Carmen Posadas is a literary superstar in Latin America, Spain and other countries in Europe. Originally a children’s author, she turned her pen to writing adult mysteries in 1980. Her second novel – Little Indiscretions – won the Planeta Prize in 1998. Since then she has sold over 1 million books and has been translated into 21 languages. With the paperback edition due to be published next month, it was high time that I read the hardback edition of Child’s Play that Alma Books kindly sent me last autumn.
Posadas, born in Uruguay, educated in Oxford and now a Spanish national, lists Daphne Du Maurier, Roald Dahl and Henry James as her literary inspirations. Elements of all three plus a splash of Conan Doyle are evident in the satiric mystery that is Child’s Play.

When author Luisa Davila enrolls her daughter at her old school, she meets up with two of her childhood friends and memories of a tragedy that involved all three begin to surface. A tragedy with uncanny similarities to the mystery that Luisa’s fictional alterego Carmen O’Inns is solving in her latest crime novel. As Luisa grapples with her novel, her vivid imagination forecasts a repetition of past events in the life of her daughter.
events have a worrying tendency to repeat or imitate themselves, as happens in Greek tragedies, where whatever horrors that occurred in the parents’ infancy get visited upon their chidren, because fate is mischievous and likes looking at itself in mirrors
It’s a book of two halves. The first related in a variety of styles gives us chapters from Luisa’s novel, her musings on the challenges of being a successful author, her worries as a parent. Her lover is not at all what I would have expected. A down-to-earthy paunchy man whose philosophy is designed to contains Luisa’s flights of psychological fancy.
the only valid theory about human behaviour is Julio Iglesias’s: all you can say about people is that sometimes they conform to type, at others not. Or as he puts it: In life, everything is sometimes yes, sometimes no, sometimes you, sometimes me.
This section also documents the friendships and rivalries that Elba, Luisa’s daughter, forms with the children of her mother’s childhood friends. It ends with the forecasted tragedy.
While the first half is written in a variety of styles, the second half switches to an exclusive first-person narrative. The narrowing of the field of vision presents events through Luisa’s subjective viewpoint and enables the reader to solve the mysteries alongside her. Actually the reader get there first, because Luisa is doing her subconscious best not to let the truth emerge.
This is a clever but sparkling read which deconstructs crime fiction while providing satisfying mysteries. The humour is at times ebony black and the pages are laced with astute psychological observation, as you would expect from a Jamesian devotee; the psychological eye trained not only on the characters, but also on author and reader. For example:
If a book draws our attention, it’s because it is telling us something we have already lived, or at least something we have already felt, because according to Nietzsche …. “Nobody can get more than they already know from a book. They lack the ears to hear what they have not deduced from their own lived experience.”
Discuss in comments?







































Der Struwwelpeter auf Englisch - Translated by Mark Twain



















Mystic Pig - Richard Katrovas

























The Latin American Challenge

1. The Blue Fox


Well, it seems rather presumptious to disagree with someone of Nietzsche’s stature, but I do. According to this point of view only our own experiences can really teach us something about life (if I am paraphrasing correctly) and books will only resonate within us if and for as far as we have lived through the same sort of thing.
That’s not true for me. I have gained really stunning new insights from books. The last instance I recall is from Life of Pi. I am and always have been a staunch atheist, but the ending suddenly made me FEEL why some people need the solace of religion. This was an understanding that I had never yet gained from real life (maybe because I am too abtuse).
Of course someone could now claim that I got this insight because it had already been planted there by real life experiences, but that would just be circular reasoning.
A book answers that that is already in us. No-one can appreciate a book unless they are already conditioned to its message. A book moves us on, yes, but if it is too far ahead of us we cannot comprehend its message. If we love a complex book, it is because we are already complex. If we are moved by what we read, it is because our emotions are attuned to the story.
Tom
Tom, you state: “No-one can appreciate a book unless they are already conditioned to its message. ” But what has done the conditioning? Can’t we be conditioned by just about anything? I wouldn’t be surprised if lots of people received their conditioning from watching tv. Jane Austen certainly thought we could be conditioned by books, as the amusing example of Catherine Morley in Northanger Abbey illustrates.
And you say: “If we are moved by what we read, it is because our emotions are attuned to the story.” But why can’t our emotions have become attuned because of what we have been reading in other books? Why can’t we have become complex also by what we have been reading?
In other words, how did the complexity or the emotion get there? It may have been by real life experience, but some book(s) we have been reading may also have directly contributed to it.
We are shaped by everything around us, I think. Which is why I have lots of books everywhere and just a tiny tv somewhere in a closet
Anna, Tom, thanks for kicking this discussion off.
I wonder if it’s a matter of degree? I’m sure we can begin to understand from our reading but for a book to trigger a 5-star visceral reaction, I believe you need an element of real-life experience and identification with it. Could that explain, Anna, why the atheistic Hermans got a 5-star from you, a 4-star from me? I’ve had a look over my 5-star reads from the past two years. Oh dear, more than their fair share involve deception, depression and madness …. I’d better deflect this and quickly!
Why do you think that Edmund Wilson said “No two people read the same book.”?
Of course it is much easier to connect with books that have lots of things in them that we recognize, I just don’t agree with the absolute that Nietzsche claims.
, but I too have fallen into a brook, have slept in leaky tents, have been nearly blown away with my tent, know how once you start climbing a mountain the top only seems to recede farther and farther – and I have also experienced the beauty that Alfred sees.
And yes, part of the fun of the Hermans book for me was in the descriptions of the hiking, which reminded me a lot of my own hiking experiences, especially the one in Greenland. Of course I always come well prepared on these trips
As for my 5-star reads: I have just had a look at them (http://www.annavangelderen.nl/Boekenregister4.htm), but there does not seem to be much of a common theme there (but maybe someone else can come up with something).
As is to be expected most have something that drew me to them because of something in me that was already there (an interest in the Middle Ages or in India for example). Still, there are at least two novels, Gilead and Disgrace, that have protagonists that have very little in common with me, but that nevertheless forged a connection that was not there before, by the sheer quality of the writing.
[...] 1, 2009 by lizzysiddal Having read and thoroughly enjoyed 2 novels from Alma Books (Child’s Play, Dear Everybody) earlier this year, it was only a matter of time before I sampled something [...]