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Informationen zum Autor Laura Restrepo has been very active in politics and journalism throughout Latin America and has lived in Colombia, Argentina, Mexico, and Spain. She was professor of literature at the National University of Colombia as well as political editor of the weekly magazine Semana. She is the author of several novels, including El Leopardo al Sol (Leopard in the Sun, forthcoming from Crown). She currently lives in Bogotá, Colombia. Klappentext "This barrio angel teaches us how to see behind the appearance of things and how to embrace reality with all the senses." --Isabel Allende "Laura Restrepo breathes life into a singular amalgam of journalistic investigation and literary creation. Her fascination with popular culture and the play of her impeccable humor! of that biting but at the same time tender irony . . . infuses them with unmistakable reading pleasures." --Gabriel García Márquez Winner of Mexico's Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz Prize! and France's Prix France Culture! The Angel of Galilea introduces a refreshing new voice in Latin American literature to the English speaking audience. Mona is a jaded reporter for a Colombian tabloid sent on assignment to investigate an angel sighting in one of Bogotá's most devastated barrios! where she encounters a community torn apart by a passionate conflict over a beautiful man who walks the fine line between sanity and sainthood. For the people of Galilea! this mysterious and sensual "angel without a name" represents their hope amidst desperate circumstances; for Mona! he awakens her desire to love and gives her a reason to believe. When the barrio's priest leads a revolt against the fallen angel! Mona risks everything to protect him from the gang that threatens to destroy him. "Restrepo is a writer to treasure." --Alastair Reid "Sharply resonant." --The New York Times Book Review "Surprising! wonderful! and! for me! deeply moving." --Alvaro Mutis Orifiel, Angel of Light There were no warning signs of what was about to happen. Or maybe there were, but I was unable to interpret them. In reconstructing the sequence of events, I recall that a few days before it all started, three men raped a crazy woman in the garden in front of my building. It was around then that my neighbor's dog vaulted from a third-story window, landed on the street, and walked away unharmed. And the leper who sells lottery tickets on the corner of 92nd and 15th streets gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby. Surely those were signs, among many others, but then again this insane city gives off so many doomsday warnings that no one pays attention anymore. And I live in what is considered a middle-class neighborhood: one can only imagine the number of omens that crop up daily in the shantytowns. The truth is that this story, with its supernatural echoes, which would so deeply transform my life, began at eight o'clock on a very ordinary Monday morning when, in a lousy mood, I arrived at the editorial offices of Somos magazine, where I worked as a reporter. Feeling certain that my boss was about to give me a particularly loathsome assignment, Id been dreading this moment all weekend. I was sure he would send me to cover the national beauty pageant that was getting under way in Cartagena. I was younger then, full of energy and ambition, and determined to write about things that mattered, but fate had dealt me a cruel blow, forcing me to earn my living at one of the many popular weekly tabloids. Of all my assignments at Somos, covering the pageant was by far the worst. It was an unnerving task to interview thirty girls with wasp waists and wasp-size brains to match. I also have to admit that their abundant youth and trim figures wounded my pride. Even more painful was having to rhapsodize on Miss Bocayás Pepsodent smile, Miss Tolimas dubious virginity, and Miss Araucas preoccupation with poor childre...
