Moving between past and present, La Grande centers around two related stories: that of Gutiérrez, his sudden departure from Argentina 30 years before, and his equally mysterious return; and that of “precisionism,” a literary movement founded by a rather dangerous fraud. Dozens of characters populate these storylines, incluind Nula, the wine salesman, ladies’ man, and part-time philosopher, Lucía, the woman he’s lusted after for years, and Tomatis, a journalist whoM Saer fans have encountered many times before. Written in Saer’s trademark style, this lyrically gorgeous book—which touches on politics, artistic beliefs, illicit love affairs, and everything else that makes up life—ends with one of the greatest lines in all of literature: “With the rain came the fall, and with the fall, the time of the wine.”

    From her birth in Havana, Cuba, to her funeral in Miami, author Ivar Da Coll uses poetry and humor to describe the important milestones in the star's life, and captures the true essence of her colorful, vibrant personality. The colorful illustrations bring this real-life fairy tale to life and are sure to amaze both old and young readers!

    President emeritus of International PEN, the prolific poet is Mexico’s ambassador to UNESCO. Poemas solares (Solar Poems) was published in 2005.Translator George McWhirter won the Commonwealth Poetry Prize for Catalan Poems, the F.R. Scott Prize for Selected Poems of José Emilio Pacheco, and the Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize for his novel Cage. He is Vancouver’s first Poet Laureate."Homero Aridjis is a profoundly ecological poet who has put his fame and time where his principles are, fighting to save the monarch butterflies that winter by the billions in the mountains of his native Michoacán, the sea turtle that lays her eggs on Caribbean beaches, and the gray whale that calves in the lagoons of Baja California. Aridjis writes to the point, with an open eye and a sense of humor . . ." --John Oliver Simon, Poetry Flash

    Aira, with his fuga hacia adelante or "flight forward" into the unknown, gives us imponderables to ponder and bizarre and seemingly out-of-context plot lines, as well as thoughtful and passionate takes on everyday reality. The title story, first published in the New Yorker, is the creme de la creme of this exhilarating collection.

    In a collection of brief, even minute, essays, he offers maps to the passage of time. The first such map is his body, on which "epiphanies" are marked by scars-beginning with the navel, the first wound. The second map is Sarduy's mind, filled with sharp impressions of places (Cafe de Flore, Benares) and people (Roland Barthes, Italo Calvino). It can make for lonely reading, in part because many friends (Barthes and Calvino among them) are dead. In "The Tibetan Book of the Dead," Sarduy recounts the changes in his address book as death threatens to turn it into a "novel, or biographical fiction." But, facing his own death, Sarduy refuses to remove the name of a dead friend because "it would be like eradicating him all over again, as if I were an accomplice of the void, subjecting him to another death within death." There is also a certain loneliness to Sarduy's style, perfectly translated here by Levine and Maier. His intricate descriptions bear the stamp of the eternal observer. But what descriptions:like a great singer, he maintains a flow of carefully modulated phrases, one tumbling over the next, without ever pausing for a breath ("The house, which my father had wrested from a brackish and inopportune spring that gushed at dawn from the foundation, was sinking along a whitewashed hallway toward a patio filled with large earthenware jugs and refreshed by the red shadow of a royal poinciana").