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Cantoras
From the highly acclaimed, award-winning author of The Gods of Tango, a revolutionary new novel about five wildly different women who, in the midst of the Uruguayan dictatorship, find one another as lovers, friends, and ultimately, family.
In 1977 Uruguay, a military government crushed political dissent with ruthless force. In this environment, where the everyday rights of people are under attack, homosexuality is a dangerous transgression to be punished. And yet Romina, Flaca, Anita "La Venus," Paz, and Malena--five cantoras, women who "sing"--somehow, miraculously, find one another. Together, they discover an isolated, nearly uninhabited cape, Cabo Polonio, which they claim as their secret sanctuary. Over the next thirty-five years, their lives move back and forth between Cabo Polonio and Montevideo, the city they call home, as they return, sometimes together, sometimes in pairs, with lovers in tow, or alone. And throughout, again and again, the women will be tested--by their families, lovers, society, and one another--as they fight to live authentic lives.
A genre-defining novel and De Robertis's masterpiece, Cantoras is a breathtaking portrait of queer love, community, forgotten history, and the strength of the human spirit. At once timeless and groundbreaking, Cantoras is a tale about the fire in all our souls and those who make it burn.
In 1977 Uruguay, a military government crushed political dissent with ruthless force. In this environment, where the everyday rights of people are under attack, homosexuality is a dangerous transgression to be punished. And yet Romina, Flaca, Anita "La Venus," Paz, and Malena--five cantoras, women who "sing"--somehow, miraculously, find one another. Together, they discover an isolated, nearly uninhabited cape, Cabo Polonio, which they claim as their secret sanctuary. Over the next thirty-five years, their lives move back and forth between Cabo Polonio and Montevideo, the city they call home, as they return, sometimes together, sometimes in pairs, with lovers in tow, or alone. And throughout, again and again, the women will be tested--by their families, lovers, society, and one another--as they fight to live authentic lives.
A genre-defining novel and De Robertis's masterpiece, Cantoras is a breathtaking portrait of queer love, community, forgotten history, and the strength of the human spirit. At once timeless and groundbreaking, Cantoras is a tale about the fire in all our souls and those who make it burn.
336 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 3, 2019
About the author
Carolina De Robertis
18 books682 followersCarolina De Robertis is the author of Perla and The Invisible Mountain, which was an international bestseller translated into fifteen languages, the recipient of Italy’s Rhegium Julii Prize, and a Best Book of 2009 according to the San Francisco Chronicle, O, The Oprah Magazine, and BookList. She is the translator of Alejandro Zambra’s Bonsai, which was just made into a feature film, and Roberto Ampuero’s internationally bestselling The Neruda Case. De Robertis has been awarded a 2012 fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts.
De Robertis grew up in a Uruguayan family that immigrated to England, Switzerland, and California. Prior to completing her first book, she worked in women’s rights organizations for ten years, on issues ranging from rape to immigration. She lives in Oakland, California, where she is currently elbow-deep in writing her third novel, which explores migration, sexual frontiers, and the tango’s Old Guard in early twentieth century South America.
De Robertis grew up in a Uruguayan family that immigrated to England, Switzerland, and California. Prior to completing her first book, she worked in women’s rights organizations for ten years, on issues ranging from rape to immigration. She lives in Oakland, California, where she is currently elbow-deep in writing her third novel, which explores migration, sexual frontiers, and the tango’s Old Guard in early twentieth century South America.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,284 reviews
April 12, 2020
“Cantoras” the word meaning women who sing. Sing in the most passionate, emotional way. Sing in relationships with other females in a country that prohibits same sex relationships under the
oppressive militia rule in Uruguay, back in the 70’s.
A group of women who defy the odds and develop deep connections in a secret hut on the beach, to a bar years later when democracy has a chance to enter their world. But at a cost. Early on one of them hospitalized for her thoughts and behaviour. Tortured as if it would fix the aberration.
Yet, they found each other and clung to who they were as friends, lovers, and family.
An embrace as vast as the ocean.
A beautiful and tastefully written story that has left its stamp on my heart. 5⭐️
oppressive militia rule in Uruguay, back in the 70’s.
A group of women who defy the odds and develop deep connections in a secret hut on the beach, to a bar years later when democracy has a chance to enter their world. But at a cost. Early on one of them hospitalized for her thoughts and behaviour. Tortured as if it would fix the aberration.
Yet, they found each other and clung to who they were as friends, lovers, and family.
An embrace as vast as the ocean.
A beautiful and tastefully written story that has left its stamp on my heart. 5⭐️
September 28, 2019
This novel is magnificent!!!
....gorgeous!!!
It’s ‘alive’, bursting with energy!
In Uruguay you could be arrested for just having five or more people in your house.
The regime did whatever it wanted regardless of the laws.
Women didn’t make sexual advances in the country of dictatorship......
BUT......
Flaca, Romina, Anita, Paz, and Marlena did!!!
The women had seven full days of sunshine - no toilets and no husbands.
I wanted to stand up and sing, wiggle & jiggle... twirl.. and dance with these women— run away to the beach with them.
Women should’ve felt guilty- for lying to their husbands, for going against the laws of dictatorship...
but instead they felt radiant - exuberant - happy!!!
Flaca says:
“ To hell with the dangers, I don’t even care if they kill me for it, I will have lived along the way”.
This has got to be - absolutely- one of the joyous books about friends and lovers -against a frightening backdrop to EVER BE WRITTEN!!!!
DON’T MISS IT!!!
I’d give it 10 stars if I could!!!
....gorgeous!!!
It’s ‘alive’, bursting with energy!
In Uruguay you could be arrested for just having five or more people in your house.
The regime did whatever it wanted regardless of the laws.
Women didn’t make sexual advances in the country of dictatorship......
BUT......
Flaca, Romina, Anita, Paz, and Marlena did!!!
The women had seven full days of sunshine - no toilets and no husbands.
I wanted to stand up and sing, wiggle & jiggle... twirl.. and dance with these women— run away to the beach with them.
Women should’ve felt guilty- for lying to their husbands, for going against the laws of dictatorship...
but instead they felt radiant - exuberant - happy!!!
Flaca says:
“ To hell with the dangers, I don’t even care if they kill me for it, I will have lived along the way”.
This has got to be - absolutely- one of the joyous books about friends and lovers -against a frightening backdrop to EVER BE WRITTEN!!!!
DON’T MISS IT!!!
I’d give it 10 stars if I could!!!
September 20, 2019
Freedom. In 1970s Uruguay,freedom was not to be found. Called the process, the country was under a brutal dictatorship, a system that cared little for innocence or guilt. A system that took, people, rights, joy and made them disappear. For the five women in this story this wasn't the only type of freedom not available to them, they also did not have the freedom to love whom they wanted. Their same sex desire must be kept hidden at all costs. They were Cantoras.
They find a place in an isolated coastal village, a place that will cement their love, friendships and provide a stable base throughout the years. We learn each of their backgrounds, some who have suffered from base treatment of the dictatorship, one from her own family. We follow them for four decades as they struggle, come apart and come together again. The bond the women form with each other, the friendship that endures changing partners and lost loves is the wonder of this novel. Their fight for freedom of both sorts is a formidable force. It is amazing what a person can go through, and still have the power to love, albeit with scars.
A beautiful, moving book, one where the characters work their way into your heart. A warning though for those who find explicit same sex scenes uncomfortable, though I thought they were well done and helped define the story.
"Why did life put so much inside a woman and then keep her confined to smallness?"
"What is love," she said. "if it can't hold all the channels of the spirit."
"The essence of dictatorship, she thought. On the bus, on the street, at home, no matter where you are or how ordinary you seem, you're in a cage."
ARC from Edelweiss.
They find a place in an isolated coastal village, a place that will cement their love, friendships and provide a stable base throughout the years. We learn each of their backgrounds, some who have suffered from base treatment of the dictatorship, one from her own family. We follow them for four decades as they struggle, come apart and come together again. The bond the women form with each other, the friendship that endures changing partners and lost loves is the wonder of this novel. Their fight for freedom of both sorts is a formidable force. It is amazing what a person can go through, and still have the power to love, albeit with scars.
A beautiful, moving book, one where the characters work their way into your heart. A warning though for those who find explicit same sex scenes uncomfortable, though I thought they were well done and helped define the story.
"Why did life put so much inside a woman and then keep her confined to smallness?"
"What is love," she said. "if it can't hold all the channels of the spirit."
"The essence of dictatorship, she thought. On the bus, on the street, at home, no matter where you are or how ordinary you seem, you're in a cage."
ARC from Edelweiss.
January 14, 2020
I’ve just spent this entire novel going back and forth between laughing and sobbing. It’s a triumph, a celebration and a shared mourning all in one.
TW: rape, abuse, homophobia, torture (conversion therapy, electroshock), imprisonment, suicide
*I was sent a free copy of this book by the publisher for review but all opinions are my own*
TW: rape, abuse, homophobia, torture (conversion therapy, electroshock), imprisonment, suicide
*I was sent a free copy of this book by the publisher for review but all opinions are my own*
April 17, 2019
This is one of the most beautiful books I’ve read in long time. It’s triumphant and devastating, it’s optimistic and heart-breaking, and then manages to cover just about every emotion in between. The story starts off in 1977 in Montevideo, Uruguay, where five women come together to form the beginnings of friendship. A week-long trip to Cabo Polonia, a small village on the coast north of Montevideo, connects them to each other and the village in a way that city living never could.
Of the five women, Flaca is the one to bring them together initially. She’s a butcher’s daughter, used to fairly physical work and not very feminine. She’s quite aware of her sexual orientation but given the era, the patriarchal society and the terror instilled by the recent ascendance of a military dictatorship, being queer is hidden. Romina, in her early 20s like Flaca, is a student and former lover, now best friend, of Flaca’s. Her brother has been detained and jailed for suspected dissidence which means she is marked by association and being discovered a lesbian is as dangerous as being a part of the resistance is.
Flaca’s lover, Anita, figures out a way to leave her husband and unfulfilling marriage for the week. She’s gorgeous, the oldest of the group at 27, and it’s not long before she’s nicknamed ‘La Venus’. Romina brings along a woman she met near the university. She’s sure Malena is lesbian like them, but it’s unspoken. Malena is prim with a bun as ‘tight as her smile’ and says very little. The last of the women is 15-year-old Paz who came into the butchery where Flaca recognised her as a kindred spirit.
The unfolding of each of their stories through the years of political turmoil is powerful and the writing portrays the trauma and joy in a subtle and poetic way. The women are alive on the pages of this novel, even Malena, who shimmers just out of reach in her aloofness. They feel real and the choices they make are human and not always the bravest ones, or the kindest.
The five women are so different from each other in temperament, education, background, family life and age that in the beginning it seems as if the only thing that unites them is their love of women but perhaps, given their circumstances, that's enough. The political landscape is woven into their lives and I found myself being educated with little effort.
I was drawn into their existence, their pasts and their present. I came to care about them and their well-being. Their trials emotionally wrenched me from comfort and their love and friendship gave me hope for them. It’s not a light read but it is engrossing and fast-paced. I’m left with an ache in my chest that, given the choice, I would choose again just to experience the beauty of this novel.
Book received from Netgalley and Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group for an honest review<./i>
Of the five women, Flaca is the one to bring them together initially. She’s a butcher’s daughter, used to fairly physical work and not very feminine. She’s quite aware of her sexual orientation but given the era, the patriarchal society and the terror instilled by the recent ascendance of a military dictatorship, being queer is hidden. Romina, in her early 20s like Flaca, is a student and former lover, now best friend, of Flaca’s. Her brother has been detained and jailed for suspected dissidence which means she is marked by association and being discovered a lesbian is as dangerous as being a part of the resistance is.
Flaca’s lover, Anita, figures out a way to leave her husband and unfulfilling marriage for the week. She’s gorgeous, the oldest of the group at 27, and it’s not long before she’s nicknamed ‘La Venus’. Romina brings along a woman she met near the university. She’s sure Malena is lesbian like them, but it’s unspoken. Malena is prim with a bun as ‘tight as her smile’ and says very little. The last of the women is 15-year-old Paz who came into the butchery where Flaca recognised her as a kindred spirit.
The unfolding of each of their stories through the years of political turmoil is powerful and the writing portrays the trauma and joy in a subtle and poetic way. The women are alive on the pages of this novel, even Malena, who shimmers just out of reach in her aloofness. They feel real and the choices they make are human and not always the bravest ones, or the kindest.
The five women are so different from each other in temperament, education, background, family life and age that in the beginning it seems as if the only thing that unites them is their love of women but perhaps, given their circumstances, that's enough. The political landscape is woven into their lives and I found myself being educated with little effort.
I was drawn into their existence, their pasts and their present. I came to care about them and their well-being. Their trials emotionally wrenched me from comfort and their love and friendship gave me hope for them. It’s not a light read but it is engrossing and fast-paced. I’m left with an ache in my chest that, given the choice, I would choose again just to experience the beauty of this novel.
Book received from Netgalley and Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group for an honest review<./i>
April 26, 2020
4.75 Stars
’The city, Montevideo, was not a place to be curious, but a place to shrink into yourself and mind your own business, to be careful, to jeep your curtains drawn, to keep your mouth shut with strangers because any one of them could report you to the government and then you could disappear, and you could see it in passersby on the street, the flattened gazes, the postures of fear so familiar that they’d become ordinary.’
Set in Uruguay, this story begins in the year 1977, under a dictatorship that categorizes and enforces their anti-homosexual laws along with those laws opposing the civic- military through jail, and torture along with other human rights violations, as well as people who just “disappeared.”
’”…yes, a cantora is a singer,” Romina said…”But it has another meaning for us.”
“A cantora…is a woman who sings.
These five women who call themselves cantoras, some, but not all, married. Some very young, and others older, having spent years suppressing their nature. If their behavior, their actions, come under scrutiny, there will be repercussions. Some worry over how their actions will affect their mothers.
’Her mother’s sadness was a river that she swam through each day, tending to its currents as though she could give them shape.’
As they come to know one another, they make plans for a weeklong trip away from the peering eyes and potential for gossip close to home, and head to Cabo Polonio, a remote village along the coast where, it is rumoured, where they feel they will be safe from prying eyes, somewhere they can still feel alive.
Beautifully written, this was at times heartbreaking, but overall a story that reminded me that not all people are free to live free.
’The city, Montevideo, was not a place to be curious, but a place to shrink into yourself and mind your own business, to be careful, to jeep your curtains drawn, to keep your mouth shut with strangers because any one of them could report you to the government and then you could disappear, and you could see it in passersby on the street, the flattened gazes, the postures of fear so familiar that they’d become ordinary.’
Set in Uruguay, this story begins in the year 1977, under a dictatorship that categorizes and enforces their anti-homosexual laws along with those laws opposing the civic- military through jail, and torture along with other human rights violations, as well as people who just “disappeared.”
’”…yes, a cantora is a singer,” Romina said…”But it has another meaning for us.”
“A cantora…is a woman who sings.
These five women who call themselves cantoras, some, but not all, married. Some very young, and others older, having spent years suppressing their nature. If their behavior, their actions, come under scrutiny, there will be repercussions. Some worry over how their actions will affect their mothers.
’Her mother’s sadness was a river that she swam through each day, tending to its currents as though she could give them shape.’
As they come to know one another, they make plans for a weeklong trip away from the peering eyes and potential for gossip close to home, and head to Cabo Polonio, a remote village along the coast where, it is rumoured, where they feel they will be safe from prying eyes, somewhere they can still feel alive.
Beautifully written, this was at times heartbreaking, but overall a story that reminded me that not all people are free to live free.
October 3, 2021
Another summer buddy read with my dear friend, Beth, and I don’t think we could have loved this more! ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️
Beginning in the 1970s during the military dictatorship and oppression of Uruguay, five women come together to vacation on a rustic coastal peninsula. It’s so rustic, in fact, that they don’t have accommodations, and when they find a place to rest, it’s an old fishing hut. The women find magic in this place where they can truly be themselves for once.
Bonds of friendship are formed, and over the years, they escape the oppression of Montevideo and city life to the peninsula, Cabo Palonio, and their beloved hut that they bought and finished, adding new touches year after year. Over thirty-five years pass in this manner, and during that time friendships are tested, romantic love is tested, as each woman seeks her own identity and happiness in a world where it’s not safe to be a “cantora,” a woman who sings, a woman who loves other women but cannot feel safe in doing so.
The characters, Romina, Flaca, La Venus, Paz, and Malena, each so different and well-developed; I could not have loved them more. I learned from them as they learned from each other. Carolina de Robertis weaves a flawlessly, richly, and dare I say, passionately told story, an ode to female friendship, love, and sexual identity, along the backdrop of a beautiful, tiny country whose inhabitants are suffering in turmoil, yet simply trying to live their truths.
After Beth and I finished this book, we eagerly added all of de Robertis’ other books to our TBRs. We recently read her newest, The President and the Frog, and next, we will be reading her debut. This type of immersive storytelling with formidable characterization is our absolute favorite type of book to read.
Many of my reviews can also be found on my blog: www.jennifertarheelreader.com and instagram: www.instagram.com/tarheelreader
Beginning in the 1970s during the military dictatorship and oppression of Uruguay, five women come together to vacation on a rustic coastal peninsula. It’s so rustic, in fact, that they don’t have accommodations, and when they find a place to rest, it’s an old fishing hut. The women find magic in this place where they can truly be themselves for once.
Bonds of friendship are formed, and over the years, they escape the oppression of Montevideo and city life to the peninsula, Cabo Palonio, and their beloved hut that they bought and finished, adding new touches year after year. Over thirty-five years pass in this manner, and during that time friendships are tested, romantic love is tested, as each woman seeks her own identity and happiness in a world where it’s not safe to be a “cantora,” a woman who sings, a woman who loves other women but cannot feel safe in doing so.
The characters, Romina, Flaca, La Venus, Paz, and Malena, each so different and well-developed; I could not have loved them more. I learned from them as they learned from each other. Carolina de Robertis weaves a flawlessly, richly, and dare I say, passionately told story, an ode to female friendship, love, and sexual identity, along the backdrop of a beautiful, tiny country whose inhabitants are suffering in turmoil, yet simply trying to live their truths.
After Beth and I finished this book, we eagerly added all of de Robertis’ other books to our TBRs. We recently read her newest, The President and the Frog, and next, we will be reading her debut. This type of immersive storytelling with formidable characterization is our absolute favorite type of book to read.
Many of my reviews can also be found on my blog: www.jennifertarheelreader.com and instagram: www.instagram.com/tarheelreader
December 30, 2019
I can’t even. This novel is absolutely gorgeous.
A multifaceted look at oppression and its consequences, and five women who found freedom in each other.
My favorite quote:
“Why did life put so much inside a woman and then keep her confined to smallness?”
Audiobook narrated by the author, Carolina De Robertis.
A multifaceted look at oppression and its consequences, and five women who found freedom in each other.
My favorite quote:
“Why did life put so much inside a woman and then keep her confined to smallness?”
Audiobook narrated by the author, Carolina De Robertis.
September 7, 2019
I was late to a scheduled podcast recording Sunday because I just had to finish this book first. It is beautifully written about five women living in Uruguay, building a found family to live as who they really are, despite dictators, trauma, and fear. Some of the story comes from research the author did on the first LGBTQ+ spaces in Uruguay, not in the city but on the very edge of the country between ocean and sand dunes. The five women in the novel buy a shack that becomes their escape. Each character is unique, they all have individual connections with the other characters, and the time spans 1970s to 2013. I also noticed the tension created by coming out in a time of extreme oppression such as a dictatorship, and the long-term damage that can do. This feels like a story that runs deep for the person writing it as well.
I had a copy from the publisher through NetGalley, it came out September 3, and this is one of my top reads so far this year.
I had a copy from the publisher through NetGalley, it came out September 3, and this is one of my top reads so far this year.
November 19, 2019
Review coming soon but hands down top five favorite of this year!!!
July 4, 2021
3rd read: Jul 3, 2021
Buddy reread again with Gabriella! This is our third read (yes), and there are still little details we noticed for the first time. The writing and story and imageries are just as beautiful, the characters just as complex and lovable. It feels warm to spend time with the cantoras again. Also, I cried again, but this time, from joy.
2nd read: Dec 21, 2020
For the audiobook review & 2nd read thoughts, see here.
1st read: Nov 19, 2020
You know the question people like to ask: if you were only to read one book for the rest of your life, what would it be? I never had an answer; never, until today. I’d gladly read Cantoras a thousand times over; I’d hug this book to my heart forever if I could.
The story opens with the five women—Flaca (21), Romina (22, Jewish), Anita/La Venus (27), Paz (16), and Malena (25)—traveling to Cabo Polonio from Montevideo for the first time in 1977. This beach, relatively untouched by the Uruguayan regime, becomes the cantoras’ refuge for years to come.
Written in stream of consciousness narrative, Cantoras flows perfectly, weaving between the present and the past, and from person to person. The writing is breathtaking; the five women, connected through their identities, their shared desire for freedom amidst the suffocation in the era, are distinctly beautiful. The ocean sings, the waves unconfined; the cantoras deserve freedom, too.
Flaca (La Pilota), Romina, La Venus (because she is La Venus to me and never Anita), Paz, and Malena. They are the very definition of a found family. Over the years, their love for each other shifts and reforms, their dynamics fierce and strong. And their names. Whenever I read their names, my heart jumps as if I were reunited with long-lost friends. Perhaps I am. Over the course of the book, we grew to understand them like close friends, and there is something intimate about that. I feel especially connected to Paz for her introversion, love of both literature and physical exertions. Also maybe because she started out as a baby gay, stealing my heart.
There has never been another book that hit me so hard, that I cried and sobbed because I personally felt connect to all of the characters, not just the five cantoras but all of them. My heart broke for them as they suffered and soared when they were free. I’ve gripped the fabric of the shirt on my chest so many times I couldn’t tell if it was my fingers clenching or my heart.
I think the most surreal thing is that the plot wasn’t really surprising because De Robertis depicted all the characters so perfectly, it was clear how they’d react, what they’d do, and they are like your stubborn friends whom you love so much but could do nothing about to change what they were going to do. How could things not have happened the way they did? I knew what was coming, but that didn’t make anything hurt less; it made everything more emotional because I connected with all the characters and every flash of pain felt like losing a friend in life. It literally felt like a part of myself had been slaughtered and I have no better way to put it. I laugh with them when they are in joy because I am incredibly happy for them, and I am always thrilled when they find freedom. My heart might not survive another emotionally intense experience because what they’ve been through, I feel like I’ve been through, too.
There are a lot of imageries throughout the story, mainly music (cantora), ocean (Cabo Polonio), and fire (stars). I think everything is about desire, freedom, and love. Cantoras has gutted me yet also made me so happy; I didn’t know it was possible, to be both exhilarated yet pained, to weep in sorrow and joy at the same time.
Thinking about Cantoras makes my breath shaky, and when I breathe in, I feel like bawling all over again. I will never lean against another doorway without thinking of Paz and Flaca, or look at rocks at the ocean without being reminded of Romina and Malena. And the prose is so precise, I am sure De Robertis wrote it in the way words were invented for. I think I’ll be listening to the audiobook version soon, or reread it immediately because I cannot stand not having Flaca, Romina, La Venus, Paz, and Malena in my life.
content warnings: homophobia, sexism, infidelity, government censorship, torture, abuse (cigarette burns), rape, sexual assault, pedophilia, loss of family, alcohol abuse, forced hospitalization (conversion therapy), electric shock, suicide, blood, miscarriage
Buddy read with Gabriella. Check out her incredible review here.
Buddy reread again with Gabriella! This is our third read (yes), and there are still little details we noticed for the first time. The writing and story and imageries are just as beautiful, the characters just as complex and lovable. It feels warm to spend time with the cantoras again. Also, I cried again, but this time, from joy.
2nd read: Dec 21, 2020
For the audiobook review & 2nd read thoughts, see here.
1st read: Nov 19, 2020
“I think you know how to love.”
You know the question people like to ask: if you were only to read one book for the rest of your life, what would it be? I never had an answer; never, until today. I’d gladly read Cantoras a thousand times over; I’d hug this book to my heart forever if I could.
The story opens with the five women—Flaca (21), Romina (22, Jewish), Anita/La Venus (27), Paz (16), and Malena (25)—traveling to Cabo Polonio from Montevideo for the first time in 1977. This beach, relatively untouched by the Uruguayan regime, becomes the cantoras’ refuge for years to come.
[Paz] hadn’t known air could taste like this, so wide, so open. Her body a welcome. Skin awake. The world was more than she had known, even if only for this instant, even if only in this place.
Written in stream of consciousness narrative, Cantoras flows perfectly, weaving between the present and the past, and from person to person. The writing is breathtaking; the five women, connected through their identities, their shared desire for freedom amidst the suffocation in the era, are distinctly beautiful. The ocean sings, the waves unconfined; the cantoras deserve freedom, too.
Flaca (La Pilota), Romina, La Venus (because she is La Venus to me and never Anita), Paz, and Malena. They are the very definition of a found family. Over the years, their love for each other shifts and reforms, their dynamics fierce and strong. And their names. Whenever I read their names, my heart jumps as if I were reunited with long-lost friends. Perhaps I am. Over the course of the book, we grew to understand them like close friends, and there is something intimate about that. I feel especially connected to Paz for her introversion, love of both literature and physical exertions. Also maybe because she started out as a baby gay, stealing my heart.
They’d been forming a kind of family, woven from castoffs, like a quilt made from strops of leftover fabric no one wanted. They wanted each other. They had to stay woven. They would not fray.
There has never been another book that hit me so hard, that I cried and sobbed because I personally felt connect to all of the characters, not just the five cantoras but all of them. My heart broke for them as they suffered and soared when they were free. I’ve gripped the fabric of the shirt on my chest so many times I couldn’t tell if it was my fingers clenching or my heart.
I think the most surreal thing is that the plot wasn’t really surprising because De Robertis depicted all the characters so perfectly, it was clear how they’d react, what they’d do, and they are like your stubborn friends whom you love so much but could do nothing about to change what they were going to do. How could things not have happened the way they did? I knew what was coming, but that didn’t make anything hurt less; it made everything more emotional because I connected with all the characters and every flash of pain felt like losing a friend in life. It literally felt like a part of myself had been slaughtered and I have no better way to put it. I laugh with them when they are in joy because I am incredibly happy for them, and I am always thrilled when they find freedom. My heart might not survive another emotionally intense experience because what they’ve been through, I feel like I’ve been through, too.
There are a lot of imageries throughout the story, mainly music (cantora), ocean (Cabo Polonio), and fire (stars). I think everything is about desire, freedom, and love. Cantoras has gutted me yet also made me so happy; I didn’t know it was possible, to be both exhilarated yet pained, to weep in sorrow and joy at the same time.
Now here [Romina] was again, suspended in her own desire as if desire didn’t live inside you at all but instead it was you who lived inside your desire, as if a woman’s wanting could be oceanic, vast enough to be swum, to be submerged in.
Thinking about Cantoras makes my breath shaky, and when I breathe in, I feel like bawling all over again. I will never lean against another doorway without thinking of Paz and Flaca, or look at rocks at the ocean without being reminded of Romina and Malena. And the prose is so precise, I am sure De Robertis wrote it in the way words were invented for. I think I’ll be listening to the audiobook version soon, or reread it immediately because I cannot stand not having Flaca, Romina, La Venus, Paz, and Malena in my life.
content warnings: homophobia, sexism, infidelity, government censorship, torture, abuse (cigarette burns), rape, sexual assault, pedophilia, loss of family, alcohol abuse, forced hospitalization (conversion therapy), electric shock, suicide, blood, miscarriage
Buddy read with Gabriella. Check out her incredible review here.
March 9, 2020
What a plot! Five very different Lesbians living through the military dictatorship years of the 1970s and 80s in Uruguay, a country with less deaths and disappearances than Argentina, but a much higher percentage of imprisonment and torture. One of every 50 Uruguayans was tortured. So all of their friends, families and acquaintances got to live that, too.
Those fun facts aren’t in the book - just background.
This story mulls concepts of Family a lot. Given family (biologic, usually) versus created or chosen family, the idea of “shared ancestors”, the need to hide who you are - all very interesting and important, especially for gay people living in such dangerous times. And how much of yourself do you “owe” your family?
The older (and crankier) i grow, the more i value Vonnegut’s concept of the granfalloon, as representing most families - the artifice of commonality. Or, officially: a group of people who affect a shared identity or purpose, but whose mutual association is meaningless.
These women were trying to forge something beyond: “I think i’ll keep her”.
They meet and attempt to create a safe place in an off-the-grid beach town, with mixed results - and we follow their growth, foibles, loves and heartbreaks, until, finally, the sort-of end of the Juntas.
“And so military officers could not be tried for the worst crimes committed...when those actions had, after all, been part of their jobs, and so shut up about the torture, the electric machines, the rapes, the cages without trial, the abuse and starvation, the disappearances, the pain of broken people now released back into the world, you wanted them back, didn’t you? Here they are, it’s over like you wanted, off with you.”
And, well, of course people wanted it over. But as oppressed and abused groups have been screaming, unheard, forever: “No Justice No Peace!” and not all of our 5 woman Family adjusted to the new politics, the new struggle, and her place in it, with a happily-ever-after.
In Uruguay, the opposition did join together in a United Front - The Frente Amplia - the leaders of which included the leaders of the Tupamaros (like the beloved Jose Mujica) and they did change the world - but that is a different story...Or should have been.
Unfortunately, the author didn’t trust readers to do their own research and added “2013” (26 years later) and like Harry Potter, sometimes the way later stuff just is death to the previous well done denouement. Maybe the USA part of Ms. de Robertis felt her Norte Americana readers couldn’t take the sadness of the Latin American 1986 ending, but I wish she had left it there.
Those particular military dictatorships may have come to a close, but they never went away. Uruguay (2019) just elected its first right wing, racist, oligarch president since Mujica; one who has a history of abusing workers on his estancias. The Trump Bolsonaro Duque Pinera brand of leadership has a very armed following in South America, and the bloody, brutal military coup d'état (golpe de estado) of Bolivia has blown by basically unnoticed, despite the BS claims about a “dirty election” being proven false:
https://jackrw.mit.edu/sites/default/...
https://www.washingtonpost.com/politi...
I wish she had chosen to end with one of her beautiful scenes; perhaps with members of the family:
“...gazing out at the water, each watching her own ghost on the horizon.”
Those fun facts aren’t in the book - just background.
This story mulls concepts of Family a lot. Given family (biologic, usually) versus created or chosen family, the idea of “shared ancestors”, the need to hide who you are - all very interesting and important, especially for gay people living in such dangerous times. And how much of yourself do you “owe” your family?
The older (and crankier) i grow, the more i value Vonnegut’s concept of the granfalloon, as representing most families - the artifice of commonality. Or, officially: a group of people who affect a shared identity or purpose, but whose mutual association is meaningless.
These women were trying to forge something beyond: “I think i’ll keep her”.
They meet and attempt to create a safe place in an off-the-grid beach town, with mixed results - and we follow their growth, foibles, loves and heartbreaks, until, finally, the sort-of end of the Juntas.
“And so military officers could not be tried for the worst crimes committed...when those actions had, after all, been part of their jobs, and so shut up about the torture, the electric machines, the rapes, the cages without trial, the abuse and starvation, the disappearances, the pain of broken people now released back into the world, you wanted them back, didn’t you? Here they are, it’s over like you wanted, off with you.”
And, well, of course people wanted it over. But as oppressed and abused groups have been screaming, unheard, forever: “No Justice No Peace!” and not all of our 5 woman Family adjusted to the new politics, the new struggle, and her place in it, with a happily-ever-after.
In Uruguay, the opposition did join together in a United Front - The Frente Amplia - the leaders of which included the leaders of the Tupamaros (like the beloved Jose Mujica) and they did change the world - but that is a different story...Or should have been.
Unfortunately, the author didn’t trust readers to do their own research and added “2013” (26 years later) and like Harry Potter, sometimes the way later stuff just is death to the previous well done denouement. Maybe the USA part of Ms. de Robertis felt her Norte Americana readers couldn’t take the sadness of the Latin American 1986 ending, but I wish she had left it there.
Those particular military dictatorships may have come to a close, but they never went away. Uruguay (2019) just elected its first right wing, racist, oligarch president since Mujica; one who has a history of abusing workers on his estancias. The Trump Bolsonaro Duque Pinera brand of leadership has a very armed following in South America, and the bloody, brutal military coup d'état (golpe de estado) of Bolivia has blown by basically unnoticed, despite the BS claims about a “dirty election” being proven false:
https://jackrw.mit.edu/sites/default/...
https://www.washingtonpost.com/politi...
I wish she had chosen to end with one of her beautiful scenes; perhaps with members of the family:
“...gazing out at the water, each watching her own ghost on the horizon.”
November 7, 2019
Set in the late 70’s, five women bond over needing to escape the Uruguayan dictatorship, with the strict rules of the city, they decide to head to an isolated coastal town, a place with no electricity or running water with barely any walls a place of “no toilets and no telephones and no husbands” a place they can be free to be completely themselves. Five women who share a need to keep their queerness away from the city full of eyes where it’s considered illegal and considered a crime worthy of punishment. A group of five women or more congregating publicly arouses suspicion and considered affronts against the laws of decency they have no other option but to go underground. Their secret place of Polonio.
I was immediately taken in by this book, it gently seduced me, I was rooting for these women all of them with their own distinct personalities, wants and desires but each wanting the best for each other. This book is visually arresting it’s a book full of love, hope, despair and tenderness. Their collective grief for a fractured country full of turmoil, fuelling their fight against the oppression, leading them to gather and strengthen their already deep and rock tight bond. It’s a true and beautiful celebration of women fighting for what’s right and good, a testament to the admirable selfless qualities of women who support and encourage each other. This book felt so triumphant and I ended up Ioving this book so so deeply. I could not praise this book enough!
I was immediately taken in by this book, it gently seduced me, I was rooting for these women all of them with their own distinct personalities, wants and desires but each wanting the best for each other. This book is visually arresting it’s a book full of love, hope, despair and tenderness. Their collective grief for a fractured country full of turmoil, fuelling their fight against the oppression, leading them to gather and strengthen their already deep and rock tight bond. It’s a true and beautiful celebration of women fighting for what’s right and good, a testament to the admirable selfless qualities of women who support and encourage each other. This book felt so triumphant and I ended up Ioving this book so so deeply. I could not praise this book enough!
December 26, 2021
Another summer buddy read with my dear friend, Beth, and I don’t think we could have loved this more! ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️
Beginning in the 1970s during the military dictatorship and oppression of Uruguay, five women come together to vacation on a rustic coastal peninsula. It’s so rustic, in fact, that they don’t have accommodations, and when they find a place to rest, it’s an old fishing hut. The women find magic in this place where they can truly be themselves for once.
Bonds of friendship are formed, and over the years, they escape the oppression of Montevideo and city life to the peninsula, Cabo Palonio, and their beloved hut that they bought and finished, adding new touches year after year. Over thirty-five years pass in this manner, and during that time friendships are tested, romantic love is tested, as each woman seeks her own identity and happiness in a world where it��s not safe to be a “cantora,” a woman who sings, a woman who loves other women but cannot feel safe in doing so.
The characters, Romina, Flaca, La Venus, Paz, and Malena, each so different and well-developed; I could not have loved them more. I learned from them as they learned from each other. Carolina de Robertis weaves a flawlessly, richly, and dare I say, passionately told story, an ode to female friendship, love, and sexual identity, along the backdrop of a beautiful, tiny country whose inhabitants are suffering in turmoil, yet simply trying to live their truths.
After Beth and I finished this book, we eagerly added all of de Robertis’ other books to our TBRs. We recently read her newest, The President and the Frog, and next, we will be reading her debut. This type of immersive storytelling with formidable characterization is our absolute favorite type of book to read.
Many of my reviews can also be found on my blog: www.jennifertarheelreader.com and instagram: www.instagram.com/tarheelreader
Beginning in the 1970s during the military dictatorship and oppression of Uruguay, five women come together to vacation on a rustic coastal peninsula. It’s so rustic, in fact, that they don’t have accommodations, and when they find a place to rest, it’s an old fishing hut. The women find magic in this place where they can truly be themselves for once.
Bonds of friendship are formed, and over the years, they escape the oppression of Montevideo and city life to the peninsula, Cabo Palonio, and their beloved hut that they bought and finished, adding new touches year after year. Over thirty-five years pass in this manner, and during that time friendships are tested, romantic love is tested, as each woman seeks her own identity and happiness in a world where it��s not safe to be a “cantora,” a woman who sings, a woman who loves other women but cannot feel safe in doing so.
The characters, Romina, Flaca, La Venus, Paz, and Malena, each so different and well-developed; I could not have loved them more. I learned from them as they learned from each other. Carolina de Robertis weaves a flawlessly, richly, and dare I say, passionately told story, an ode to female friendship, love, and sexual identity, along the backdrop of a beautiful, tiny country whose inhabitants are suffering in turmoil, yet simply trying to live their truths.
After Beth and I finished this book, we eagerly added all of de Robertis’ other books to our TBRs. We recently read her newest, The President and the Frog, and next, we will be reading her debut. This type of immersive storytelling with formidable characterization is our absolute favorite type of book to read.
Many of my reviews can also be found on my blog: www.jennifertarheelreader.com and instagram: www.instagram.com/tarheelreader
November 30, 2019
There was much about this novel I liked at first - the five main characters felt so real and the intensity of their group friendship was moving, as was their struggle to be lesbian in a patriarchal society run by a ruthless dictatorship. But by the half way point I could no longer ignore that the lovely warmth I was feeling for the characters was too often generated by cliched, sappy writing. I wound up skimming the last half as a way to find out what happens to the characters without getting stuck in the sap. While it's not fair to cherry pick a few sentences out of any novel, there were just too many like these for an anti-romantic like me to swallow:
Malena reached her hand out to Romina and rubbed her back. No words, just touch, but Romina seemed to calm and flower open under her lover's hand.
In moments like this one, Ariella seemed a different kind of being, larger than life, shimmering right there at the kitchen table with the superhuman glow of fame, of history, an aura that anointed any mortal permitted to approach.
Ariella was freedom, adventure. But even so, something inside La Venus galloped and flashed, untamed, resisting the harness of someone else's plan.
Malena reached her hand out to Romina and rubbed her back. No words, just touch, but Romina seemed to calm and flower open under her lover's hand.
In moments like this one, Ariella seemed a different kind of being, larger than life, shimmering right there at the kitchen table with the superhuman glow of fame, of history, an aura that anointed any mortal permitted to approach.
Ariella was freedom, adventure. But even so, something inside La Venus galloped and flashed, untamed, resisting the harness of someone else's plan.
June 26, 2021
So I don't think anyone pays close enough attention to my reviews to notice how often I usually publish reviews, but I've definitely been in a reading slump recently. I'm usually someone that reads 3-5 books a week, but I've finished two in the last couple weeks. Just in the last week I've picked up and begun a half dozen books or so of various types and genres but none could hold my attention- and that's nothing on the books but on me! (It also hasn't helped that the Suns are making a playoff run)
Though sometimes to get through a slump you need something special, and Cantoras is exactly that book for me. This book is special. I bought it a while ago but never got around to reading it even after reading rave review after rave review, but I do think I picked the right time to read this.
This book follows five women over decades in Uruguay. They are Flaca, Romina, La Venus (Amata), Malena, and Paz. Five queer women trying to carve a place for themselves in the middle of an oppressive dictatorship. On a whim in 1977 they take a trip to Cabo Polonio, a small cape as a refuge, and are forever bonded from there. And we experience their story in the coming years.
I don't really know what I can add to this book that hasn't been said before in other brilliant reviews, but I definitely will second the thoughts of everyone that has gushed praise on this wonderful, emotional, heartbreaking, and soul healing book. Check out Gabriella's review and Hsinju's review please.
I loved this so much, it tore me apart and rebuilt me. This book really is a masterclass of a story. And (hopefully) it got me over a terrible slump! 5/5
Though sometimes to get through a slump you need something special, and Cantoras is exactly that book for me. This book is special. I bought it a while ago but never got around to reading it even after reading rave review after rave review, but I do think I picked the right time to read this.
This book follows five women over decades in Uruguay. They are Flaca, Romina, La Venus (Amata), Malena, and Paz. Five queer women trying to carve a place for themselves in the middle of an oppressive dictatorship. On a whim in 1977 they take a trip to Cabo Polonio, a small cape as a refuge, and are forever bonded from there. And we experience their story in the coming years.
I don't really know what I can add to this book that hasn't been said before in other brilliant reviews, but I definitely will second the thoughts of everyone that has gushed praise on this wonderful, emotional, heartbreaking, and soul healing book. Check out Gabriella's review and Hsinju's review please.
I loved this so much, it tore me apart and rebuilt me. This book really is a masterclass of a story. And (hopefully) it got me over a terrible slump! 5/5
April 24, 2021
content warnings:
11/19/20 (initial thoughts): In my 22 years of being alive, I have never once cried over a piece of fiction until today. Carolina de Robertis has accomplished the impossible...
12/21/20 (second read):
"It seemed, at times, that this was the only way the world would be remade as the heroes had dreamed: one woman holds another woman, and she in turn lifts the world."
I initially wasn’t going to write this review. I was going to leave it at the two-line review above, because I thought that was all that needed to be said. But now, after having read this book a second time, I’m going to let it all out. So, why did Cantoras make me, a notorious non-crier, SOB like you’d never believe, days and even weeks after the first read? As it turns out, I’m kind of a detached reader. I feel things as I read, of course, but there’s this wall in me that prevents me from taking on the characters’ emotions as my own. I can shut a book and marvel at its brilliance, can place the book on my Favorites shelf, but I don’t really lose myself in the book’s world. I’m no stranger to touching books. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Lilac Girls, The Kite Runner, The Miseducation of Cameron Post…each of these books could have made me cry. So, what is it about Cantoras that finally cracked me? Why this book? Well, I finally have an answer, which can be found in the first chapter.
The first chapter, aptly titled “Escape,” introduces us to the five women, each incredibly distinct, who have taken up residence in my heart and will never leave.
Flaca (21): She’s the leader, the one who started it all, La Pilota. Her confident swagger can’t hide the heart that’s too big for her chest. She does everything she can to keep the family together.
Romina (22): She’s at once the voice of reason, pessimism, and passion. I wanted to hug her, to shake her, to laugh with her. At times I loved her, at times I hated her, and at times I felt for her so much that my heart physically ached.
Anita “La Venus” (27): She’s a free spirit trapped in a life she doesn’t want. Despite everything, she sparkles and makes me think of bright colors. She’s the oldest but has the youngest soul. She is “art” personified.
Malena (25): The one who takes up the most space in my heart, who occupies the #1 spot on the list of Characters Gabriella Would Die For. She’s guarded and prickly, but she’s achingly perceptive and empathetic. She may be quiet, but as they say, still waters run deep.
Paz (16): She’s the youngest, but she’s far from naïve. She’s a dreamer, a hustler, and everything in between. Her vulnerability twisted my heart, made me protective, made me want to fight the world for her.
Each of these women needs respite from the oppressiveness that is 1977 Montevideo, Uruguay. Due the unshakeable friendship of Flaca and Romina, this group of five queer women takes a journey to Cabo Polonio, a remote cape, where they are free to be themselves for a week. Aside from Flaca and Romina, no one really knows one another, but their common goal unites them instantly.
"They’d been forming a kind of family, woven from cast-offs, like a quilt made from strips of leftover fabric no one wanted. They wanted each other. They had to stay woven. They could not fray."
In Chapter One, their bond ignites like crackling flame. They’re finally able to be themselves, take off their masks; the five-way bond is titillating. Carolina de Robertis weaves a five-way lifeline, using words in the most exquisite way possible, bringing these characters to life for me. Somewhere in this chapter, while I didn’t realize it at the time, my detachment floated away, forever lost to the ocean near Cabo Polonio. These characters became my friends, my family, my heart. From then on, their triumphs and their heartbreaks became my own. I wanted to step through the pages, travel to another time and place, look each woman in the eye and say, “I will do everything in my power to make sure you stay happy like this, that the lights from your first visit to Cabo Polonio never fade.”
My idealized visions were impossible, of course, since this is a novel about the harsh realities of dictatorship, prejudice, and the ways we can hurt the ones we love. And oh god, the realities are harsh. Certain events felt like someone was twisting a knife through my heart; I had no idea that I would ever be able to experience pain like that from a piece of fiction. It was so painful that, during the first days post-read, parts of me regretted reading the book. But oh my god, a part of me knew I was done for before even finishing that first chapter. That I would go down with the proverbial ship (the ship being this whole book). And all that beauty, that beautifully healing ending, made it so, so worth it.
(4/23/21: I'm unhinged and I made a meme because sometimes I use humor as a coping mechanism.)
My feelings for this book wouldn’t have been possible without Carolina de Robertis’ divine use of language. I have never read a book in which words are used so exquisitely. The opening paragraphs are omniscient; we’re on the outside, watching something incredible take flight. But soon we’re in close third person that moves seamlessly from character to character in a way that never feels like head-hopping. There are some very long sentences in this book – the kind that take up half a page – but they’re never overlong. They end exactly where they should, and each comma, each word, is so artfully placed that the sentences flow, reflect your own thoughts. And don’t even get me started on the metaphors and symbolism, which can be devoured and analyzed for hours. Seriously, it needs to be read to be believed.
This book made me feel so deeply, so wholly, that it can’t not be my favorite book of all time. Reading it has made me grow as a reader, as a thinker, as an empathizer, and as a human. This isn’t a book for everyone; it explores some very heavy topics. But if you’re up for it, if you’re in the mood to feel a queer literary story with every cell in your body, then Cantoras may be the perfect book for you.
Tl;dr (aka my reading experience summed up in Spongebob gifs (because sometimes this guy expresses emotions better than I do)):
(Buddy read with Hsinju! I am beyond grateful that I read this book with an incredible reading buddy who loved Cantoras just as much as I did. Check out their amazing review here!)
11/19/20 (initial thoughts): In my 22 years of being alive, I have never once cried over a piece of fiction until today. Carolina de Robertis has accomplished the impossible...
12/21/20 (second read):
"It seemed, at times, that this was the only way the world would be remade as the heroes had dreamed: one woman holds another woman, and she in turn lifts the world."
I initially wasn’t going to write this review. I was going to leave it at the two-line review above, because I thought that was all that needed to be said. But now, after having read this book a second time, I’m going to let it all out. So, why did Cantoras make me, a notorious non-crier, SOB like you’d never believe, days and even weeks after the first read? As it turns out, I’m kind of a detached reader. I feel things as I read, of course, but there’s this wall in me that prevents me from taking on the characters’ emotions as my own. I can shut a book and marvel at its brilliance, can place the book on my Favorites shelf, but I don’t really lose myself in the book’s world. I’m no stranger to touching books. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Lilac Girls, The Kite Runner, The Miseducation of Cameron Post…each of these books could have made me cry. So, what is it about Cantoras that finally cracked me? Why this book? Well, I finally have an answer, which can be found in the first chapter.
The first chapter, aptly titled “Escape,” introduces us to the five women, each incredibly distinct, who have taken up residence in my heart and will never leave.
Flaca (21): She’s the leader, the one who started it all, La Pilota. Her confident swagger can’t hide the heart that’s too big for her chest. She does everything she can to keep the family together.
Romina (22): She’s at once the voice of reason, pessimism, and passion. I wanted to hug her, to shake her, to laugh with her. At times I loved her, at times I hated her, and at times I felt for her so much that my heart physically ached.
Anita “La Venus” (27): She’s a free spirit trapped in a life she doesn’t want. Despite everything, she sparkles and makes me think of bright colors. She’s the oldest but has the youngest soul. She is “art” personified.
Malena (25): The one who takes up the most space in my heart, who occupies the #1 spot on the list of Characters Gabriella Would Die For. She’s guarded and prickly, but she’s achingly perceptive and empathetic. She may be quiet, but as they say, still waters run deep.
Paz (16): She’s the youngest, but she’s far from naïve. She’s a dreamer, a hustler, and everything in between. Her vulnerability twisted my heart, made me protective, made me want to fight the world for her.
Each of these women needs respite from the oppressiveness that is 1977 Montevideo, Uruguay. Due the unshakeable friendship of Flaca and Romina, this group of five queer women takes a journey to Cabo Polonio, a remote cape, where they are free to be themselves for a week. Aside from Flaca and Romina, no one really knows one another, but their common goal unites them instantly.
"They’d been forming a kind of family, woven from cast-offs, like a quilt made from strips of leftover fabric no one wanted. They wanted each other. They had to stay woven. They could not fray."
In Chapter One, their bond ignites like crackling flame. They’re finally able to be themselves, take off their masks; the five-way bond is titillating. Carolina de Robertis weaves a five-way lifeline, using words in the most exquisite way possible, bringing these characters to life for me. Somewhere in this chapter, while I didn’t realize it at the time, my detachment floated away, forever lost to the ocean near Cabo Polonio. These characters became my friends, my family, my heart. From then on, their triumphs and their heartbreaks became my own. I wanted to step through the pages, travel to another time and place, look each woman in the eye and say, “I will do everything in my power to make sure you stay happy like this, that the lights from your first visit to Cabo Polonio never fade.”
My idealized visions were impossible, of course, since this is a novel about the harsh realities of dictatorship, prejudice, and the ways we can hurt the ones we love. And oh god, the realities are harsh. Certain events felt like someone was twisting a knife through my heart; I had no idea that I would ever be able to experience pain like that from a piece of fiction. It was so painful that, during the first days post-read, parts of me regretted reading the book. But oh my god, a part of me knew I was done for before even finishing that first chapter. That I would go down with the proverbial ship (the ship being this whole book). And all that beauty, that beautifully healing ending, made it so, so worth it.
(4/23/21: I'm unhinged and I made a meme because sometimes I use humor as a coping mechanism.)
My feelings for this book wouldn’t have been possible without Carolina de Robertis’ divine use of language. I have never read a book in which words are used so exquisitely. The opening paragraphs are omniscient; we’re on the outside, watching something incredible take flight. But soon we’re in close third person that moves seamlessly from character to character in a way that never feels like head-hopping. There are some very long sentences in this book – the kind that take up half a page – but they’re never overlong. They end exactly where they should, and each comma, each word, is so artfully placed that the sentences flow, reflect your own thoughts. And don’t even get me started on the metaphors and symbolism, which can be devoured and analyzed for hours. Seriously, it needs to be read to be believed.
This book made me feel so deeply, so wholly, that it can’t not be my favorite book of all time. Reading it has made me grow as a reader, as a thinker, as an empathizer, and as a human. This isn’t a book for everyone; it explores some very heavy topics. But if you’re up for it, if you’re in the mood to feel a queer literary story with every cell in your body, then Cantoras may be the perfect book for you.
Tl;dr (aka my reading experience summed up in Spongebob gifs (because sometimes this guy expresses emotions better than I do)):
(Buddy read with Hsinju! I am beyond grateful that I read this book with an incredible reading buddy who loved Cantoras just as much as I did. Check out their amazing review here!)
December 22, 2020
Audiobook Review & 2nd Read Thoughts
For a full review of the story, including content warnings, please read my first review on the paperback version.
These days, when I open my calendar app, it is almost always in 1977. Cantoras opened that year, and I find myself staring at the dates Paz, Flaca, Malena, Romina, and La Venus (in order of appearance) first visited Cabo Polonio, the week-long trip that changed their lives. And mine.
I love the book with my whole heart. When I decided to check out the audiobook right after finishing the paperback, I did not know I would also end up falling in love with this version. Narrated by the author, I knew listening to Cantoras would bring me closer to the characters, closer to the story.
And did it ever.
Revisiting the book after only one month since finishing it for the first time and flipping through the pages everyday for the past weeks, I’d say a sizable chunk of the writing was already forever seared into my memory. The intensity Cantoras initially brought has now pulsed to a softer, yet forever aching throb in my heart, and I can finally experience the beautiful joy and wholesomeness of the book amidst the heartbreak of it all.
The pacing felt a bit different upon reread; the story seemed to be faster but in more details at the same time. With the calming flow of De Robertis’s voice, the listening experience was like hearing a friend reminiscing the past, a past which I shared from reading the evocative writing last month. The voices of the characters weren’t exactly what I had expected. But much like the higher pitched, almost hilarious voice of Romina, yet so filled with resilience and surety, everything works perfectly. We have the soft, “honey-coated” voice of Malena, the deeper, more powerful one of Flaca, the rather sultry, breathy voice of La Venus, and the energetic, younger voice of Paz. It was wonderful to hear how the words were spoken, how the author sounded out the rhythm in the sentences, and how the cantoras banter back and forth. Threaded in the dialogues were affection, familiarity, playfulness, and pain, and through the audio, the personalities of the characters were more vivid, the group dynamics even more vibrant.
There is so much to this book that even reading it for the second time (and quite possibly having skimmed it for twenty times already), I still find new gems among the words. Listening made it almost impossible to miss the details—details that killed me a little inside, that made me want to claw at my heart, to scream and cry and crumple all at the same time, and details that put a content smile on my face, my heart relieved and happy for the characters. My love for the cantoras grew, shifted for some but stronger and deeper.
And when I look up to the sky at night and see the moon, be it “a meager slice” or not, it feels comforting to know that they, the cantoras, have shared the view of the same moon with me, as time and space collapse into one.
Buddy read with Gabriella! Without her, there would be none of this experience, and I am whole-heartedly thankful for having this shared journey. Check out her incredible review here!
For a full review of the story, including content warnings, please read my first review on the paperback version.
“I feel that way too,” Malena said, reaching her palms toward the embers. “As if part of me won’t ever leave.”
These days, when I open my calendar app, it is almost always in 1977. Cantoras opened that year, and I find myself staring at the dates Paz, Flaca, Malena, Romina, and La Venus (in order of appearance) first visited Cabo Polonio, the week-long trip that changed their lives. And mine.
I love the book with my whole heart. When I decided to check out the audiobook right after finishing the paperback, I did not know I would also end up falling in love with this version. Narrated by the author, I knew listening to Cantoras would bring me closer to the characters, closer to the story.
And did it ever.
Revisiting the book after only one month since finishing it for the first time and flipping through the pages everyday for the past weeks, I’d say a sizable chunk of the writing was already forever seared into my memory. The intensity Cantoras initially brought has now pulsed to a softer, yet forever aching throb in my heart, and I can finally experience the beautiful joy and wholesomeness of the book amidst the heartbreak of it all.
The pacing felt a bit different upon reread; the story seemed to be faster but in more details at the same time. With the calming flow of De Robertis’s voice, the listening experience was like hearing a friend reminiscing the past, a past which I shared from reading the evocative writing last month. The voices of the characters weren’t exactly what I had expected. But much like the higher pitched, almost hilarious voice of Romina, yet so filled with resilience and surety, everything works perfectly. We have the soft, “honey-coated” voice of Malena, the deeper, more powerful one of Flaca, the rather sultry, breathy voice of La Venus, and the energetic, younger voice of Paz. It was wonderful to hear how the words were spoken, how the author sounded out the rhythm in the sentences, and how the cantoras banter back and forth. Threaded in the dialogues were affection, familiarity, playfulness, and pain, and through the audio, the personalities of the characters were more vivid, the group dynamics even more vibrant.
There is so much to this book that even reading it for the second time (and quite possibly having skimmed it for twenty times already), I still find new gems among the words. Listening made it almost impossible to miss the details—details that killed me a little inside, that made me want to claw at my heart, to scream and cry and crumple all at the same time, and details that put a content smile on my face, my heart relieved and happy for the characters. My love for the cantoras grew, shifted for some but stronger and deeper.
And when I look up to the sky at night and see the moon, be it “a meager slice” or not, it feels comforting to know that they, the cantoras, have shared the view of the same moon with me, as time and space collapse into one.
Buddy read with Gabriella! Without her, there would be none of this experience, and I am whole-heartedly thankful for having this shared journey. Check out her incredible review here!
June 7, 2019
Cantoras is the second book that I’ve read by this author, The Gods of Tango being the first and that one took me two tries to finish because both stories are heavy reading. Cantoras, which is the Spanish word for female singers and old timey slang for Lesbians, is a telling of five women who discover each other the way women do, by a glance, certain body language, or via a few choice remarks. They’re very young and desperate to breathe and be who they imagine themselves to be. But this is the 1970’s in Uruguay and South America during the rule of heinous military dictatorships when ordinary people living ordinary lives were disappeared and tortured in prisons simply for the crime of existing. In addition, being a Latina woman brings about its own “esposas” or handcuffs, the obligatory pathway to being a man’s wife, most certainly not a lover of other women and especially not in those times.
Amidst this suffocating mix of fear and despair, Anita, Flaca, Romina, Malena, and Paz venture to an isolated beach town to steal a bit of freedom. There begins an epic tale of intense friendships that span nearly 40 years through fiery loves and tragedy, intricate layers of character portrayals that wrung out every one of my emotions as they played out in such a natural way that it felt like the stories of real women. I have a weakness for lyrical word craft and nearly every one of her lines is a scorching beauty. “I can’t spend my life staring down the gun barrel of the past.”(Uncorrected proof) That in essence is this story, women triumphing beyond unimaginable pain and scars. 5+ stars for Cantoras. I read this arc courtesy of Netgalley and Knopf in exchange for an honest review.
Amidst this suffocating mix of fear and despair, Anita, Flaca, Romina, Malena, and Paz venture to an isolated beach town to steal a bit of freedom. There begins an epic tale of intense friendships that span nearly 40 years through fiery loves and tragedy, intricate layers of character portrayals that wrung out every one of my emotions as they played out in such a natural way that it felt like the stories of real women. I have a weakness for lyrical word craft and nearly every one of her lines is a scorching beauty. “I can’t spend my life staring down the gun barrel of the past.”(Uncorrected proof) That in essence is this story, women triumphing beyond unimaginable pain and scars. 5+ stars for Cantoras. I read this arc courtesy of Netgalley and Knopf in exchange for an honest review.
May 27, 2019
A novel written by a Uruguayan-born author inspired by five queer women who discovered a sanctuary on the coast in a sanctuary called Cabo Polonio doesn’t exactly have the best-seller label all over it.
But when the author is Carolina de Robertis – the author of the outstanding book Perla – and the women represent any one of us who yearn for a feeling of safety, home and family, the book cries out to be read.
For anyone who loves books that ask the question, “What does it take to be human?”, my answer is: read Cantoras. It’s a beautiful book, exquisitely written, and passionately felt. And it tackles what it means to live, survive, and belong to each other and to a land that’s far older than the soldiers and the generals who try to redefine it and soil it. As a military dictatorship firms its hold on Uruguay from 1973 to 1985, targeting anyone who is not “normal” for punishment, five women refuse to have their authentic flame extinguished.
They adopt the term “cantoras” – translated as singers – and away from the blinding city lights of Montevideo, they discover how to laugh, flirt, dream, share secrets, and most of all, to sing. As one character says to another, “Well, thank goodness you make her sing What’s a life without music?” Mostly young and mainly single when they meet, they blossom and grow together and learn new ways to interweave with each other. Even at time when they don’t believe in the fundamental goodness of human souls, they believe in “the shimmering power they generated collectively by being awake and together in this room.”
Beyond all else, the book is an ode to the enduring power of loving strongly and without boundaries. It will hopefully receive the wide readership it deserves.
But when the author is Carolina de Robertis – the author of the outstanding book Perla – and the women represent any one of us who yearn for a feeling of safety, home and family, the book cries out to be read.
For anyone who loves books that ask the question, “What does it take to be human?”, my answer is: read Cantoras. It’s a beautiful book, exquisitely written, and passionately felt. And it tackles what it means to live, survive, and belong to each other and to a land that’s far older than the soldiers and the generals who try to redefine it and soil it. As a military dictatorship firms its hold on Uruguay from 1973 to 1985, targeting anyone who is not “normal” for punishment, five women refuse to have their authentic flame extinguished.
They adopt the term “cantoras” – translated as singers – and away from the blinding city lights of Montevideo, they discover how to laugh, flirt, dream, share secrets, and most of all, to sing. As one character says to another, “Well, thank goodness you make her sing What’s a life without music?” Mostly young and mainly single when they meet, they blossom and grow together and learn new ways to interweave with each other. Even at time when they don’t believe in the fundamental goodness of human souls, they believe in “the shimmering power they generated collectively by being awake and together in this room.”
Beyond all else, the book is an ode to the enduring power of loving strongly and without boundaries. It will hopefully receive the wide readership it deserves.
July 22, 2021
I began to read Cantoras a couple of years ago, soon after its release, and stopped only a few pages in. Typically, I don't seek out books again after I've let them go — I trust my instincts that a read just isn't for me — but my instincts here told me Right book, wrong time. And so when I crossed paths again with Cantoras in the library last week, I felt it might be the time.
Here's to second chances. Cantoras seduced me with its stunning prose, its remarkable women, and its chilling reminders that history will take advantage of our willing ignorance and repeat itself while we hit the refresh button, hoping the news has changed.
Opening in 1977, four years after a US-backed coup d'etat destroyed democracy in Uruguay and ushered in a military dictatorship, Cantoras opens up the lives of five women — friends, lovers, freedom fighters, artists — all queer at a time when revealing one's true sexuality could be a death sentence.
These women—Flaca, Romina, Malena, Anita "La Venus", and Paz — dub themselves cantoras, or singers in Spanish, a coded word they use to define others like them, women who desire, and love, women. They meet by chance, tentatively trusting signals that they are safe with each other, and through Flaca they discover the secluded oceanside village of Cabo Polonia where they retreat from the oppression of the military dictatorship that flattens their city of Montevideo into a drab shadow.
Scraping together a small sum of money, the cantoras purchase a ramshackle fishing hut which they name La Proa, The Prow, and over the decades they meet up a few times a year at La Proa to find relief from their secret lives in the city. In between, the women find a way to sustain themselves in hope despite the brutal regime that exacts a toll in each of their lives.
I was fascinated by Uruguay's modern history, mirroring that of its South American neighbors — Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Paraguay — which also endured brutal regimes, disappeared citizens, decades of terror and still bear the scars in their shifting economic and political stability. I was also chilled by the parallel to our current times, how quickly we acquiesce and normalize the absurd, how willingly we allow the shaming and silencing of disparate voices, how fear pervades and compels us to sacrifice our fundamental freedoms. “The essence of dictatorship is that no matter where you are or how ordinary you seem, you’re in a cage.”
Cantoras is a beautiful and bold story of the power of friendship, female sexuality, political resistance, and social change. Highly recommended.
Here's to second chances. Cantoras seduced me with its stunning prose, its remarkable women, and its chilling reminders that history will take advantage of our willing ignorance and repeat itself while we hit the refresh button, hoping the news has changed.
Opening in 1977, four years after a US-backed coup d'etat destroyed democracy in Uruguay and ushered in a military dictatorship, Cantoras opens up the lives of five women — friends, lovers, freedom fighters, artists — all queer at a time when revealing one's true sexuality could be a death sentence.
These women—Flaca, Romina, Malena, Anita "La Venus", and Paz — dub themselves cantoras, or singers in Spanish, a coded word they use to define others like them, women who desire, and love, women. They meet by chance, tentatively trusting signals that they are safe with each other, and through Flaca they discover the secluded oceanside village of Cabo Polonia where they retreat from the oppression of the military dictatorship that flattens their city of Montevideo into a drab shadow.
Scraping together a small sum of money, the cantoras purchase a ramshackle fishing hut which they name La Proa, The Prow, and over the decades they meet up a few times a year at La Proa to find relief from their secret lives in the city. In between, the women find a way to sustain themselves in hope despite the brutal regime that exacts a toll in each of their lives.
I was fascinated by Uruguay's modern history, mirroring that of its South American neighbors — Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Paraguay — which also endured brutal regimes, disappeared citizens, decades of terror and still bear the scars in their shifting economic and political stability. I was also chilled by the parallel to our current times, how quickly we acquiesce and normalize the absurd, how willingly we allow the shaming and silencing of disparate voices, how fear pervades and compels us to sacrifice our fundamental freedoms. “The essence of dictatorship is that no matter where you are or how ordinary you seem, you’re in a cage.”
Cantoras is a beautiful and bold story of the power of friendship, female sexuality, political resistance, and social change. Highly recommended.
October 2, 2019
A moving and original story of found family for a group of young, lesbian women in Uruguay under a dictatorship. Right away I was pulled into the story and struck by how unique it felt, this is the first time I've read De Robertis and I was immediately captivated. She expertly navigates how they struggle with the intersections of political and social oppression for their gender and their sexual orientation.
While they do not have an easy life and there is much struggle, most of this book didn't have the feeling of overwhelming queer suffering that often goes along with these narratives. The characters are so vibrant and so hopeful, they take so much comfort and pleasure in each other, that it is a mostly optimistic book. That said, the final fourth of the book does involve multiple content warnings, including suicide and conversion therapy. I appreciate this kind of story being told, but it was hard to end on that note after the rest of the book.
While they do not have an easy life and there is much struggle, most of this book didn't have the feeling of overwhelming queer suffering that often goes along with these narratives. The characters are so vibrant and so hopeful, they take so much comfort and pleasure in each other, that it is a mostly optimistic book. That said, the final fourth of the book does involve multiple content warnings, including suicide and conversion therapy. I appreciate this kind of story being told, but it was hard to end on that note after the rest of the book.
February 18, 2022
Yes! Now I need more books that follow a large cast of Queer women who create wholesome spaces to fully embrace themselves, each other and unpack deep complex emotional issues :-) Robertis effortlessly captured a part of Uruguay history through a queer lens and I gobbled it
April 25, 2022
Five women, all desperate for freedom to be themselves as queer women come alive in these pages. Flaca, Romina, Malena, Paz and La Venus each have unique struggles within their personal lives and with Uruguay's repressive dictatorship. Together they create a refuge. De Robertis skillfully weaves each woman's story into a novel that is hopeful without being simplistic.
April 17, 2024
4.5/5 Stars
I'm sure like many other readers, I was inspired to pick this book up thanks to the wonderful Hsinju and Gabriella who absolutely adored this book, and I finally picked it up this month!
The novel follows five queer women living in Uruguay in the 1970s, through the dictatorship, who find a sort of refuge in a small seaside hamlet where they can truly be themselves - cantoras, slang for sapphics at the time.
Carolina De Robertis' writing is so lush and gorgeous and really lends itself to creating the beautiful refuge of Cabo Polonio, from the rocky shore to the little shack that the women find solace in. Several times while reading, I found myself wanting to go back and highlight and annotate everything it was that gorgeous. I absolutely loved getting to know all five of the women and seeing their relationships with themselves, with each other, and those outside their group change and morph as the story went on, and I got so attached to them all. In particular, the youngest of the group, Paz, really stuck out to me and I think I would definitely say that she was my favourite character in the book. Getting to grow up alongside her and seeing her grow into her queerness was so wonderful.
As gorgeous as this book was, it does take place during a dictatorship, and so I urge you to take a look at the content warnings before picking this book up. Especially at the end, I found it to be quite triggering, despite knowing what was ahead of me while reading, so please do take care of yourselves.
If I had to critique the book, I think that it honestly could have been shorter, and I think that Malena's characterisation near the end felt so unfamiliar to how she acted throughout the rest of the book (in particular towards the other women and Romina, though I do understand her actions at the end otherwise), and it sort of flung me out of the book.
Regardless, as someone who doesn't read a lot of historical fiction, especially adult historical fiction, this was truly a wonderful read that I'm already looking forward to re-reading, and I can't wait to read more by De Robertis in the future!
Want more sapphic books? You can find me here: Book Blog | Twitter | Instagram
I'm sure like many other readers, I was inspired to pick this book up thanks to the wonderful Hsinju and Gabriella who absolutely adored this book, and I finally picked it up this month!
The novel follows five queer women living in Uruguay in the 1970s, through the dictatorship, who find a sort of refuge in a small seaside hamlet where they can truly be themselves - cantoras, slang for sapphics at the time.
Carolina De Robertis' writing is so lush and gorgeous and really lends itself to creating the beautiful refuge of Cabo Polonio, from the rocky shore to the little shack that the women find solace in. Several times while reading, I found myself wanting to go back and highlight and annotate everything it was that gorgeous. I absolutely loved getting to know all five of the women and seeing their relationships with themselves, with each other, and those outside their group change and morph as the story went on, and I got so attached to them all. In particular, the youngest of the group, Paz, really stuck out to me and I think I would definitely say that she was my favourite character in the book. Getting to grow up alongside her and seeing her grow into her queerness was so wonderful.
As gorgeous as this book was, it does take place during a dictatorship, and so I urge you to take a look at the content warnings before picking this book up. Especially at the end, I found it to be quite triggering, despite knowing what was ahead of me while reading, so please do take care of yourselves.
If I had to critique the book, I think that it honestly could have been shorter, and I think that Malena's characterisation near the end felt so unfamiliar to how she acted throughout the rest of the book (in particular towards the other women and Romina, though I do understand her actions at the end otherwise), and it sort of flung me out of the book.
Regardless, as someone who doesn't read a lot of historical fiction, especially adult historical fiction, this was truly a wonderful read that I'm already looking forward to re-reading, and I can't wait to read more by De Robertis in the future!
Want more sapphic books? You can find me here: Book Blog | Twitter | Instagram
April 16, 2019
This book is fabulous and I learned so much by reading it. This historical fiction is about 5 queer women ( Flaca, Romina, Anita - La Venus, Malenia and Paz) who meet under various situations and decide to travel to this beach called Cabo Polonio. This beach becomes there refuge during a volatile time in Uruguay. Over the course of many years (teens to older adults), they see things change not only in Uruguay but on the beach they claimed as their own in early adulthood. Lovers come and go, but their friendship and the fact that they are queer remains.
With the above said, this book is deep, sad, frightening, loving, happy, infuriating and a host of other emotions. Because this book partially takes place after a coop, there are many horrors that happen but not necessarily given in detail. Some is eluded too and some are explain during the course of the book. If I went into detail, I would be giving up things you need to discover on your own. I truly never anticipated that I would touched like I was reading this. In many ways, it reminds me of the Color Purple. Anyway, I loved this book!
I give this one 5 stars! This ARC was provided by Netgalley and the Publisher for an honest review.
With the above said, this book is deep, sad, frightening, loving, happy, infuriating and a host of other emotions. Because this book partially takes place after a coop, there are many horrors that happen but not necessarily given in detail. Some is eluded too and some are explain during the course of the book. If I went into detail, I would be giving up things you need to discover on your own. I truly never anticipated that I would touched like I was reading this. In many ways, it reminds me of the Color Purple. Anyway, I loved this book!
I give this one 5 stars! This ARC was provided by Netgalley and the Publisher for an honest review.
June 22, 2022
Lesbijska utopia, trochę thriller, miejscami poemat i do tego bajka. “Cantoras”, książka urugwajsko-amerykańskiej pisarki Caroliny De Robertis (tłum. Izabela Matuszewska) ma wszystko, by stać się jedną z najważniejszych queerowych opowieści nie tylko tego roku.
Jest rok 1977 i od kilku lat Urugwaj, kraj będący kiedyś “oazą spokoju” ugina się pod ciężkim butem wojskowej dyktatury. Prawo oficjalnie nie ściga osób homoseksualnych, ale kto by się tu przejmował prawem, gdy do więzienia można trafić za zorganizowanie domówki? Do 1973 roku “ta szara myszka kontynentu” rozwijała się całkiem harmonijnie - wprowadzono prawa wyborcze dla kobiet, rozdzielono państwo od Kościoła, legalne były rozwody i dzień pracy oficjalnie zakończył się po ośmiu godzinach. “Lekcje historii w liceum opowiadały o postępowej demokracji, o wzorze godnym naśladowania, klejnocie Ameryki Łacińskiej” - opowiada narratorka książki De Robertis.
Wszystko zmieniło się jednego dnia. 27 czerwca 1973 gazety ogłosiły rozwiązanie parlamentu. Coś, co na papierze wyglądało na pokojowy proces, było w rzeczywistości zamachem stanu. De Robertis w “Cantoras” opowiada o losie kilku nieheteroseksualnych kobiet, które kilka lat później decydują się uciec z Montevideo, stolicy kraju, która zaczęła przypominać “wielkie więzienie na otwartym powietrzu”. Znajdują dom na odludnym wybrzeżu, w “strefie, gdzie nikt nas nie może znaleźć”, jak mówi jedna z nich. Autorka splata losy pięciu różniących się życiowym doświadczeniem kobiet, by stworzyć coś, co przypomina symfonię poświęconą nienormatywnej miłości, ale też po prostu byciu kobietą w świecie patriarchatu i dyktatury. Sam ten pomysł może wydawać się sztuczny i niekoniecznie oryginalny, ale De Robertis po mistrzowsku opisuje napięcia między swoimi bohaterkami, pokazując jak wiele odcieni może mieć relacja w kobiecym stadzie.
“Cantoras” nie zatrzymuje się w latach 70. Bohaterki będą wieść życie pomiędzy Montevideo, a odludziem, tworząc “coś w rodzaju rodziny, utkanej z wyrzutków społeczeństwa niczym kapa uszyta ze zbędnych resztek materiału”. Zmieniają się ich relacje, jedne związki się rozpadają, inne się pojawiają, a bohaterki powoli od siebie się oddalają, ale bezpieczna przystań na bezludziu wciąż jest wybawieniem od opresyjnej codzienności. Jednocześnie bohaterki zdają sobie sprawę z tego, że nawet gdy ustanie reżim, to “nie czeka nas słońce i tęcza, bo dopiero wtedy zacznie się prawdziwa praca”. Utopia, ale nie naiwna. Gdy z powrotem nastanie w Urugwaju demokracja, bohaterki De Robertis będą wobec niej bardzo ostrożne. To przypomina mi wciąż nieopisany przez literaturę z perspektywy osób nieheteronormatywnych przełom lat 80. i 90. w Polsce - czy 89 rok był przełomem? A może w tej “naszej” perspektywie jednak tylko kontynuacją powolnego marszu ku widzialności? Jaka jest cena kapitalizmu, który przyczynił się do liberalizacji społeczeństwa?
“Piaszczyste wydmy spowijała noc. Wokół cienkiego sierpa księżyca jazgotały gwiazdy” - język, którym napisana jest powieść Caroliny De Robertis bywa poetycki, ale w dawkach nieprzesadnych, choć niekiedy potrafi zmęczyć nadmiarem metafor. Na szczęście jest też konkretna i brutalna, bo to przecież książka o próbie zbudowania utopii w świecie, którym zawładnęła przemoc.
To, co mnie najbardziej w "Cantoras" zachwyca, to fakt, że jest powieścią o walce i oporze pozbawioną oczywistej w tej sytuacji publicystyki, a skupiającą się na emocjach. De Robertis przez swoje bohaterki pokazuje, jak różne są osoby queer (niekoniecznie polubicie każdą z nich) i jak nieoczywistą sprawą jest tożsamość, zwłaszcza w opresyjnym świecie. Idealne w proporcjach połączenie queerowej bajki z thrillerem.
Hannah Williams w kapitalnym eseju “modern nature and queer literature’s yearning for the sea” zauważyła, że: “Morze i queer zawsze były ze sobą powiązane. Fale były przestrzenią graniczną, pozbawioną związków z lądowymi, społecznymi strukturami”. Jak pisał e.e. cummings w wierszu “Maggie i Milly, i Molly, i May”: “zawsze morze nas samych odnaleźć nam da” (tłum. S. Barańczak).
W “Cantoras” De Robertis pisze, że “każda fala napływała z własną, niepowtarzalną pieśnią i podwodnymi prądami, dającymi krótkie wytchnienie od grawitacji”. Morze - o czym pisze Williams i inne osoby zajmujące się teorią “queerowej ekologii” - jest miejscem, w którym działają kody i rytuały obce przybyszom spoza podwodnego świata. Podobnie dzieje się w queerowej utopii. Bohaterki powieści urugwajskiej pisarki mówią o sobie, że są “cantoras”, “śpiewaczkami”, choć wcale nie mają na myśli śpiewaczek. Nie wszystkie na początku znają to słowo. Jedna z nich, mężatka, która zostawiła w Montevideo rodzinę i wybrała życie w lesbijskiej utopii, jest nim wyraźnie zaskoczona - “obracała to słowo w myślach. “Cantora”. Jego konotacje były piękne, lecz również obsceniczne”. Obce rytuały i słowa zyskują nowe znaczenia. Warto zauważyć - jak już przy morzu jesteśmy - że bohaterowie “Lubiewa” swoją tajną przystań znajdują nad morzem. “Morze stoi płaskie i srebrne, wiatru nie ma. W tym płaskim jeziorze stoją zanurzeni nieruchomi ludzie. Jak na obrazku przedstawiającym chrzest w Jordanie. Ale grzechu już nie ma”, pisze Witkowski. Grzech jest na wydmach, w morzu człowiek jest czysty, równy innym. W “Cantoras” pierwsza scena intymna odbywa się w wodzie. Świetnie to jest rozegrane od strony symbolicznej.
“Cantoras” to książka o tym, że aby choć na chwilę uciec grawitacji, trzeba śpiewać własną, niepowtarzalną pieśń. Autorka pisze, że queerowa miłość pozwala usłyszeć “odgłosy rozdzieranego świata, otwierającego się na inne, szersze przestrzenie, do tej pory nieosiągalne”. I właśnie taka to jest literatura - otwierająca na przestrzenie do tej pory nieosiągalne. Bardzo warto!
Jest rok 1977 i od kilku lat Urugwaj, kraj będący kiedyś “oazą spokoju” ugina się pod ciężkim butem wojskowej dyktatury. Prawo oficjalnie nie ściga osób homoseksualnych, ale kto by się tu przejmował prawem, gdy do więzienia można trafić za zorganizowanie domówki? Do 1973 roku “ta szara myszka kontynentu” rozwijała się całkiem harmonijnie - wprowadzono prawa wyborcze dla kobiet, rozdzielono państwo od Kościoła, legalne były rozwody i dzień pracy oficjalnie zakończył się po ośmiu godzinach. “Lekcje historii w liceum opowiadały o postępowej demokracji, o wzorze godnym naśladowania, klejnocie Ameryki Łacińskiej” - opowiada narratorka książki De Robertis.
Wszystko zmieniło się jednego dnia. 27 czerwca 1973 gazety ogłosiły rozwiązanie parlamentu. Coś, co na papierze wyglądało na pokojowy proces, było w rzeczywistości zamachem stanu. De Robertis w “Cantoras” opowiada o losie kilku nieheteroseksualnych kobiet, które kilka lat później decydują się uciec z Montevideo, stolicy kraju, która zaczęła przypominać “wielkie więzienie na otwartym powietrzu”. Znajdują dom na odludnym wybrzeżu, w “strefie, gdzie nikt nas nie może znaleźć”, jak mówi jedna z nich. Autorka splata losy pięciu różniących się życiowym doświadczeniem kobiet, by stworzyć coś, co przypomina symfonię poświęconą nienormatywnej miłości, ale też po prostu byciu kobietą w świecie patriarchatu i dyktatury. Sam ten pomysł może wydawać się sztuczny i niekoniecznie oryginalny, ale De Robertis po mistrzowsku opisuje napięcia między swoimi bohaterkami, pokazując jak wiele odcieni może mieć relacja w kobiecym stadzie.
“Cantoras” nie zatrzymuje się w latach 70. Bohaterki będą wieść życie pomiędzy Montevideo, a odludziem, tworząc “coś w rodzaju rodziny, utkanej z wyrzutków społeczeństwa niczym kapa uszyta ze zbędnych resztek materiału”. Zmieniają się ich relacje, jedne związki się rozpadają, inne się pojawiają, a bohaterki powoli od siebie się oddalają, ale bezpieczna przystań na bezludziu wciąż jest wybawieniem od opresyjnej codzienności. Jednocześnie bohaterki zdają sobie sprawę z tego, że nawet gdy ustanie reżim, to “nie czeka nas słońce i tęcza, bo dopiero wtedy zacznie się prawdziwa praca”. Utopia, ale nie naiwna. Gdy z powrotem nastanie w Urugwaju demokracja, bohaterki De Robertis będą wobec niej bardzo ostrożne. To przypomina mi wciąż nieopisany przez literaturę z perspektywy osób nieheteronormatywnych przełom lat 80. i 90. w Polsce - czy 89 rok był przełomem? A może w tej “naszej” perspektywie jednak tylko kontynuacją powolnego marszu ku widzialności? Jaka jest cena kapitalizmu, który przyczynił się do liberalizacji społeczeństwa?
“Piaszczyste wydmy spowijała noc. Wokół cienkiego sierpa księżyca jazgotały gwiazdy” - język, którym napisana jest powieść Caroliny De Robertis bywa poetycki, ale w dawkach nieprzesadnych, choć niekiedy potrafi zmęczyć nadmiarem metafor. Na szczęście jest też konkretna i brutalna, bo to przecież książka o próbie zbudowania utopii w świecie, którym zawładnęła przemoc.
To, co mnie najbardziej w "Cantoras" zachwyca, to fakt, że jest powieścią o walce i oporze pozbawioną oczywistej w tej sytuacji publicystyki, a skupiającą się na emocjach. De Robertis przez swoje bohaterki pokazuje, jak różne są osoby queer (niekoniecznie polubicie każdą z nich) i jak nieoczywistą sprawą jest tożsamość, zwłaszcza w opresyjnym świecie. Idealne w proporcjach połączenie queerowej bajki z thrillerem.
Hannah Williams w kapitalnym eseju “modern nature and queer literature’s yearning for the sea” zauważyła, że: “Morze i queer zawsze były ze sobą powiązane. Fale były przestrzenią graniczną, pozbawioną związków z lądowymi, społecznymi strukturami”. Jak pisał e.e. cummings w wierszu “Maggie i Milly, i Molly, i May”: “zawsze morze nas samych odnaleźć nam da” (tłum. S. Barańczak).
W “Cantoras” De Robertis pisze, że “każda fala napływała z własną, niepowtarzalną pieśnią i podwodnymi prądami, dającymi krótkie wytchnienie od grawitacji”. Morze - o czym pisze Williams i inne osoby zajmujące się teorią “queerowej ekologii” - jest miejscem, w którym działają kody i rytuały obce przybyszom spoza podwodnego świata. Podobnie dzieje się w queerowej utopii. Bohaterki powieści urugwajskiej pisarki mówią o sobie, że są “cantoras”, “śpiewaczkami”, choć wcale nie mają na myśli śpiewaczek. Nie wszystkie na początku znają to słowo. Jedna z nich, mężatka, która zostawiła w Montevideo rodzinę i wybrała życie w lesbijskiej utopii, jest nim wyraźnie zaskoczona - “obracała to słowo w myślach. “Cantora”. Jego konotacje były piękne, lecz również obsceniczne”. Obce rytuały i słowa zyskują nowe znaczenia. Warto zauważyć - jak już przy morzu jesteśmy - że bohaterowie “Lubiewa” swoją tajną przystań znajdują nad morzem. “Morze stoi płaskie i srebrne, wiatru nie ma. W tym płaskim jeziorze stoją zanurzeni nieruchomi ludzie. Jak na obrazku przedstawiającym chrzest w Jordanie. Ale grzechu już nie ma”, pisze Witkowski. Grzech jest na wydmach, w morzu człowiek jest czysty, równy innym. W “Cantoras” pierwsza scena intymna odbywa się w wodzie. Świetnie to jest rozegrane od strony symbolicznej.
“Cantoras” to książka o tym, że aby choć na chwilę uciec grawitacji, trzeba śpiewać własną, niepowtarzalną pieśń. Autorka pisze, że queerowa miłość pozwala usłyszeć “odgłosy rozdzieranego świata, otwierającego się na inne, szersze przestrzenie, do tej pory nieosiągalne”. I właśnie taka to jest literatura - otwierająca na przestrzenie do tej pory nieosiągalne. Bardzo warto!
September 3, 2020
I admit that I had this lesbian historical fiction audiobook on my list to listen for a good while but I couldn’t find the right frame of mind to enjoy it. I knew it wasn’t an easy listening plus I’m not a fan of authors narrating a book as they normally aren’t professionally trained. I finally decided to give it a try and I’m really happy that I did.
‘Cantoras’ follows the story of five lesbian friends in Uruguay from the late 1970s for a period of over 35 years. These five women – “cantoras” (meaning singers but also the slang term for lesbians) – are united by a strong friendship starting in Montevideo (Uruguay’s capital) following to Cabo Polonio, an uninhabited cape located a few hours away. During that period the women will share love, heartbreak, sorrow, and small victories.
This book resonated with me deeply, the main reason is that these women’s stories could be my story too. Unlike the leads, I’m a generation younger and come from Argentina, but the cultural and historical differences stop there. Argentina and Uruguay could be compared to the US and Canada in terms of the same language, similar(ish) traditions, and a common border. Unfortunately, as many Latin American countries, they also shared a similar Twentieth Century history of failed democracy and military dictatorships. I could completely relate to the political climate that surrounded the protagonists, the reign of terror, the “sálvese quien pueda” (every man for himself), the torture, the disappearings, the homophobia. Dangerous times to come out of the closet.
Because I can relate so much with this story – I visited Montevideo and Cabo Polonio a few times and I even drink “yerba mate” every day as the mains do – it’s hard to see if a foreigner to this culture will viscerally understand the story as I did. There are a good amount of words in Spanish and lots of cultural references. Most of them seemed to be explained but I’m not sure. I can definitely relate to the feeling of terror during the military dictatorship, I could sense it in my parents, and I could feel it myself even as a little girl. What I cannot imagine is coming out during those dark times, I was lucky enough to discover my sexuality at the start of our democracy and even then it was hard enough.
Having said all this, and despite how much the reader can understand the cultural, historical, and language contexts, this novel talks to everyone on many levels that transcends the differences and finds a human common ground. Sexism, homophobia, and power abuse is an unfortunate human affliction and rivers of literature can give testimony of that. In that sense, this book rips your heart off, throws it on the ground and stomps on it. Several times. But humanity also has the unlimited ability to redeem itself through friendship, loyalty, and love. Depending on how you read this book you can find solace or despair. Or maybe a little bit of both. My experience was bittersweet but really worth it.
As I said above, I was a bit wary about the author reading her own work as I’ve found that authors usually cannot achieve the same level of excellence compared to professional narrators. I have to admit that this is not the case, Ms. De Robertis nailed this narration. I’m sure she did some kind of voice coaching because all the five characters’ voices are distinctive and her performance of the ample range of emotions is as good as any narrator’s. It’s also an advantage that she can pronounce the Spanish terms as they should sound, and even though she never lived in Uruguay, she sounds like a native.
Overall, an excellent audiobook that I won’t be forgetting any time soon. 5+ stars.
‘Cantoras’ follows the story of five lesbian friends in Uruguay from the late 1970s for a period of over 35 years. These five women – “cantoras” (meaning singers but also the slang term for lesbians) – are united by a strong friendship starting in Montevideo (Uruguay’s capital) following to Cabo Polonio, an uninhabited cape located a few hours away. During that period the women will share love, heartbreak, sorrow, and small victories.
This book resonated with me deeply, the main reason is that these women’s stories could be my story too. Unlike the leads, I’m a generation younger and come from Argentina, but the cultural and historical differences stop there. Argentina and Uruguay could be compared to the US and Canada in terms of the same language, similar(ish) traditions, and a common border. Unfortunately, as many Latin American countries, they also shared a similar Twentieth Century history of failed democracy and military dictatorships. I could completely relate to the political climate that surrounded the protagonists, the reign of terror, the “sálvese quien pueda” (every man for himself), the torture, the disappearings, the homophobia. Dangerous times to come out of the closet.
Because I can relate so much with this story – I visited Montevideo and Cabo Polonio a few times and I even drink “yerba mate” every day as the mains do – it’s hard to see if a foreigner to this culture will viscerally understand the story as I did. There are a good amount of words in Spanish and lots of cultural references. Most of them seemed to be explained but I’m not sure. I can definitely relate to the feeling of terror during the military dictatorship, I could sense it in my parents, and I could feel it myself even as a little girl. What I cannot imagine is coming out during those dark times, I was lucky enough to discover my sexuality at the start of our democracy and even then it was hard enough.
Having said all this, and despite how much the reader can understand the cultural, historical, and language contexts, this novel talks to everyone on many levels that transcends the differences and finds a human common ground. Sexism, homophobia, and power abuse is an unfortunate human affliction and rivers of literature can give testimony of that. In that sense, this book rips your heart off, throws it on the ground and stomps on it. Several times. But humanity also has the unlimited ability to redeem itself through friendship, loyalty, and love. Depending on how you read this book you can find solace or despair. Or maybe a little bit of both. My experience was bittersweet but really worth it.
As I said above, I was a bit wary about the author reading her own work as I’ve found that authors usually cannot achieve the same level of excellence compared to professional narrators. I have to admit that this is not the case, Ms. De Robertis nailed this narration. I’m sure she did some kind of voice coaching because all the five characters’ voices are distinctive and her performance of the ample range of emotions is as good as any narrator’s. It’s also an advantage that she can pronounce the Spanish terms as they should sound, and even though she never lived in Uruguay, she sounds like a native.
Overall, an excellent audiobook that I won’t be forgetting any time soon. 5+ stars.
Read
September 17, 20194.5. I wavered between 4 and 5 stars; I could have easily rounded up as down. Compassionate and moving - hopefully, a full review later.
January 4, 2021
This book touched base very close to my heart.
While reading, I felt that the book was taking me by the hand and making me visit unknown sceneries and distant places inviting me to dream along with the characters.
The story woke in me the need to go through these five women's journey. Those characters that through the chapters, were becoming my friends and my family.
The book whispered in my ear, telling me the characters’ secrets.
It invited me to be a rebel along with these women against restrictions.
And invited me to defend with them their desire to open up to the world.
The pace was so dynamic, that I couldn’t put down the book even for a minute.
There was grief, pain and tough moments along the way too.
Unfortunately, history showed that sometimes the way to treasure freedom occurs after experiencing tyrannical authoritarianism.
The key is to “Remember”, and I think that this book meets the goal.
All I can tell is that CANTORAS will become a reading that you won’t forget.
It will enrich yourself in a great way and will make your heart swell, and will absolutely worth it.
A wonderful story. A testimony
While reading, I felt that the book was taking me by the hand and making me visit unknown sceneries and distant places inviting me to dream along with the characters.
The story woke in me the need to go through these five women's journey. Those characters that through the chapters, were becoming my friends and my family.
The book whispered in my ear, telling me the characters’ secrets.
It invited me to be a rebel along with these women against restrictions.
And invited me to defend with them their desire to open up to the world.
The pace was so dynamic, that I couldn’t put down the book even for a minute.
There was grief, pain and tough moments along the way too.
Unfortunately, history showed that sometimes the way to treasure freedom occurs after experiencing tyrannical authoritarianism.
The key is to “Remember”, and I think that this book meets the goal.
All I can tell is that CANTORAS will become a reading that you won’t forget.
It will enrich yourself in a great way and will make your heart swell, and will absolutely worth it.
A wonderful story. A testimony
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