Bibliophiles of the internet, my name's Adriana and today I'm here to talk about one of my new favorite books,
"The Gods of Tango" by Carolina de Robertis.
First off, this story is about an incredible trans character named Dante. And while the back of this book
essentially dead-names him and uses she/her/hers pronouns to sell the story, I will of course,
for the entirety of this review, be referring to Dante as his chosen name and with the pronouns that properly honor him,
because that is the very definition of respect.
And it's the same respect I would show any other trans person in real life.
This is #ownvoices queer Latinx historical fiction. It takes place in 1913 Buenos Aires.
Our main character, Dante, has immigrated from Italy to Argentina, with nothing but his grandfather's violin,
and he's going there to meet the person he's supposed to marry, for logistical purposes.
But when he arrives, he finds out that his future spouse is actually dead.
So he's basically stuck in this new country, where he doesn't speak the language, doesn't know anybody,
with no money to return home and no spouse to live with.
He is able to find temporary lodging in a nearby conventillo,
but what he really wants to do is to live off of making music.
But of course the only people who can make it as professional tangueros at this time are men.
So Dante decides to leave behind the conventillo, finally start presenting as a man, teaches himself
how to play Tangos on the violin, and basically becomes one of the most successful tangueros
in all of Buenos Aires.
I have to start by taking a moment to just appreciate the writing in this book. De Robertis has a knack for
crafting extremely immersive and evocative prose that really and truly transports you to another time and place.
Her use of language is lush, languid, and luxurious. The text is very dense and detail-oriented,
and yet she's able to fully engage all of the senses, and every word is meant to captivate.
There's an inherent sensuality to her work, especially when she's describing music,
which is one of the hardest things to write about because music is not this tangible thing—
it's not something that we touch or see; it's something that we FEEL—but she makes it into
this complete, full-bodied experience.
And the entire story is highly atmospheric. I had the chance to hear this author speak, and she talked about
living in Italy and Argentina for *years* in preparation for writing this story, and it SHOWS,
because this unshakable sense of place and authenticity is impossible to fake.
She left no stone unturned. Everything is thoroughly researched and every miniscule detail is meticulous.
In terms of gender, this story shows not only the use of pronouns,
but the entire experience of gender as a gradient.
Gender is not as immediate as sliding a piece of metal into a groove. It's a gradual discovery
that changes over time. It's always evolving; it's never stagnant.
And the narrative is respectful in showing Dante, who was presenting very differently at the beginning
of the story, as he gains a better understanding of his gender and transitions his presentation
and, eventually, his pronouns.
In the beginning, the narrative addresses Dante as his "given" name and with she/her/hers pronouns,
which is actually respectful, because at that time, that is the best way he understands himself.
Once he starts presenting as a man, the narrative addresses him as Dante but still uses she/her/hers pronouns,
which again, is the proper thing to do, because at that point, Dante thinks that his presentation
is just a means to an end and that once his curiosity is satisfied he will eventually "go back to the way he was."
And I thought that was a really interesting way to show this almost kind of dysphoria,
because in that middle portion, there were sentences or even entire passages that used *both*
he/him/his and she/her/hers, because the former represents how other people perceive Dante,
and the latter represents how Dante perceives himself—or how he thinks he should perceive himself.
At the end, when Dante realizes that no one is going to force him to stop presenting authentically,
he decides it's time to use he/him/his pronouns, because that's just who he is.
The entire time, you're really immersed in the inconveniences and fears
that Dante is faced with on a day-to-day basis.
Whether it's the pain from binding his chest, or how he can't partake in communal bathing
(which is traditional), how he has to pay more for a private single room (which is very rare with the overflow
of immigrants), or how he has to smuggle out or just destroy [his] soiled clothes when he gets his period,
because that little bit of blood could mean his life.
What's more, the story perfect comments on what it feels like to transition from a life of marginalization
to a life of privilege, because of course passing as a man affords Dante all these incredible new privileges
and freedoms that he never could have imagined before in his life.
And his transness is developed very naturally as well. In the very beginning, he's always wondering
what it would feel like to have different body parts or wear different clothes. He's always been curious about
what sexual pleasure feels like for people who don't have vaginas. And he's always been incredible attracted
to women—but of course he's been way to terrified and confused to even allow himself that.
Even after Dante starts presenting differently, he only allows himself to explore that attraction incrementally.
First he allows himself to look openly, then he asks permission to touch, and then eventually he dedicates himself
to mastering the art of sex with women. And honestly, his discovery of his true self
is *the* most satisfying story arc.
Dante's experience with gender really hit home for me, because sometimes the question of who you are
is so frightening, so impossible, so insurmountable, that the only way you can begin to parse it
is by learning your limits—what you can no longer do, what you no longer be,
what you can't imagine for yourself no matter how hard you try.
This story shows a very real approach to discovering identity.
We only gain a better definition of ourselves by knowing what we're NOT, what we're unwilling to give up.
And the Tango is such a beautiful metaphor for Dante's evolution,
not only as an immigrant, but as a human.
Tango has its roots in African culture and European culture, but like Dante, it made its way across the ocean
to South America, where it took on a new life.
At this time, Tango was fearlessly plunging forward into the unknown, blending together so many different
sounds. It was the anthem of immigrants, and it was the mode of unspoken or forbidden desires.
It was a genre that defied boundaries. It was an an indulgence for the rich, an escape for the poor,
and it just took on a life all its own. And that tumultuous nature, that continuous transformation,
perfectly mirrors Dante's journey in this book.
I'm so glad I found this story, and I definitely want to read more from this author.
I gave "The Gods of Tango" its rightful 5 stars.
So those were some of my thoughts on "The Gods of Tango." Of course, I would love to hear from you
if you have read this book yourself or if you plan to do so in the future,
so feel free to leave some thoughts in the comments below.
But that is everything I had for this review today. Thank you so much for watching this video.
I really hope that you enjoyed it, and I will catch YOU on the flip-side of the page.
Bye!
[♫ snazzy end screen music ♫]
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