One regrettable consequence of Garcia Marquez's fame is that Latin American literature has come to be identified exclusively with "magical realism". Everything has to be extraordinary, epic, full of tropical lust, palms, jaguars, people having sex in every corner, flying to the sky with a pineapple on their heads. But Latin America is a vast continent producing artist of universal stature, even if the rest of the world decides (to their disadvantage) to ignore all but the folkloric.
Well, Juan Rulfo is a master of the highest sort and this book is NOT magical realism, but pure, hard realism. He only wrote two books, this one and "Pedro Paramo", another masterpiece which I also don't count as magical realism, although some do, as well as a few lesser works. He didn't need to write much. His is a literature worked and reworked restlessly, until reaching perfection. Every single word fits perfectly with the rest. There are no digressions, no philosophy, no theories or grand landscapes. All his tales develop in Southern Jalisco, in a poor, dry, vast, sunburned and sad land. The prose is also dry, precise, economical and to the point. The characters are ignorant, miserable, but conscious and courageous. The titles say much: "It's because we are so poor" is one of them. However, you will not find self-pity or corny sad tales. Only bits of human misery perfectly narrated. By the way, this is the first review I write for Amazon in which I use the word "perfect". Probably it won't happen again, with one or two exceptions.