This book made me discover a number of things.
Firstly, that Isabel Allende is not Salvador’s daughter, but rather a loosely related niece
(bad historian!). Secondly, that, after having problems with it for at least a
year, I can still love Latin American literature (in particular if it leaves
behind magical realism – because reality in the continent is a lot more fun
than “magical reality" – and if it’s coated in events of historical
significance). Thirdly, and more surprising than everything else, that I can
love a book that is so feminine (one of my huge shortcomings as a reader, no
doubt about that).
The characters are hugely fascinating, their
resourcefulness inspirational (although, being a memoir, I have the feeling
that some things might have been idealized a bit too much), and Isabel’s granddad,
somehow, made me think about my own when I was a kid and he was the loveliest
of men (speaking of idealizing the past...)
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