THE seven short stories in You Glow in the Dark (New Directions, £11.99) by Bolivian writer Liliana Colanzi offer a unique blend. Everyday experiences and the fantastic merge in unusual ways, depicting a world that is both familiar and intriguingly different.

The book, translated by Chris Andrews and winner of the prestigious International Prize for Short Fiction Ribera del Duero, is predominantly set in Andean and Amazonian landscapes.

It delves deep into themes such as violence, femininity, motherhood, family, fear and illness, engaging the reader in a thought-provoking journey.   

It begins with The Cave, a short story divided into nine parts and centred around female characters, including a prehistoric pregnant woman who hunts rabbits and a young girl named Xochitl Salazar who is caught in a storm, discovering prehistoric drawings featuring hunting scenes and group sex. She also finds the mark of a hand that matches her own. 

Further on, Troglobites that keep themselves away from sunlight and disappear without any contact with other beings are also present, as are rare fungi and spores dwelling in the area, which are threatened by birds, weather and rain.  

In another story, The Debt, set in the Bolivian jungle, an aunt and her pregnant niece go to collect a debt. As they make different stops, they discover a dead body in the river.

During their stay in that place, the pregnant girl believes she sees the image of her mother, whose story she eventually learns. At the same time, memories emerge in the middle of the Amazonian landscape just before the long-awaited event unfolds. 

My favourite story in this scintillating book is Chaco, where an Indigenous man killed by a Bolivian who worked with the government to drive Matacos off their land takes revenge in unimaginable ways.

This collection, which has developed into a cult book, confirms Liliana Colanzi as one of the best short-story writers from Latin America.

Mexican writer Mateo Garcia Elizondo is the author of Last Date in El Zapotal (Charco Press, £11.99), a book about a destructive addiction, of what it means to live in that liminal space between life and death, and what happens when you start seeing ghosts and people begin not seeing you.

“I came to El Zapotal to die once and for all,” says the protagonist at the beginning of this story, at times using dark humour and irony to convey a sense of desperation.

The book, translated by Robin Myers and winner of the City of Barcelona Award, recounts the protagonist’s descent into a real and conceptual hell in a place called El Zapotal, a ghost town filled with vagabonds, prostitutes and ill-fated people.

As the story progresses, we’re unsure if he’s alive or dead.

“It’s strange to migrate unwittingly into another world, but I’ve been on this journey for a long time; the route has become my daily routine,” adds the protagonist. 

Myers has done an excellent job of conveying a sense of displacement and disconcertment, emphasising the ambiguities of a text that is as thrilling as it is devastating. I highly recommend Garcia Elizondo’s book.

Songs of Cifar and the Sweet Sea (Shearsman Books, £14.95) by the Nicaraguan intellectual Pablo Antonio Cuadra (1912-2002) was originally published in 1952 and is now considered a masterpiece. 

This collection of poems has an epic quality, not only in the stories of Cifar Guevara the sailor and his mythical adventures in Lake Cocibolca, but also in the use of popular forms that evoke everything from Homer’s Odyssey to the ancient tales of the Toltecs, Nahuas and Nicaraguas. 

Translator Adam Feinstein did a great job of rendering this classic into English, creating a translation of unusual beauty. The poems are filled with simple working-class characters telling legends of seafarers, carpenters and maidens that serve as a collective memory of a people, a country, and its historical struggles. 

An example is the poem Belarmino, where the poor sailor who “is not from the present day” and “lives on his own/ up there/ with a dog/ and once/ when Juan told him/ about the legend/ I thought/ I heard him/ mutter something/ about poverty.”