film airs today to divert my position in my literary pretensions, which are many, like you, dear reader or loved lectriz, has been found. As every Tom, Dick, you have contemporary artists that you like more and others like him less. Although I know that is heresy, I have no patience or nerve to take the stories Paul Auster forced (have you already found your father? "Or your child?) Filled with these characters and these places so cool that we españolitos poor foot, only we mourn bitterly Chinese have no magic haunted us for talent notebooks sold in Manhattan. The Chinese sold here before and now cheap pornography for lomoqueso and sandwiches for our long nights jamónqueso ethyl. Are appreciated, of course, but do not give us literature, but our dormant neurons vitamins. 'm Not very fond of radical writers trying to make me feel guilty for having phallus and be heterosexual, some of them recently awarded the planet. Or, indeed, radical writers trying to erect a monument / grave Civil War literature to a very deplorable manners. The others I like are: Houllebecq and prose of fire and rage threshold which is God, period, Bukowski with lustful skid-ethyl, the psychedelic Wolfe, and of course, the wacky and wonderful Indian Salman Rushdie is .
Some writers ( Auster ) written with a child (or parent) lost on the keyboard of your computer. Other ( Kerouac ) with a perroflautilismo wonderful and decadent. Rushdie writes with a knife pointed at his throat, which must be uncomfortable when adjectives but terribly effective at the time of reporting. Rushdie is the literature on pain of death, under threat fanatic, and it shows when faced with the texts. Death like everything in this life, they have or not have. And Rushdie has.
writing this post just completed his latest "Shalimar the Clown", which is one of the best written books of the year, best prose, elegant prose and sharp that has nothing to envy the pombianos delusions. With a magical realism much more subdued than at other times, as if suddenly Rushdie had decided down to earth to speak of the earth. A recommended reading and summer, we, the engaging and not allow another line of thought. A helluva book to take with you anywhere, because after all, is so well built and has an inner universe so rich that any comparison with reality is purely coincidental. Rushdie
filled me with admiration for "The ground beneath their feet" and filled me with great literature in "The Satanic Verses." Is an author who must return every so often, always curious and open soul, ready to receive.
I wish, yes, a very good reading.
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