Death in Spring
“Breathing. Only the chore and sadness of breathing and breathing, as things change from tender to dry, new to old, the night-moon that grows thin then swells, the fireless sun that lights up, the soughing of wind that transports, shatters, gathers, and drives away the clouds, raising and flattening the dust. Only the sorrow of going to sleep and waking up, feeling life without knowing where it comes from, aware that it will flee without knowing why it was given to you, why it is taken from you. Here you are: there is this and this and this. And now, enough.” ― Mercè Rodoreda, Death in Spring
Death in Spring is lushly eerie, incredibly challenging, disconcerting, and strange. In this it is reminiscent of Pedro Paramo, another masterfully written but eerie book by Juan Rulfo. The narrative deals with the coming of age with a mixture of simplicity and density of texture. The story is like a dream but it is rooted in the real world.
You may read it as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, for its exquisite prose, and for the way it will seduce you despite your desires. Ultimately it is a novel about coming of age with a surprising edge.
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