Santa Evita is a remarkable book, no doubt about it: beautifully written, original, with a captivating premise, complex characters, and multiple layers of meaning. It narrates the story of Evita's body after her death, of the men who lost their mind and peace after crossing its path, including the authors. It plays with the boundaries between history, fiction and myth, drawing a portrait of Evita, but, more to the point, of Argentina, over the course of five decades. Finishing took me ages, and a certain commitment. From browsing other goodreads users' reviews, I am not alone there. That's not necessarily an indictment of the book, but by the end I found myself growing tired of Evita and her myth, which - fundamentally - is just another version of the woman as madonna / whore, and her devastating effects on men. For a while I was hoping Eloy Martinez was going to snap his author's fingers and wake his readers up, pointing out that the trope is shallow, trite, and sexist too. In vain: he is in it up to his ears. (Read in the English translation Helen R. Lane)