![]() ![]() It was a new edition of the short story collection El llano en llamas (The Burning Plains) in celebration of the 100th anniversary of Juan Rulfo. He frog-marched me into his university bookstore and bought me one of the few works of the renowned yet unprolific writer. And it was referring to Juan Rulfo and the history of such injustice that he brusquely encountered my lacuna regarding the iconic Mexican writer, which was sincerely surprising and inadmissible at he same time. ![]() We also share a taste for walking the old streets of our beloved Puebla, Mexico, discussing the transformation of the city and a nation, as well as the a worrisome outlook for a Latin America where we live at two different ends, yet witnessing the same imbroglio of social, economic and political injustice across the region. But he is close family, and we share many tastes, including the great writers, Jorge Luís Borges and Gabriel García Márquez, who were so inspired by Rulfo. In another context, such an impertinent question that is actually not a question might arise out of the intellectual insecurity of other people’s taste. “❼ómo que nunca has leído Juan Rulfo?” asked my nephew and intellectual buddy, incredulous that I had never read one of Mexico’s - and Latin America’s - most iconic writers. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |