First of all, I love Edith Wharton’s work. However, Fighting France and A Son at the Front, her novels about World War I, are not really the best of her work. What is so annoying and marvelous at the same time is how the non-English speaking world is willing to translate so much more than we do. Perhaps she has the reputation of the current literary superstar Roberto Bolaño, but I doubt it. So to translate a lesser of her works seems to have a genuine respect.  It is just so exasperating that we English speakers do return the favor.

You can read a review of it in Spanish at the Revista de Letras.