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| [1890 - 1969] Died of unknown causes in Mexico City. |
"During my early youth I carried all of my earthly goods in my pants and coat pockets, that is when I had a coat, because I had to be ready to travel at any hour no matter where I happened to be, mostly on account of merciless truant officers. Since then, having become in the meantime well-to-do, I carried all my earthly riches in that shaky cardboard box. It makes you wonderfully independent."
These stories are about Mexico and what I'm thinking is: this sounds boring like all other norte americanos writing about South America. [I'm considering Traven an American since he was born in Chicago, despite all the wild rumors about his identity.] However, Traven tells stories like they should be told, can I say he writes with 'heart' without sounding too blurbish? They're meaty stories, which is just what my skin & bones need from time to time. They're, for the most part, fantastical stories, but without that dry 'magical realism' of other South American lit. [I may be talking about Garcia Marquez. Have I told you I cannot bear Marquez, because I can't.]
I think what I liked about them the most was that they made my headache go away. I've estimated that I have a headache ~70% of the time and to find something that zaps it is ... good.
Reading the stories out loud is possibly the best way of flushing out the the little sleeping ducks nestled into the fields of Traven's story-telling. It's like the way in which children's stories are meant to be read aloud. Except I read these mostly to my dog and whoever was outside my window.
"...protect yourself against the evil sprites of the tropical hell."
Year originally published: 1966. Pages: 235.
