How to Turn Into a Bird by María José Ferrada

How to Turn Into a Bird Reviews

• 
  s.penkevich

  ‘It wasn’t a war against the universe. Or even a war against himself. Still, several people sustained injuries.’
  
  While society loves to extol the virtues of being independent and breaking from the mold, those who deviate from the norm are often the first to be scapegoated and targeted when society needs someone to vilify. María José Ferrada’s How to Turn Into a Bird is an enchanting yet haunting read that chronicles the perils of breaking social code. The enrapturing storytelling comes through the eyes of 12 year old Miguel, he witnesses the drama of both his family and the locals unfold when his uncle Ramón decides to live inside a billboard outside their tenement housing in order to escape ‘the noise of the world.’ While first the locals treat him with encouraging bemusement, the arrival of a homeless encampment begins to turn public opinion until a tragic event becomes the catalyst for violence. A Sparse, yet gorgeously layered and intricate, How to Turn Into a Bird is both a coming-of-age novella around the loss of innocence and becomes expansive through the implications in the blank spaces of the narrative as Ferrada interrogates the complexities of human connection and how the policing of social norms tries to justify violence in the name of security.
  
  The charm of this novella holds up to Chilean author María José Ferrada’s masterful previous work,
  How to Order the Universe, which was a favorite book of 2021 for me. Ferrada has a skill for concise yet gorgeously poetic language (both novellas are lovingly translated by
  Elizabeth Bryer) that uses the perspective of a child to a narrative advantage by leaving much left unsaid or not understood and allowing the reader to color in their own interpretations and conclusions. The mystery of the adults in the narrator’s lives plays into a larger mystery of society that appears almost as absurd through their tenuous grasp on events. There is a sad and somber undercurrent to the whole story, yet through Miguel’s eyes it simultaneously feels bathed in the warmth of childhood bliss which, told in a rather rhythmic beauty, lulls the reader into a false sense of security. Not unlike the way adults calm children in times of struggle.
  
  These techniques also allow Ferrada to fill so much into a tiny space, both narratively and descriptively. Her quick but witty characterizations are delightful, such as the narrator Miguel being described as ‘I wasn’t a model student, but I was a good model of a typical student,’ or his Aunt Paulina, who spends her days organizing shelves and trying to be understanding of her absentee husband being characterized as ‘a current that flowed over and around the hard facts and objects she bumped into in the supermarket aisle and on her life path, which for her were one and the same.’ Ferrada cuts directly to the core while leaving much open to interpretation, a style that deeply resonates with me.
  
  ‘[B]y climbing up to the billboard house, he had transformed into an intermediary figure somewhere between a friend, a bird, and a teacher.’
  
  While Ramón spends the novel attempting to be undisturbed in his ‘search for silence,’ he also is the center of gravity around which all aspects of the story revolves. He is ‘odd, but not a bad person,’ and uprooting his life to live above the city in a billboard becomes a major point of friction for his marriage and the rumor-mill for ‘the people down below’. Ferrada paints a dichotomy between the world of the ground and of the sky, frequently comparing Ramón to a bird who wishes to fly away from society. Even his billboard home is said to have ‘looked like it had been made by a bird that wasn’t all that interested in building a lasting monument to its species.’ It also functions as a way to show how sometimes we must step outside society to see it as it truly is, to see the
  

  'relationships between what happens above and what happens below. you had to position yourself in an intermediary space—not too attached to the earth, not too close to the sky—in order to see them.'

  
  As the novel progresses, his appearance in the sky drains of its charm for the locals and we begin to see how deviation from social norms is met with resistance and wilful misinterpretation because ‘as happens with all interpretations, those doing the interpreting invented whatever they felt like.’ These interpretations are rarely to the outsider’s benefit.
  
  ‘Ramón and the homeless were starting to share the same galaxy known as “the problem”.’
  
  There is a sharp criticism in How to Turn Into a Bird on the ways we ‘other’ people in order to push them aside and dehumanize them. Midway through the story, the campfires of a homeless settlement are seen beyond Ramón’s billboard. The language is brilliant: ‘they twinkled as if they were all that remained of a tired star that had plummeted to Earth.’ Here we have a segment of society at its most exhausted and cornered, yet also some of societies most demonized and wilfully misunderstood. Working in a public library has given me frequent interaction with both the unhoused community and the local resource groups that work with them (we have a wonderful partnership with local social workers who use the library as a space to connect and provide resources) and a major lesson is how it can, truly, happen to anyone. And through a quick spiral of events often beyond the person’s control, leaving them very disadvantaged to be able to simply “pick themselves back up.” It is an issue that the United States is egregiously struggling with such as often providing more funding in policing than helpful resources and often shelters have strict religious requirements (as the one in my city does) or anti-LGBTQ policies that push people away or create additional barriers for those most marginalized. But this story takes place in Chile and I am undereducated in their unhoused policies so I’ll stop my rant, my apologies.
  
  Anyways, having a group of people society “others,” such as the unhoused settlement and the billboard dweller makes for convenient scapegoats:
  

  ‘What the neighbors had right there…the perfect excuse to get rid of Ramón,, the homeless, and everything they considered “the problem,” once and for all. In other words, to get rid of anything and everything that didn’t function according to the laws of the group which they—as judge and jury—had taken it upon themselves to dictate.’

  
  There is an especially unsettling element here as the housing projects the characters live in were set up as a way to help them when they themselves had been homeless. Ferrada interrogates the way people will punch down and pass cruelty on others simply for believing those people to be “beneath them,” often, as we see, a way to push away the anxiety that even a small change of circumstances could have placed them on the other side of it all.
  
  Violence eventually erupts, examining mob mentality and the sick irony of attempting to justify violence in the name of peace. ‘To become a crowd is to keep out death,’ author
  Don DeLillo writes in his
  White Noise, ‘to break off from the crowd is to risk death as an individual, to face dying alone. Crowds came for this reason above all others. They were there to be a crowd.’ Ferrada explores this mentality expertly, watching not only how the tenants gatekeep their “crowd”—such as ejecting two of the unhoused children from their “children’s day” party for not being “one of us”—but also push back with violence at the fear of death or anything threatening once death reaches their community. This violence is said to be ‘so that you never forget:
  What you shouldn’t have done.
  What you shouldn’t have thought.
  What you shouldn’t have wanted.’
  The irony here is that those under the gaze of the crowd violence only wanted freedom.
  
  ‘Was that all sorrow lasted? The world was a little puff of popcorn, a tiny speck of lint.’
  
  The musician
  Frank Zappa, known for stepping outside the norms and experimenting, once said ‘without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.’ Business lectures often tell you to stand out, be different. Yet being “different,” or breaking social norms, is often the quickest way to have a target painted on your back and for the gears of social policing to start churning. Sometimes violently. María José Ferrada examines this with a piercing beauty in How to Turn Into a Bird, carrying the reader through a heavy fall from innocence that will rock this small Chilean community forever and with deadly consequences. It is a story told with such exquisite beauty, in such short passages with as much empty space on the page as the gaps in the narrator’s knowledge of the events unfolding in front of him. A quick read, but one that will haunt you.
  
  4/5
• 
  Creya Casale | cc.shelflove

  This book sounded interesting but it did not end up being anything like I expected. Maybe some things were lost in translation? Essentially our main character, Miguel, becomes upset when his uncle chooses to abandon his family and live inside a Coca-Cola billboard he has converted into a small apartment. The book ends with the family fleeing because the housing community has ostracized them for the decisions they have made with respect to the billboard and a young boy who went missing. I didn’t feel sad, happy, anything at all! It’s been very interesting to read reviews where people had opposites reactions and loved the story. Huh?
  
  Edited to add: He goes to live in the billboard and the neighbors are mad so he leaves. That’s it. That’s the book.
• 
  Jojore Jore

  
  Cuando salen puros libros llenos de pretensiones e historias forzadas, escrituras rodeadas de cliché y envueltas en lugares comunes a la contingencia. Un libro como “El Hombre de Cartel” da vuelta el ojo y con pura simpleza y construcción de mundo a base de lenguaje revierte todos esos mecanismos. Acá hay una novela única, que tiene más de una interpretación y sobretodo: formas de convertir y tratar el lenguaje.
  
  Según yo hay harto escritor-lector-crítico buscando una novela que los interpele, los haga entender un mundo costumbrista y alguna forma corta o larga de público . Al final las lecturas y los libros están dirigidos a públicos específicos y ojalá sean hartos. Porque las novelas parecen más “novedad editorial” que un texto trabajado y construido a base de escritura, lenguaje, estructura forma, que se yo. Bueno, eso es otro tema. Mi idea es que El Hombre del Cartel se corre a un lado de eso y Ferrada construye quizás una novela sin pretensiones aparentes, pero al no tenerlas, tiene interpretaciones:
  
  Un niño habla de un tal Ramón. Ramón sube a vivir a un Cartel de Coca-Cola que ilumina una fachada continua. Ese niño vive en viviendas sociales. Ese niño tiene una madre que rompe platos. Ese niño es criado por dos mujeres que lo mantienen al tanto de sus problemas, porque las escucha. Ese niño construye un mundo, una forma de mirar y sobretodo de intervenir el lenguaje. Porque los niños antes de conceptualizar, ellos metaforizan y el niño de la novela lo hace. Puedo dar más detalles. Hay fogatas, hay guardias, robos hormigas, matones, los mismos matones de siempre que ya no son la policía, sino la misma gente. En fin. La historia tiene muchas interpretaciones, porque no hay preocupación de que contar. Sino que Ferrada se preocupa de cómo contarlo. Y sabe cómo contarlo.
  
  Leer la obra de Ferrada es obviamente leer su literatura de infancia. Sus poemas en “niños” y en poemas “cuando fuiste nube” todos comparables a esos poemarios que se publican en grandes cantidades -para adultos- sobre árboles, plantas, pájaros y más en chile. Y esa manera de estar creando metáforas se relaciona no al histórico panorama paternalismo y adultocentrismo que habita la literatura infantil. Da dos o tres pasos más. Porque el pueblo que habita la voz del niño no responde a los “chigua”, ni a la sopa de papas que sale en cada película(cine-cuico supongo) que habla de viviendas despellejadas y rotas en algún pueblito desértico. Al contrario, acá no se viene a llorar la provincia, acá se viene a mostrar y de una forma dura y poderosa: sin nombrarla incluso. No es reivindicativo. Por eso, es mucho más reivindicativo que los que endiosan su “descentralismo escritural”.
  
  En la novela hay hábitos. El niño rompe con esos hábitos cuando narra. Porque los expresa y los convierte en interpretación. No descritos. Incluso los detalles son pocos. Porque la simpleza en Hombre Cartel radica en la forma. Por ejemplo, cuando el niño habla del colegio, podría ser una pieza más de la cientos de formas de hablar del colegio. Pero el niño en su voz narrativa la vuelve única, es la narración dando lugares a lo que no tenía lugar. A pesar de entender el colegio como miles que fuimos niños lo entendimos: un lugar aburrido para ir a calentar el asiento. Es decir, la voz convierte los lugares en otros lugares.
  
  El abandono en la novela arranca cada giro argumentativo, sujetos echados a su gracia, que se mueven en la desgracia, que se corren a otra desgracia y ahí están, mirando el cartel de Coca Cola iluminado.
  
  Ese cartel será una imagen del capitalismo tardío. Esa corrida de viviendas sociales odiando al hombre que vive en el cartel, odiando a los Sin Casa que, es acaso otra mirada de los chaqueta amarillas que soltó la revuelta social. Esos fascismos repentinos que parecen ahogarnos en un país que en todas sus estructuras es violentado para ver al otro como un enemigo. Esas estructuras que crean los adultos y los niños las sufren. Esos niños que aún así tienen el valor de interpretar el mundo y convertirlo en una corrida de juegos en la escalera meada en cualquier edificio periférico. Bueno, estas ideas al hilo no tienen que ver quizás con el libro. Pero justamente es la potencia del libro. Es completamente interpretable, porque dice muchas cosas, cuando todos están diciendo las mismas.
  
• 
  Emily Coffee and Commentary

  A story about imagination, innocence, and life’s many unknowns. Dreamy and brief, How to Turn Into a Bird is the examination on the stories and memories that define our childhoods, and the events that change our view of the world. It is an unfortunate reminder that those who lead unconventional lives are often the target of rumor, shunning, or even violence for those who demand that status quo. It is the whispers of the everyday things that hold magic for those who are willing to look for them.
• 
  Rincey

  This is apparently a divisive book, which I was not expecting because I really enjoyed it. Reading other people's reactions to this book, I don't think that they are wrong, but none of those things even occurred to me. I loved the exploration around freedom, mob mentality and the choices people make, especially when they don't have a lot of choices.
  
  Watch me discuss this in my November wrap up:
  https://youtu.be/UKVgoG4podY
• 
  Javier Andrés

  De seguro será una de las mejores publicaciones del año.
• 
  Eric

  a very unique and well-written story. didn’t find myself too interested in this book but still had a good time reading it.
• 
  Gabriela

  Nop, no enganché. Puede haber belleza en la simpleza de un libro, pero este libro no tiene mucho de qué agarrarse. Tenía altas expectativas porque leí por acá que era "una de las mejores cosas que iba a salir este año" y la verdad es que no lo creo para nada. Es una historia bonita, el hombre del cartel tiene buenas líneas, pero más allá de eso no sé... No puedo dejar de pensar en que el libro está narrado por un niño de 11, 12 años que usa palabras como "lisérgico". Hay inconsistencia en favor de la estética. Si quieren amarlo está bien, pero de seguro me desharé de este libro en la biblioteca libre en cuanto tenga oportunidad porque qué desperdicio, francamente.
• 
  Lorena Carreño

  Hermoso, elegante,lleno de metáforas, diferente a todo y símil a la vida misma, después de kramp mis expectativas eran altas y no me defraudó, al contrario se pegó en mi corazón.
• 
  Repix Pix

  «Ramón, aunque bajara, seguiría viviendo en un lugar lejano».
• 
  Arelis Uribe

  Tan poética la voz, me encantó. La historia es sencilla, pero esconde profundas heridas sociales. Me recordó a Isidora Aguirre y esa obra de los cartoneros que llegan a vivir a una casa, no recuerdo el nombre, también algo de Lemebel. Es una novela de clase popular, que retrata el corazón generoso y las pequeñences de la gente que vive en barrios proletarios: la violencia doméstica, deber pagos en el negocio de la esquina por pedir "fiado", el trago, el canal, la cancha de tierra. Subrayé muchas frases y me enamoré de ese narrador niño con tanta imaginación. Increíble María José Ferrada, mucho talento en ella. Gracias a Joaquín Saavedra y editorial Alquimia que me obsequiaron el libro y me lo hicieron llegar desde Chile a Nueva York.
• 
  Coos Burton

  "El hombre del cartel" fue una grata sorpresa. La premisa es simple: un hombre decide subir a un cartel para cuidarlo de cerca, y decide quedarse a vivir ahí. Al principio despierta curiosidad, y después inquietud. Excelente lectura.
• 
  Catalina García

  Increíble cómo este libro logra jugar con los sentidos. Percibo el silencio, veo las luces de los autos, recibo el viento de las alturas en mi cara. Hermoso
• 
  Patricio Toro

  ustedes aquí dijeron que esta historia era bonita. es muy cierto, lo es.
  
  el hombre del cartel se llama Ramón. así lo nombra la autora porque decide irse a vivir sobre la estructura de un cartel de Coca Cola, en el cielo.
  
  lo que Ramón busca en eso es tranquilidad. no molestar a nadie y que nadie lo moleste. lo triste es que eso tan simple y añorable se ve truncado por el reflejo humano. el deber ser. eso tiene este libro, tanta humanidad.
  
  el narrador es Miguel, sobrino de Ramón, tiene 11 años. su voz, eso sí, no es la de un niño. sus cuestionamientos se acercan más, pero no así sus palabras. me costó eso al inicio, pero hay trozos que desbordan belleza y poesía y luces e hilos que conectan con los personajes y con sus sueños y con los míos y tal vez con los tuyos entonces te terminai entregando no más.
  
  y Ramón, una y otra vez. hermoso personaje. nostalgia, misterio, tristeza, amor, empatía, extrañeza. eso podría decir de él sin robarte la oportunidad de conocerlo.
• 
  Diego Lovegood

  El TONO de esta novela.
  El TONO 👏🏼.
  Eso nomás.
• 
  Emilia Macchi

  Me gustó mucho el argumento, cómo se cuestiona la calidad de vida, la precariedad y la relación con la naturaleza.
  La prosa era fácil y expedita. Es un libro que en principio recomendaría leer.
  Ahora, nunca me convenció el niño-narrador. Cacho que tenía una mística-poética-medio-testigomnisciente, pero creo que el registro y el uso del punto de vista era poco verosímil y antojadizo. Dependiendo de lo que necesitaba la novela, el personaje de Miguel hablaba como grande y como chico, ignoraba o sabía cosas, etc.
  Entiendo que es el sello de la autora; y de hecho disfruté la niña protagonista "Kramp", pero esta vez no disfruté la ejecución de la voz narrativa. Insisto, quizás había una tonalidad poética con la que no enganché.
• 
  jeremy

  it wasn't a war against the universe. or even a war against himself. still, several people sustained injuries.

  much like her previous book,
  how to order the universe, maría josé ferrada's latest, how to turn into a bird (el hombre del cartel), is a charming novel about a youngster striving to make sense of the grownup world. miguel, 12-year-old santiaguino, lives alone with his mom, but is utterly enthralled by his enigmatic uncle, ramón, who one day takes up residence within the neighborhood billboard, some thirty feet above the ground. what ensues is a moving story of youth, yearning, eccentricity, individuality, and society's distrust of those who are different. like a literary grandnephew of the baron in the trees, how to turn into a bird is another thoughtful, touching tale from the chilean author.

  relationships between what happens above and what happens below. you had to position yourself in an intermediary space—not too attached to the earth, not too close to the sky—in order to see them.

  
  *translated from the spanish by elizabeth bryer (salazar jiménez, lun, de juan, et al.)
• 
  Maca

  Hermoso.
• 
  Milly Cohen

  Es de las cosas más bellas que he leído.
  Tiene todo:
  denuncia, ternura, originalidad, simpleza, simpatía, dolor, belleza, inocencia, fantasía y una prosa muy maravillosa. Y más.
  
  Lo amé mucho, mucho. Tanto.
• 
  Justin P

  “From up above, life showed you its transparent threads. Sometimes you wanted to open your eyes and follow their course. At others, you preferred to squeeze your eyes shut and not let in any kind of light."
  
  How To Turn Into a Bird by María José Ferrada (and translated by Elizabeth Bryer) is a wonderful, crisp and lovely tale which explores love, connection, and family.
  
  In Santiago, Chile, twelve year old Miguel is fascinated by his uncle Ramon's new job: maintaining a Coca Cola billboard. Ramon fully commits to his new gig, making the billboard his home…much to the chagrin of his friends, family and community. Miguel's trips to visit Ramon at the billboard forge a connection with his uncle, and leading Miguel to connect with and understand his uncle (despite the negative things his community says about him). 
  
  It's a story of being different, of what's considered right and wrong, of the labels we put on others. Of trying to understand those who are misunderstood, of trying to see and appreciate them for who they are.
  
  This is a story that will resonate with anyone. Seen through the lens of a child, there is a beauty in their innocence of trying to understand the world around us, of living with an open heart. 
  
  This was such a sensitive, tender, and playful fable; it read like a modern day fairy tale. I loved reading this book. If you're looking for a short, impactful read, I would highly recommend it. The author packs so much into so few pages, it is truly a wonder.
  
  Thank you Tin House for the opportunity to read and review this title. 
• 
  Carlos Cartagena

  “…sometimes the only way to alleviate profound sorrow is to get sloshed”
• 
  Kokelector

  Cuando la soledad te invade, la decisiones que puedes tomar afectan a tu entorno. Ramón, en una decisión que deja a toda su villa atónita decide irse a vivir a un cartel de la Coca-Cola; para alejarse del mundo, de su vida y de la construcción de un mundo “perfecto” que no estaba dispuesto a continuar. Miguel, su sobrino político, verá en este tránsito un despertar de algo que no entiende del todo pero que defiende. Su hermana Paulina y su madre no entienden del todo qué está sucediendo y verán en las críticas veladas de su villa, que también allí está el germen de la odiosidad y la recriminación. Está segunda novela de María José Ferrada, vuelve a cautivar con una pluma ligera y profunda para ensamblar un diálogo con él o la lectora; para construirnos un imaginario donde todo es posible: como lo es alejarse del “mundo” en las alturas de un cartel. Una lectura rápida, entretenida, pero muy reflexiva que te hace parte de ella una vez concluida.
  
  (...) "𝘜𝘯𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥í 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘴 𝘥í𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦. 𝘌𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘪 𝘶𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴���� 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘰 𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪é𝘯 𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳é𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘴." "𝘠 𝘦𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘳𝘦, 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵í𝘢 𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰, 𝘗𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶í𝘢 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷é𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴 𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘢 𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘺 𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢, 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘢. 𝘌𝘴𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘷𝘦𝘻, 𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘫𝘰 𝘧í𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘫𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴��𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘨ó𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘴. 𝘖 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘪ó𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘺 𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘢ñ𝘢𝘯𝘢." "-¿𝘘𝘶é 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘰?-𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘵ó 𝘗𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘢 𝘙𝘢𝘮ó𝘯./ -𝘋𝘰𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘻𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘩í-𝘥𝘪𝘫𝘰 é𝘭, 𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘮ó 𝘶𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘻𝘢./ -𝘌𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳í𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘶𝘣𝘦𝘴./ -𝘋𝘦𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘰-𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘪ó 𝘙𝘢𝘮ó𝘯, 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘯í𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷í𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦: 𝘥𝘦𝘫𝘢𝘳 𝘭𝘢 ú𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘳./ -𝘋𝘦𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘰-𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘪ó 𝘗𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘢, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘶é𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢ñ𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯 é𝘭, 𝘭𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘤í𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘰𝘵𝘳𝘢, 𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘳, 𝘮á𝘴 𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘴." (...)
• 
  Izaskun Linazasoro

  Maria José Ferrada escribe maravilloso. Es una historia encantadora y cruda.
  Si bien podrías pensar que la autora adelanta el final, la verdad es que es imprescindible.
• 
  Jennifer

  ?????
  
  I don't think I "got" this book, but I still didn't mind reading it. I ended it feeling pretty bemused and wondering why? in a general way. This was a strange book for me in a few ways.
  
  I had a physical copy, and it was a special printing in hardcover from Aardvark book club. I assume because it wasn't published that way originally, it led to the oddity of having an extremely generous amount of blank space on each page. The margins were enormous on all 4 sides of the text, and when that combined with a poignantly short paragraph or chapter of only a few sentences, I had a full sized page with about eight words on it. Then it would be a full blank page, and the start of a new chapter. This actually worked really well for the mood of the book in some ways, since it was all about space and freedom and solitude, and the physicality of the words reflected that.
  
  It was also a strange story itself. So much of it was metaphorical or symbolic, and I'll be honest that a lot of it went right over my head. I didn't mind so much though, because it was an interesting experience to observe nonetheless. I felt like a side character.
  
  Since I also read a translated version of the original, I'm also unsure how much might have been lost or altered in translation. Often the word choice or entire framing of a sentence would stop me and make me think about it because of how it affected the meaning of the moment to use a word or write it in that exact way. I've decided to just trust that the translator is really good at their job, because it enhanced my time in the book for sure. But still, I'm a bit...
  
  ?????
• 
  Andy Weston

  Ramón takes a job in billboard security, seeking something less regimented than his years of work in a factory. Determined to make a success of his new found independence, he moves out of his apartment to live in one of the billboards he looks after, a Coca Cola, just on the outskirts of a rundown area of Santiago, towards the airport.
  
  The novel is narrated by 12 year old Miguel, who lives close by in a housing complex. Fatherless, Uncle Ramón has always been a big influence on Miguel, and his new living arrangements appeal to him greatly.
  
  Though other characters come and go, this is a novel about Ramón and his search for freedom on the one hand, and Miguel’s approaching adolescence on the other. Miguel is just finding his place in the world, and when a boy he knows goes missing, it causes him to see his life from a different perspective, in a similar way as Ramón is from his chambers up in the billboard.
  
  The real entertainment to be gleaned here is in considering the book after finishing it, rather than during. It’s thought-provoking enough to make you search back through the pages for those indelible paragraphs that were not appreciated as much as they deserved to be initially.
• 
  Ángeles

  La premisa es inmejorable, pero me pasó en general que estaba leyendo un libro que ya había leído antes, con imágenes que ya han sido construidas muchas veces sobre los mismos temas. Hay algunas cosas muy bellas, como la huerta de ampolletas o ese final con Paulina en el metro. Imposible no compararlo con Kramp, ante el que creo palidece bastante.
• 
  Nicolás Ulloa

  "No hubo recriminaciones. Solo un llanto que para que doliera menos lloraron de la mano. Dolió igual. "Cuídate, por favor", dijo Paulina, mientras se secaba la última lagrima con la manga del chaleco. Y Ramón la miró sin decir nada. Eso, en un idioma que cada vez necesitaba menos de las palabras, significaba: tú también"
• 
  Nadine in California

  I loved Ferrada's
  How to Order the Universe, but this one didn't work for me at all. It's written in unadorned, fable-like language with short sections and lots of white space on the page, so it's a very quick read - the only reason I was able to finish it. The book depicts the community and setting very well, but they serve no purpose that I can see. The reading experience was like walking on a treadmill - an activity that took me nowhere. Other GR reviews point out social issues in the book and I can see that, but they feel tepid to me. The strength of 'How to Order...' was in the charming and thoughtful narrator, 7 year old 'M'. In this book the narrator, 12 year old Miguel, seemed bland to me.
• 
  Alessia Scurati

  Prima di tutto grazie a Luca, il mio libraio di fiducia (Tempo Ritrovato Libri, in corso Garibaldi a Milano) per avemi consigliato la lettura.
  Seconda cosa: allora io non ho mai valutato un libro solo in base alla scrittura con la quale viene raccontata una storia. Molte critiche mosse qui sotto al romanzo prendono piede dalla semplicità dello stile con il quale è scritto. Allora: chi va a bruciare Il Piccolo Principe? Ah, ma no quello è un capolavoro... Chi lo dice? Potrei citarne di scrittori che lo reputano un grandissimo bluff. Nondimeno è un libro che ha trovato il modo di diventare un classico.
  Quindi sì, questa storia è scritta in modo estremamente sempilce, tanto che ci ho messo un pomeriggio a finirla (quello del Primo Maggio, in cui riposavo).
  La storia si apre con una situazione pradossale: Ramón, il marito della zia del nostro narratore adolescente ha trovato un lavoro. Quello di guardiano delle luci che illuminano il cartello gigantesco che la Coca Cola ha piazzato in un non meglio specificato posto del Cile. Davanti a delle palazzine dove vivono delle famiglie che, in un passato nemmeno troppo remoto, erano molto povere. Siccome Ramón ci tiene a far bene il proprio lavoro, prende la decisione di vivere proprio sul cartello, costruendosi una casa come se fosse un nido su un albero, al di sopra delle vite degli altri. L'unico a capire la portata del gesto del 'folle' Ramón, è proprio il ragazzino Miguel, che comincia a cercare di capire le scelte dello zio e cominicia di nascosto a salire la scala che porta alla casa del cartello, pure quando la madre, come gli altri abitanti delle case, cominiciano a isolare l'uomo.
  A complicare la situazione, arrivano dei senzatetto nomadi e un fatto tragico porterà a un'esplosione di rabbia che coinvolgerà anche La casa sul cartello.
  Romanzo che nella sua semplicità è una grande critica sociale, umana, identitaria.
  
• 
  Lauren Nossett

  "Maybe he had finally seen the threads that connected everything. Or maybe it was just the opposite, and he had established that those threads didn't exist: there were only strands-- who knows if these were what remained of an original tapestry--and if they, unbound to anything, were spinning loose. Whatever the case, it was a discovery that belonged to him alone."
  
  How to Turn into a Bird by Maria José Ferrada is a beautiful, heart-wrenching story of a boy and his uncle, the choice to live within society or apart, and the perspective offered from a Coca-Cola billboard off the side of a Santiago highway.
  I'm in awe of so many lines in this stunning English translation: 
  "A man and a bird were not the same thing. I had discovered this by searching the dictionary, but...maybe the dictionary was wrong not to include intermediate species. Because there were bird-men, fish-women, and wolf-boys who spent their lives searching for hideaways where they could stretch their wings, swim around. Lick their fur."
  "One side of love, an undervalued one, has to do with letting the other person walk their own path."