I was so glad when I read the stories in Cuentos de la Tierra. Frankly, I don’t really like reading, not even in English. But, I can sincerely say that this time was a rare occasion where my objective of reading as a means to an end meandered off the map that is my brain.

My favorite story was by far and away “El legajo.” I loved this story because I found it incredibly relatable. Despite being almost 50 years old, I found myself realizing how pertinent Lucio Novoa’s thoughts were to my life. He immediately thought of how the mangled body came to be, and got lost in inventing a heart-throbbing justification for it. He knew that, whatever the cause of death or whomever it was, it was somehow going to involve his line of inheritance. Being a descendent, he instinctively imagined a complex, insightful, and glorified love story. In other words, his thoughts were about as promising as they could be considering the mutilated corpse inherently promised tragedy. I think this was because the story was directly related to him, in his time and in his place, no matter how far back the story might have occurred.

We live in a world of omnipresent judgment, and we have become so conscious of every little thing that we do, and, moreover, every little thing that other people do. We love to judge others, without passing judgment on ourselves. But when the time for self-judgment comes, we tend to sway towards positive thoughts, solutions, and causes. However, I find that when we judge other people, when it is in no relation to ourselves, our instinct is pessimistic. Whether that is to feel good about ourselves or just the cynical world we live in, I do not know, but if my mother taught me one thing, it was to always step into other people’s shoes, to see all angles of the situation, no matter how far-fetched or unwanted they might be; rather than judging them, understand them. Lucio was “disrespectismo” to all of his workers, and he quickly judged them, even for just walking over and bothering him. Then, when he sees the jolting corpse, because it directly relates to his standing in society and society’s perception of him, he quickly metamorphoses from his noble arrogant “prick-ness” into a dramatic and astute romanticist. It’s amazing how we go through life captivated in this mood or in that mood and obsessed with what other people are doing and why. Our capriciousness is staggering. Sure, this story is not even in the sphere of modernity that we know, because we just don’t live like that anymore, but it's not the story line that makes it relatable, it's the human disposition exemplified within it; I can see where Lucio is coming from.

I've tried to gloss the naturalism within this story without stating it directly, but now dawns the hour of recognition and testimony. Most other literary movements ripple confusion, indifference, or sometimes even anger through my thoughts and feelings, which isn’t necessarily bad because it forces me out of my element, but it is certainly frustrating. But not this one. The blunt nature of this meditation endorses my affinity for the intertwined naturalist and realist literary movements-- human nature and character, down-to-earth feelings and thoughts, perceptions I can relate to-- ahhh after 22 years I have finally stumbled into my literary sanctuary.