“ENERO REY, standing firm on the boat, stocky and beardless, swollen-bellied, legs astride, stares hard at the surface of the river and waits, revolver in hand.” 

So begins Not a River (Charco Press, £11.99), Selva Almada’s third book in a loose trilogy that includes The Wind that Lays Waste and Brickmakers, all exploring issues of masculinity, the harsh life in the Parana Delta and the underlying forces of violence. 

The book, beautifully translated by Annie McDermott and shortlisted for The Vargas Llosa Biennial Prize, evokes a place and a time that merges and meanders like the river itself. The story follows three men as they embark on a fishing trip under a baking sun. Along the way, one of the protagonists is haunted by the memory of a tragic accident that resurfaces like a bad dream. They encounter various rural characters who populate a world of daily tragedies, poverty and disappointments. 

Through her prose, Almada skilfully weaves together a vibrant and lyrical narrative that combines the voices and experiences of ordinary workmen of Argentine Mesopotamia with those of rural women and their sons “never ready for tragedy.” These are people born and raised in a tough and unfriendly environment, and they are shaped by the lush and watery surroundings around them. 

The novel itself ended up dictating how it should be written, according to the author, Selva, in an interview. She says it asked to be written in a murmur, almost like the sound of the water. This is a skillfully crafted novel by one of the most powerful voices in contemporary Argentinian and Latin American literature.

Alberto Arvelo Torrealba’s Florentino and the Devil (Shearsman Books, £12.95), translated by Timothy Ades, is a rare Latin American book with an ageless, legendary quality. Set in the beautiful landscape of los llanos, the Plains of Venezuela, the book tells the story of Florentino, a skilled horseman, handsome and fond of improvising songs and poems, and the Devil, cunning and treacherous. 

The Devil becomes envious of Florentino’s abilities and challenges him to a singing contest one night. The legend goes that if the Devil wins before dawn, Florentino will travel with him to Hell. Florentino’s reward is simply to have defeated the Devil with his songs.

Ades conveys the intricacy and originality of the source text through a copious rhyming scheme and flowing assonance. For instance, the lines by the Devil: “No importa si lo patea./ Una cosa piensa el burro/ y otra el que no se le apea./ ¡Ay, catire Florentino!/ escuche a quien lo previene:/ déle tregua a la porfía/ pá que tome y se serene,/ para que el ron le de alivio/ y el dolor no lo envenene/ cundo el lóbrego eslbón/ de la sombra lo encadene” are translated as: “Her kick doesn’t matter./ The jackass thinks one thing,/ rough-rider another./ Fair-face Florentino!/ Take heed of this warning:/ back down from your bile,/ drink deep and be mellow:/ here’s rum to relieve you/ from poison to sorrow,/ from dolorous chains/ that shackle in shadow” — a remarkable poem. 

Stepmotherland (Notre Dame Press, £12) is Darrel Alejandro Holnes’s debut poetry collection. The book, winner of the Andres Montoya Poetry Prize, is divided into four main sections: Foreigner, Inmigrante, Citizen and Patriot. 

The poems in each section narrate the story of the Afro-Panamanian American poet, from his family’s traumatic experiences during the US invasion of Panama in 1989 to his daily existence as a black, queer poet in the US. 

Among the many wonderful poems, Black Parade stands out: “Coming out isn’t the same as coming to America/ except for the welcome parade/ put on by ghosts like your granduncle Hector/ who came to New York from Panama in the 50s/ and was never heard of again/ and by the beautiful gays who died of AIDS in the 80s/ whose cases your mother studied/ in nursing school”. 

There are beautiful odes, ekphrastic poems, and a poem in scenes describing the US invasion of Panama. A collection that sings with truth and dignity by one of the most exciting Latinx poets writing today.