All Roads Lead to Austen Read Online Free Page B

Emma.”
    Wow—stripped down to the plot, this sounds pretty sappy! “It’s not just about what she says in the novel, it’s the way she says it,” I added, struggling to ignite some interest in Luis’s critical eyes. “It’s the way she sees things, the way she says them, it’s her, her… voice .”
    It’s not about the plots, I wanted to cry out. It’s about the subtle commentary of the narrative perspective, the cutting inflections, the linguistic smirks! It’s about those twists of the satiric knife that you can read right past unless you’re really attentive—it’s about the ostensibly innocent reporting of dialogue that nonetheless directs how we interpret that dialogue through the seamlessly clever framing. All of this I wanted to say, and so much more.
    â€œ Su voz .” In Spanish, this was all that came out. “Her voice.”
    What a long way I had to go. There was so much I wanted to tell Luis about Austen, all of it trapped in my head in English and unable to make its way out along the extremely thin, badly rutted pathway my Spanish provided at the moment between my thoughts and my speech. Maddening!
    I needed a nap. Spanish made my brain hurt.
    ***
    I’ve already mentioned how beautiful Antigua is architecturally, but what makes it the loveliest place I’d ever been is that the city is completely ringed by green mountains, among which are two enormous volcanoes. Real live volcanoes! Well, one of them is live, anyway—the other, dormant.
    Volcán Agua, the dormant one, is visible from any point in Antigua, a city without skyscrapers. Even my mother—the most directionally challenged person I know, bless her heart—could steer by this landmark. Volcán Fuego is about the same height as Agua, but since its base is situated lower, it appears shorter. It wins back the edge, however, by periodically growling and belching threads of smoke. During my first stay, early one morning shortly after lessons had begun, Fuego let out a series of low rumbles. I had never heard a volcano before, but I didn’t have to ask what that immense, biblical sound was. Impressive. Very impressive. Involuntarily I shot to my feet as had every other student in sight. The teachers, volcano veterans, smiled and kept their seats.
    When I returned for my second visit, I’d requested a room with a view of Volcán Agua. After checking in, I’d mentioned my Austen project to Roberto, the hotel manager. He was interested, since he’d been a high school teacher before going into the hospitality business. But when I mentioned that I also wanted to learn about his country’s literature, to see if Guatemala had its own Austen, he lit up like a pinball machine.
    â€œWe’ve got so many great writers! Come, come here!” Warm and open, Guatemalans pretty much lack most Americans’ shyness about touching strangers. Roberto seized my arm and hauled me to a table, patting his pockets with his free hand in search of a pen. “These are authors you’ll like. You’ll learn about Guatemala from their books.” His eyes were full of the pleasure one booklover takes in sharing recommendations with another.
    On the back of my flight itinerary, he wrote down several names, among them José Milla and Ana María Rodas (and if you know Guatemalan literature and are wondering about Miguel Asturias, rest assured; we’ll get to him). “You won’t have any trouble finding these authors here,” he added.
    Antigua has several bookstores on the main square and others near The Arch, a beautiful Spanish colonial structure that spans one of the streets bordering the cathedral La Merced. A signature landmark, The Arch was left standing—some say, miraculously—after the 1773 and 1976 earthquakes. There are a few coffee shops that allow people to swap books in English, a common practice in cities frequented