The demise of the Alpine glacier to which Hintermeier has devoted his scholarly life palpably demonstrates that todayâs consumerist humans certainly do not live in such accord. What to do? His work at the institute thus essentially over, Zeno gamely follows a colleagueâs suggestion to give lectures to tourists traveling to the Antarctic. Now in his fourth year on the MS Hansen, he has just been elevated to expedition leader, and this is where he begins the notebook we read. Like his glacier, Zenoâs marriage and social life generally have melted away, freeing him to conduct a shipboard affair with a young woman to help her family back home in the Philippines. But this relationship cannotâas scenes in their respective home worlds sardonically illustrateâextend beyond the ship. Then, too, Zeno increasingly hears a greater calling. Scientists like him have documented to death the damage we are doing, but mere data have not sufficed to get peopleâs attention. Enter Dan Quentin, a Christo-like installation artist. To warn the world at large of the fragile state of this environment , Quentin plans a performance in which the Hansenâs 220 passengers will form a giant SOS to save the Antarctic. It is around this SOS that a second narrative is arrayed. Interlaced among patches of advertising slogans, clichĂ©s, old saws, lewd jokes, snatches of pop songs, and whatnot, this narrative broadcasts ongoing reports about activities concerning the Hansen. Each segment of this narrative closes with, in all caps, âbreaking news,â the first being âaccident in the antarctic ?â There is no more radio contact, no mayday has been issued, and the ship is heading back into the Atlantic. Why? In his notebook Zeno rants about all our destructive behavior, but, signally, he reveals more. The barman who has seen it all here in the port of Ushuaia (this âend of the worldâ) says Zeno is worse than all the others, who are nothing but talk, because he understands whatâs happening but sells his âknowledge for a few pieces of silver.â The barmanâs charge ringing in his ears, it dawns on Zeno that, as he tells Paulina, hell is not a place, it is the realization that you did not do anything when you still could, and should have. What he does youâll learn in the final âbreaking news,â but what Iâll tell you here is that, however tragic Zenoâs world, Ilija Trojanowâs depiction of it is trenchantly funny, and his inventive and acrobatic German has been rendered into felicitously engaging English by Philip Boehm. Ulf Zimmermann Kennesaw State University Mario Vargas Llosa. Cinco esquinas. Madrid. Alfaguara. 2016. 314 pages. Mario Vargas Llosaâs latest novel is as much a psychological thriller as it is a compelling portrait of power and corruption in Peruâs recent political history. Set in Lima during the dictatorship of Alberto Fujimori (1990â2000), the plot of Cinco esquinas is twofold: the odd-numbered chapters tell the story of Enrique CĂĄrdenas, a wealthy entrepreneur who belongs to the Peruvian elite, while the even-numbered ones focus on the story of Rolando Garro, the unscrupulous editor of the weekly tabloid Destapes, from which a mischievous blend of political power and yellow journalism emerges in the narrative. Early on, Enrique CĂĄrdenas and his wife, Marisa, lead a comfortable life together while sharing a close friendship with Luciano Casabellas, a respected attorney who is married to Chabela, Marisaâs best friend. At the time, Peru is threatened by terrorism and rampant political violence; so much so that Marisa and Chabela are unexpectedly forced to spend the night together because of a government curfew, an occasion that allows their unspoken desires to flourish. Soon thereafter, Rolando Garro pays a visit to CĂĄrdenas and, after a tense conversation, gives him a series of photographs of an orgy in which CĂĄrdenas participated years ago. World Literature in Review 86 WLT SEPTEMBERâOCTOBER 2016 Garro later asks CĂĄrdenas for $100,000 in order to keep Destapes running while also offering to become a business partner at the tabloid; and while he is fully aware of Garroâs veiled...