By Cristina García
Within the overdue 60s, 3 childrens from world wide are making their approach on this planet: Enrique Florit, from Cuba, residing in southern California along with his flamboyant magician father; Marta Claros, getting by means of within the slums of San Salvador; Leila Rezvani, a well-to-do surgeon's daughter in Tehran. We persist with them over the years, surviving battle, disillusionment, and love, as their lives and paths intersect. With its forged of vividly drawn characters, its swish flow via time, and the mental shifts among adolescence and maturity, A guide to Luck is a gorgeous, elegiac, and deeply emotional novel by means of loved storyteller Cristina García.
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Additional info for A Handbook to Luck
As I sat down I gave him a friendly smile and he tilted his head in reply. I began studying the menu, a once white sheet of A4 paper with such an extensive list of dishes I felt making a choice was beyond my ability. Then I was distracted by a delicious smell. A kitchen boy had wandered over with a tray of fruit pancakes. He distributed them to a group of Americans, cutting off a good-natured argument about train times to Chiang Mai. One of them noticed me eyeing their food and he pointed at his plate.
We'd arranged to catch the eight-thirty train south so there was no need for me to get back for at least two hours. I took a left off the Khao San Road, went down an alley, ducked under the scaffold of a half-finished building, and came out on a busy main street. I suddenly found myself surrounded by Thais. I'd half forgotten which country I was in, stuck in backpacker land, and It took me a few minutes to adjust to the change. Before long I came to a low bridge over a canal. It was hardly picturesque but I stopped there to find my reflection and follow the swirls of petrol colour.
Perhaps he'd lie in a Bangkok deep-freeze for a year or two, or perhaps he'd be incinerated. An image came into my head of his mother back in Europe, unaware she was just about to start several dark months of trying to find out why her son had stopped contacting her. It seemed wrong that I could have such an important piece of information while she was ignorant. If she existed. These thoughts unsettled me. I decided not to continue directly to the guest-house, where Étienne and Françoise would be wanting to talk about the beach and the map.