Nobels: 2010: Mario Vargas Llosa

Mario Vargas Llosa is one of those South American writers everyone is supposed to like but I can't really get into. Still, it's surprising I've never tried him before. On the basis of this one, Death in the Andes, I don't think I'll try again and what follows is, I'm afraid, a list of reasons why.

First the title. The original is called Lituma en los Andes and Corporal Lituma is the principal character. He previously featured in an earlier novel, Who Killed Palomino Molero? and so the original title is both a bit of branding and - perhaps deliberately - reminds us of Tintin books. The English title removes both of those and doesn't replace them with anything. It's too generic.

The translation is by Edith Grossman, a highly regarded translator from Spanish but I often found the tone incongruous. Lituma often refers to women as "broads" and while no doubt this accurately conveys contempt and a certain misogyny in the character, the word just seems dated, and the kind of thing Frank Sinatra would have said. Is it still current in US English?

And threaded throughout the book there's the story of Lituma's adjutant Carreño's romance. Lying in their shack at night, he listens to the younger man's story, making interjections which you know are meant to be funny, but aren't. Humour is very hard to translate.

The main story, though, is of disappearances. Three men from an isolated building camp in the Andes disappear and Lituma's job is to investigate what happened to them. He eventually finds out, but doesn't - can't - do anything with the knowledge. But there's no ambiguity left for the reader on that central issue.

Meanwhile the story has been intercut with tales of innocent people being in the wrong place at the wrong time when Maoist terrorists are about. Horrifying tales, for sure, and in some ways the most compelling parts of the book, as the victims gradually realise what is happening, but barely connected with the main narrative. To be positive, you could see it as two books for the price of one.

The worst thing, though, is the inelegance of the writing. I don't think it's just the translation. Clunking similes and worn-out expressions plod past wearily. It's quite a late book in Vargas Llosa's career (1993). Maybe all his best work was earlier. Not a recommendation from me, then, but I'm quite sure a lot of people will disagree.

Mario Vargas Llosa Death in the Andes trans Edith Grossman Faber 1997