The Book of Chameleons by José Eduardo Agualusa

Interesting African writers keep emerging, and if there is ever a second edition of A Basket of Leaves, I will have to do some thinking about who should be included. In the meantime, I try to keep tabs on new writers, especially those from out-of-the-way countries.

The Book of Chameleons is a novel by the Angolan-born writer José Eduardo Agualusa. Though I like the title well enough, it’s a far cry from the original Portuguese: O vendedor de passados, or as the reading guide in the back puts it, The Genealogy Salesman. It doesn’t have that much to do with chameleons, either. The book is narrated, in fact, by a talking gecko. Not to be confused with the talking gecko in those car insurance commercials, this one has a fine prose style—and no wonder, since he was once the Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges. Here’s an example:

Old Esperança had left his fish soup in the oven so it wouldn’t get cold. Early that morning she’d bought a lovely snapper, fresh from the island fishermen, and three smoked catfish from the São Paulo market. A cousin had come from Gabela bringing some chili-scented berries — solid fire, the albino explained to me — as well as manioc, sweet potato, spinach and tomatoes. No sooner had Félix put the dish out on the table than a powerful scent filled the room — warm as an embrace — and for the first time in ages I lamented my current condition. I’d like to be able to sit at the table too ... The foreigner ate with a glowing appetite, as though he weren’t tasting the firm flesh of the snapper but its whole life, the years and years slipping between the sudden explosions of a shoal, the whirling of the waters, the thick strands of light that on sunny evenings fall straight down into the blue abyss.