The dissidents, migrants and exiles of False War travel the world in search of some kind of refuge, but the cities they arrive in are places of purgatory, allegorical waystations of the permanently displaced, where everyone is an outsider, caught between landfalls, hurrying nowhere: Brightness inside, darkness outside until we crash. This is a timeless and urgent work, in turns lyrical, hardboiled, tender, fragmented. It maps a way forward for the twenty-first century novel.
Jeet Thayil, author of Names of the Women What happens when exile becomes style, and style becomes a kind of home? False War is that question asked with tenderness, fury and precision.
Carlos Fonseca, author of Austral I was blown away by this novel. Nothing in the story is reducible. Its formal ambition is met by its execution, and the effect is staggering. Álvarez is an immense writer, a generational talent, and this, for me, is a generation-defining work.
Michael Magee, author of Close to Home A new Latin American literature is here: With precocious mastery of a paragon of narrative resources and an overwhelming sensibility, Carlos Manuel Álvarez portrays the only identity that truly matters not the national one, but the human one.
Emiliano Monge, author of What Goes Unsaid Human displacement is the storm surge of our century, yet we only hear of the crest. Behind that swell rush the sequels of individual souls on the move, swirling, unravelling, adrift. Álvarez reels us into those milieus with such engaging detail we cant help becoming comrades to his fugitives. A brilliant work of enchantingly real voices.
DBC Pierre, author of Meanwhile in Dopamine City How do we recount the story of migration? Where does it begin and where does the journey end? Can a story have as a protagonist the very act of migrating due to exile or dissidence? In his new novel False War, Carlos Manuel Álvarez does exactly that: he puts the act of fleeing at the center, and does so through characters that find themselves in the midst of a radical transfer.... Time in this novel passes in a space that hasn't yet been occupied an impasse of open possibilities and discovery.
Julieta Venegas, Gatopardo A seething race across countries and heads, from Mexico Citys congested streets to Berlins ghostly quiet, and on. With exact translation by Natasha Wimmer, the book is like a collection of migrant tales, inextricably woven together in harmonious echoes sometimes bound together by character, but often by similar preoccupations with displacement, identity, and desire. Alvarezs writing is mesmerizing his rhythm propulsive, his vision unflinching. A compelling and necessary book that lingers in the mind long after reading.
Leo Boix, Morning Star Álvarez paints this generational tapestry with lush and colorful prose that is exuberant and rich, with brushstrokes of infinite tenderness, occasional violence, humour tinged with nostalgia, and critique towards a society that squashed the dreams of its residents in its attempt to reach the goal of utopia. The pages that take place in Mexico City and Berlin can serve as a clear example of how we find ourselves with an uncommon narrator, capable of speaking in his own voice about the eternal topics of loss and exile.
Juan Cervera, Rockdelux In False War, defeat is like an ocean that connects stories from different narrators in different parts of the globe that all converge in the present, forming an archipelago in which the collective trauma of loss ends up emerging not as a national singularity but as a sign of the times, one of the scars of humanity today.
Nelson Cárdenas, Revista UNAM Natasha Wimmer is the translator of nine books by Roberto Bolaño, including The Savage Detectives and 2666. Her recent translations include Nona Fernándezs Voyager and Álvaro Enrigues You Dreamed of Empires. She is a frequent contributor to the New York Review of Books and a visiting lecturer at Princeton University and Columbia University. She is the recipient of a PEN Translation Award and an Award in Literature from the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
