The last was I That helper thee to the crown; The last was I felt thy tyranny That
N or should one have never anything but a writer is to fill sheets of words and words, phrases, sentences and predicates, in long disquisitions on end, where reason, to infer and observe. If writers do not tell anything ever, if there is literature, if only we could fill the libraries of objects and events, then you might think, and explain our reasoning, and so humans would wander in the world like Jacques Deza, or James, or Jacob, or Jake, a character directly emanated from the mind of Javier Marias, expressed in a monumental work called "Your Face Tomorrow," "Your Face Tomorrow", but has also marched in the pages of "All souls. "Deza, a name that hides the same Mary, without being the same person, English expatriate in England, artist by profession, in the darkest gear British secret service, MI6, MI5, SAS, are just acronyms, abbreviations hiding the depth of state terrorism, the necessary decisions, of justification of the lesser evil.
Jaques, Iago, James, dismembered heart, travels through a novel reading we could go for five years, hiding in a major city, hidden in another nationality without fear but homeless, is able to see, is one of the few people who have chosen Sir Peter Wheeler with the ability to peer into the human soul of others, to check and break down defenses and verbal gestures that we make our character, our thoughts, our intentions. James, or James, has a gift, a gift tiny, and while you exercise, meditate on the nature of their work in the building without a name, in a quiet and unique, with a head cold and sharp, with a name perhaps also abroad, TUPRAS is not possible to be British, or yes, what result, perhaps originating in the West Midlands, or Exmoor or Dartmoor, or one small corner of the empire, possibly Asian, but where. With the right touch of intrigue, work in the service of His Majesty has advantages, Marías is framing all perspectives and frames that have been drawn in the two previous volumes, for, although one should not say, shut the door in a final volume and final demolition. Marias, ie, Javier, or Xavier, or Saveiro, is exhausted, and do not know if you will be able to write another novel, looks tired and empty, after the abandonment of his character returning to Madrid to close a chapter in disgust for their actions, because their heart will never go against your eyes, my heart Shall never countermand mine eye.
What is the book? One should not say, but about all the violence, of machismo, terror, fear, personal favors, power, of immense power and pervasiveness of power, of prescience, of cowardice, of love, obsession, prejudice, blackmail of betrayal, Deza's father, who was jailed by a false accusation by his university colleagues, the only real names that appear in the novel, the Real and Santa-Olalla, who were responsible for Julian Marias away from the university to always an injustice that is applied over and over again, ignoring differences between the dictatorship of Franco and extortion of democratic states. Franco, just the second name of Mary, sad fate of a name, a family . Finally drawings, sketches, notes indicating slightly or unintentionally, such as novelist, writer, scholar, is similar to work to interpret, invent or infer thoughts, but without cruelty, without the need for everything to be in England, for the common good, or your own, that is morally the same. More or less. Marias
up your best, longer and more complete novel, and for my taste, improve their language contains repetitions and strives to tie all the threads in a final conversation with Peter Wheeler, inspired by Sir Peter Russell Hispanist . There wait a few decades to see whether this work meets the espectivativas to be the best novel of the last fifty years, but we should not say anything to-morrow in the battle think of me, and fall thy edgeless sword, despair, and die.
0 comments:
Post a Comment