Mi libro enterrado
Mauro Libertella

NOVEL | 2013 | 77 pages

“When he died, Agustín, one of his childhood friends from Bahía Blanca, came to visit. He showed us some pictures of both of them, or of my father some other friends, when they were about twenty two or twenty three years old. That was how old I was when he died. I looked at those photos and searched for myself. I would’ve liked to know him back then. Agustín told us about their everyday lives as young men from the provinces, and through his memories I tried to understand my own youth, which, of course, was very different. Even though they saw each other with relative frequency over the years, Agustín was upset about losing that friend, the one in the pictures. When I understood that, I stopped searching for myself. I understood that that memory belonged to Agustín and to others like him and that I could only find the image I was looking for somewhere else.”

In October 2006, Hector Libertella — Argentinian author and Mauro Libertella’s father — dies. Four years later his son writes this book, remembering his final days and the fundamental moments in their relationship. In this way, Mi libro enterrado weaves together the golden threads of a father-son relationship. Like a miniature sound box, it is at the same time a goodbye, a requiem, an homage, a despairing song, and a text that talks about entering literature: a book about how to write a first book. 

RIGHTS: spanish (except Mexico and Costa Rica) PENGUIN RANDOM HOUSE I spanish (mexico) ELEFANTA I spanish (costa rica) LOS TRES EDITORES I dutch KARAAT

How is an inheritance constructed, or dismantled? This is one of the greatest questions of literature. Fathers and sons: Turgenev, Kafka, Beuys. What aspects of a father’s literature die along with him, and what does that disappearance augur? In this heroic, heartfelt book, both a memoir about a relationship and an exploration of death, Mauro Libertella takes on a distinguished mantle. I cried when I read it.
— Francisco Garamona
Héctor Libertella invented the Argentine version of an alchemical tradition and was consumed in the flame of his words. Like the snake Ouroboros, Mauro wraps himself around the gap left by a person to whom he was desperately close, forming an unbreakable connection to him with great sensitivity.
— Daniel Guebel
This is a serious, very beautiful book that is neither a settling of accounts nor a eulogy. Once you’ve immersed yourself, you sense other words twinkling messily but inevitably and very clearly: nobility and love.
— Alejandro Zambra
A father locks himself away, determined to remain invisible, so as to complete his work. Héctor Libertella dies and Mauro Libertella writes... This is a beautiful, intense book written with perfect, moving precision.
— Fabián Casas
Mi libro enterrado (My Buried Book) is an incredible reading experience. I’ve never felt anything like it: his ability to touch us with that quiet, intense writing is incredible. After this brief roller coaster of 77 pages (you feel compelled to read it all the way through in one sitting), you end up transformed.
— Rosario Bléfari