Here at the End of the World we Learn to Dance

by Lloyd Jones

All the passion of the tango breathes from these pages. It is like a virus infecting the characters as they learn to abandon themselves in the dance. And then they learn to love - not just carnal lust, but affection, respect and all those things that go with it, knowledge that cascades down the generations.

This book full of mystery, romance and revelations about the human condition - and it's sexy and fun to read.


We stopped at a pub to eat, and as I feared would happen, when we entered conversation stopped and faces looked up. Rosa took no notice. It was a younger crowd, some my own age and a little older. Girls in blue track pants. One with a ring through her nose. Another with a nose stud. Some with Chinese symbols tattooed over their arms, or the names of their boyfriends branded with 'forever' over their flesh. They were the living, breathing flesh of the land, these large, bloated, meat-eating figures with heavy breasts swinging under their t-shirts and sweat tops. Their overfed cheeks sagged on heavy jawbones. In this company Rosa looked like a small porcelain doll.


Love in the Time of the Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Buena Vista Social Club - the film
The Motorcycle Diaires by Che Guevara

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