Carolina de Robertis Delves into the Lives of Queer Uruguayan Women in Her New Novel ‘Cantoras’

In an NPR interview, Carolina de Robertis asks, in regard to the writing of Cantoras, "How do you live radiantly in a time and place where the world seems bent on your erasure?" Of course, the question is dependent on its context. In the novel, we read about a particular repressive era in Uruguayan history at the height of its military dictatorship with its kidnappings, tortures, and killings. The dictatorship lasted twelve years, from 1973 to 1985. The marginalized among us may draw comparisons to the repressive state of our nation's affairs and ask ourselves that same question in our respective contexts. And, in doing so, we may find a bit of hope in this novel. Following the stories of five queer women who found kinship on a remote beach, we witness progress that seemed so improbable, it seemed impossible.

Cantoras is a slow-burner novel in the best way. If we're gathering five different queer women on a South American beach, I want to spend time with them. The book’s narrative style switches between character perspectives, which means it switches tone, as no woman is alike another. Flaca, often regarded as the leader of the group, brings Romina, Anita, Paz, and Malena together for a beach trip as a reprieve from the oppressive city where everyone is on edge under the dictatorship. Tentatively, they reveal themselves to each other as cantoras, the term women would use at the time to signal queerness. The identity binds them together in Polonio. There, they can be themselves with their chosen family – y con bikini. It sounds like paradise. One of the most beautiful things in this book (besides, in what is a unanimous vote, La Venus) is the way they make a home for themselves, however small. They just need a place, and the significance of "place" in its meanings across time and space is demonstrated in a novel that spans across decades.

de Robertis bases the novel on things that actually took place, found through her research and friendships with older queer Uruguayan women. Knowing this is both heart wrenching and inspirational; often real progress costs us. de Robertis shows us this by developing queer women protagonists of different ages, from different social classes, with different familial circumstances, all affected by the homophobia and misogyny rampant in the culture, but having each of them challenge their oppression in their own way. A valuable and unforgettable read, Cantoras is a book you’ll keep returning to.

Andrea Morales is a daughter of Guatemalan immigrants and from Los Angeles. She graduated from the University of Southern California with a B.A. in English Literature and a minor in Psychology. She now works at Macmillan Publishers as a Junior Contracts Associate for the adult trade division. Her book reviews and recommendations can be found on Instagram at @nastymuchachitareads and she lurks on Twitter as @nastymuchachita.

Nona Fernández's SPACE INVADERS is an Abstract Dive into the Pinochet Regime

National Book Award Nominee for Translated Literature 2019. Image by Andrea Morales.

SPACE INVADERS by Nona Fernández, at about one hundred pages, is a slim little book translated from its original Spanish. Where it seems to lack in pages, the novella dispels underestimations with its packing of emotions and tension during the violent Pinochet regime. Augusto Pinochet came into power after the coup in 1973, backed by the United States government, which overthrew the elected socialist, Salvador Allende, the military dictatorship lasting until 1990. Pinochet was responsible for kidnappings and executions of people who posed any inconvenience or resistance to his rule, numbering in the thousands. Torturings were at numbers even higher than that, more than three times as much. It was a violent and precarious time in Chile. What does this look like to a child?

Told from the perspectives of a group of kids, we read about their dreams and musings. They are kids being kids; some with crushes on each other, some enjoy playing video games. Eventually, things get odd ─ particularly with Estrella, whose father is a government officer who has a wooden prosthetic hand he removes when he gets home from work. He would drive his daughter to school in the mornings, but soon stops doing so and it becomes the task of her "Uncle," a man who works with Estrella’s father. Each friend remembers something different about her: her letters, her hair, her kisses. SPACE INVADERS is difficult to read this with any childlike innocence because you know something is fundamentally wrong, even if you don’t know what that something is. There is confusion, and with confusion there is fear. The lack of concrete answers makes this fear all the more palpable, as does the inability to openly talk about it. Some of the kids' families are political activists, upending their relationships. Because we revisit this time through memory, with emotion filling us in, it may seem as if we cannot rely on these children. I think the opposite is truer: the feelings that permeated this time are a testament to the dictatorship's tormenting violence.

Fernández writes SPACE INVADERS in fragments, invoking uncertainty and disjointedness. Memories that dissolve into dreams further question reality, and it's quite masterfully done in such little space. And that, too ─ the title, the name of the video game the kids play by shooting guns, makes me think of the way brutality occupies space, whether physical or temporal. Nominated for the National Book Award for Translated Literature 2019, this novella from Graywolf Press is a must-read.

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Andrea Morales is a daughter of Guatemalan immigrants and from Los Angeles. She graduated from the University of Southern California with a B.A. in English Literature and a minor in Psychology. She now works at Macmillan Publishers as a Junior Contracts Associate for the adult trade division. Her book reviews and recommendations can be found on Instagram at @nastymuchachitareads and she lurks on Twitter as @nastymuchachita.