An Englishman has fallen from a cliffside in Nepal, and lies inert on a
ledge below. Two sherpas kneel at the edge, stand, exchange the odd
word, waiting for him to move, to make a decision, to descend. In those
minutes, the world opens up to Kathmandu, a sun-bleached beach town on
another continent, and the pages of Julius Caesar. Mountaineering,
colonialism, obligation—in Sebastián Martinez Daniell's effortless prose
each breath is crystalline, and the whole world is visible from here.