{"product_id":"animals-isbn-9781939810922","title":"Animals","description":"\u003cb\u003e“Hebe Uhart’s characters are made of an almost palpable material. They are alive, and they seem to emerge from the page to tell us, ‘This one here is me, that one over there could be you.’”  — Alejandra Costamagna,\u003ci\u003e The Paris Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“\u003c\/i\u003eReading Hebe Uhart we laugh a lot, although we are never sure if what we’ve read is just a joke, because in her words there is also, above all, precision and wisdom . . .”  — Alejandro Zambra\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHebe Uhart’s \u003ci\u003eAnimals\u003c\/i\u003e tells of piglets that snack on crackers, parrots that rehearse their words at night, southern screamers that lurk at the front door of a decrepit aunt’s house, and, of course, human animals, whose presence is treated with the same inquisitive sharpness and sweetness that marks all of Uhart’s work.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAnimals\u003c\/i\u003e is a joyous reordering of attention towards the beings with whom we share the planet. In prose that tracks the goings on of creatures who care little what we do or say, a refreshing humility emerges, and with it a newfound pleasure in the everyday.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWatching a whistling heron, Uhart writes, “that rebellious crest gives it a lunatic air.” Birds in the park and dogs in the street will hold a different interest after reading Uhart’s blissful foray into playful zoology.\"Uhart, who died in 2018, was an utter master of the gentle observation. Her work combines unsentimental affection with endless curiosity about the details of everyday life . . . \u003ci\u003eAnimals\u003c\/i\u003e is at once tender, bemused, informative, and deeply fun . . . It asks, through sweet, respectful attention, how we might best relate to animals; how we humans, so accustomed to seeing ourselves as nature's rulers, might adjust our attitudes.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Lily Meyer,\u003c\/b\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eNPR.org\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A brilliant writer . . . In a manner that is both playful and provocative, Uhart challenges us to imagine a world less concerned with our differences and to welcome the artistic freedom this could bring . . . Robert Croll’s beautiful translation breathes a new life into Uhart’s narrative while maintaining her warmth and sense of humor.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Rose Bialer, \u003ci\u003eRain Taxi Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The writer disappears and the reader becomes the observer, dropping in on a bench at the city zoo, dipping into Walden, and conversing with retired ornithologists and Polish playwrights. With each vignette lasting not more than five pages (not to mention the pleasurable shape and feel typical of Archipelogo’s titles) it’s the ideal book to just carry around and enjoy while say, sitting in a waiting room, or riding the bus, or waiting for the oven timer.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Dan Carlisle, \u003ci\u003eLiterary Hub\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Less natural history and more wondrous secret kingdom, this book gestures to something more tender, more surprising, a place where humans glimpse animals eye to eye—but the viewing is in reverse, as if we are being observed,not the other way around.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Kerri Arsenault, \u003ci\u003eOrion\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Beautifully translated by Robert Croll, the book blending together memoir, zoology and cultural history . . . \u003ci\u003eAnimals\u003c\/i\u003e is a delightful, personal compendium, full of eccentricity and emotional depth.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Francesca Carington, \u003ci\u003eTatler\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"For Hebe Uhart, \"looking\" was the most authentic way of writing, as if her arrested and thoughtful gaze over characters was carried into the words that formed their stories.\" -- Edwin Madrid\u003cbr\u003e\"[Uhart] is one of the most singular and exciting female voices of recent decades in Latin America. Her unique body of work and her unforgettable voice lives on in many of today's younger generation of writers emerging on the continent.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Morning Star\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Her short stories and vignettes from daily life shimmer with truth...Fans of writers from Alice Munro to William Trevor will find Uhart's work, whenever it appears in English, a delight.\" \u003cbr\u003e--\u003cb\u003eSamuel Rutter, \u003ci\u003eThe Arkansas International\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hebe Uhart's characters are made of an almost palpable material. They are alive, and they seem to emerge from the page to tell us, 'This one here is me, that one over there could be you.' How we move, how we walk, how we keep quiet: that is what Uhart observes in each of us. But also how we pause, how we sneeze, what onomatopoeias we use, how our being is revealed through everyday gestures that at times can contradict the ideas we claim to hold. It's through these minute observations, and her repudiation of generalities, that the writer unfurls her tentacles to construct her characters.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Alejandra Costamagna, \u003ci\u003eThe Paris Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hebe Uhart is one of Argentina's finest storytellers.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Asymptote Journal\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Poised somewhere between narrative and sense memory, Uhart's lens looks into sundry lives and renders the act of surveillance both venal and holy.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Foreword Reviews\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"(Uhart's stories) steadily, unobtrusively oxygenate the world around them ... Uhart helped shape a generation of writers in Argentina as both a teacher and a writer, her influence both diffuse and impossible to ignore.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e--Sam Carter, Music \u0026amp; Literature\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Though I suspect Uhart would have raspberried at these words, we can learn from her not only in terms of technique but also in how we relate to our existence, and how we approach the self in the act of writing. Her work is thorough yet surprising, humble yet humorous, intelligent without intellectual posturing. The result is a defamiliarization, a casting aside of the automatic and assumed in order to see the world—plants, animals, humans—anew. After Uhart, things are in agreement. For all their differences, they hang together. They have form.\"  \u003cb\u003e —Julia Kornberg, \u003ci\u003eThe Believer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Reading   Hebe Uhart we laugh a lot, although we are never sure if what we’ve read is   just a joke, because in her words there is also, above all, precision and   wisdom . . . Hebe Uhart’s books are full of these small revelations, which   are born of a religious attention to detail and an ear that clearly perceives   the ups and downs of language.\"\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e— Alejandro Zambra\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"For Hebe Uhart, “looking” was the most authentic way of writing, as if her   arrested and thoughtful gaze over characters was carried into the words that   formed their stories.\"\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e— Edwin Madrid\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Paul Klee famously described drawing as taking a line for a walk and the stories of Hebe Uhart share that spirit, that magic. Deceptively simple, also philosophical, Uhart's work is brilliant and companionable. \u003ci\u003eThe Scent of Buenos Aires\u003c\/i\u003e is translated from the Spanish by Maureen Shaughnessy, and \u003ci\u003eAnimals\u003c\/i\u003e, translated by Robert Croll, is out in April next year.” -- \u003cb\u003eRivka Galchen, author of \u003ci\u003eAtmospheric Disturbances\u003c\/i\u003e, in\u003ci\u003e Restless Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hebe approached her subjects from an astonished and oblique angle that, at first, might appear naive. Not so. Her short stories feature protagonists rarely seen in Argentine literature...Always rescuing the voices that no one pays attention to, yet not at all in a pompous way, for, if there was one thing that Hebe Uhart never wanted to do, it was to fall into the common position of giving voice to the voiceless and other slogans that she would consider idiotic.\"-- \u003cb\u003eMariana Enriquez, (translated by Robert Croll) Página\/12\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Immersing oneself in this collection - her first book to be translated into English, by Maureen Shaughnessy - is indeed like travelling, as we visit one character's world and then another's, inhabiting the revealing mundanities of each life. Little happens in terms of plot; rather, each story is an understated exercise in conjuring a whole existence through a revealing thought or gesture . . . the reader returns from her travels feeling refreshingly unbalanced.\"\u003cb\u003e-- \u003cb\u003eEmily Rhodes (on \u003ci\u003eThe Scent of Buenos Aires\u003c\/i\u003e), \u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eBorn in 1936 in the outskirts of Buenos Aires, Hebe Uhart is one of Argentina's most celebrated modern writers. She published two novels, \u003ci\u003eCamilo asciende\u003c\/i\u003e (1987) and \u003ci\u003eMudanzas\u003c\/i\u003e (1995), but is better known for her short stories, where she explores the lives of ordinary characters in small Argentine towns. Her Collected Stories won the Buenos Aires Book Fair Prize (2010), and she received Argentina's National Endowment of the Arts Prize (2015) for her overall oeuvre, as well as the Manuel Rojas Ibero-American Narrative Prize (2017).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRobert  Croll is a writer,  translator, musician, and visual artist from  Asheville, North Carolina.  He first came to translation during his  undergraduate studies at  Amherst College, where he focused on Julio  Cortázar's short fiction.  His translations include \u003ci\u003eThe Diaries of Emilio Renzi\u003c\/i\u003e by Ricardo Piglia, published by Restless Books.My History with Animals\u003cbr\u003eMy father used to enjoy confusing the children. He\u003cbr\u003ewould sing: “Of all the many birds that fly, I like the\u003cbr\u003epig.” My response to this song was first suspicion, then annoyance.\u003cbr\u003eWhen I was about six years old, he’d take me on walks\u003cbr\u003earound the outskirts of Moreno, which already turned to countryside\u003cbr\u003eonly eight blocks from downtown, and the plumpest cows\u003cbr\u003estood out there behind wire fences. He would tell me:\u003cbr\u003e“Say hello.”\u003cbr\u003eAnd I would say:\u003cbr\u003e“Hello there, cow.”\u003cbr\u003eIf one of them mooed, he would tell me:\u003cbr\u003e“See? Now she’s saying hello.”\u003cbr\u003eAround the same period, we used to go over on Sundays to eat\u003cbr\u003eat my uncle and aunt’s retreat in Paso del Rey, where my grandmother\u003cbr\u003elived. The place was enormous but more rustic than my\u003cbr\u003ehouse. There were instructions about which things were off limits:\u003cbr\u003eI mustn’t chase after the hens, mustn’t sit in the chairs on the\u003cbr\u003elittle patio as they could be rather dirty, mustn’t touch Milonga\u003cbr\u003ethe dog too much. Milonga didn’t belong to anyone; he was part\u003cbr\u003eof the place and came and went with total autonomy, without\u003cbr\u003eanyone sparing him a glance. But I liked to pet him, and I’d sit\u003cbr\u003eon the ground while he stood by my side, at peace.\u003cbr\u003e“He’s a street dog!” they’d tell me.\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t understand the difference between street dogs and house\u003cbr\u003edogs, just as I didn’t understand the difference between wild and\u003cbr\u003ecultivated flowers; for me, those tiny flowers that look identical to\u003cbr\u003edaisies belonged to the same family; my mother called them flores\u003cbr\u003ede bicho colorado, red mite flowers. A few years later, when I was\u003cbr\u003earound nine, my mother sent me on a bus to Paso del Rey to visit\u003cbr\u003eAunt María, whose house stood next door to my other aunt and\u003cbr\u003euncle’s holiday home; they used to bring food for her. I brought\u003cbr\u003eMaría whatever she asked for from Moreno: Rachel face powder,\u003cbr\u003ehairpins, and a wonderful scented soap. Why she requested\u003cbr\u003ethese things I’ll never know; her long white hair hung down past\u003cbr\u003eher shoulders, the dress she wore was totally threadbare, and she\u003cbr\u003ekept chickens, shut up inside a little room (that felt like a place\u003cbr\u003efor storing junk) so that they wouldn’t mingle with the chickens\u003cbr\u003efrom my aunt and uncle’s coop. She’d only let them out on very\u003cbr\u003erare occasions when she fancied it.When these chickens of hers\u003cbr\u003edid get out, they were all crooked and unsteady, unable to walk\u003cbr\u003eright. She did bathe a few of them; they were clearly wasting\u003cbr\u003eaway, but she didn’t appear to acknowledge the fact. I’d always\u003cbr\u003eknown she was off her rocker and accepted that, but by age seven\u003cbr\u003eor so I wondered how it could be, given her state, that plants\u003cbr\u003esprouted for her just the same as they did for others. She had a\u003cbr\u003enice yard and even kept a sweetbriar rose, but I never caught her\u003cbr\u003ewatering a thing. The plants there were a little more unkempt\u003cbr\u003ethan those in other gardens, but I used to think that, since she\u003cbr\u003eacted this way, so peculiar, she ought to have plants befitting her\u003cbr\u003econdition, weird plants. Rain was common there, and I thought\u003cbr\u003eit must have been a different sort of rain to suit her. Going there\u003cbr\u003eto bring her the powder and soap was slightly unnerving for me,\u003cbr\u003esince she received me warmly sometimes but other times kicked\u003cbr\u003eme out, calling me a “gossip,” which was true, of course, since\u003cbr\u003eI’d go back to Moreno and tell my mom about all the goings-on\u003cbr\u003earound there. I now suspect they were sending me as a spy.\u003cbr\u003eHowever perplexing this errand was, there was something nice\u003cbr\u003eabout taking the bus to Paso del Rey on my own. But on the\u003cbr\u003eway into María’s house there was a little rustic wooden door, and\u003cbr\u003ebehind that door lay the southern screamer. A southern screamer\u003cbr\u003eis like a kind of giant lapwing with large wing spurs; this one was\u003cbr\u003ealways idling around by that little door. I took my precautions\u003cbr\u003ebefore passing through the doorway, taking the long way round\u003cbr\u003eand never getting too close for fear of setting off its spurs. I know\u003cbr\u003enow that they can fly; it’s a good thing I didn’t know back then,\u003cbr\u003eor I never would’ve made it through. How the creature came to\u003cbr\u003ebe there, I couldn’t say, for my aunt never gave it a glance or a\u003cbr\u003ename, being indifferent to the yard and the plants. In any case,\u003cbr\u003eI always thought the southern screamer was a fitting animal for\u003cbr\u003emy aunt; such a thing could never have lived at my house. Aunt\u003cbr\u003eMaría called Milonga the dog “milord,” as though exalting his\u003cbr\u003ename, and it’s quite strange to think of her calling him that, as I\u003cbr\u003edon’t believe she was aware of the existence of lords.","brand":"Archipelago","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300365095141,"sku":"NP9781939810922","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781939810922.jpg?v=1767721609","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/animals-isbn-9781939810922","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}