Entonces reemprenden sus andanzas a lo largo de muchas ciudades y pueblos del sur peruano. Con ello culmina una fase de su proceso de aprendizaje. Los dos narradores[ editar ] En la obra se distinguen dos narradores. Ello le permite un proceso de aprendizaje acelerado y una manera de ver el mundo con una mayor perspectiva.

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Apr 27, Joselito Honestly and Brilliantly rated it it was amazing When you open this book for the first time, do not make the mistake of expecting to read a novel with a strightforward plot, or even a series of connected stories. Prepare yourself instead to read a dream. Have you ever heard of the language called "Quechua"? I had not, until I stumbled upon this book. One of these countries is Peru. Jose Maria Arguedas - was a Peruvian. When he tried to commit suicide in April, the same was a national event.

Cabinet ministers called on him expressing deep concern. Hundreds kept vigil at the hospital where he recuperated. His mother died when he was just two and a half years old.

His father--a white man described in the book as having blue eyes--married again, to a bitch who already had three children of her own. She was apparently rich, owned half the town, and had many indigenous servants--Indians, whom she treated with contempt. In his own words, given during his opening remarks at a public gathering of fiction writers in Arequipa on June 14, -- "The Indians, particularly their women, saw me as one of them, with the difference that being white I needed even more comforting than they did, and this they gave me in full.

But consolation must contain within it both sadness and power; as those tormented comforted those who suffered even more, two things were sadly driven into my nature from the time I learned to speak: 1 the tenderness and limitless love of the Indians, the love they feel for each other and also for nature, the highlands, rivers, and birds; and 2 the hatred they felt for those who, almost as if unaware and seeming to follow an order from on high, made them suffer.

My childhood went by, singed between fire and love. Published in , this is the product of his recollection of this conflicted past. He practically invented a language here, using Quechua syntax and words with mostly Spanish vocabulary, making translation into other languages almost impossible.

The images are breathtakingly magical, its remembered world superstitious and surreal. Often I wondered how passages like this read in its original "Quechua-Spanish": "People raised a lot of pigs in that district.

The flies swarmed contentedly there, pursuing one another, buzzing around the heads of passers-by. The water in the puddles became foul in the heat, turning different colors, all of them murky. But it was here too that the limbs of some royal lemon trees hung down over the tops of the very high mud walls that abounded in Abancay. The trees displayed their green and ripe fruit on high, and the children coveted them.

When one of the little boys from Huanupata brought down one of those royal lemons with a stone, he would take it up almost ecstatically in his hands, and run off as fast as he could. Hidden away somewhere inside of his clothing, perhaps in a knot in his shirttail, he was almost certain to have a chunk of the cheapest kind of brown loaf sugar made in the haciendas of the valleys.

The Abancay lemon, large, thick-skinned, edible within and easy to peel, contains a juice which, when mixed with brown sugar, makes the most delicious and potent food in the world.

It is burning and sweet. It instills happiness. It is as if one were drinking sunlight. As to Jose Maria Arguedas, my tocayo, he shot himself to death in saying, in his last letter, that he "no longer have the necessary energy and inspiration to continue to work and consequently to justify his existence.


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