apartment and enter the dark hallway. I don’t turn on the lights; I’d rather let the light come of its own accord when the elevator doors open up and illuminate me.
This story begins with a woman, who has recently returned to Argentina after a move overseas unsuccessfully, sent out, late at night,to buy aspirin by her mother-in-law. The streets and shops of Buenos Aires is less familiar to her than before she emigrated, plus it is past normal opening hours so the task isn't easy; and her frustration is compounded by suspecting their is some hidden in chaos of her mother-in-law's bathroom, and knowing there is some in the shipping crates that hold her own belongings. But the experience actually brings her closer to an understanding of her mother-in-law's own sense of loss.
An Unlucky Man
The day I turned eight, my sister— who absolutely always had to be the center of attention— swallowed an entire cup of bleach. Abi was three.
A story, narrated by a girl looking back on her 8th birthday, that starts as per the opening quote soon turns into something else. As her parents frantically try to drive Abi to A&E, the girl is asked to remove her knickers and wave them through the window to alert passing cars to their distress. Waiting in the hospital while her sister undergoes emergency treatment she chats to a stranger, a man, who takes her off to buy another pair. A friendly gesture or an abuser taking advantage? There are echoes here of My Parents and My Children.
Out
“Are you a new maintenance man in the building?”
“Well, depends what you count as ‘new’ . . . I’ve been at the building for six months now, miss.”
“And are you a roofer as well?”
“I’m an escapist, really.” We’re driving very close to the sidewalk, almost on the heels of a woman who’s carrying an empty supermarket bag and walking quickly; she looks at us sideways.
“An escapist?”
“I fix fire escapes.”
“Are you sure that’s what an escapist does?”
“I can assure you it is.”
The narrator, frustrated with her husband, walks out of their flat and ends up on a journey into the city night with the maintanence man, the self-proclaimed escapist. This was fishing in similar territory to Two Square Feet, but for me not so successful.
My verdict
Schweblin as rendered by McDowell is a highly effective writing and nearly all the stories are individually very effective. If anything though, as a collection, I found it less of a success since, as with Mouthful of Birds, there is a sense of the author reworking similar themes. Indeed as a novella fan, I suspect I might have preferred it if Breath from the Depths has been published as a standalone work.
3.5 stars - rounded to 3, more by comparison to the high standard of the author/translator's own previous work.
Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC
September 20, 2022
çok uzun yazmayacağım çünkü başka planlarım var.
ama samanta schweblin yine bizi tekinsiz evlerden, tekinsiz sokaklardan, tekinsiz durumlardan geçiriyor. öylesine tedirginiz ki bazı öykülerde kalbimiz hızlı hızlı atıyor.
bu tekinsizlik edgar allen poe tarzı değil elbet. latin amerika olur da sınıfsal ya da politik olmayan bir şey olur mu. schweblin’in “kurtarma mesafesi”ni okumuş olanlar ne diyeceğimi anlayacaktır. orada yaşanan garip duyguların ve olayların ekolojik bir felakete bağlanması gibi burada da hırsızlığın, çetelelerin kol gezdiği mahalleler, onca parayı nerden bulduğunu bilemediğimiz (evet aynısı bizde de var) ultra zenginler var.
ama bu insanların hikayesi hep bir eve, sığınmaya, ana rahmine dönermiş gibi yuvaya bağlanıyor. o nedenle kitabın adı çok anlamlı.
özellikle “böyle şeyler evimizde olağandır”ın kurulduğu dil, minimallik bize tonlarca şey sezdirirken, kitabın en uzun öyküsü “mağaramsı nefes” (bu öykünün adını hiç sevemedim nedense) bir ömrü anlatıyor. bu iki bambaşka öykü beni çarptı.
elimizden tutup hiç istemediğimiz yerlere götürüyor bizi schweblin. yoksul mahallelere, ölmüş çocuklara, hastalıklara, yaşlılara… ama bunu öyle çarpıcı imgeler ve detaylarla yapıyor ki başımıza gelecek her şeye razıyız.
ilk kez emrah imre çevirisinde bazı cümlelere takıldım. orijinal dilden okuyamayacağıma göre bir şey demem zor ama bazı uzun cümlelerde ne dendiğini anlayabilmek için birkaç kez okudum ve zamirlerde oynayarak daha anlamlı olabileceğini fark ettim. yine de çok küçük şeyler tabii. yazarın dilinin tüm tekinsizliğini hissediyoruz.
ama samanta schweblin yine bizi tekinsiz evlerden, tekinsiz sokaklardan, tekinsiz durumlardan geçiriyor. öylesine tedirginiz ki bazı öykülerde kalbimiz hızlı hızlı atıyor.
bu tekinsizlik edgar allen poe tarzı değil elbet. latin amerika olur da sınıfsal ya da politik olmayan bir şey olur mu. schweblin’in “kurtarma mesafesi”ni okumuş olanlar ne diyeceğimi anlayacaktır. orada yaşanan garip duyguların ve olayların ekolojik bir felakete bağlanması gibi burada da hırsızlığın, çetelelerin kol gezdiği mahalleler, onca parayı nerden bulduğunu bilemediğimiz (evet aynısı bizde de var) ultra zenginler var.
ama bu insanların hikayesi hep bir eve, sığınmaya, ana rahmine dönermiş gibi yuvaya bağlanıyor. o nedenle kitabın adı çok anlamlı.
özellikle “böyle şeyler evimizde olağandır”ın kurulduğu dil, minimallik bize tonlarca şey sezdirirken, kitabın en uzun öyküsü “mağaramsı nefes” (bu öykünün adını hiç sevemedim nedense) bir ömrü anlatıyor. bu iki bambaşka öykü beni çarptı.
elimizden tutup hiç istemediğimiz yerlere götürüyor bizi schweblin. yoksul mahallelere, ölmüş çocuklara, hastalıklara, yaşlılara… ama bunu öyle çarpıcı imgeler ve detaylarla yapıyor ki başımıza gelecek her şeye razıyız.
ilk kez emrah imre çevirisinde bazı cümlelere takıldım. orijinal dilden okuyamayacağıma göre bir şey demem zor ama bazı uzun cümlelerde ne dendiğini anlayabilmek için birkaç kez okudum ve zamirlerde oynayarak daha anlamlı olabileceğini fark ettim. yine de çok küçük şeyler tabii. yazarın dilinin tüm tekinsizliğini hissediyoruz.
November 3, 2021
¿Qué carajo hacemos en las casas de los demás?
Al igual que con Distancia de rescate este libro lo comencé sin haber leído la sinopsis ni tener idea de a qué iba, así que me sorprendió que en esta ocasión, Samanta Schweblin eligiera las situaciones más comunes de la vida y las convirtiera en algo perturbador o incómodo.
En el primer relato Nada de todo esto nos encontramos con una mujer y su hija, ambas miran casas. Sí, puede sonar absurdo y sin importancia, pero la forma en la que la autora lo cuenta y la dinámica tan particular entre ambas mujeres logra llamar tu atención y hacerte sentir la locura (o la cordura a su manera) que las acecha a ambas. El final te hace ver que hay ciertas herencias de las que no podemos escapar.
Los siguientes relatos siguen más o menos la misma dirección.
En Mis padres y mis hijos Javier y Marga son una pareja que está en proceso de separación y ambos discuten durante largo rato sobre los padres de él, que están en el jardín, desnudos, hasta que algo ocurre y todo se sale de control (más) y se ven obligados a llamar a la policía.
Pasa siempre en esta casa se inclina más hacia la perdida de un hijo y a la presencia de otro. Tenemos a una pareja mayor que sufrió la perdida de su hijo y esto cambió la dinámica entre ellos; luego tenemos a una madre y a su hijo malhumorado que no se preocupa por entender.
La respiración cavernaria es el relato más largo y lastimero de la colección. En él nos encontramos con una pareja de ancianos, el cuida de la casa y de su esposa; ella, poco a poco, sucumbe a los síntomas de su enfermedad hasta que esto desemboca en una tragedia que incluye a un chico de trece años.
Cuarenta centímetros cuadrados es un relato bastante olvidable. Trata sobre una mujer que va a hacer el encargo que le pidió su suegra y, en el camino, piensa en su mudanza, su madre y otras cosas.
Un hombre sin suerte es sobre una niña que se siente desplazada por su hermana pequeña, quien sufre un accidente durante el cumpleaños de esta y, por ende, le roba toda la atención. Una cosa lleva a la otra y la niña conoce a un hombre, ahí todo se pone incómodo.
Y finalmente, Salir es un relato de una mujer que decide salir, sin más (y mucho más).
Mi opinión sobre este libro está ligada al hecho de que uno de mis mayores miedos es la vejez. Mi vejez, la vejez de la gente que conozco, la vejez de las cosas, de todo. Si no fuera por eso, el libro no me habría provocado mucho, la verdad. Sí, el libro ha ganado un premio y uno de sus relatos, también, pero no es impresionante. Si la vejez para ti no significa nada, este libro tampoco lo hará, lo único que hace es narrar el día a día de personas y relaciones que están envejeciendo, de gente común y corriente que se enfrenta a las enfermedades mentales y no sabe cómo lidiar con ellas y de niños que no conocen el peligro. No hay momentos impactantes ni giros inesperados, todo acaba como empieza y la emoción más fuerte que puedes llegar a sentir aquí es tristeza.
¿Me ha gustado? Pues le he dado 3.5 estrellas. Para ser un libro que narra cosas cotidianas y que no tiene sorpresas, creo que es una buena calificación. No lo recomiendo a todo el público, de hecho no se lo recomendaría a nadie, pero si lo ves y te llama la atención no pierdes nada con leerlo, el libro está cortito y se lee rápido.
Cosa aparte, el cuento Un hombre sin suerte no estaba incluído al principio, y se nota. Desentona bastante con la temática de los otros.
PS: aunque este no ha sido un cuatro o cinco estrellas, sigo queriendo leer TODO lo que está autora escriba:)
Al igual que con Distancia de rescate este libro lo comencé sin haber leído la sinopsis ni tener idea de a qué iba, así que me sorprendió que en esta ocasión, Samanta Schweblin eligiera las situaciones más comunes de la vida y las convirtiera en algo perturbador o incómodo.
En el primer relato Nada de todo esto nos encontramos con una mujer y su hija, ambas miran casas. Sí, puede sonar absurdo y sin importancia, pero la forma en la que la autora lo cuenta y la dinámica tan particular entre ambas mujeres logra llamar tu atención y hacerte sentir la locura (o la cordura a su manera) que las acecha a ambas. El final te hace ver que hay ciertas herencias de las que no podemos escapar.
Los siguientes relatos siguen más o menos la misma dirección.
En Mis padres y mis hijos Javier y Marga son una pareja que está en proceso de separación y ambos discuten durante largo rato sobre los padres de él, que están en el jardín, desnudos, hasta que algo ocurre y todo se sale de control (más) y se ven obligados a llamar a la policía.
Pasa siempre en esta casa se inclina más hacia la perdida de un hijo y a la presencia de otro. Tenemos a una pareja mayor que sufrió la perdida de su hijo y esto cambió la dinámica entre ellos; luego tenemos a una madre y a su hijo malhumorado que no se preocupa por entender.
La respiración cavernaria es el relato más largo y lastimero de la colección. En él nos encontramos con una pareja de ancianos, el cuida de la casa y de su esposa; ella, poco a poco, sucumbe a los síntomas de su enfermedad hasta que esto desemboca en una tragedia que incluye a un chico de trece años.
Cuarenta centímetros cuadrados es un relato bastante olvidable. Trata sobre una mujer que va a hacer el encargo que le pidió su suegra y, en el camino, piensa en su mudanza, su madre y otras cosas.
Un hombre sin suerte es sobre una niña que se siente desplazada por su hermana pequeña, quien sufre un accidente durante el cumpleaños de esta y, por ende, le roba toda la atención. Una cosa lleva a la otra y la niña conoce a un hombre, ahí todo se pone incómodo.
Y finalmente, Salir es un relato de una mujer que decide salir, sin más (y mucho más).
Mi opinión sobre este libro está ligada al hecho de que uno de mis mayores miedos es la vejez. Mi vejez, la vejez de la gente que conozco, la vejez de las cosas, de todo. Si no fuera por eso, el libro no me habría provocado mucho, la verdad. Sí, el libro ha ganado un premio y uno de sus relatos, también, pero no es impresionante. Si la vejez para ti no significa nada, este libro tampoco lo hará, lo único que hace es narrar el día a día de personas y relaciones que están envejeciendo, de gente común y corriente que se enfrenta a las enfermedades mentales y no sabe cómo lidiar con ellas y de niños que no conocen el peligro. No hay momentos impactantes ni giros inesperados, todo acaba como empieza y la emoción más fuerte que puedes llegar a sentir aquí es tristeza.
¿Me ha gustado? Pues le he dado 3.5 estrellas. Para ser un libro que narra cosas cotidianas y que no tiene sorpresas, creo que es una buena calificación. No lo recomiendo a todo el público, de hecho no se lo recomendaría a nadie, pero si lo ves y te llama la atención no pierdes nada con leerlo, el libro está cortito y se lee rápido.
Cosa aparte, el cuento Un hombre sin suerte no estaba incluído al principio, y se nota. Desentona bastante con la temática de los otros.
PS: aunque este no ha sido un cuatro o cinco estrellas, sigo queriendo leer TODO lo que está autora escriba:)
November 28, 2021
Kαταπληκτική εισοδος απο τη Λατινική Αμερική της καρδιας μας, με δυναμη, τρομο, ονειρικό και ελαχιστα υπερφυσικό - οχι πια με τον τροπο της Αλιεντε ή του Μάρκες, οχι πια λυρικά, ρομαντικά και ποιητικά, τωρα πια πιο εξευρωπαισμένα, μ εναν πιο θριλεριστικο λόγο, πιο ρεαλιστικά, πιο disturbing, πιο ανεξηγητο, λιγοτερο ονειρικό περισσοτερο εφιαλτογενές.
Η Σαμαντα Σβεμπλιν καταγεται απο το Μπουενος Αιρες αλλα ζει στο Βερολινο και καπως αυτό στην γραφη της φαίνεται -συστηθηκε στο ελληνικό κοινό με το μικρης εκτασης μυθιστορημα Αποσταση ασφαλειας που τωρα ψαχνω ενθουσιαμενη να το βρω, και το γκουκλ λεει οτι εχει γινει και ταινια στο νετφλιξ, παρα πολυ ιντερεστιγκ.
Δεν ξερω πώς αλλιως να περιγραψω τα διηγηματα και την πενα της, φαινεται οτι ενα νεο ειδος συστηνεται στο κοινο, εκ δυσεως ορμωμενο και μου αρεσει παρα, μα παρα πολύ. Ξεχασα να κανω ακομη και σκρολ στο κινητό μου. Τα διαβασα ολα μαζι, και τωρα ψαχνω κι αλλα.
_____________________
Η γυναικα ηταν τοσο αδυνατη και χλωμή, ήταν τοσο προφανες πως ηταν μια γυναικα αρρωστη, ή ναρκομανής, που η Λόλα ανησύχησε για τις συνεπειες αυτού που έπρεπε να της πει.
-ο γιος σας με κλεβει
Ειχε αυτους τους τρομερους μαυρους κυκλους
-Αδειασε όλα τα ντουλάπια.
Κατι ελαμψε στο βαθος των ματιων της γυναικας και τα χαρακτηριστικά της σκλήρυναν ακόμη περισσότερο. Ανάσανε βαθιά, πιο βαθιά απ οτι θα χρειαζοταν μια τοσο μικροκαμωμένη γυναίκα.
-Κυρια μου. Ο γιος μου ειναι νεκρος
Η φωνη ακουστηκε ψυχρη και μεταλλική, ομοια ενος αυτοματου τηλεφωνητη, και η Λολα αναρωτηθηκε πώς μπορουσαν οι ανθρωποι να λενε τετοια πραγματα χωρις κανεναν ενδοιασμό.
-Ο γιος σας ζει στο βαθος του σπιτιου μου και σπαει ολους μου τους καθρεφτες.
Η Σαμαντα Σβεμπλιν καταγεται απο το Μπουενος Αιρες αλλα ζει στο Βερολινο και καπως αυτό στην γραφη της φαίνεται -συστηθηκε στο ελληνικό κοινό με το μικρης εκτασης μυθιστορημα Αποσταση ασφαλειας που τωρα ψαχνω ενθουσιαμενη να το βρω, και το γκουκλ λεει οτι εχει γινει και ταινια στο νετφλιξ, παρα πολυ ιντερεστιγκ.
Δεν ξερω πώς αλλιως να περιγραψω τα διηγηματα και την πενα της, φαινεται οτι ενα νεο ειδος συστηνεται στο κοινο, εκ δυσεως ορμωμενο και μου αρεσει παρα, μα παρα πολύ. Ξεχασα να κανω ακομη και σκρολ στο κινητό μου. Τα διαβασα ολα μαζι, και τωρα ψαχνω κι αλλα.
_____________________
Η γυναικα ηταν τοσο αδυνατη και χλωμή, ήταν τοσο προφανες πως ηταν μια γυναικα αρρωστη, ή ναρκομανής, που η Λόλα ανησύχησε για τις συνεπειες αυτού που έπρεπε να της πει.
-ο γιος σας με κλεβει
Ειχε αυτους τους τρομερους μαυρους κυκλους
-Αδειασε όλα τα ντουλάπια.
Κατι ελαμψε στο βαθος των ματιων της γυναικας και τα χαρακτηριστικά της σκλήρυναν ακόμη περισσότερο. Ανάσανε βαθιά, πιο βαθιά απ οτι θα χρειαζοταν μια τοσο μικροκαμωμένη γυναίκα.
-Κυρια μου. Ο γιος μου ειναι νεκρος
Η φωνη ακουστηκε ψυχρη και μεταλλική, ομοια ενος αυτοματου τηλεφωνητη, και η Λολα αναρωτηθηκε πώς μπορουσαν οι ανθρωποι να λενε τετοια πραγματα χωρις κανεναν ενδοιασμό.
-Ο γιος σας ζει στο βαθος του σπιτιου μου και σπαει ολους μου τους καθρεφτες.
September 3, 2016
A veces me gusta pensar en los libros de cuentos como si fueran discos. Con qué canción empezás, en qué lugar del tracklist ponés el hit, dónde subís la intensidad, dónde ponés los lentos, con qué cerrás el disco, cuál va a ser el tema 11 (para los melómanos, si no saben de qué hablo, busquen sobre eso, es muy interesante).
Bueno, este disco empieza con una canción que está bien, pero no te parece lo suficientemente fuerte como para que abra el disco. El hit está en el medio; es raro, porque no coincide con el resto del disco: es largo, tiene muchas variaciones, cambia de género constantemente, y termina en un fade larguísimo. Una suerte de "Bohemian Rhapsody" en medio de un disco de Radiohead, si querés. El último tema es como una canción chiquitita, cortita, escrita rápido en un arranque de inspiración y grabada con solamente un ukelele (piensen en "Jessica" de Regina Spektor).
Y termina el disco y decís "Bueno, este disco estuvo bien" y lo guardas en la estantería junto con el resto de tu colección y lo vas a sacar solamente cuando alguien tararee o hable sobre ese hit. Porque de las otras canciones nadie se acuerda, o capaz sí pero no dejaron un impacto tan grande.
No es la primera vez que me pasa esto con Schweblin. Siempre me pasa lo mismo. Escribe muy bien, muy bien. Pero sus cuentos se me desinflan. Empieza bien, pero en algún momento hace pafffffffff y escuchás cómo se escapa el vientito por un agujero que no encontrás, y antes de que puedas emparcharlo, ya se desinfló del todo.
Sí, me pasó lo mismo con "La respiración cavernaria". (Con lo que acabo de decir, me linchan vivo).
Bueno, este disco empieza con una canción que está bien, pero no te parece lo suficientemente fuerte como para que abra el disco. El hit está en el medio; es raro, porque no coincide con el resto del disco: es largo, tiene muchas variaciones, cambia de género constantemente, y termina en un fade larguísimo. Una suerte de "Bohemian Rhapsody" en medio de un disco de Radiohead, si querés. El último tema es como una canción chiquitita, cortita, escrita rápido en un arranque de inspiración y grabada con solamente un ukelele (piensen en "Jessica" de Regina Spektor).
Y termina el disco y decís "Bueno, este disco estuvo bien" y lo guardas en la estantería junto con el resto de tu colección y lo vas a sacar solamente cuando alguien tararee o hable sobre ese hit. Porque de las otras canciones nadie se acuerda, o capaz sí pero no dejaron un impacto tan grande.
No es la primera vez que me pasa esto con Schweblin. Siempre me pasa lo mismo. Escribe muy bien, muy bien. Pero sus cuentos se me desinflan. Empieza bien, pero en algún momento hace pafffffffff y escuchás cómo se escapa el vientito por un agujero que no encontrás, y antes de que puedas emparcharlo, ya se desinfló del todo.
Sí, me pasó lo mismo con "La respiración cavernaria". (Con lo que acabo de decir, me linchan vivo).
September 6, 2024
4,5*
Desde que tenho memória que me lembro de irmos ver casas e levarmos flores e vasos feios. De mudarmos regadores de sítio, endireitarmos caixas do correio, recolhermos enfeites demasiado pesados para a relva. Assim que os meus pés chegaram aos pedais, passei a encarregar-me do carro. Isso deu à minha mãe mais liberdade.
- Nada disso
Ainda que seja uma colecção de contos, o mais recente livro de Samanta Schweblin está mais próximo de “Distância de Segurança” do que do magnífico e perturbador “Pássaros na Boca”, já que causa uma sensação de incómodo que não é fácil de definir, com situações para as quais não há uma explicação concreta e me deixaram num desassossego do início ao fim de cada história.
“Sete Casas Vazias” é um livro muito coeso sobre relações tensas não só entre pais e filhos mas também entre vizinhos, que entram e saem de casas, que se movem nas suas imediações, que as abandonam por algum motivo depois de a acção ter começado no seu interior. “Nada disso” e “Acontece sempre nesta casa” estão entre os meus contos preferidos, em que se nota que a escrita de Schweblin está mais refinada e subtil, mas “A respiração cavernosa”, que acompanha uma velhota com demência, é o mais aflitivo na sua aproximação àquilo que calculo que seja essa realidade.
Era para isso que servia a lista, para se manter focada no que importava. Recorria a ela quando se dispersava, quando alguma coisa a assustava ou distraía e se esquecia do que estava a fazer. Era uma lista breve:
Classificar tudo. Doar o indispensável. Embalar o importante. Concentrar-me na morte. Se ele se intrometer, ignorá-lo.
- A respiração cavernosa
Desde que tenho memória que me lembro de irmos ver casas e levarmos flores e vasos feios. De mudarmos regadores de sítio, endireitarmos caixas do correio, recolhermos enfeites demasiado pesados para a relva. Assim que os meus pés chegaram aos pedais, passei a encarregar-me do carro. Isso deu à minha mãe mais liberdade.
- Nada disso
Ainda que seja uma colecção de contos, o mais recente livro de Samanta Schweblin está mais próximo de “Distância de Segurança” do que do magnífico e perturbador “Pássaros na Boca”, já que causa uma sensação de incómodo que não é fácil de definir, com situações para as quais não há uma explicação concreta e me deixaram num desassossego do início ao fim de cada história.
“Sete Casas Vazias” é um livro muito coeso sobre relações tensas não só entre pais e filhos mas também entre vizinhos, que entram e saem de casas, que se movem nas suas imediações, que as abandonam por algum motivo depois de a acção ter começado no seu interior. “Nada disso” e “Acontece sempre nesta casa” estão entre os meus contos preferidos, em que se nota que a escrita de Schweblin está mais refinada e subtil, mas “A respiração cavernosa”, que acompanha uma velhota com demência, é o mais aflitivo na sua aproximação àquilo que calculo que seja essa realidade.
Era para isso que servia a lista, para se manter focada no que importava. Recorria a ela quando se dispersava, quando alguma coisa a assustava ou distraía e se esquecia do que estava a fazer. Era uma lista breve:
Classificar tudo. Doar o indispensável. Embalar o importante. Concentrar-me na morte. Se ele se intrometer, ignorá-lo.
- A respiração cavernosa
January 7, 2016
Los relatos reunidos en esta antología abordan personajes y situaciones de lo más cotidiano desde una perspectiva que normalmente tiende hacia lo absurdo. Circunstancias familiares acaecidas en ámbitos corrientes que, sin embargo, despiertan extrañeza, desasosiego e incluso horror. Podría haber salido bien. No obstante, al contrario de lo que sucedía en Distancia de rescate, Samanta Schweblin no ha logrado transmitirme ni lo más mínimo a lo largo de estos siete cuentos en los que predomina un estilo espeso, casi tedioso, la monotonía y una incómoda falta de contundencia. Sabiendo de lo que es capaz la autora, este libro me ha parecido una completa decepción.
January 7, 2020
Siete casas vacías es una gran libro de relatos. Uno siente el miedo a través de sus protagonistas. Es un miedo a lo real, al otro y por lo tanto a uno mismo. Las enfermedades mentales aparecen como desajustes de esa realidad.
“La respiración cavernaria”, el relato más largo del volumen es una verdadera joya de la literatura. Merece las 5 estrellas. La protagonista es un ser tremendo. Léanlo por favor.
También sobresalen los relatos de apertura y el de cierre. Hay magia en ellos.
“La respiración cavernaria”, el relato más largo del volumen es una verdadera joya de la literatura. Merece las 5 estrellas. La protagonista es un ser tremendo. Léanlo por favor.
También sobresalen los relatos de apertura y el de cierre. Hay magia en ellos.
July 26, 2022
Her öyküsü mükemmel olan unutulmaz bir derleme. Çığrından çıkmış bir Carver gibi.
January 3, 2023
Once again, Samanta Schweblin delivers an unsettling, compelling series of stories that unearth the unsavory parts of being human. Particularly, this collection looks at loss and what it means to be empty inside or feel surrounded by emptiness in some capacity. Characters strive to control their lives while ultimately succumbing to the reality of existence—whether by organizing all the items in their houses or stealing stuff from others' homes.
There's a particular focus on parent/child relationships, and what that means for a person when that cord is severed. Motifs of dementia (though never explicitly stated), identity via our possessions (especially clothing), and personal space (both literal and figurative) permeate these stories.
I will admit upon first finishing some of these stories, these being much more grounded in reality than some of the more speculative work of Schweblin's, I thought, "...huh? That's it?" But the images and characters stick with you, and the stories all together work really well in conversation with each other. I can imagine this would reward being read even more closely and again and again.
Schweblin's economy of language, and McDowell's incredible translation, is deceptively skillful. Brevity doesn't mean underdeveloped, and the more you dig into the themes and elements of each story the more there is to find. I'd particularly like to revisit the middle story, which is also the longest of the collection, "Breath from the Depths" again someday.
My favorite stories were: "An Unlucky Man," "Breath from the Depths," “My Parents and My Children” and “Two Square Feet”
There's a particular focus on parent/child relationships, and what that means for a person when that cord is severed. Motifs of dementia (though never explicitly stated), identity via our possessions (especially clothing), and personal space (both literal and figurative) permeate these stories.
I will admit upon first finishing some of these stories, these being much more grounded in reality than some of the more speculative work of Schweblin's, I thought, "...huh? That's it?" But the images and characters stick with you, and the stories all together work really well in conversation with each other. I can imagine this would reward being read even more closely and again and again.
Schweblin's economy of language, and McDowell's incredible translation, is deceptively skillful. Brevity doesn't mean underdeveloped, and the more you dig into the themes and elements of each story the more there is to find. I'd particularly like to revisit the middle story, which is also the longest of the collection, "Breath from the Depths" again someday.
My favorite stories were: "An Unlucky Man," "Breath from the Depths," “My Parents and My Children” and “Two Square Feet”
January 27, 2023
❀ blog ❀ thestorygraph ❀ letterboxd ❀ tumblr ❀ ko-fi ❀
Having found Samanta Schweblin’s Mouthful of Birds to make for a relatively disturbing collection of short stories I was intrigued to read more by her. Seven Empty Houses even promised a thematic unity in its seven stories, as they all featured strange houses. Sadly I found the motif to be explored/utilized in a rather underwhelming way, and none of the stories really stood out to me. Sure, they are all characterized by that quiet ominous vibe that seems to be very much on brand for Schweblin, and I do think that some of the stories did present us with some effectively unsettling imagery, but the atmosphere was just lacking. There was an air of surreality, sure, but it ultimately lacked ‘oomph’ (they were very samey). Compared to the stories from Mouthful of Birds , the stories in this collection are kind of predictable. We have missing people, ghosts, other 'disturbances', a blurring of the real and the imagined…but these never add up to create a genuinely disturbing or otherwise memorable tale.
If you are a hardcore fan of Schweblin or you don’t mind rather vague short stories, maybe this collection will work for you.
Having found Samanta Schweblin’s Mouthful of Birds to make for a relatively disturbing collection of short stories I was intrigued to read more by her. Seven Empty Houses even promised a thematic unity in its seven stories, as they all featured strange houses. Sadly I found the motif to be explored/utilized in a rather underwhelming way, and none of the stories really stood out to me. Sure, they are all characterized by that quiet ominous vibe that seems to be very much on brand for Schweblin, and I do think that some of the stories did present us with some effectively unsettling imagery, but the atmosphere was just lacking. There was an air of surreality, sure, but it ultimately lacked ‘oomph’ (they were very samey). Compared to the stories from Mouthful of Birds , the stories in this collection are kind of predictable. We have missing people, ghosts, other 'disturbances', a blurring of the real and the imagined…but these never add up to create a genuinely disturbing or otherwise memorable tale.
If you are a hardcore fan of Schweblin or you don’t mind rather vague short stories, maybe this collection will work for you.
August 7, 2022
3'5 / 5
Una antología con 7 relatos de una autora que si te atrapa, te atrapa para siempre.
1. Nada de todo esto (Una madre obsesionada con la práctica de una afición extraña. Una hija que la acompaña, resignada. Una casa desconocida. Objetos de esa casa que la madre se lleva. Los dueños de la casa sobrepasados por la madre. Todo parece absurdo. ¿O no?) (3'5⭐)
2. Mis padres y mis hijos (Él y ella están separados/divorciados. Tienen un hijo y una hija. Él lleva a sus padres que padecen una enfermedad. Ella tiene una nueva pareja. La enfermedad hace que los abuelos se desnuden. La madre de los niños cree que ellos se avergonzarán de sus abuelos. Pero los niños tienen otros planes.) (3⭐)
3. Pasa siempre en esta casa (Dos casas vecinas. En una vive un matrimonio que ha perdido a su hijo. En la otra una mujer divorciada que vive con su hijo. La mujer que ha perdido a su hijo intenta deshacerse de la ropa de este tirándola al jardín de su vecina; pero su marido no está listo para deshacerse de sus cosas. La mujer que es su vecina intenta dar consejo al hombre, pero el hijo de esta no es muy paciente.) (3⭐)
4. La respiración cavernaria (Lola, una anciana que solo quiere morir. Él, su marido, la persona que cuida de ella. Lola está enferma, y parece que tiene algo que ver con su memoria.
Un día, llegan al barrio, a la casa de al lado, una madre y su hijo de unos 12 años.
A medida que vamos entrando en la vida diaria de Lola, que vamos conociendo sus pensamientos, vamos sintiéndonos cada vez más incómodos, desconcertados, perdidos.
¿Por qué nunca dice el nombre de su marido? ¿Por qué le encanta su lista? ¿Por qué odia tanto al hijo de la vecina? ¿Por qué solo piensa en morir?
¿Qué ocurrió en el supermercado?) (5⭐) -- Es el relato más largo de la antología, y en mi opinión el mejor. Es el que más me ha llegado, porque las historias con personas con perdida de memoria, o con problemas con ella, siempre las siento cercanas. Samanta Schweblin hace casi lo imposible, y es hacernos sentir como Lola.
5. Cuarenta centímetros cuadrados (Una mujer baja a comprar aspirinas para su suegra. Esta le ha contado una historia de su pasado que no se puede sacar de la cabeza. La mujer deambula por un barrio, por una ciudad, que no conoce demasiado mientras piensa en la historia, en el vacío que su suegra sintió, en el vacío que ella siente ahora.) (3⭐)
6. Un hombre sin suerte (Es el octavo cumpleaños de una niña y a su hermana pequeña no se le ocurre otra cosa que estropeárselo bebiendo lejía. Mientras toda la familia la lleva a urgencias el padre le pide que se quite las bragas, que son blancas, para que los coches vean que tienen una urgencia y los dejen pasar. En el hospital dejan sola, en la sala de espera, a la cumpleañera, y un hombre desconocido se le acerca. Lo que ocurre después es, por decirlo suavemente, incómodo.) (4⭐) -- Ha sido una relectura, ya que lo había leído unos años atrás. Quizás esta vez me gustó menos porque ya lo conocía.
7. Salir (Una mujer parece que tiene que hablar con su marido, que la espera sentado, pero ella decide huir, salir a tomar aire.) (3⭐)
Un buen libro de relatos incómodos, asfixiantes, que te hacen pensar. Ningún relato baja de las 3 estrellas, lo cual no está nada mal, porque en una antología siempre puede haber algún relato flojo.
Una antología con 7 relatos de una autora que si te atrapa, te atrapa para siempre.
1. Nada de todo esto (Una madre obsesionada con la práctica de una afición extraña. Una hija que la acompaña, resignada. Una casa desconocida. Objetos de esa casa que la madre se lleva. Los dueños de la casa sobrepasados por la madre. Todo parece absurdo. ¿O no?) (3'5⭐)
2. Mis padres y mis hijos (Él y ella están separados/divorciados. Tienen un hijo y una hija. Él lleva a sus padres que padecen una enfermedad. Ella tiene una nueva pareja. La enfermedad hace que los abuelos se desnuden. La madre de los niños cree que ellos se avergonzarán de sus abuelos. Pero los niños tienen otros planes.) (3⭐)
3. Pasa siempre en esta casa (Dos casas vecinas. En una vive un matrimonio que ha perdido a su hijo. En la otra una mujer divorciada que vive con su hijo. La mujer que ha perdido a su hijo intenta deshacerse de la ropa de este tirándola al jardín de su vecina; pero su marido no está listo para deshacerse de sus cosas. La mujer que es su vecina intenta dar consejo al hombre, pero el hijo de esta no es muy paciente.) (3⭐)
4. La respiración cavernaria (Lola, una anciana que solo quiere morir. Él, su marido, la persona que cuida de ella. Lola está enferma, y parece que tiene algo que ver con su memoria.
Un día, llegan al barrio, a la casa de al lado, una madre y su hijo de unos 12 años.
A medida que vamos entrando en la vida diaria de Lola, que vamos conociendo sus pensamientos, vamos sintiéndonos cada vez más incómodos, desconcertados, perdidos.
¿Por qué nunca dice el nombre de su marido? ¿Por qué le encanta su lista? ¿Por qué odia tanto al hijo de la vecina? ¿Por qué solo piensa en morir?
¿Qué ocurrió en el supermercado?) (5⭐) -- Es el relato más largo de la antología, y en mi opinión el mejor. Es el que más me ha llegado, porque las historias con personas con perdida de memoria, o con problemas con ella, siempre las siento cercanas. Samanta Schweblin hace casi lo imposible, y es hacernos sentir como Lola.
5. Cuarenta centímetros cuadrados (Una mujer baja a comprar aspirinas para su suegra. Esta le ha contado una historia de su pasado que no se puede sacar de la cabeza. La mujer deambula por un barrio, por una ciudad, que no conoce demasiado mientras piensa en la historia, en el vacío que su suegra sintió, en el vacío que ella siente ahora.) (3⭐)
6. Un hombre sin suerte (Es el octavo cumpleaños de una niña y a su hermana pequeña no se le ocurre otra cosa que estropeárselo bebiendo lejía. Mientras toda la familia la lleva a urgencias el padre le pide que se quite las bragas, que son blancas, para que los coches vean que tienen una urgencia y los dejen pasar. En el hospital dejan sola, en la sala de espera, a la cumpleañera, y un hombre desconocido se le acerca. Lo que ocurre después es, por decirlo suavemente, incómodo.) (4⭐) -- Ha sido una relectura, ya que lo había leído unos años atrás. Quizás esta vez me gustó menos porque ya lo conocía.
7. Salir (Una mujer parece que tiene que hablar con su marido, que la espera sentado, pero ella decide huir, salir a tomar aire.) (3⭐)
Un buen libro de relatos incómodos, asfixiantes, que te hacen pensar. Ningún relato baja de las 3 estrellas, lo cual no está nada mal, porque en una antología siempre puede haber algún relato flojo.
February 25, 2022
Una colección de relatos que me inquietó bastante. ¿Qué pasa cuando el cuerpo se convierte en una casa vacía? La locura, la demencia senil, la pérdida del yo... todos estos son temas que me aterran y que Schweblin aborda magistralmente con estas historias. Los primeros dos relatos en particular me llegaron porque todos aquellos que tenemos padres entrados en años empezamos a preguntarnos ¿en qué momento se revierten los roles? ¿cómo aceptar que ahora nos toca a nosotros ser quienes los cuidan a ellos?
"La respiración cavernaria" es un relato desgarrador de la pérdida de seres amados, pero también de la memoria y por tanto, de uno mismo. El personaje de Lola se queda en mi corazón.
"Un hombre sin suerte" es quizá el único relato que desentona con esta colección, al parecer se debe a que cuando ganó el premio Juan Rulfo se tomó la decisión de incluirlo en este volumen al que inicialmente no pertenecía. Sin embargo, aunque sea distinto a los demás, me gustó muchísimo, me incomodó desde el minuto uno hasta el final. Maravillosa, como siempre.
"La respiración cavernaria" es un relato desgarrador de la pérdida de seres amados, pero también de la memoria y por tanto, de uno mismo. El personaje de Lola se queda en mi corazón.
"Un hombre sin suerte" es quizá el único relato que desentona con esta colección, al parecer se debe a que cuando ganó el premio Juan Rulfo se tomó la decisión de incluirlo en este volumen al que inicialmente no pertenecía. Sin embargo, aunque sea distinto a los demás, me gustó muchísimo, me incomodó desde el minuto uno hasta el final. Maravillosa, como siempre.
October 1, 2022
Yedi Boş Ev, biri uzun diğerleri kısa yedi öyküden oluşuyor. Zaman Sığınağı adlı kitaptan sonra okumam ilginç bir rastlantı. Akıl sağlığı sınırda olanlar, unutkanlıklar, çocuklaşmalar, yaşlılık sorunları gibi hep iç karartıcı konulardan oluşan yedi hikaye. Çok rahat okunuyor, biraz hüzünlendiriyor ama dünyanın gerçeği, insanlık halleri hep anlattıkları. Öneririm.
September 5, 2022
büyüleyici, enfes, harika. İyi ki varsın Schweblin!
October 21, 2022
Actual Rating: 4.5/5 stars
As with any of her previous works, I foresee Seven Empty Houses being met with mixed critiques, ranging from boring to fascinating. I fall confidently within the second camp; to me, I was engrossed, fascinated and immersed in what I find the authors best work to date.
Schweblins 2015 collection, now making its debut in English translation, doesn’t contain your typical “horror” stories. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if many traditionally western readers wouldn’t place this in the horror-category at all. Within the walls of these 7 empty houses, you won’t find any ghosts, goblins or ghouls. Instead, you’ll find them haunted by a dread of another nature entirely.
With Fever Dream and Mouthful of Birds, Schweblin already demonstrated her pension for domestic horror; creating dread and unease within the smallest and most mundane situation. It’s such a distinct and difficult feeling to nail but she does so perfectly within Seven Empty Houses. Each story (or house, in the case of this collection) on the surface, seems to depict an unremarkable scene. Yet each brings with them a unique atmosphere and emotion for the reader, ranging from dread to heartbreak, to vicarious shame and an almost voyeuristic sense of intruding into another’s personal space.
In None of That, a woman delirious with the shock of a car-crash, enters the home of a helpful stranger, only to take off with her sugar-bowl. Her daughter tries to talk sense into her mother, following this completely irrational behaviour.
In My Parents and My Children, a mother anxiety over leaving her children with her aging parents is laid bare in a literal way.
In It Happens All the Time (one of the shortest and my favourite out of the stories) a woman observes a strange weekly ritual play out in her neighbour’s yard. After an emotional argument, the husband scatters their deceased sons clothing from the window, to land in the trees like rain.
In Breath from the Depth, an elderly woman struggles with the deterioration and defamiliarization with her own body and memories in aging.
In 2 Square Feet a woman reminisces over the space she, her body and all her stuff take up in the world, as she’s on a night-time grocery-run for aspirin for her mother-in-law.
In An Unlucky Man, a young girl, having witnessed a traumatic event, is helped out by an unfamiliar man. Is he a good Samaritan, or taking advantage of a vulnerable situation?
And finally, in Out, a woman stumbles through the nightly streets in her bathrobe and slippers, in a desperate flight from her apartment, and a difficult conversation with her husband.
Each of these stories will creep up on you, leaving you thinking about them long after you’ve finished, their dread growing over time. I can see this being very “niche” in its appeal, but if you’re a fan of this warping-the-mundane-style of horror, this is a masterpiece within its genre. Perfect for fans of Mouthful of Birds, Things We Say in the Dark, From the Neck Up or even In the Dream House.
Many thanks to One World Publications for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own.
As with any of her previous works, I foresee Seven Empty Houses being met with mixed critiques, ranging from boring to fascinating. I fall confidently within the second camp; to me, I was engrossed, fascinated and immersed in what I find the authors best work to date.
Schweblins 2015 collection, now making its debut in English translation, doesn’t contain your typical “horror” stories. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if many traditionally western readers wouldn’t place this in the horror-category at all. Within the walls of these 7 empty houses, you won’t find any ghosts, goblins or ghouls. Instead, you’ll find them haunted by a dread of another nature entirely.
With Fever Dream and Mouthful of Birds, Schweblin already demonstrated her pension for domestic horror; creating dread and unease within the smallest and most mundane situation. It’s such a distinct and difficult feeling to nail but she does so perfectly within Seven Empty Houses. Each story (or house, in the case of this collection) on the surface, seems to depict an unremarkable scene. Yet each brings with them a unique atmosphere and emotion for the reader, ranging from dread to heartbreak, to vicarious shame and an almost voyeuristic sense of intruding into another’s personal space.
In None of That, a woman delirious with the shock of a car-crash, enters the home of a helpful stranger, only to take off with her sugar-bowl. Her daughter tries to talk sense into her mother, following this completely irrational behaviour.
In My Parents and My Children, a mother anxiety over leaving her children with her aging parents is laid bare in a literal way.
In It Happens All the Time (one of the shortest and my favourite out of the stories) a woman observes a strange weekly ritual play out in her neighbour’s yard. After an emotional argument, the husband scatters their deceased sons clothing from the window, to land in the trees like rain.
In Breath from the Depth, an elderly woman struggles with the deterioration and defamiliarization with her own body and memories in aging.
In 2 Square Feet a woman reminisces over the space she, her body and all her stuff take up in the world, as she’s on a night-time grocery-run for aspirin for her mother-in-law.
In An Unlucky Man, a young girl, having witnessed a traumatic event, is helped out by an unfamiliar man. Is he a good Samaritan, or taking advantage of a vulnerable situation?
And finally, in Out, a woman stumbles through the nightly streets in her bathrobe and slippers, in a desperate flight from her apartment, and a difficult conversation with her husband.
Each of these stories will creep up on you, leaving you thinking about them long after you’ve finished, their dread growing over time. I can see this being very “niche” in its appeal, but if you’re a fan of this warping-the-mundane-style of horror, this is a masterpiece within its genre. Perfect for fans of Mouthful of Birds, Things We Say in the Dark, From the Neck Up or even In the Dream House.
Many thanks to One World Publications for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own.
August 14, 2022
Bazen en uzun mesafe iki oda arasındaki koridordur. Tüm çıplaklığınızla adımınızı atarsınız, gideceğiniz odada biraz soluklanmayı düşünürsünüz belki ama taşıdığınız sadece vücudunuzun o hantal ağırlığı değildir. Omuzlarınıza binen diğer odada aradığınızı bulamamanın verdiği korkudur..
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Ağızdaki Kuşlar ve Kurtarma Mesafesi’ni okuduktan sonra takibimde olan kalemlerdendi Samantha Schweblin. ‘Yedi Boş Ev’ de okuduğum diğer eserleri kadar etkiledi beni, tedirgin etti, gülümsetti, korkuttu, içimi burktu. Yedi hanenin konuşulmayacak-konuşulsa da anında unutulması istenecek öyküleri bunlar..
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Emrah İmre çevirisi, Utku Lomlu kapak tasarımıyla ~
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Ağızdaki Kuşlar ve Kurtarma Mesafesi’ni okuduktan sonra takibimde olan kalemlerdendi Samantha Schweblin. ‘Yedi Boş Ev’ de okuduğum diğer eserleri kadar etkiledi beni, tedirgin etti, gülümsetti, korkuttu, içimi burktu. Yedi hanenin konuşulmayacak-konuşulsa da anında unutulması istenecek öyküleri bunlar..
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Emrah İmre çevirisi, Utku Lomlu kapak tasarımıyla ~
October 17, 2023
An uncanny collection on the thinly disguised horrors of loss and growing old, fighting against memories. Beautiful prose tracks the subtle growth of unease and disorientation between stories; the sense of solitude and displacement we so often feel after a loss, as the years tick by and as memories blend together, fade in and out; this is a kind of fear that we can all relate to, the houses we build, we breath life into, may one day close around us, or shut us out completely. Samantha Schweblin is an expert of turning everyday struggles and emotions into so much more; every breath is one of anticipation, every shadow has its own life. A quietly haunting collection that emphasizes the power of the spaces we inhabit.
January 14, 2023
I am obsessed with the third and fourth stories. Both of which had the same themes, but handled in different ways. Perfection. Damn, this collection really had me.
September 6, 2024
“Schweblin has perfected the art of pithy literary creepiness, crafting the modern fables that tingle the spine and the brain.”
—O, The Oprah Magazine (taken from the back cover)
I have read two books by Argentinian author Samantha Schweblin, who now lives in Berlin. I was quite taken by her first novel, Distancia de rescate, 2014 (Fever Dream) about a mother’s concern for a child during an ecological disaster. However, her collection of short stories, Pájaros en la boca, 2009 (Mouthful of Birds) left me a little dismayed. Very disturbing tales.
Recently I heard an interview with her on the Shakespeare and Company podcast. She was delightful and sounded very upbeat, even profound in her thoughts. This is odd because the first thing that comes to mind about her work is dark, twisted and somewhat depressing. She claims to be more of a short story writer than a novelist so was I prepared for more?
This collection was originally published in 2015, after her success of Fever Dream but not translated into English until 2022. In that interview, Schweblin pointed out that there is nothing significant about the number “seven.” It could have been ten or fourteen. A simple explanation. The “Empty Houses” part is a lot more enigmatic. All the stories involve houses, dwellings, places of living. She pointed out that “casa”in Spanish is like our word “house.” Is it like our dual word “home”? asked the interviewer. She was a lot more vague.
Una. None of that. A mother and daughter get lost in a rich neighborhood. Her mother is obsessed with people who have well organized homes, something she is lacking. In fact one could call her a hoarder. (4 stars)
Duo. My parents and my children. Possible the oddest story. You get remarried to a very controlling macho man and you take him over to visit your parents. They are playing with the grandchildren, running around nude and acting like children. (3 stars)
Tres. It happens all the time in this house. mr Weimar is an odd neighbour. He seems frustrated. Hopefully a cup of lemonade can get things off his chest. (2 stars)
Cuatro. Breath from the Depths. This is the crown and glory in this book. An elderly woman, Lola who wants to die, and battling dementia. She relies on her husband to run errands for her and keep the house going. When she becomes suspicious of the young teen boy who moves in beside them, things really start to unravel. (5 stars)
Cinco. Two square feet. A mother-in-law needs some aspirin late at night. The daughter-in-law heads out looking for a late night pharmacy. She ponders the state of women in society with a great punch line at the end. (4 stars)
Seis. An unlucky man. This is a very twisted tale. Three-year Abbi swallowed a cup of bleach. She always wanted to be the center of attention. Her eight-year old sister narrates the tale as the parents rush her to the hospital. What ensues is so disturbing but so well written. (4 stars)
Siete. Out. A woman pops out with a bath robe on and a towel on her wet hair. She just needs a little air. (3.5 stars)
Seven stories that reflect on the state of the modern “home.” Schweblin is a master of her craft. I don’t often think much of the blurbs on jacket cover but she really does “tingle the spine and the brain.”
Four stars.
—O, The Oprah Magazine (taken from the back cover)
I have read two books by Argentinian author Samantha Schweblin, who now lives in Berlin. I was quite taken by her first novel, Distancia de rescate, 2014 (Fever Dream) about a mother’s concern for a child during an ecological disaster. However, her collection of short stories, Pájaros en la boca, 2009 (Mouthful of Birds) left me a little dismayed. Very disturbing tales.
Recently I heard an interview with her on the Shakespeare and Company podcast. She was delightful and sounded very upbeat, even profound in her thoughts. This is odd because the first thing that comes to mind about her work is dark, twisted and somewhat depressing. She claims to be more of a short story writer than a novelist so was I prepared for more?
This collection was originally published in 2015, after her success of Fever Dream but not translated into English until 2022. In that interview, Schweblin pointed out that there is nothing significant about the number “seven.” It could have been ten or fourteen. A simple explanation. The “Empty Houses” part is a lot more enigmatic. All the stories involve houses, dwellings, places of living. She pointed out that “casa”in Spanish is like our word “house.” Is it like our dual word “home”? asked the interviewer. She was a lot more vague.
Una. None of that. A mother and daughter get lost in a rich neighborhood. Her mother is obsessed with people who have well organized homes, something she is lacking. In fact one could call her a hoarder. (4 stars)
Duo. My parents and my children. Possible the oddest story. You get remarried to a very controlling macho man and you take him over to visit your parents. They are playing with the grandchildren, running around nude and acting like children. (3 stars)
Tres. It happens all the time in this house. mr Weimar is an odd neighbour. He seems frustrated. Hopefully a cup of lemonade can get things off his chest. (2 stars)
Cuatro. Breath from the Depths. This is the crown and glory in this book. An elderly woman, Lola who wants to die, and battling dementia. She relies on her husband to run errands for her and keep the house going. When she becomes suspicious of the young teen boy who moves in beside them, things really start to unravel. (5 stars)
Cinco. Two square feet. A mother-in-law needs some aspirin late at night. The daughter-in-law heads out looking for a late night pharmacy. She ponders the state of women in society with a great punch line at the end. (4 stars)
Seis. An unlucky man. This is a very twisted tale. Three-year Abbi swallowed a cup of bleach. She always wanted to be the center of attention. Her eight-year old sister narrates the tale as the parents rush her to the hospital. What ensues is so disturbing but so well written. (4 stars)
Siete. Out. A woman pops out with a bath robe on and a towel on her wet hair. She just needs a little air. (3.5 stars)
Seven stories that reflect on the state of the modern “home.” Schweblin is a master of her craft. I don’t often think much of the blurbs on jacket cover but she really does “tingle the spine and the brain.”
Four stars.
December 13, 2021
Δυο γυναίκες, μάνα και κόρη, εισβάλλουν σε ένα σπίτι, μια άλλη βγαίνει να αγοράσει ασπιρίνες και τριγυρνά στην πόλη, μια τρίτη πακετάρει τη ζωή της σε κούτες είναι κάποιες από τις ηρωίδες/ήρωες του βιβλίου.
Τι είναι όμως αυτό που ενώνει αυτές τις ιστορίες?
Μήπως η καθημερινότητα? Η μοναξιά? Η λύπη?
Χαρακτήρες καθημερινοί που φαίνονται απλοί και συνηθισμένοι που όμως κρύβουν ένταση, ιδιαίτερα όταν το υποσυνείδητο αναλαμβάνει τα ηνία και εμφανίζει στο προσκήνιο μνήμες, επιθυμίες, εικόνες και παριασθήσεις.
Το σπίτι, άλλες φορές μοιάζει με καταφύγιο κι άλλες με χώρο στον οποίο δεν αντέχεις να μείνεις ούτε λεπτό.
Κι αναρωτιέσαι:
Μπορείς να στηριχτείς σε αυτό πουσου υπαγορεύει ο εγκέφαλος σου ή είναι ένα παιχνίδι του μυαλού?
Μια συλλογή διηγημάτων έντονα φορτισμένη από μελαγχολία και νοσταλγία, φόβο και σιωπή.
Η συγγραφέας καταφέρνει μέσω της κλειστοφοβικής ατμόσφαιρας να μας παρασύρει στα σκοτεινά μονοπάτια του μυαλού σαν να επισκεπτόμαστε καθένα από τα άδεια σπίτια του τίτλου.
Πόσο εύκολα μπορεί να χαθεί η ηρεμία του μυαλού και της ψυχής?
Και πόσο δύσκολο είναι να το παραδεχτούμε, να το αποδεχτούμε και να ζητήσουμε βοήθεια?
Τι είναι όμως αυτό που ενώνει αυτές τις ιστορίες?
Μήπως η καθημερινότητα? Η μοναξιά? Η λύπη?
Χαρακτήρες καθημερινοί που φαίνονται απλοί και συνηθισμένοι που όμως κρύβουν ένταση, ιδιαίτερα όταν το υποσυνείδητο αναλαμβάνει τα ηνία και εμφανίζει στο προσκήνιο μνήμες, επιθυμίες, εικόνες και παριασθήσεις.
Το σπίτι, άλλες φορές μοιάζει με καταφύγιο κι άλλες με χώρο στον οποίο δεν αντέχεις να μείνεις ούτε λεπτό.
Κι αναρωτιέσαι:
Μπορείς να στηριχτείς σε αυτό πουσου υπαγορεύει ο εγκέφαλος σου ή είναι ένα παιχνίδι του μυαλού?
Μια συλλογή διηγημάτων έντονα φορτισμένη από μελαγχολία και νοσταλγία, φόβο και σιωπή.
Η συγγραφέας καταφέρνει μέσω της κλειστοφοβικής ατμόσφαιρας να μας παρασύρει στα σκοτεινά μονοπάτια του μυαλού σαν να επισκεπτόμαστε καθένα από τα άδεια σπίτια του τίτλου.
Πόσο εύκολα μπορεί να χαθεί η ηρεμία του μυαλού και της ψυχής?
Και πόσο δύσκολο είναι να το παραδεχτούμε, να το αποδεχτούμε και να ζητήσουμε βοήθεια?
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