There are beginnings in literature that encapsulate in a few words the entire conflict and grandeur of a work. Thus begins Los galgos, los galgos: “From my father, I inherited a house, half a field, and some money. I cried a lot over his death, but I can’t say that the inheritance took me by surprise. Sitting in the morning light, toward the end of the wake, I suggested to my brother that I would exchange my house for his part of the field, and as he immediately agreed and I had to sign a lot of papers, I realized I had made a bad deal.” These are the words of Julián, the protagonist and narrator of this novel, which can certainly be read as a story of love and heartbreak, but is so much more: an essay on the erosion of our convictions by time, a subtle commentary on the customs and practices of a class, and the impact of those customs and practices on certain fantasies and dissatisfaction, as well as a representation of the countryside, animals and plants like no other in Argentine literature. First published in 1968, Los galgos, los galgos won the Municipal Literature Prize and is considered a major work within Sara Gallardo’s extraordinary oeuvre. Written in a state of grace, infused with a melancholic sense of fatality but imbued with intelligent and refined humor, this is a novel that leaves an indelible mark, profound admiration, and eternal sorrow.