Santiago de Chile, 1986, in the dying days of Pinochet’s dictatorship: the streets are flooded with teargas and littered with the remains of anti-government protests. The military is losing its grip on power, citizens are demanding information on the thousands who have been disappeared, and armed cells of communist revolutionaries are plotting to bring down the regime. Amid this turbulence we find the Queen of the Corner, a queer middle-aged former sex worker, embroidering linens for the wives of Chile’s army generals and singing along to corny ballads on the radio. (The cover blurb describes her as a trans woman, while the original 2001 US edition framed her as a drag queen, but the Chilean “travesti” identity of the 80s is culturally specific.)
She’s a marginalised figure, largely apolitical, living in a derelict building she has adorned “like a wedding cake” with paper garlands, and dreaming of love. By chance she meets a young man who claims to be a university student and asks if, since she has so much space, he can store books in her house, and maybe study there with his classmates. Charmed by his good looks and sophisticated manners, the Queen agrees, choosing not to see the reality of the situation; Carlos is using her home as a safe house, a base from which to plan Pinochet’s assassination.
