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El Padrino la venganza (The Godfather's Revenge)


El tercer y último capítulo de la crónica épica de Mario Puzo sobre la familia Corleone—uno de los linajes más sólidos de la literatura y el cine norteamericano—logra un extraordinario crescendo con una historia en la que nos describe el papel de la mafia en el asesinato de un joven y carismático presidente.

El Padrino: La Venganza, autorizada por Mario Puzo, sitúa a la familia Corleone en un escenario excepcional: la intersección del crimen ...

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El tercer y último capítulo de la crónica épica de Mario Puzo sobre la familia Corleone—uno de los linajes más sólidos de la literatura y el cine norteamericano—logra un extraordinario crescendo con una historia en la que nos describe el papel de la mafia en el asesinato de un joven y carismático presidente.

El Padrino: La Venganza, autorizada por Mario Puzo, sitúa a la familia Corleone en un escenario excepcional: la intersección del crimen organizado con la política nacional.

Un subordinado de Michael Corleone, Carlo Tramonti, el sottocapo de Nueva Orleáns, es humillado públicamente cuando el fiscal general del Estado ordena su arresto y lo deporta a Colombia. Tramonti regresará resuelto a saldar las cuentas pendientes y ello desencadenará una serie de acontecimientos que cambiarán el curso de la historia norteamericana. Michael Corleone, obsesionado por la muerte de su hermano Fredo, sabe que no es el momento de flaquear. El hijo pródigo torturado está decidido a redefinir el legado de la familia.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781616861346
  • Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
  • Publication date: 3/4/2008
  • Language: Spanish
  • Edition description: Spanish-language Edition
  • Pages: 464
  • Product dimensions: 5.31 (w) x 8.00 (h) x 1.04 (d)

Meet the Author

Mark Winegardner

Mark Winegardner es profesor y director del programa de Escritura Creativa en Florida State University. Sus libros han sido calificados como los mejores del año por New York Times Book Review, Chicago Sun-Times, Los Angeles Times y USA Today. Varios de sus relatos han sido elegidos como relatos notables del año en The Best American Short Stories. Actualmente vive con su mujer y su familia en Tallahassee, Florida.


Mark Winegardner was born and raised in Bryan, Ohio, near Exit 2, a town of 8,000 which supplies the world with its Dum-Dum suckers and Etch-a-Sketches. His parents owned an RV dealership there, and every summer he traveled with his family across the USA in various travel trailers and motorhomes. By the time he was 15, he had been in all 48 contiguous states. He graduated Phi Beta Kappa and magna cum laude from Miami University and went on to receive a master of fine arts degree in fiction writing from George Mason University. He published his first book at age 26, while still in graduate school. He has taught at Miami, George Mason, George Washington, and John Carroll Universities, and is now a professor in the creative writing program at Florida State University in Tallahassee, Florida. For several years he served as the director of the creative writing program as well. Winegardner has won grants, fellowships and residencies from the Ohio Arts Council, the Lilly Endowment, the Ragdale Foundation, the Sewanee Writers Conference and the Corporation of Yaddo. His books have been chosen as among the best of the year by the New York Times Book Review, Chicago Sun-Times, Los Angeles Times, the New York Public Library, and USA Today. His work has appeared in GQ, Playboy, Ploughshares, TriQuarterly, DoubleTake, Family Circle, The Sporting News, Witness, Story Quarterly, American Short Fiction, Ladies Home Journal, Parents and The New York Times Magazine. Several of his stories have been chosen as Distinguished Stories of the Year in The Best American Short Stories.

Good To Know

The Story Behind the Sequel

by Jonathan Karp

Throughout the decade I was Mario Puzo's editor, I would periodically beg him to write a sequel to The Godfather. "Bring back the Corleones!" I would plead. "Whatever happened to Johnny Fontane? Can't you do something with Tom Hagen? Don't you think Michael has some unfinished business?"

Mario was always polite in the face of my wheedling and his response was always the same: No.

I understood why Mario never wanted to continue the story. He was a gambler at heart, and resurrecting The Godfather would have been a bad percentage move for him. It was bound to pale in comparison to the original. How do you improve on a legend?

But one day on the phone, Mario did give me his blessing to revisit the Corleones. He told me his family could do whatever they wanted with the rights to The Godfather after he died. (His exact phrase was "after I croak," which I remember precisely because it was the first time an author had ever discussed his posthumous career with me in such direct terms.)

Mario left behind two novels, Omerta and his partially completed tale of the Borgias, The Family, so it was awhile before I approached his estate about the prospect of reviving The Godfather. After conversations with Mario's eldest son, Anthony Puzo, and his literary agent, Neil Olson, we agreed on a strategy:

We would discreetly search for a writer at roughly the same stage of his or her career as Mario was when he wrote The Godfather -- mid-forties, with two acclaimed literary novels to his credit, and a yearning to write a larger, more ambitious novel for a broader readership than his previous books had reached. We didn't want a by-the-numbers hired gun. We wanted an original voice, someone who would bring artistry and vision to the Corleone saga, just as director Francis Ford Coppola had so done brilliantly in his film adaptations.

I outlined what we were looking for in a one-page query, which I sent confidentially via email to about a dozen respected literary agents. Within 24 hours of sending my confidential email, I received a phone call from New Yorker staff writer Nick Paumgarten. He'd heard all about our search and wanted to write about it. At first, I was reluctant to cooperate, due to my concern that every would-be goomba in the country would send me a manuscript. Upon further consideration, I realized that there probably weren't a lot of goombas reading The New Yorker, and that a story might be a good way to get out the word and attract a broader range of authors.

The day the story was published, The Godfather Returns became headline news. I was deluged with calls from almost every major media organization in the United States, as well as many abroad, from CNN to the BBC in New Zealand. The New York Times Magazine published a cautionary essay about the dangers of sequels. I appeared on a Detroit radio morning zoo show with a Vito Corleone impersonator who warned me that my career might come to an untimely end if I didn't hire him to write the book.

We had set a deadline for the delivery of outlines from potential writers. We stuck to our guidelines -- only published authors of acclaimed fiction would be considered. By the day of the deadline, we had been swamped with submissions from well-regarded authors (plus countless more from unpublished ones). As I sorted through the outlines, I was taped by a TV cameraman and interviewed by NBC News correspondent Jamie Gangel, who was covering our search, and who ultimately revealed the winner live on The Today Show.

I quickly narrowed down the field to about a dozen serious contenders. Some were dismissed on account of inadvisable plot lines. (Michael Corleone falls in love with a Native American activist. Or, the Corleone women take over the family business. Or, Sonny Corleone didn't really die.) Others were rejected because the writers didn't seem to have the right feel for the material. One literary critic described Mario Puzo's style as "somewhere between pulp and Proust." That's part of the reason for his success -- he was an original writer who loved to entertain his readers. He could turn a phrase, and there was a sly ironic undertone to almost everything he wrote, but Mario's greatest talent was for telling a story that stayed with you because the details were so captivating. Our ideal writer would have similar gifts.

From the dozen contenders, we arrived at four finalists. We would have been happy to publish any of them. After consultation with Tony Puzo and Neil Olson, we unanimously agreed that the best candidate was Mark Winegardner. Like Mario, he was an author of two acclaimed literary novels, The Veracruz Blues and Crooked River Burning, and to our delight, both of which had organized crime plot theads. I read Crooked River Burning and loved it, not only for its ambition (it's the story of the rise and fall of a great American city over a period of decades), but also because the author shows such compassion for his characters. Mario Puzo's greatest literary inspiration was Dostoevsky, who taught him to see the humanity within the villainous. Winegardner has an equally big heart when writing about his characters. That can be very interesting when you're going to have to kill a lot of them. He was our first choice to write The Godfather Returns and we were elated when he accepted. Our selection was international news. When Mark visited Sicily for some background research, it was a front page story there.

Neither Mark nor I have ever worked on a more highly-anticipated book. We know the risks of following in the tradition of a pop classic. I'm not worried. Having edited the novel, I'm certain of its quality and its power. The Corleones have become an American myth, and like all great myths, each retelling brings new meaning and new rewards.

Jonathan Karp is Vice President and Editorial Director of Random House.

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    1. Hometown:
      Tallahassee, Florida
    1. Date of Birth:
      November 24, 1961
    2. Place of Birth:
      Bryan, Ohio
    1. Education:
      B.A., Miami University, 1983; M.F.A., George Mason University, 1987
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

El Padrino
La Venganza

Capítulo Uno

Tres Chevrolet negros modelo Byscaine—cada uno de ellos con dos hombres armados a bordo, bizqueando a la cruda luz del sol y apretando los dientes—circulaban en dirección a Nueva Orleans en fila india por la autopista 61, la reina de las largas carreteras americanas. La autopista 61 se extendía a lo largo del país, atravesando su oculto corazón alimentado con maíz. Su final estaba siempre muy lejos. A lo largo de esa carretera, los hombres de Dios han pecado contra nosotros y también han muerto por nuestros pecados. En sus cruces, el talento ha sido comprado por lo que vale a la baja una alma humana. En los cercanos callejones y polvorientos caminos, los hijos inadaptados de tenderos, antiguos esclavos o maestros poco respetados le encontraron sentido a buscarse un alias. Buddy, Fats, Jelly Roll, T. S. y Satchmo. Bix, Pretty Boy, Tennessee, Kingfish y Lightnin'. Muddy, Dizzy y Bo. Son, Sonny y Sonny Boy. B. B., Longhair, Yogi, Gorgeous y Dylan. Disfrazados de ese modo, se fueron de casa por esa misma autopista y extendieron por Norteamérica la verdadera voz de un mundo inesperado. Hubo por lo menos un camionero que recorrió esa carretera hacia su improbable destino de rey, y alguna prostituta la utilizó para llegar a reina. Ambos murieron jóvenes, como suele pasarle a la realeza en la autopista 61: el rey en su trono dorado y la reina en el propio camino, manchando con su sangre el asfalto. A lo largo de esta carretera, la idea que una nación se ha hecho a sí misma ha muerto y posteriormente ha vuelto a nacer. Una y otra vez. Eternamente.

Era el año 1963. Un domingo extrañamente caluroso para el mes de enero. Los hombres de los tres Byscaine negros llevaban las ventanillas bajadas y no parecían sudar ni estar nerviosos. Los rascacielos de Nueva Orleans estaban al acecho. Cambió el límite de velocidad y los conductores aminoraron la marcha.

Más adelante, a la izquierda, a unos pocos kilómetros del final de la autopista, se alzaba el Pelican Motor Lodge, donde Carlo Tramonti tenía su despacho. Nadie de fuera de la ciudad podría adivinar que el discreto restaurante de al lado, Nicastro's (cerrado los domingos), servía la mejor comida italiana de la zona. La mejor comida a la venta.

La mejor comida a secas se servía todos los domingos a unas pocas manzanas de allí, en la mansión modelo plantación de Tramonti, donde el joven y brillante chef y propietario de Nicastro's—junto a cualquier otro hombre unido a Carlo Tramonti por sangre o matrimonio—estaba ese día bebiendo vino tinto y holgazaneando bajo un roble macizo que impedía la menor visión de la casa desde la calle. La mansión era blanca, hermosa, acorde con el resto del vecindario. El jardín trasero daba a una rutilante esquina, impregnada de olor a magnolias, de uno de los mejores clubes de campo de Nueva Orleans. Tramonti era el primer italiano admitido en el club: el gobernador en persona lo había apadrinado.

Niños de todas las edades correteaban por el jardín.

Se había iniciado un juego de bocce que se había convertido en una excusa para que los adultos sacaran pecho. Como de costumbre, Agostino Tramonti—el más listo y más bajito de los cinco hermanos menores de Carlo—llevaba la peor parte. Estaba dotado para deportes y juegos, pero se los tomaba demasiado en serio.

Del interior de la casa llegaba el sonido de las órdenes en italiano de Gaetana Tramonti, que eran prácticamente ladridos; unos ladridos que, afortunadamente, se diluían en la galbana de mediodía junto al aroma del pollo al horno, las salchichas asadas y algunas sencillas salsas que su yerno el chef era capaz de imitar, pero no de perfeccionar. Gaetana era toda una matriarca napolitana que llevaba cuarenta y un años casada con Carlo. Un ejército de hijas y nueras lo ponían todo de su parte para exasperarla, cosa que allí todo el mundo consideraba una muestra de amor.

Carlo Tramonti caminaba entre sus invitados con la ayuda de un bastón, besando a sus nietos mientras les alborotaba el cabello, escuchando los problemas de sus sobrinos y sus primos. Parecía un rico armador mediterráneo al que no le faltaba ni un detalle: desde el cabello blanco desteñido por el sol y perfectamente peinado hasta los pies sin calcetines y envueltos en mocasines, pasando por su chaqueta azul de capitán de yate. Medía un metro setenta, lo que hacía de él el hombre más alto de la reunión. Lucía unas enormes gafas de sol negras. Su aire aristocrático se había ido formando gradualmente. Había empezado como marinero en un barco dedicado a la pesca de gambas, cargo que compartía con un trabajo a tiempo parcial de corredor de apuestas, y a partir de ahí había ascendido en el escalafón. En esos tiempos, el hampa de la ciudad estaba dirigida por dos facciones rivales, por sendas familias que habían venido del mismo pueblo de la costa occidental de Sicilia y cuyos agravios mutuos se remontaban a tiempos inmemoriales. Tramonti había negociado la paz y había unido a los supervivientes de esa negociación en el clan que dirigía desde hacía casi treinta años. Ninguna otra familia había disfrutado jamás de una mejor protección política ni de un monopolio tan completo sobre su territorio. Ninguna otra familia había sido tan poco violenta. El temor que el clan Tramonti inspiraba era como el que sienten los devotos hacia su dios: una servidumbre al poder y una forma de amor. Para mucha gente de Nueva Orleans, y de toda Louisiana, los Tramonti eran como la serpiente reina, grande y negra, que vivía tranquilamente debajo de la casa, alimentándose de parásitos, pequeñas serpientes de cascabel y ratas enfermas.

Carlo se unió por fin al juego de bocce. Todos sus movimientos eran de lo más gráciles. Su presencia calmó a su hermano. Augie Tramonti era una versión reducida en un palmo de Carlo—el mismo corte de . . .

El Padrino
La Venganza
. Copyright © by Mark Winegardner. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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