“𝘐𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘴; 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰.”

Set in Colombia in 1992, Rio Muerto , translated from the Spanish by Victor Meadowcroft, takes us to the rural village of Bélen de Chami, a community caught in the throes of the country’s seemingly unending civil war.

The story unfolds from the perspective of Salomón’s ghost, Hipólita’s deceased husband, who was executed right outside their home. As Hipólita becomes engulfed in her grief, we learn that Salomón Palacios is an ordinary man who simply found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. His inability to speak—he is referred to as a "mute"—symbolises the voicelessness of countless Colombians who have faced senseless violence at the hands of local guerrillas. His murder sets off a tragic chain of events, drawing us deeper into their harrowing reality.

Through Salomón’s ghost, we follow Hipólita and her sons as she confronts paramilitaries, corrupt politicians, her husband’s murderers, and the church—each entangled in a web of relentless physical and psychological brutality. Silva Romero presents this poignant tale of violence, community, and survival with precision, delivering a narrative that is both chilling and profoundly impactful.

The family's ordeal is unimaginable. Hipólita - a name that conveys an imagery of liberation and freedom resonates deeply within the context of the novel - endures severe abuse, grappling with rampant misogyny and corrupt power. “𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦,” Salomón’s ghost tells their children. Romero’s darkly poetic tale is further brought to life through a haunting Latin American magical realism that feels both eerie and compelling.

Segundo, the second-born son, give us hope as he strives to be different and to save his family from their tragic fate. This complex narrative of this family who dares to challenge the status quo is not an easy read; as I immersed in the story I found the feelings of powerlessness it evokes to be quite overwhelming. Despite its difficult topics, this novel is crucial and necessary.

Thank you to NetGalley and World Editions for the advance copy. #pudseyrecommends

3.5⭐️ I wanted to like this book more than I did. But, I still had a good experience.

The story centers around a murdered mute man in the town of Belén del Chamí (a town so small that it does not even figure in the official map of Colombia), and how his widow and sons deal with the aftermath.

I liked the premise of the book, I think the story was told in a great way. What made me give it a lower rating was that I’ve read so many stories similar to this one that they somehow start to blend together.

That being said, I want to continue reading more from this author in the future.

If you don’t know much about Colombia’s history, I suggest reading the author’s note first. While it won’t spoil the novel, it will prepare you for the violence, and describe the background thereof.

Río Muerto is not here to teach you about Colombia, though. That, and the stories of all the world’s countries suffering from the after-effects of colonialism, is the reader’s own responsibility to learn. It does, however, offer a starting point to understand the country: not just the violence so often portrayed in mass media, but also the spirit of survival and renewal in the Colombian people.

As befits its name, Río Muerto is dark, gritty, and ghostly. It belongs on a list of great Colombian literature.

Ricardo Silva Romero's Rio Muerto, translated by Victor Meadowcroft, examines the effects of the unrelenting violence in 1992 Colombia's on its citizens. Belén del Chamí is a town so forgotten it’s not even indicated on maps. Ravaged by decades of conflict between guerrillas and paramilitaries with no respite in sight. In the 1950s and 60s those fleeing persecution came here only to be subjected to guerilla violence in 1975. The name Rio Muerto refers to the Rio Charm river, a river of death that’s carried away many dead bodies. Life is cheap here.

Salomón Palacios, a mute man, is murdered a few steps away from his home because he helped one of the members of the opposition move so he has to be a “rat”. His ghostly form also acts as the story's narrator. What he observes is his widow, Hipólita, a woman known for her courage and sharp tongue, descends into grief and madness. She abandons them for a month while she grapples with her loss, a period marked by near-starvation and a complete withdrawal from life. When she recovers she's a woman on a mission to make known to everyone who those responsible for her husband's death is. It's not easy since those in power in town are also the corrupt, whether it's the priest or the policeman. Once she has done this, she plans on killing herself and her two sons, Maximiliano, the strong and outgoing twelve-year-old, and eight-year-old Segundo who is fearful of everything. Hipólita sees this as the only way they can be together again as a family.

The novel points out the pervasive corruption, extending from local politicians to the police and even the church, highlighting the systemic nature of the problem. This corruption is not just a background detail; it's a driving force in the narrative, shaping the characters' fates and perpetuating the cycle of violence.

Through Salomón's ghostly narration the senselessness of the violence and its lasting impact is emphasised. He looks on Hipólita grapples with grief and the weight of her husband's reputation. He also observes his two sons as they navigate a world marked by fear and uncertainty.

“He floated nearby, like a moth fluttering at lightbulbs, overcome by a need to swear to them by the Lord and his angels that he’s had no idea they would actually kill him.”

Rio Muerto is an unsettling read: dark, atmospheric and filled with despair and a sense of hopelessness. Romero shows the brutality of life in Colombia as well as the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring connections that, in this case, transcend even death. An unflinching portrayal of a community ravaged by conflict, offering a poignant reminder of the human cost of violence.

Ricardo Silva Romero’s Río Muerto is a searing and poetic exploration of loss, violence, and resilience, set against the turbulent backdrop of Colombia’s paramilitary conflict. Reminiscent of Gabriel García Márquez’s Chronicle of a Death Foretold, this novel blends the harsh realities of political violence with a lyrical meditation on grief, memory, and the power of the unseen.

The story begins with the murder of Salomón Palacios, a mute man living on the outskirts of Belén del Chamí, a forgotten town that seems almost mythological in its obscurity. His death ignites a fiery reaction from his widow, Hipólita Arenas, a woman as brash as she is courageous. Hipólita’s grief turns into a desperate and defiant confrontation with the paramilitaries and corrupt local politicians who have stolen her family’s future. As she risks everything to challenge the forces that killed her husband, Hipólita discovers a reason to keep living: a fierce determination to protect her sons and honor Salomón’s memory.

What sets Río Muerto apart is its unique narrative perspective. Told through the ghost of Salomón himself, the novel captures an otherworldly quality that adds depth to its themes. Salomón watches over his family, his perspective giving the story an ethereal, timeless tone while highlighting the human connections that endure beyond death. Silva Romero’s prose is hypnotic, blending raw emotion with moments of poetic beauty. He paints vivid scenes of Belén del Chamí’s landscapes and violence, while also illuminating the invisible forces of imagination, hope, and spiritual connection.

At its core, Río Muerto is both a denunciation of systemic brutality and a celebration of resistance. Through Hipólita, Silva Romero portrays the strength of ordinary people in the face of unimaginable suffering. Her raw grief, laced with profanity and unrelenting defiance, makes her a compelling protagonist who refuses to be silenced.

Silva Romero uses his narrative to address the larger context of paramilitarism and its devastating impact on rural Colombia. Yet, even as it condemns violence, the novel uplifts the invisible threads of humanity that persist in its shadow—memory, imagination, and the faint yet unbreakable hope for a better future.

Río Muerto is a haunting and profoundly moving novel that masterfully intertwines the personal and the political. Silva Romero’s storytelling is as bold and unflinching as his characters, making this a powerful testament to resilience in the face of tragedy.

An enticing novella by Columbian author Ricardo Silva Romero, Río Muerto (2025) is a historic literary fiction tale narrated by a ghost. Salomón Palacios is a mute man in 1992 Columbia, when he is shot two metres from his front door. His widow, Hipolita, together with their sons Max (twelve) and Segundo (eight) set off on a journey, accompanied by Salomón who cannot intervene in their grief. It makes for difficult reading and is a melancholic reflection on violence experienced by ordinary Colombians. An almost poetic narrative feel gives this exquisite fable account a four star read rating. As always, the opinions herein are totally my own, freely given and without any inducement. With thanks to World Editions and the author, for an uncorrected advanced review copy for review purposes.

As is the case with many Latin American novelists, Silva Romero's prose has a hypnotic rhythm, an oral narrative, almost ballad-like quality, and all this to recount events of unspeakable cruelty, such as a father murdered on the doorstep who becomes a ghost to protect his derelict family and guide them out of the clutches of madness, misery and injustice. Not an easy read, partly because of the type of writing, at times too emphatic, and partly because of the facts narrated. A novel that lacks very little - perhaps a little lucidity - to be called a masterpiece.

Río Muerto chronicles the life of Salomón, a mute, whose senseless death leads his spirit to haunt the lives of his wife and two remaining children. Amidst the chaos of war, the small town of Belén de Chamí includes crooked characters and violence that will have you grieving alongside Hípolota and her sons.
Salomóns character as a spirit parallels the need to speak both in life and death, and has one goal once he is gone: to have his family leave their town. I really enjoyed the character development of the young boys, and how they had to grow up and take care of themselves, striving to live. Hípolota's grief broke my heart!
Overall, this book was so atmospheric and dark.
Thank you Ricardo Silva Romero, the publisher, and Netgalley for the book inexhange for an honest review.

This is a dense but interesting insight into Columbian history and the violence which has gripped many of its towns and villages. The ghost of Salomon tells the story of his death and its repercussions, poetically highlighting the victimisation of innocent citizens. My only problem with this novel is its writing style, which could be down to its translation, which at times lacked flow and was hard to get into. However, a good read for people looking for a short, poetic work of translated fiction from Latin America.

This was a complex story of a family in rural Colombia, who had pushed against the status quo. In so few pages, this weaves an in depth tale of corruption of an entire community and also the faults of every day people. Segundo, the second born son, is the only light, trying as he might to be different and save his family.

This story was gut wrenching. We are watching this story unfold from the perspective of Salomon's ghost, our MC. Things transpire that cause him to be in this state and those things cause his widow, Hipolita, to completely lose all sanity. The whole thing was a bleak and haunting look at death, violence, facing our fears and losing all hope. Set in Colombia during a very violent and scary time, when innocent people were governed and sometimes slaughtered by paramilitaries and the local authorities who either collaborated with them or simply stood by and did nothing. This book was previously published in Spanish. This translated version releases in paperback February 18, 2025. Thank you so much to NetGalley & World Editions for the ARC.

Thank you NetGalley and World Editions for providing me this book in exchange for an honest review

This book tells you from a POV about a family who lives in an area with corrupted government and church, and perfidious neighborhood. The father was killed by a powerful and influential figure who's in drug cartel and a pornographer. Left behind are the wife and 2 sons. Full of grief and enraged, the wife tried to faced off the corrupted people while the spirit of the husband was trying to speak to his wife to stop her action and just flew from that place.

This book was like a reminder of mine, for how much I love literary fiction with historical aspects and relevant.
It is like opens a window to my mind and see the real horror the Columbians facing for years and years even now.
I'm so glad that I'm allowed to read this book as it is such a thought-provoking book. I really recommend this book!

February 1992, and the rural village of Bélen de Chami is caught in the midst of Colombia's seemingly never-ending civil war.
When the mute Salomón Palacios is senselessly murdered by local guerillas, leaving a widow and two orphan boys, it sets in motion the chain of events that draw the reader inexorably onward.
His widow, Hipólita, is so enraged that she confronts his killers and everyone else in the village complicit in his murder, in vivid fashion like a thriller. Meanwhile, Salomón's ghosts watches over proceedings, in magic realism style.
This is a short but gripping and memorable book.
Thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for this honest review.

This is an excellent, short book but full of tragedy, I would definitely recommend this to anyone who is a fan of translated works, especially from Spanish. The character development is fantastic.

This translated novel takes place in Colombia in the year 1992. We follow a mother and her two sons as they navigate grief and loss after their husband/father is gunned down in front of their home.

At times the book can be difficult to follow but it doesn't take away from the strong message it leaves after you finish reading. It's a novel meant to provoke the reader... what would you do if the government controlled you in this way, if they were the ones committing the atrocities? How would you react to losing someone you love because they did the right thing, that was wrong to the people of power? How do you grieve when the murder is an injustice? The author lays these questions on the table and as you follow the family, the answers that they give might surprise you.

I rate this a solid 3.5 stars. As aforementioned it can be a little difficult to read but it is an important read because these atrocities are still committed.

Thank you to NetGalley and World Editions for allowing me to read the eARC ahead of its publication for my review.

A testament to the power of the novel to inform, engage and move people.

Río Muerto by Ricardo Silva Romero tells the story set on the outskirts of Belén del Chamí, a town that has yet to appear on any map of Colombia, where the mute Salomón Palacios is murdered a few steps away from his home.

Told from the perspective of Salomón’s ghost, we follow his widow, Hipólita, as she is taken over by grief. She confronts the paramilitaries and local politicians, She faces her husband’s murderers. A brutal story about violence, community and life.

Precise, disturbing, visceral.

Many thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for the eARC.

3⭐️ After the murder of her husband right in front of his house, Hipolita sets out with her two sons to confront the killers. Her plan was to have them all get murdered to join her husband in the afterlife. Solomon the husband appears as a ghost throughout.

I found the story a little hard to follow and get invested in. It takes place in Colombia in the 1992 and highlights the danger and corruption in daily life for average Columbian people.

Thank you NetGalley and World Editions Publishing for the eARC in exchange for my honest review

Many thanks to World Editions, @netgalley, and the author, Ricardo Silva Romero, for an ARC of Rio Muerto, which comes out on 4 February 2025.

The author's note at the beginning had me gripped from the start. It claims to be an accurate account of events as told to the author by a taxi driver. The unnamed driver and the author have voted the opposite way in a referendum on peace with the paramilitary groups in Columbia. The taxi driver explains his reasons for voting against the bill, telling the author the tale of a man, Salomon Palacios, who is gunned down outside his home by paramilitaries for being "a rat" (his only crime is that he was a removals man who helped anyone who wanted help to move, regardless of whether they were aligned with the paramilitaries or not). The novel follows the aftermath of his death, particularly his wife Hipolita's descent into a temporary madness.

When his wife recovers from her catatonic state, she tells her two sons, Maximiliano and Segundo, that they are going to get themselves murdered so that they can return to be with their father. To do this, Hipolita confronts the people involved in the murders from their neighbours, to a corrupt police officer, to the head of the paramilitaries. However, getting someone to kill them is more difficult than Hipolita initially imagines.

Rio Muerto is an intense, compelling read that shines a light on a society where extra-judicial forces hold sway and almost everyone is complicit with them. (The title is the nickname given to the town's river because so many bodies are thrown into it.) The way in which the society depicted in the novel works reminded me a little of what I've read of the paramilitaries controlling various parts of Northern Ireland - although the death count was much more extreme in Colombia.

This book was published in Spanish in 2020 and this review is of the English translation with an expected publication date of February 2025.

Río Muerto is an absolutely beautiful and tragic story about political violence in Colombia told from the perspective of the ghost of a man, Salomón Palacios, who is murdered for helping the wrong people. He observes his wife Hipólita and their sons as she decides that she will die speaking the truth about his brutal murder and holding those accountable, however she decides to live after confronting those responsible. In life Salomón was mute, however his ghost finds ways to subtly communicate with his family and one member of his community who is able to speak with him directly.

The framing of this novel is interesting as while it's told from the perspective of Salomón's ghost, it's that perspective being re-told from a passenger in one of Salomón's son's taxicab about 15 years after the events of the novel and it states that this story was told to him while stuck in one of the worst traffic jams he'd encountered.

The English translation of the novel includes historical context explaining the brutal killings and warfare in Colombia throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. While this story is fiction, it is real in the sense that this was the lived experience of many people in Colombia during this time.

Many thanks to World Editions and to NetGalley for this ARC to review. This review is my honest opinion

This is a harrowing novel about the brutal history of Colombia, and in the Afterword, the author wrote a heartfelt and much-needed context for the story. I enjoyed that very much. The main story, though, not so much.

The problem isn't with the premise (which is heartbreaking), or the writing (which is beautiful). I just find the story structure to be very repetitive: Hipólita, mad with grief and anger, went around town trying to get herself killed. Yeahhhh, her idea of justice or whatever it was she was trying to do, was to turn herself and her children into martyrs. I can see how she got to that point, but the rinse and repeat format wasn't working for me: she picked a fight with someone, hoping they will kill her and her children, they somehow don't, and so she moved on to the next one, and this next person also for one reason or another ended up not shooting her...

It got tiring. I'm sorry; for all the emotions packed into the prose, at one point I just thought, "Can someone just fulfill her wishes, but spare the kids?" because the horrible thing was, Max and Segundo didn't want to die. The boys were scared out of their minds, especially poor Segundo (he'd have a lifetime of therapy ahead of him). Not that Hipólita cared; she was deaf to reason, ignoring her children's protests and pleas. There was even a part where she actually got mad at the boys for not wanting to die, and in a segment where she had to confront this merciless commander, she suddenly realized that these evil men can do worse things to you than simply shooting you. Hmm... if only she'd listen or think for a moment. Now I don't want to be too judgemental, but I also find her actions to be entirely pointless in the context of the novel. We were told that killings and torture happen very often in this town, so what's another death or three? Can martyrdom be achieved if your deaths don't even register?

But that's kind of the point: insanity is immune to logic. As far as an exploration of how a woman can be driven to illogical ends by grief and oppression, this novel achieved that perfectly with Hipólita. I just wished it didn't take that many cycles to get the point across.

By any means, I really like the writing. There were parts where I felt emotional about Salomón's death, particularly with regards to how his children remember him and how his absence was felt. As he was mute, he communicated through writings on pieces of paper, and it was the way Segundo held on to one such piece that gave me all the feels. Incidentally, the way Max and Segundo begged their mother also made me want to slap the living hell out of Hipólita, especially when we've had cycles of her trying to get themselves killed and my patience was running thin. Really, that was my issue with the book: it kept going in maddening circles.

Overall, while this book made me feel really tired and annoyed at parts, I'd still say it's a worthwhile read. It is an crucial examination of the lives of Colombians living in a state of perpetual violence and oppression. Just... store up on some patience while you're at it.