If this book circulates and receives the attention it should, Spanish-American literature must surely gain readers. The translations are amazingly good, and mostly shy away from that grim and stilted English that Hemingway unhappily decided would catch the lilt of Spanish. Worth special mention are the translations of the Araucana, Sor Juana’s sonnet “This trickery of paint which you perceive” and Estanislao del Campo’s Faust, nicely rendered in the tall-tale style of America’s frontier humor.
To the charge that Spanish America has no theater, Willis Knapp Jones offers proof on both sides. Something theatrical did exist, and it finds its way into the last section of the book. That its value is more historical than aesthetic is also quite evident.
All in all, this book is a felicitous and highly representative selection of works and authors. This reviewer’s only major lament, which I hope will be shared by other English-speaking readers, is that the anthology teases and tantalizes because its offerings are so short. If the resultant frustrations become a clamor for more translations, we cannot but benefit twice from this highly readable volume.
