Amistad de juventud by Alice Munro

By Alice Munro

En los diez relatos que componen Amistad de juventud se recrean los misterios que anidan en el centro de l. a. experiencia humana. Múltiples vidas circulan por sus páginas, las vidas de hombres y mujeres que rememoran los deseos y los sueños que enterraron hace ya quizá demasiado, las vidas que resultaron de elecciones incomprensibles pero que asimismo las han moldeado hasta convertirlas en lo que son. l. a. mano sabia de Alice Munro lo describe todo con una piedad y un arte inusitados, haciendo de este libro una verdadera obra maestra.

«Los relatos de Alice Munro contienen muchas veces novelas enteras, abarcan amplitudes temporales y saltos de generaciones que uno no imaginaba que pudieran caber en el espacio de unas pocas decenas de páginas.»
ANTONIO MUÑOZ MOLINA

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VVhy, Savka here just told me. ” “You're a dope, Savka,” Yevsey turned around glumly. They sat down to tea. One glass, half filled, stood separately on the tray. Innokenty busily poured more hot water into the glass and gave it to Baryba. Everybody stared and waited: now Baryba stirred the tea and sipped it unhurriedly. They were silent, watching him. Baryba could not stand it any longer and broke into loud laughter, like iron wheels clattering over cobblestones. Savka neighed after him, and the little deacon joined in with a small high-pitched giggle.

Elijah Mass. Through his sleep he heard singing and tried to stir his petrified thoughts, to understand what was happening. But he awakened only when the singing stopped. He so till 28 DRAGON THE jumped up suddenly, as though someone had struck him. ” He dressed. His eyes were glued together, his head felt like a stranger’s. The priests had already gone. Chebotarikha sat alone in the parlor, on the cretonne sofa. She was again in her stifl’ silk dress, with a lace kerchief for the holiday. “So you slept through St.

I on on the stove. “No, we’re here about . been robbed. ” . a Well, spell Father the on Yevsey here has eh? We've thief, . Father Innokenty was afraid of Ivanikha. He wanted to cross himself, but maybe she wouldn’t stand for it: the devil knows, she might get sore and then you would get nothing out of her. Innokenty pulled his cassock closer over his chest with the gesture of a woman wrapping herself tighter in her coat. Ivanikha threw him a glance from above with her owlish eyes—like the stroke of a whip.

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