Marcia is sixteen, overweight and unhappy. One day, as she’s walking down a Buenos Aires street, she hears a shout: ‘Wannafuck?’ Startled, she turns around and is confronted by two punk girls Lenin and Mao. She’s soon beguiled by them and the possibilities they open up. But the two have little time for a philosophical discussion of love: they need proof of it, and with their own savage logic the duo, calling themselves the Love Commando, hold up a supermarket as the novel climaxes in an unforgettable splatter-fest finale.
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Praise for The Proof
- ‘The Proof is an exceptionally good novella.’ Louis Amis, The Spectator
- ‘A vivid rollercoaster of a book . . . superbly translated by Nick Caistor.’ Ian McMillan, broadcaster and poet
- ‘Impressive . . . A tale that rumbles like an irritant at a low level before bursting beautifully-horribly beyond all its seams.’ Complete Review
- ‘Be prepared for a roller-coaster read that will have you gasping with astonishment.’ The Prisma
- ‘Though still possessed of the wildness of his best work, it is also intensely coherent, following an unstoppable narrative path from Marcia’s first step to her last . . . The move at the end from all-talk to all-action is a master stroke, powering us towards a genuine conclusion.’ Grant Rintoul, 1st Reading
Praise for César Aira
- ‘Hail César!’ Patti Smith, New York Times
- ‘Bewitching and bewildering . . . Compulsively readable . . . Aira’s writing – with its equal measures of rich complications and airy whimsies – combines brevity with so many possible meanings.’ Arifa Akbar, Financial Times
- ‘Aira writes at full tilt, going where the words take him (a style he calls “constant flight forward”) so that reading him is dizzying.’ Jane Housham, The Guardian
- ‘If there is one contemporary writer who defies classification, it is César Aira. His novels seem to put the theories of Gombrowicz into practice, except, and the difference is fundamental, that Gombrowicz was the abbot of a luxurious imaginary monastery, while Aira is a nun or novice among the Discalced Carmelites of the Word. Sometimes he is reminiscent of Roussel (Roussel on his knees in a bath red with blood), but the only living writer to whom he can be compared is Barcelona’s Enrique Vila-Matas.’ Roberto Bolaño
- ‘Aira is firmly in the tradition of Jorge Luis Borges and W. G. Sebald.’ Mark Doty, Los Angeles Times
- ‘Surreal and intriguing . . . a drama is as fun as it is mystifying.’ The Guardian
- ‘A work of literary trigonometry. The prose bounds along with a gleeful spring in its step, dragging the improbable story behind it . . . If you’re happy to have your buttons pushed, then you’ll fall for this shaggy-dog-story-on-shrooms, and fall hard.’ Roger Cox, The Scotsman
- ‘Funny, poetic and wonderfully readable . . . Idiosyncratic and vivacious.’ Big Issue
- ‘It works as a piece of art whose fresh, gorgeous images carry rich meanings about the nature of transformation. But it also works as a story that makes you miss your subway stop.’ Electric Literature
- ‘Sophisticated and energetic writing which will leave you scratching your head with curious wonder.’ The Lonesome Reader