Short Stories & Anthologies
![Agustina Bazterrica - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B07CMB2JD1.jpg)
Nineteen Claws and a Black Bird: Stories
A collection of nineteen dark, wildly imaginative short stories from the author of the award-winning TikTok sensation Tender Is the Flesh.
From celebrated author Agustina Bazterrica, this collection of nineteen brutal, darkly funny short stories takes into our deepest fears and through our most disturbing fantasies. Through stories about violence, alienation, and dystopia, Bazterrica's vision of the human experience emerges in complex, unexpected ways-often unsettling, sometimes thrilling, and always profound. In "Roberto," a girl claims to have a rabbit between her legs. A woman's neighbor jumps to his death in "A Light, Swift, and Monstrous Sound," and in "Candy Pink," a woman fails to contend with a difficult breakup in five easy steps.
Written in Bazterrica's signature clever, vivid style, these stories question love, friendship, family relationships, and unspeakable desires.
From celebrated author Agustina Bazterrica, this collection of nineteen brutal, darkly funny short stories takes into our deepest fears and through our most disturbing fantasies. Through stories about violence, alienation, and dystopia, Bazterrica's vision of the human experience emerges in complex, unexpected ways-often unsettling, sometimes thrilling, and always profound. In "Roberto," a girl claims to have a rabbit between her legs. A woman's neighbor jumps to his death in "A Light, Swift, and Monstrous Sound," and in "Candy Pink," a woman fails to contend with a difficult breakup in five easy steps.
Written in Bazterrica's signature clever, vivid style, these stories question love, friendship, family relationships, and unspeakable desires.
Editorial Reviews
One of Book Riot's Best Horror Books of 2023
"Provocative… Vivid and bizarre, this will entrance."
-Publishers Weekly
"Provocative… Vivid and bizarre, this will entrance."
-Publishers Weekly
Readers Top Reviews
JessicaKayleighchris
However, when I noticed it was the author of Tender is the Flesh (Agustina Bazterrica), I wouldn’t dare pass on the opportunity to read her latest work. I loved the collection of short dark stories. I will say that some were more difficult to understand what was going on. This may be due to the fact that the book is in English and not in her native language. Teicher Vs. Nietzsche, No Tears, and Architecture were some of the ones that were super hard for me to follow along with. I think Mary Carminum or Anita and Happiness were perhaps my favorites and could have been stronger finishers IMO. Overall, an enjoyable and quick read. I enjoy dark and disturbing though. I’m looking forward to seeing what she comes out with next!!!! 😊 Thank you to NetGalley, Agustina Bazterrica, and Scribner for the ARC of this book.
Jennifer Jones
This is the first book I have read from this author and was really impressed with the level of creativity and ingenuity to create something so visceral and alive. I felt very haunted and just enjoyed the bizarreness and the range of stories that were told in this book. I am definitely going to have to go back and read Tender is the Flesh now as I have had a taste of this author's work and find it to be equal parts fascinating, appalling, and mesmerizing at the same time. These stories were definitely something different and offered something so different than the standard short story book. Thanks for the ARC, NetGalley.
E. Smock
I loved Tender is the Flesh, so I was happy to see that we’d be getting another translation of Agustina Bazterrica’s work. This is a collection of 20 short stories. These all have dark, literary themes, and I enjoyed reading the majority of them. My favorites were Roberto, Unamuno’s Boxes, Anita and Happiness, Earth, A Hole Hides a House, and Mary Carminum. These were all dark with a twist at the end. I really didn’t know what was going to happen next! These 20 stories are all rather short, so it was a really fast read for me. Especially since I didn’t want to put the book down; I kept wanting to see what the next story would bring! I’d recommend this to anyone into dark literature or fans of Tender is the Flesh. Thank you to Scribner and NetGalley for the ARC.
over_booked.blonde
Book : Nineteen Claws and a Black Bird Author : Agustina Bazterrica Thank you Net Galley, Scribner and the author of this book for an opportunity to review this ARC. This book was amazing. I LOVE Augustina’s writing and I love short stories!!! Tender Is The Flesh is one of my all time favorite books. I read through these many times! Dark short stories are my comfort. I loved all of these little stories. Short and packing a creepy dark punch to them. Perfect for anytime as far as I’m concerned but would be perfect to set on your coffee table for the fall time for a little aesthetic reading. This is quite possibly a top favorite true short story book and I will be telling all of my book besties about this one. It needs to be on your TBR.
Azubc
The Argentine author of the wildly successful novel Tender is the Flesh is back with the newest English translated release, Nineteen Claws and a Black Bird; Stories. A chilling look into modern Argentina and the everyday horrors that haunt. The collection is full of suspense and dread, and Bazterrica does a masterful job of creating a sense of unease. She explores the horror in our own daily sanity glitches. From story to story, the prose is unique, exceptional, dreadful, and agonizingly relevant to the daily horrors of life with unexpected and fluid twists. Readers are left wondering whether the suspected monsters are imaginary, fantastical, or coping mechanisms to a fractured individual. The author's talent at describing characters' physique and faces is also a highlight, "she had the eyes of a filthy, infertile, solitary cat." If you enjoyed her first novel, this genre bending collection is a must for your bookshelf. This was the first time I had a book hangover from a short story. It took me a couple of days to continue, and I did not put it down after.
Short Excerpt Teaser
1. A Light, Swift, and Monstrous Sound A LIGHT, SWIFT, AND MONSTROUS SOUND
First the dentures fell onto the blue tiles of your patio. They broke in two, and it was that harsh, metallic sound that stopped you in your tracks. You crouched down to pick up one of the halves. It was clearly old and belonged to an unkempt person, someone with no dental hygiene whatsoever. You wondered who this could be, whether it was some neighbor who'd dropped them or thought to throw them onto your patio. You were about to take one more step, to pick up the other half, but you stood there thinking it was a little ironic that dentures had fallen precisely onto your patio, a dentist's patio, and it was at that moment that Menéndez's body fell, seconds after his dentures.
The sound of Menéndez's body plummeting, breaking, dying on the blue tiles of your patio, that vulgar and profound noise, paralyzed you. You clutched the dentures until they cut your hand as you watched Menéndez's blood stain your patio. You thought you could hear his blood dirtying your tiles; you thought you understood the sound to be like the cold, a cold that's light, swift, and monstrous.
You crouched down as though by force of habit and picked up the other piece, which was very close to your bare foot, your shoeless foot, a January 1 foot, at home on holiday, at the start of a new year that would be productive and happy, while your neighbor Menéndez lay dead on the blue tiles of your patio.
You looked at Menéndez's body, which was naked and had no dentures. You smiled because it would have been very easy for you to fix his dentures and you would have done so free of charge, because Menéndez was your neighbor, had been your neighbor. His mouth was now open, empty. The expression on his face was one of hatred, a hatred that was pure, specific, directed, a hatred targeted at the woman who lived on the ground floor in apartment B, at you.
You saw Menéndez's red blood, which was essentially black, move slowly toward your right foot, and you became aware that half a centimeter had prevented you from ending up underneath the frail but forceful bones, the yellowed and oily, murderous skin, the toothless mouth of the filthy old man that was Menéndez.
The sound of his body committing suicide on the blue tiles of your patio, that sound, which now seemed faint, almost insignificant, but that had been excessive, cruel, had become mixed up with the question of why he'd gone and killed himself on your patio. He'd had several others, abandoned patios, larger patios, flower-filled patios, empty patios, beautiful patios, patios with no neighbor hanging clothes barefoot in a nightgown on January 1. You looked up and understood that the only way Menéndez could have killed himself on your patio was by climbing onto the wall of his rooftop terrace. Menéndez had chosen your patio; he'd chosen you. He'd tried to kill you, or at the very least, harm you. Menéndez had gone to so much effort, you thought, and yet had been so ineffective.
You shuddered when you saw the blood run slowly, but ferociously, around the edges of your foot. The soft sound of the red liquid moving almost in silence made your body go cold and you wanted to scream, but all you did was stare at the dentures.
You heard the neighbors behind the door to your apartment. So many neighbors, so many patios, so much noise. They rang the bell, knocked, called out your name, but you were looking, mesmerized, at Menéndez's horribly made dentures, and you laughed, because you understood that this was an awful joke fate had played on you, one of those stories that happen only to a colleague's cousin's friend's girlfriend, who tells it in a way that's humorous and not very convincing at some forgotten gathering, mixing your story, your truth, with improbable urban legends, while everyone laughs and drinks and thinks that a neighbor will never fall on their heads. And you felt that people like you didn't deserve this, courteous people, professional people, people with their lives together and in order, people you considered to be good, because you were an exemplary person, your values were in the right place, and you were destined for success. That Menéndez's repugnant, naked body was an omen at the start of your year, a sign from the heavens, was simply unacceptable. That an everyday appliance, an object of decidedly little value, such as used dentures, had intervened and saved your young and vital body, your perfect and radiant teeth, from ending up under Menéndez's decaying bones, his aging, sweating skin, was an insult.
You remained there, crouched down and clutching the dentures, the two halves in your hand, while someone knocked your door in and the neighbors and police entered, yelling things ...
First the dentures fell onto the blue tiles of your patio. They broke in two, and it was that harsh, metallic sound that stopped you in your tracks. You crouched down to pick up one of the halves. It was clearly old and belonged to an unkempt person, someone with no dental hygiene whatsoever. You wondered who this could be, whether it was some neighbor who'd dropped them or thought to throw them onto your patio. You were about to take one more step, to pick up the other half, but you stood there thinking it was a little ironic that dentures had fallen precisely onto your patio, a dentist's patio, and it was at that moment that Menéndez's body fell, seconds after his dentures.
The sound of Menéndez's body plummeting, breaking, dying on the blue tiles of your patio, that vulgar and profound noise, paralyzed you. You clutched the dentures until they cut your hand as you watched Menéndez's blood stain your patio. You thought you could hear his blood dirtying your tiles; you thought you understood the sound to be like the cold, a cold that's light, swift, and monstrous.
You crouched down as though by force of habit and picked up the other piece, which was very close to your bare foot, your shoeless foot, a January 1 foot, at home on holiday, at the start of a new year that would be productive and happy, while your neighbor Menéndez lay dead on the blue tiles of your patio.
You looked at Menéndez's body, which was naked and had no dentures. You smiled because it would have been very easy for you to fix his dentures and you would have done so free of charge, because Menéndez was your neighbor, had been your neighbor. His mouth was now open, empty. The expression on his face was one of hatred, a hatred that was pure, specific, directed, a hatred targeted at the woman who lived on the ground floor in apartment B, at you.
You saw Menéndez's red blood, which was essentially black, move slowly toward your right foot, and you became aware that half a centimeter had prevented you from ending up underneath the frail but forceful bones, the yellowed and oily, murderous skin, the toothless mouth of the filthy old man that was Menéndez.
The sound of his body committing suicide on the blue tiles of your patio, that sound, which now seemed faint, almost insignificant, but that had been excessive, cruel, had become mixed up with the question of why he'd gone and killed himself on your patio. He'd had several others, abandoned patios, larger patios, flower-filled patios, empty patios, beautiful patios, patios with no neighbor hanging clothes barefoot in a nightgown on January 1. You looked up and understood that the only way Menéndez could have killed himself on your patio was by climbing onto the wall of his rooftop terrace. Menéndez had chosen your patio; he'd chosen you. He'd tried to kill you, or at the very least, harm you. Menéndez had gone to so much effort, you thought, and yet had been so ineffective.
You shuddered when you saw the blood run slowly, but ferociously, around the edges of your foot. The soft sound of the red liquid moving almost in silence made your body go cold and you wanted to scream, but all you did was stare at the dentures.
You heard the neighbors behind the door to your apartment. So many neighbors, so many patios, so much noise. They rang the bell, knocked, called out your name, but you were looking, mesmerized, at Menéndez's horribly made dentures, and you laughed, because you understood that this was an awful joke fate had played on you, one of those stories that happen only to a colleague's cousin's friend's girlfriend, who tells it in a way that's humorous and not very convincing at some forgotten gathering, mixing your story, your truth, with improbable urban legends, while everyone laughs and drinks and thinks that a neighbor will never fall on their heads. And you felt that people like you didn't deserve this, courteous people, professional people, people with their lives together and in order, people you considered to be good, because you were an exemplary person, your values were in the right place, and you were destined for success. That Menéndez's repugnant, naked body was an omen at the start of your year, a sign from the heavens, was simply unacceptable. That an everyday appliance, an object of decidedly little value, such as used dentures, had intervened and saved your young and vital body, your perfect and radiant teeth, from ending up under Menéndez's decaying bones, his aging, sweating skin, was an insult.
You remained there, crouched down and clutching the dentures, the two halves in your hand, while someone knocked your door in and the neighbors and police entered, yelling things ...
