In 1936, inspired by the sparking revolution, the farmworkers storm a mansion in Toledo, executing the youngest son of the owners. After the victory of Franco’s fascist, the family creates a ritual, forcing the local farmers to reenact the murder on its’ anniversary every year – thus reminding them of their guilt and their defeat.

This novel is set on the twentieth anniversary of the murder, which is decided to be the last time the ritual is performed. Besides the family and the reluctant farmworkers, guests arrive to witness – an American writer who heard of this bizarre tradition from Hemingway, the children of the family, too young to remember the deed itself, and an officer of the security police, there both because he admires this method of putting the reds in their place, and because he suspects young Lorenzo, son of the executed, of communist activities. Constantly moving back and forth through the same day, with both memories from further back and glimpses of the future, this book is about secrets, sexual tension, the role of memory in our lives, and the kind of wobbly peace without real forgiveness that follows a civil war.

The small library in rural Ydre, where we spend some time every summer, has a wonderful summer sale. Besides old stuff, they also tend to sell a lot of new books that just haven’t worked out for them – usually books bought for all libraries in Sweden by the government, as a form of support system for small publishers. Most of these have never even been opened, and they sell for one krona each. Really, it’s the most wonderful place to pick up books from unusual countries, and titles you never heard of. This book was one of this year’s haul – the blurb sounded so interesting.

I find myself leaning this way, then that way with this book. At first, it’s literary style, it’s constant namedropping and eagerness to show off annoyed me. It felt old-fashioned in all the wrong ways. Then the storyline about the adamant fascist police Sabuesa, especially, gripped me. In the end, I’m left with the feeling that I read a book often focusing on the wrong things, which would have benefitted from a less literary style. Bonus points for introducing me to the powerful and fascinating renaissance art of Artemisia Gentileschi! ( )