At thirty-nine years old, this Uruguayan author hails from an island origin, tracing roots to Tenerife. He has written a book titled The rest of the world rhymes, described as a bold table-top strike against literature, almost like a rebirth of Onetti, pulling in metaphors that carry both reality and blood. The editorial note on the credits page explains the premise: a coincidence unites two survivors after a triple car crash on a road—Andrés Lavriaga, a recently robbed bank thief, and Julia Bazin, a biologist who reaches a critical blind spot in life. It’s important to note that, as Herzog might remind us, anything written that sounds compelling can be literature, and this isn’t a traditional event-driven novel.
Caroline Bello, the author, previously published Written in the Window, Saturnino, Urquiza (2016 Gutenberg Prize for European Literature) and October Y A monster with a broken voice. The Rest of the World nursery rhymes has been selected by Random House for its Map of Languages collection, highlighting Hispanic-American writers from 21 countries who have expanded Spanish into a global space. Below are questions and answers from a journalist’s discussion with the author.
Q. What consequences does the proximity of Latin American literature have on your own work?
A. As a child, literature felt universal rather than tied to a single nation; the idea of nationality mattered little to a young reader’s mind. I devoured stories by Julio Cortázar, Pablo Neruda, and Octavio Paz while listening to music that shaped my sensibilities. The influence of Argentine literature and popular culture was immense for the book Oktube. This work could not exist without Argentina’s literary baggage. Each book I read becomes a delta feeding all my work. I explicitly honor those influences, not merely as references, but as essential parts of the narrative structure, just as in The Rest of the World rhymes. It draws on the Argentine authors Roberto Arlt, Rodolfo Walsh, and Sergio Bizzio, all masters at creating worlds and reminding us that reinvention is an art. Literature points toward a future where time is always visible in the present.
P. How does Latin American literature command respect in Spain today?
A. Latin American literature has always deserved respect, yet it has encountered barriers posed by pseudo-literature and the tendency to seek neutrality. The question of where to locate Latin American writing is evolving: should we frame it as Hispanic America or embrace the continent’s diverse geographies and linguistic varieties? Spanish-language writing becomes a statement of intention when it honors local voices and contexts rather than smoothing them into a generic form. I am open to reading work from different corners of the continent and eager to understand what unfolds beyond familiar centers. There is a desire for reassessment and a renewed interest from Spain that begins with post-colonial perspectives and continues to gather momentum. For Uruguayan writers, it remains remarkable to see our literature read abroad. We frequently encounter broad categories like Spanish, Italian, or French literature in schools, yet Uruguay’s voice deserves a broader, more careful listening worldwide. This shift reflects the literary value of the works, not merely nationality.
I write because I want to express myself. This act helps me organize thoughts and affirm what defines me.
S. In The Rest of the World rhymes, there is a palpable sense of disbelief within the book itself.
A. I write to express myself. Fear drives me to seek perspective, to arrange my thoughts and understand what forms me. Reality can surprise us, and I want to gaze at it with that sense of wonder. The truth merits a chance to be seen from fresh angles.
P. The accident is depicted from multiple viewpoints, as if viewed from the many angles of disaster…
A. In college I studied the stereoscopic effect of observing a single event from several angles, and that idea stuck with me. Tomás Eloy Martínez shows a similar impulse—avoid sanctimony. Like him, I believe adding vision enriches storytelling. Language, too, posed a challenge in guiding the poetic function toward clear sight. I worked hard to craft authentic oral narration for each character. The aim was to keep the narrator grounded, discovering where the speech originates, and to write a novel that both argues about how a novel is written and simply tells a story.
P. Why begin with an accident?
A. The car crash happened on a Uruguayan route that frightened me as a child because crashes were common there. It carried a heavy memory—the loss of a whole family—and left a lasting mark. An Asian film’s climactic scene on a frozen lake inspired Julia’s description of it as if it were a dream. That episode now serves as the opening. It also became a quarantine novel, rooted in the fear hospitals evoke. Writing allowed me to capture my father’s two-month hospitalization, turning personal care into narrative material.
I like to honor. Literature exists because it exists. Other voices seep into my writing.
P. Two important contributors to the book are music and foreign literature.
A. I honor literature by letting it live in the text. Intertextuality matters; I want the reader to hear something through the written language. I may not have fully achieved that, but I aimed for it.
P. The book is about pain and loneliness.
A. Every character feels isolated. That loneliness echoes the idea that cold comes with age, as the songs warn. The novel, written near the forty milestone, explores what it means to be born alone and depart alone. Julia’s suffering is not about grand catastrophes but about the weight of existing as one person among many. When the outside world collapses, a person’s inner world can fracture too. Julia constructs a private universe and chooses not to conform if that is what truth requires.
The Rest of the World rhymes
Caroline Bello
Random House
224 pages | 17 euros