Water over stones A novel

Atxaga (Nevada Days) offers a remarkable and sprawling story of a friendship over five decades in the Basque country. During a sexual assault at age 14 by Elías's school warden, Elías retaliates by stabbing him with a corkscrew. He then begins displaying signs of selective mutism, and his mother sends him to the town of Ugarte, where he befriends twin siblings Martín and Luis. In the mid-1980s, Martín's participation in strikes at a local mine escalates beyond picketing, and in 2012, recovering from a car accident, Luis is confronted by feverish memories of how he supported Martín's violent actions during the strikes. As Martín's daughter deals with sudden health issues, Luis asks Martín's help to get in touch with Elías, now living in Texas. Atxaga expertly manages the pacing and character descriptions, with even offhand statements from minor characters going a long way, as when Martín and Luis's father comments on Elías's condition, subtly foreshadowing Luis's accident. As the years go on, an intricate study emerges of what it means for the characters to rely on each other as they grow older. It's a twisting and rewarding story, and one readers will savor until the lovely finish. (Aug.)

Deep slices of life from the Basque Country evoke the beauty and banality of the world. Elías hasn't spoken since returning from college to the village of Ugarte, spending his time carving a toy boat alongside local twins Luis and Martín. Bakery employees Donato and Eliseo serve in Franco's army barracks, secretly sheltering a magpie while they await their discharge. A coal mine engineer named Antoine blames Eliseo for his dog's death and suspects Martín of sabotaging his lab in the name of Maoism.These are just some details of the plot--somehow both expansive and intimate, straightforward and elliptical--described by Atxaga in languid, unadorned prose. Scenes have room to breathe and often conclude without fanfare; conversational dialogue, poetic imagery, and small gestures rather than propulsive conflict advance the story. Particular attention is paid to pedestrian scenic metadata such as the date, time of day, and weather. Atxaga helped translate his book from the original Basque to Spanish, and the crisp Spanish-to-English translation is courtesy of longtime Atxaga collaborators Jull Costa and Bunstead. The language teems with repetition; each character frequently returns to different topics of fixation: Antoine thinks his therapist resembles Raisa Gorbacheva; Luis hears the soundtrack to The Good, The Bad and the Ugly in his head. The undramatic innocuousness of the story is eerie, as though anything could happen. So, what is the point? What are these sections--almost interconnected novellas--building toward? As Luis asks himself: "Was there anything significant about that coincidence? Who knows?" Atxaga inspires trust from the reader through his authorial command. There is indeed a method to the madness and an unexpected payoff that meaningfully reframes the entire book. A quietly remarkable offering from the first name in Basque literature. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.