This novel should have a two-star review based on the first 250 pages, but I bumped it up a star for its strong ending. I couldn't escape the thought that I was essentially reading Marquez-lite - which isn't a fair comparison, but one that The Invisible Mountain invites. Particularly irksome is the emphasis on the poetic skills of some of the characters, but when we actually get to read some of the poetry it seems overwrought and amateurish. This is the same criticism I had of _The Song is You_ - if you're going to talk about someone writes brilliant poetry/lyrics, your examples better support this assertion.

Despite these complaints, it was interesting to learn about Uruguayan history, and the ending was powerful and unsentimental. Worth reading, but nowhere near a classic. ( )

A family saga that follows the history of Uruguay over decades. The generations of one family live their lives through democracy, dictators and elections. A fascinating read about Montevideo and the people who live there. Some sections were a hard read, particularly when Salome was imprisoned and Eva's awful time at the shoe shop too. ( )

First off, I'd like to exorcise a song that's been stuck in my head for a couple weeks--when my parents saw me reading this, they started singing Donovan's "There Is a Mountain," and every time I picked this up since, it would loop in my head incessantly. Maybe I'm free now?

But seriously, this is a wonderful book. It is lush and evocative, set primarily in Montevideo and focusing on the cultural and political life of Uruguayans. I was also utterly ignorant of this country--part of the reason I chose it for this year's Read Harder challenge--so all the events were shocking and enthralling, sending me to do some research of my own. It was painful for me to take so long to read it because every time I opened the book, I just wanted to curl up on the couch with a cup of hot tea and lose myself in the atmosphere and tumultuous lives of Pajarita, Eva, and Salomé. (This is saying something for me--a light spoiler alert/trigger warning: each woman suffers physical and sexual assault as well as psychological abuse--if I wasn't so invested in their lives, I would have had to put it down.)

It was a slow burn of a book, I must admit...there is SO MUCH covered in 360 pages. I would say it is plot-driven, and this bugged me a little in the beginning as I felt I needed to get to know the characters a little better. However, as it went on, the characters deepened (at least for Eva and Salomé--perhaps Pajarita is meant to remain inscrutable), and by the end, I was crying for everyone in the book. I was wondering how De Robertis would wrap up these storylines by the end, and boy, did she ever...and so beautifully.

I first became acquainted with De Robertis after reading her essay, "Every Day of Her Life," in [b: Count on Me: Tales of Sisterhoods and Fierce Friendships|13259259|Count on Me Tales of Sisterhoods and Fierce Friendships|Las comadres para las Americas|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1339799786s/13259259.jpg|18460758], and after this, I am certain I will be reading the rest of her work. I can't wait to lose myself again.

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Read Harder: A book set in Central or South America, written by a Central or South American author ( )

As far as I'm concerned, this is a perfect book. It tells the story of three (or four) generations of the one Uruguayan family, and in particular three women: Pajarita, her daughter Eva, and her daughter Salomé. It's very left-wing, with most of the characters having leftist sympathies of some description (but not, unsurprisingly, wealthy Argentine doctors) and there's representation of transwomen and same-sex attraction.

I guess in large part I loved it because it talks about the struggles of working-class women in twentieth-century Uruguay, and the women here are defiant and bold and determined to define their own lives. They do suffer, but they bounce back. It is frustrating, as a reader, when injustices happen that are never really avenged, but it's also satisfying to see these characters moving on with their lives and not, for the most part, just being crushed.

The book ends on a sad note, but for me it was really touching, and I even started crying about five pages from the end. I really recommend this book, particularly for anyone interested in South America and its history – and especially if you've been to Montevideo or Buenos Aires, because even though I haven't been to either place for long it evoked them very well – gazing out at the endless blue of the Río de la Plata from La Rambla in Montevideo, or the stark contrast between the Buenos Aires neighbourhoods of San Telmo and Recoleta. Its depiction of Rio de Janeiro is probably similar, although that one I can't say.

A parting note though – even though it was definitely worth it, trying to get a copy of this book was really damn hard (although, as I discovered, not as hard as trying to get a copy of de Robertis' second book, Perla!). I prefer not to buy paper copies of books because then I have to find room for them in my overly-cluttered house and they're usually much more expensive... but getting an electronic copy was a nightmare. For some reason, not only has the publisher decided it has to be absurdly expensive ($12!) but it's also decided to put geolocks on it, such that most ebook sellers won't sell it to Australians. Eventually though, I found that I could buy it from Diesel eBooks, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I'm not really sure why Random House is so intensely determined to prevent people from buying their books, but uh... yeah. That was by far the worst part of this book. Get your act together, Random House. ( )

Ein Epos wie die großen Ströme Südamerikas: verschlungen, mitreißend, magisch

Fesselnd und voller poetischer Kraft erzählt Caroline De Robertis die Geschichte dreier Generationen von Frauen in Montevideo. Drei Frauen, wie sie unterschiedlicher nicht sein können. Drei Frauen mit einem unbändigen Drang zu einem selbstbestimmten Leben - gegen alle Widerstände. Drei Frauen, die für die Geschichte Südamerikas im 20. Jahrhundert stehen.