Days of the night

Stories. Small. Dense. Corrosive. Handle with care.

The cruel elegance of everyday normality. In childhood, cruelty disguised as innocence, the latent violence lurking beneath the veneer of domestic life.

All it takes is a child who lies naturally, a family nourished by resentments (is there any that isn't?), a banal gesture that opens the way to the abyss. 

Reading Days of the Night is realizing that horror lies not in grand catastrophes, but in small acts of selfishness, lies, and revenge. 

Silvina Ocampo (1903–1993), sister of Victoria Ocampo, was one of the most original and underestimated voices in Argentine literature. A trained painter and writer by destiny, she devoted herself primarily to the short story. Often relegated to the background due to the brilliance of Borges and Bioy Casares, with whom she shared affinities and projects, Silvina built a singular body of work, marked by irony, subtle cruelty, and a disturbing imagination.

Reading Ocampo is facing the uncomfortable certainty that monstrosity rarely comes from outside: it lives within each of us.