Una casa sola

The roots radiated from the foundations: tree and walls gradually became one and the same. Chickens pecked at the remains of the cupboards, insects nested in the hollows of dried-out shoes, and dogs curled up in abandoned sheets that smelled of their owners. Soldiers from different wars and the lost lover lingered nearby: at nightfall, the whispered hum of their sorrows could be heard. But the family the house longed for remained silent: Lucero, his wife, and their four children—why didn't they return? Precise and delicate, this novel blends the poetry of the coast with a bawdy repertoire of anachronisms. Selva Almada achieves the feat of making the passage of time audible and the stubborn determination of nature to reclaim what humankind took centuries ago palpable.