Read the excerpt from Cristina Garcia’s Dreaming in Cuban . The sunset flares behind a row of brownstones, linking them as if by a flaming ribbon. Lourdes massages her eyes and begins walking with legs that feel held by splints. “I’m glad to see you, Lourdes. Thank you for everything, hija , the hat, the cigars. You buried me like an Egyptian king, with all my valuables!” Jorge del Pino laughs. Lourdes perceives the faint scent of her father’s cigar . . . “Where are you, Papi?” The street is vacant, as if a force has absorbed all living things. Even the trees seem more shadow than substance. “Nearby,” her father says, serious now. The author uses magic realism by