how are people
At the core of this work lies a portrait of Paulina, a woman in her thirties who finds herself trapped inside a Peugeot 307 after a devastating accident. A dog and a teenager accompany her as the world slips into gasoline-scented chaos, the body aching, the eyes unable to reopen, while distant radio voices drift through the car. This opening scene also marks the ending of a larger narrative, as Paulina recounts, in the first person, the chain of events that led to the disaster. The story hints that the trouble began long before the crash, when her partner declared she could not endure the situation any longer. It is a journey through a couple who once promised a shared future, who talked at the dinner table, who watched films together, and who dreamed of travel and children. The pain of separation becomes the seed for what follows, reshaping identity in the wake of loss.
Queen of the Dance, a novel by Camila Fabbri, an Argentinian writer and a finalist for the 2023 Herralde Novel Prize, uses the title inspired by an ABBA song to explore abandonment. It traces the emptiness that blooms when a sense of community dissolves and the closeness that once bound people to one another vanishes. The protagonist discovers that her relationship to reality has shifted, and language itself seems to fail in communicating with others. A man’s remark that the end is more than despair sets the tone for a tale about searching for a new sense of self after a breakup, a reflection on who one becomes when not defined by another person.
Camila Fabbri, born in Buenos Aires in 1989, works as an actor, playwright, and theater director. Her first directing project was Clara Gets Lost in the Forest, which premiered at the San Sebastián Festival. She published Los Accidentes, a collection of stories, in 2015, followed by The Day They Turned Off the Light and a second collection, We Are Here. Recognition arrived in 2021 when Granta magazine named her among the top 25 Spanish-language writers under 35. Recent years saw her living in Madrid, taking part in the Eñe Festival residency, and beginning a nonfiction project about musician Charly García. In a recent interview, she spoke about the political climate and the fear and anxiety felt after political shifts, noting that life could become very difficult.
how are people
In The Dancing Queen, Fabbri draws a parallel between two collisions: the car crash and the heartbreak that follows. For Paulina, the breakup turns the world upside down. The novel follows her inner monologue as she speaks and thinks, using a voice that is sharp, dry, and luminous. It frames past episodes in the present moment inside a wrecked car, producing a voice that is abrasive yet compelling. Paulina becomes estranged from reality, unable to connect with her best friend Maite or with a man named Felipe who asks for a light. If living with such distance feels normal to some, this voice asks what happens when intimacy collapses and society seems to strip away its clothes, leaving nothing but a raw, exposed truth. The author explains that the perspective belongs to someone who contemplates how people move in and out of closeness, and how relationships can vanish in an instant.
Paulina observes that there is much talk about physical affection, yet the reality she faces is colder and more fragile. When the moment ends, she even contemplates freezing her eggs while searching for images on a computer. A sense of conspiracy fades into the background as life proceeds after separation. Maite struggles with why the men she sleeps with do not fall in love, and why she returns home alone, seeking a cigarette light and raising her voice. The narrative follows Paulina as she converses with herself, and even the workshop worker who mocks her becomes part of a landscape where driving, brakes, and a shared sense of danger become motifs. The two women, Paulina and Maite, imagine themselves as Thelma and Louise, driving toward a countryside farm in Buenos Aires Province. The adult life they escape seems to surface as they push toward new horizons.
This isn’t brotherhood, it’s friendship
Dancing Queen centers on women who feel lonely, waiting for something to happen, and longing for a purification that could alter their course. The bonds among them endure across the narrative, yet the author notes that there is little formal record of these connections. The strongest ties exist, but they are not actively pursued. Fabbri explains that the piece began as a broader survey of feminine experience rather than a stated feminist mission. Yet gendered pressures surface in scenes of motherhood and the expectations placed on a woman in her early thirties who believes she possesses a right to make decisive choices. The author, who entered Herralde’s prize race under the alias Sarah Connor, reveals a talent for sharp dialogue and a near cinematic sensibility. The settings shift with ease—from a bedroom to an office, a hospital room, the inside of a car, and a pool of murky water—creating a tense, immersive atmosphere.
Fabbri’s prose stands out for its precise sensitivities and its ability to reveal the fissures beneath surfaces. She constructs a universe that oscillates between numbness and claustrophobia, balancing the violence embedded in male behavior with the emergence of new loyalties among friends. The journey of Paulina culminates in a moment of release: a shout followed by the reclaimed certainty of voice, a reminder that even after chaos some truths endure and speak again.
In the closing image, the artefact of the book itself lingers as a testament to a life reconstructed through speech and memory. The Dancing Queen remains a candid exploration of love, loss, and the stubborn attempt to find a voice when the ground shifts underneath.
—End of adapted summary. Source notes: Camila Fabbri, Dancing Queen, author profile and published interviews.