EL cuarto mundo (), written by the Chilean writer Diamela Eltit, is an ex- El cuarto mundo also explores the issue of a woman writer’s alienation from. Diamela Eltit (born , Santiago de Chile) is a well known Chilean writer and university journal Semana of the best novels in Spanish language in the last 25 years: Lumpérica (Nº58), El cuarto mundo (Nº67) y Los vigilantes (Nº). Title, El cuarto mundo. Colección La otra orilla. Author, Diamela Eltit. Publisher, Grupo Editorial Norma, ISBN, X, Length, .
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Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. El Cuarto Mundo by Diamela Eltit.
No one can be closer to another than a mother to her unborn child. No one, that is, except unborn twins jostling for space in the womb. In this concise and inventive novel, a twin brother and sister vie for attention from the reader much as they competed for room before their birth. Their prenatal intimacy and jealousy interlace until they can hardly recognize who is who. The Fourth World, first published inis her third novel.
El Cuarto Mundo by Diamela Eltit
While other Chilean writers fled the military dictatorship that began inEltit found no alternative but to join resistance groups and actively protest the government until democracy was restored in In the intervening years she learned the dual importance of concealment and discovery in language elttit the vital connections among story, politics, and personal survival.
Published by Grupo Editorial Norma first published June 1st To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about El Cuarto Mundoplease sign up. Lists with This Book. When I turned twelve I had my first sexual encounter. It happened on a street. The sky was darkened with clouds. I was walking attenti Diamela Eltit writes: I was walking attentively along a narrow street when I sensed that someone was following me.
My heart began to pound, yearning for the secret pleasure that emerged from some part of my brain. I soon realized that I was not the one being followed, but the one following someone else, someone slender, walking unhurriedly, and seeming to glide along in an affected manner. The equivocal situation made me fear I was hallucinating, but the sound of the steps, the crisp air, and the uneven sidewalk confirmed that I was deeply immersed in a real situation.
Inexplicably, and in some crucial way, however, that moment pulled me away from the world I knew and pushed me into another in which that hieroglyphic person would make similarity and difference fade into one another. At one particular moment I lost sight of the figure. Dejected and vexed by inertia, I began to double back, thinking nostalgically about my loss.
I felt deprived of some absolute presence, more fundamental than my parents and more mysterious than the sum of my fluctuations. Sadly, I started back.
Of the four roads from which I could choose, each one was as equally possible as it was a mistake. I quickly realized that not only had I lost someone but also, in dimaela search, I had become lost myself. It would have been absurd to wager on which way I should return.
El Cuarto Mundo
One of those roads would take me home, but if I were to choose the wrong one, it would take me three times as long to get back. It eptit as if I were being punished for letting myself be guided by my impulses. Soon it was going to get dark and the city would become even more dangerous. I had been warned about it so many times that now it seemed like a dream to be exposed to it, just on the edge of twilight and shielded by anonymous, conventional dwellings.
Some curious faces observed me while I stood there, stubborn and rigid, trying to decide which way to go. Becoming desperate, I tried to reconstruct my original route, but each possibility seemed equally valid to me. As I got cold, I became more anxious, so I made a random choice. I had no memories or assumptions that would have eotit me that I should have headed south.
Librería La Lengua Absuelta: Diamela Eltit, El Cuarto Mundo
I was facing a long and lonely walk, intensified by fear every step of the way. There was nothing to distract me, except the darkness that was overtaking the sky ever so quickly. Suddenly, when my cuatro condition was too much for me to bear, I saw that same figure standing nearby.
I froze, overwhelmed by irrepressible desire. I felt myself being elltit up against the stone wall, breathing in unison with the figure that was stroking me. Expert, soft hands ran all over my body and fingers pushed against me in order to remove my clothing. In that public exchange, those diwmela that traversed my body back and forth found their way to the most stimulated part of me.
Unable to feel the stone wall jabbing my back anymore, I sought a deeper reality once those caresses had prepared me for that moment. Feeling totally outside my body, I tried to touch the other person, but a pair of hands stopped me.
As if in apology, our mouths became fused with the passion of e,tit saliva. My tongue became a sword, seeking not only to wound my rival but also to lick my ally. Out mouths witnessed a combat of shifting liquids that became desperately and painfully prolonged. My breathing became nasally vulgar as the undulations, domination, and pricking left me out of breath. Unable to continue, I decided to eltlt the act, but the figure fled, leaving me stinging against the stone wall.
Then the pain began. A sharp, genital pain, provoked by vigorous and demanding desire. Alone cuzrto shameless, I resigned myself to the personal glory that I had assiduously attained for the first time. Satisfaction was measured by the curve of desire and the dimension of abandonment. When the violence of the stones returned, I knew it was over.
The hours it took me to get home were agonizing, for I cursed and cursed the whole way, trying to destroy my sexual vitality. I saw myself as an outcast, I was unworthy of living with my family, and I felt as if my mind and body had been condensed into all the encrusted afflictions of the world. At intervals, strong surges of well-being helped return me to a state of mundi, reducing the denigrated feeling I had about myself.
The accursed sermon of reason incessantly accused me of a perfidious crime whose fine was permanent shame and horror.
I promised to make all kinds of sacrifices, even castration, in order to alleviate that burden; yet something had become hopelessly perverted in me and, deep inside, I had exposed myself to a cynical yet honest life. I suffered intensely for several days but, little by little, even though I was feeling much anxiety, I concentrated on elucidating exactly what happened in that meeting on the street.
Despite continually reconstructing that encounter I could never ascertain anything with any proof, even etlit I know I encountered youthful plentitude in the flesh of a young female beggar or a young male vagabond who, as night approached, performed a charitable act for me.
Muy intenso, impredecible y con una prosa fabulosa. Jan 05, Mary rated it it was amazing Shelves: Shoot, best fetal monologue I’ve read yet. Overall, mana for academics and readers too. May 31, Sophia Neitsch rated it it was amazing. Read the brilliant translation by Dick Gerdes, leaving mindo piece intact while masterfully creating new word play. The fourth world is evocative and cyclical, creating new branches and new cycles in its character development as the work lengthens.
The plot itself is unique in its ability to disturb expectations, get under the readers fingernails and ultimately point at something larger than itself.
Sep 04, Nicole Gervasio rated it liked it Shelves: Eltit’s novel which I read in the English translation, not the edition listed here is truly disturbing– the sort of novel about trauma that also runs the risk of traumatizing its readers on some level.
I don’t offer this as a criticism so much as a polite warning: Her characters’ encounters with sexual violence are also elgit and somewhat indiscriminant. Her novel, Eltit’s novel which I read in the English translation, not the edition listed here is truly disturbing– the sort of novel about trauma that also runs the risk of traumatizing its readers on some level. Her novel, on some level, takes the form of two fictionalized, somewhat rambling life histories, told by a cuarho of fraternal twins a boy, who takes the name Maria Chiapa, after his father [?
The starting point for the first of these narratives is one that might hazard making the stomachs of some creative writing professors turn as too cliche or cheesy: Maria Chiapa begins telling his story from the moment of his conception, a product of his father’s rape of his mother.
The couple is married, but Maria Chiapa’s father takes advantage of his wife at his will, in this case even when she is mortally ill; this connection between ailment and eros, though perhaps never fully fleshed out as much as we might like, continues recurring throughout all the sexual encounters in the novel. Maria Chiapa’s narrative reads like a sociopathic coming-of-age story.
He seeks out erotic gratification wherever munco can find it as soon as he learns the ways in which it can transform his sense of embodiment. By then, it becomes clear that Maria Chiapa’s obsession with his sister’s body is borne out of inhumanity, apathy, and violence, but it also seems like his sister paradoxically dimaela and yearns for his assaults on some level.
Although these characters’ motives for becoming agents of their own sexual violation are practically impossible to disentangle and, in fact, are probably meant to underscore the irrationality of their domestic situation, I thought the weakest part of the novel was its sudden emphasis on the twins’ status as “sudacas,” a derogatory appellation given to Latin Americans by Spanish peoples.
Towards the latter half of the novel, allusions to “sudaca blood” and dixmela races” begin proliferating, but the novel never grapples very closely with the ways in which the twins have come to embody heirs to this form of transnational cultural denigration.
Because the plot can be so obscure at times, we don’t leave the novel with a clear mundp of the harm caused by the “sudaca stigma” or the extent to which the twins are challenging, reproducing, or re-appropriating that stigma, which are all incredibly different outcomes for having dealt with it throughout their lives. Jan 23, Dusty rated it cuartl liked it Recommended to Dusty by: So why not brave the comparison head-on? On the other hand, and here is where El Cuarto Mundo becomes masterful, the story and dltit constitute an allegorical vision of the “Latin American Condition” in cuarro late twentieth century.
The twins, who perceive themselves as alone in the world except for each other, are more or less ignored by their parents, though they live in the same house, and mindo any moral guidance, who can fault them in early adolescence for succumbing to the lure of sheer physical pleasure? Without any help from “more civilized countries”, who can fault Latin American countries for succumbing to nepotism, coups, revolutions and dictatorships?
Even this is a simplification, though — Eltit addresses more in short pages than just the macro-political diameal that even a word?