Fiction: Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand by Gioconda Belli

Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand (HarperCollins) feels like celebration; feels like the first day of spring.

Memoirist, poet and novelist Gioconda Belli here looks at the Western creation myth and weaves it into something magical and self-reflecting. We begin at the very beginning:

And he was.

Suddenly. From not being to being conscious that he was. He opened his eyes.

He touched himself and knew he was a man, without knowing how he knew. He saw the garden and he felt someone watching him. He looked in every direction hoping to see another like himself.

It should be remembered -- and once you begin to read, you won’t be tempted to forget -- that, despite mounds of research, Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand is fiction. As Belli tells us in a note:

This novel is not Creationism, it’s not Darwinism. It is fiction. Fiction based in the many fictions humankind has woven around this story since time immemorial. It is a close look at the difficult and dazzling beginning of our species.

It is also wonderful. Unforgettable. Ambitious. And even, as Salman Rushdie has said, it is sly. Your belief system does not matter here. This is good and beautiful storytelling, plain and simple. A perfect book. Simply nothing I would change.