He closed his eyes and felt his surroundings begin to fade away: the growling of engines, the songs of blind men accompanied by accordions and player pianos, even the shouts of grocers selling herbs, avocados, and lottery tickets with guaranteed prizes, and suddenly there appeared before him, as if by some magic trick and with prodigious clarity, the coarse, rustic texture of the wooden door on Collado Way.
Excerpted from The Neruda Case by Roberto Ampuero. Copyright © 2012 by Roberto Ampuero. Excerpted by permission of Riverhead Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Blood at the Root
"A gripping, timely, and important examination of American racism."
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