seeing-red

Seeing Red

$14.95

A visceral, moving, haunting English-language debut examines illness, the body, and human relationships by one of Chile’s brightest young authors.

“Lina Meruane’s prose has great literary force: it emerges from the hammer blows of conscience, but also from the ungraspable and from pain.”- Roberto Bolaño

Paperback ISBN: 9781941920244
Ebook ISBN: 9781941920251

Publication Date: February 23, 2016

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Product Description

Seeing Red describes a young Chilean writer recently relocated to New York for doctoral work who suffers a stroke which leaves her blind. It charts her journey through hospitals and an increased dependency on those closest to her to cope. Fiction and autobiography intertwine in an intense, visceral, and caustic novel about the relation between the body, science, and human relationships.

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Format

Paperback, eBook

Excerpt

It was happening. Right then, happening. They’d been warning me about it for a long time, and yet. I was paralyzed, my sweaty hands clutching at the air while the people in the living room went on talking, roaring with laughter—even their whispers were exaggerated, while I. And someone shouted louder than the rest, turn the music down, don’t make so much noise, or the neighbors’ll call the cops at twelve o’clock. I focused on that thundering voice, which never seemed to tire of repeating that the neighbors went to bed early even on Saturdays. Those gringos weren’t night owls like us, party people to the core. Good protestant folks, they would protest if we didn’t let them get to sleep. On the other side of the walls, above our bodies and under our feet, too, those gringos—so used to greeting dawn with their socks on and shoes already tied—were restless. Gringos who sit down in their impeccable underwear and ironed faces to eat their breakfasts of cereal with cold milk. But none of us worried about those sleepless people, their heads buried under pillows, their throats stuffed with pills that would bring no relief if we went on trampling their rest. If those in the living room went on trampling, not me. I was still in the bedroom, kneeling, my arm outstretched toward the floor. And in that instant, in that half-light, in that commotion, I found myself thinking of the neighbors’ unbearable vigil, imagining them turning out the lights after stuffing earplugs in their ears, pushing them in so firmly the silicone broke. I thought I would much rather have been the one with shattered earplugs sticking into my eardrums. I would have rather been the old woman who resolutely places the mask over her eyelids, only to yank it off again and switch on the light. I wanted that while my still-suspended hand encountered nothing. There was only the alcoholic laughter coming through the walls and spattering me with saliva. Only Manuela’s strident voice reprimanding the uproar for the umpteenth time, “Come on, guys, keep it down a little.” No, please don’t, I said to myself, keep talking, keep shouting, howl, growl if you must. Die laughing. That’s what I said to myself, my body seized up, though only a few seconds had passed. I had just come into the master bedroom, just leaned over to search for my purse and the syringe. I had to give myself an injection at twelve o’clock sharp, but this time I wouldn’t make it because the precariously balanced coats dropped my purse to the floor, because instead of stooping conscientiously, as I should have, I bent down and reached out to pick it up. And it was then that a firecracker went off in my head. But it wasn’t fire I was seeing, it was blood spilling out inside my eye. The most shockingly beautiful blood I have ever seen. The most outrageous. The most terrifying. The blood was gushing, but only I could see it. With absolute clarity I saw how it thickened, I saw the pressure rise, I watched as I got dizzy, I saw my stomach turn, saw that I was starting to retch, and, even so. I didn’t straighten up or move even a millimeter, didn’t even try to breathe while I watched the show. Because that was the last thing I would see, that night, through that eye: an intensely black blood.

Reviews

“Astonishing…Meruane’s authorial gaze is unflinching. . . . Lina resists all attempts to corral her into victimhood and insists on wielding her agency like a weapon…”Seeing Red” becomes a searing commentary on the limits of family relationships and the cruelty that, under duress, we are capable of exerting on those we love.” — Charlotte Whittle, The Los Angeles Times

“New York and her home town, Santiago, are described in prose that blends sensation with memory, fury with fear. The story reveals its truths through immediacy of description—viscous, repulsive, and beautiful.” — The New Yorker

“Perfect memory notwithstanding, blindness has affected Lina’s relationships, especially the one with Ignacio, whom she alternately leans on, loves and envies for his undamaged eyes. These passages are the most uncomfortable to read because they show how truly vulnerable we are, how tightly bound is our sense of being physically whole to our sense of being being worthy and lovable.” — Beatriz Terrazas, The Dallas Morning News

“Intense, physical, flipping from sensual to gory, Seeing Red is a book about degeneration and offers an exhilarating “fresh eye”, as the author puts it, on what it is to be alive.” — Joanna Walsh, The National

“a novel of genius and disturbing intelligence,” — Enrique Vila-Matas, Northwest Review of Books, in its Books of Note: February 2016

Seeing Red is the triumphant realization of a stunning artistic vision, a novel as black and bitter and bloody (and beautiful) as its central conceit. It’s a novel that’s hard to describe. But you know it’s great when you read it.” — Aaron Bady, The Nation

“Susan Sontag famously wrote that there are only two nations: the one of the healthy and the one of the sick. Meruane’s corrosive writing is a meditation on a soul blinded not by illness, but by the peculiar destructive spirit produced by self-pity – that dark feeling familiar to any who has suffered their own body’s treason. In other words, all of us. Seeing Red’s spine is a deliciously perverse love story, loaded with surprising, sickening, wonderful erotic material centred in the eyeballs.” — Álvaro Enrigue, author of Sudden Death, recommending Seeing Red in TANK Magazine‘s Summer Reading List 2016

“Blindness, both physical and metaphysical, is where Chilean writer Lina Meruane begins Seeing Red, her English language debut. In it, past, present, and future tumble over each other with bloody repetition. From beginning to end, the chaos of time swirls around each word on the page until, like a vaguely luminous mist, it disappears.” — Layne Hilyer, The Curator Magazine

“Meruane is one of the one or two greats in the new generation of Chilean writers who promise to have it all.” — Roberto Bolaño

“Meruane’s writing is acid, so corrosive that sometimes sentences dissolve before meeting the end that they deserved.” — Álvaro Enrigue

“An overwhelming novel, formally brave (…) that balances with great talent the search of a personal language with narrative seduction” — Sor Juana Award jury

“A novel where not only the blood pouring from the eyes is palpitating; so is the quality of the literature.” — El País

“A merciless book.” — Sylvia Molloy

“A powerful novel.“ — Federico Falcó

“This book showed no mercy and clawed into my brain. The prose is relentless, the story is haunting, and the fact that Seeing Red is an autobiographical novel makes the main character’s anguish all the more real.” — Always Doing

“An authentic novel written not from the edges, but from inside the sick body, with a powerful, intense narrator.” — Gustavo Pablos, Diario La Voz

“[Seeing Red] describes, through sight as metaphor, a world of uncertain horizons opposed to each other…Rather than as a victim, she portrays her narrator with a final effect that reminds the reader of the black humour literature of the last century.” — Stefano Gallerani, Italy

Lina Meruane included in list of authors in Brooklyn Book Festival’s 2016 announcement in the New York Times