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SIX BOOKS REVIEWED IN 2010 BEST PLAYER

In 2010 I read less than they would have wanted. All's well there. These are only my opinion, my six best readings of this year, a the date of this post, just shortly.
1 º THE ROAD, by Cormac McCarthy. 2 º
Blood Meridian, by Cormac McCarthy.
3 º AMERICAN PSYCHO, by Bret Easton Ellis. THINGS
4 º del Campo, José Antonio Muñoz Rojas.
5 º Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.
6 th fire on the plains, Ooka Shoei.

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(Bernhard Schlink)


Bernhard Schlink was born in Bielefeld (Germany) in 1944. You judge. For his way of writing, it shows. As can be read
on the back, The reader is a very winning novel. Has been awarded in Italy, France and Germany. Pity that literary prizes are not guarantees of unquestionable quality.
With a first-person narrator tells the story in the past, the novel is short, about two hundred pages. It is divided into three parts that follow a chronological order. The chapters dealing with just a couple of pages, making it very comfortable to read.
Schlink's writing is correct, just that. Right to an expert, I mean. It is very expressive, uncommunicative, cold. Looking back I can not remember a single metaphor, which gives little idea of \u200b\u200bfeeling it conveys.
In the first part, I find nothing remarkable. No way to tell, neither the language, as I say, not history itself, show something new or original in form or in the background. Schlink misses an opportunity to prepare the ground to soften the reader, to make you feel the feelings of the protagonist, a teenager. If adolescents feel ... Being a teenager is exude sensitivity, sentimentality, fear, tears, love, desire, sadness, happiness, laziness, nervousness, curiosity, daring, naivete, ignorance, sexuality ... And to say if over sex with a woman Thirty-something.
The author observes only tell the story from the viewpoint of a narrator Once adult. And the result is more like a report than a novel.
In the second part, the novel shows a slight inflection point, which starts an upward trend if only for the short turn which gives the story. Moreover, Schlink, is still as stingy as the first part, to the point where the protagonist keeps relationships, even with its university partners. So the protagonist's psychological profile is shown only through reflections and not through their relationship with others. Only focuses the attention of history towards the two protagonists.
To make matters worse, the plot twists are a couple of rights, which the author does not want, or show unable to hide until required. Become visible long before they uncover in the narrative.
Between the second and the third appears most interesting part of the book. Using the main character, Schlink, a brief reflection on the ongoing review that makes the German people of its immediate past. Reflection necessary for a country that is representative of the economic and social progress achieved since the Second World War.
In the third part only greed should be noted again this sentimental writer. At one point in the novel, the protagonist cries.
While director spoke, I was kneeling looking at the pictures and notes and stifling tears. When I turned around and sat on the bed, he said,
"I was so eager that you write ... just received correspondence from you, and when handing out the mail asked:" Is there no letter for me? "(... )
I went back to silence. Could not talk, just babble and mourn. Schlink
can not show tears, unable to convey the emotion of the moment. As a writer has to tell us what the narrator, the protagonist himself, the novel and mild tears. All very cool.

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RUN, RABBIT (John Updike)


John Updike was born in Pennsylvania in 1932. Is considered one of the great writers of the twentieth century American literature. He died in January 2009.
Run, Rabbit was published in 1960. Dense, sandy
reading. Novel set in a hurtful mediocrity in a gray landscape. With the way of narration by John Updike, frustration, identified as failure, and forge ahead, stick to the reader as a sticky spider web.
feelings and passion displayed only when unavoidable and do so with a little crust of sincerity and full of selfishness, only unrelated to the immediate pleasure: pure hedonism (again). Given a history
so overwhelming, the reader intends to fluid passing through the story, slipping as comfortable as possible for suffocating the surrounding environment. But Updike manages to retain the advance at will, and one gets the impression of running down the slope of a giant dune, and was forced to smear the weariness that surrounds the characters, deepen their frustrations, their failures. With a script
clay, sometimes muddy and barren in the past, highlighting the development of excessive detail of the scene, and therefore the plot, but that becomes the center of attention with a haunting description of the most unexpected by minors, the author makes it clear: if you want to keep reading, you get wet. If you do not want to feel what feel my characters, closes the book.
is skilled with chopsticks and eating well is nice to see her, one hand on the lap with palm up. A rabbit likes to see how your head down, the thick neck forward and upward the large tendons in the shoulder to bring her lips to snack subject only to the necessary pressure between the sticks. It is curious that plump women have that finesse. At another point
writes:
Smiling with relief, he entered upon his elbow and cheek kisses loose fleshy, admiring his tenacious porous texture.
management is forced out of metaphors. Unlikely metaphors, very original and very literary yet.
Joyce looks at him and, as a sheet undulates, fear angle pulls a face. Seems on the verge of tears.
Other:
The baby whines indefatigable, lies in the crib and produces an irritating noise somewhat forced, as a weak and persistent rash on the interior door. What do you want? Why not sleep?
The original technique and the thorough development of the psychological profile of the characters has needed to finish. This is a novel consistent, high level, which forces the reader Updike wet, until finally running with the main character ... Run, run.

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American Psycho (Bret Easton Ellis)


Bret Easton Ellis was born in 1964 in Los Angeles. It was framed in an artificial group called Generation X elected, named after the novel by Douglas Coupland, who by the way I read at the time and I only left the memory of some very young actors working in Japan in the field advertising. Certainly not that I disliked reading.
With a first-person protagonist narrator, Bret Easton Ellis poses a direct history. Fact after fact. Act after act. Events unfold without a break. The language is direct, short phrases and dialogues with brisk, disorganized in his replies and sometimes nonsensical apparent even defining the type of people who stars in the novel. These dialogues are the most lethal ammunition that Ellis used to criticize the elite of that time, the late eighties, in which the money had a unprecedented appeal on an entire generation of young people who wanted to be millionaires before the age of thirty. They were admired and respected. In fact, I would wager that if we come back to that kind of young, would also be highly respected and admired. Money and men do not change.
of it all, something remains. As something of the violation is by Elvis in the fifties, the hippie movement of the sixties or even the romantic tradition nineteenth century. We character product remains constant accumulation of our culture. Ellis
makes the novel a continuous display of intelligence. The importance of the title is perhaps the best example.
American Psycho:
Only the title the reader has the basic information: the protagonist is a murderer. Even before killing anyone, any mention made of a human limb or organ stored in your refrigerator, do not cause surprise in the reader.
The author tells a story begun long ago. The reader joins her in full swing. Maniac
fashion and expensive clothes, Patrick Bateman recognize the brand of clothing for all those around him or cross him. In fact, a novel feature is the meticulous detail that continually makes the protagonist of the costumes of the characters.
Body worship is also carried to the extreme. Several hours of gym and the care and skin cleanliness, manicure, lightning "UVA", hairdresser ... Paradise appearance: I'm young, I have money and I'm handsome, who than me?
to almost half the book, Easton Ellis manages to capture the madness contained the protagonist and gradually introduces its most sinister and sadistic. The detail in which the protagonist has his moods, combined with their physical reactions, physiological makes the reader make a clear idea of \u200b\u200bthe protagonist's mental state.
American Psycho was published in 1991. The right time. Its success was deafening.
The story is frightening in some passages. Always explicit, in the sex scenes as in the narrative of the crimes. Violence narrated so expressed, not only to transgress is the aesthetic and narrative of the moment. Today, that debate is more than overcome, just because then, at the date of publication of the novel, remained bitter and violent confrontations. These passages in the final section of the novel are so hard, that reading is difficult.
For example: a few pages later to recount the torture, humiliation and murder of two girls, are twenty pages of agile but frivolous trialogue on which restaurant to choose to make a reservation for dinner. That is, the reader has not yet recovered from the traumatic scenes when it is returned to the more superficial and harmless hedonism. Ellis it into the skin of the psychopath. It is not pleasant, but it is admirable skill with which the author succeeds.
protagonist's mental chaos reaches its zenith in full swing of that stretch. Here something very interesting: the first-person protagonist narrator becomes, without interruption, narrator third-person omniscient.
the adrenaline rush ... it makes me gasp and move them only a few blocks of houses, partly due to panic over me, but mainly because of the blood, brain, head pieces that cover the windshield and just get around the collision with another cab on the corner of Franklin - is Franklin? - in Greenwich, bending sharply to the right and grazed the side of a parked limousine, then I stir back, I walk down the street squealing, connect the wiper , realizing then that the blood of the crystal is inside, so I try to clean it with a gloved hand and moved quickly and almost blind by the Greenwich until I lose control completely and the taxi is deflected and reaches a Korean store, near a karaoke restaurant called Lotus Blosoon where he had been with a Japanese customers as the taxi breaks down the shelves of fruit, through a glass wall, the body of the cashier hits the hood, Patrick is reverse gear, but does not fit, get off the taxi, is based on it, followed by a silence that is imposed nervousness.
-have you done, Bateman murmurs, while limping out of the store, while the bonnet body complains, dying, Patrick has no idea where it came from the police that he comes running from the other side of the street and yells something about a portable transmitter, believing that Patrick is stunned, but Patrick was surprised by drawing up before the police can draw the weapon and the two fall together on the sidewalk ...
A pair of pages later becomes the protagonist in the first person narrator, as he disappeared.
... nodding to Gus, "our night watchman", signed and addressed to the lift on the upper floors into the darkness of his apartment, recovered at last quiet, safe in the anonymity of my new office, able, despite the shaking of hands, catching the wireless phone, look at my Rolex, exhausted, and eyes fall on the number of Harold Carnes, slowly under the seven figures ...
In American Psycho, the characters do not recognize anyone. The entire novel is the wrong move names and wondering if anyone who walks into the restaurant's signature Mengano This & That or if the bar is so-and-Which & Which.
in the jungle nobody knows anybody. Disappear and be forgotten. Only remember the cards.

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TAKE OVER ALL, ALL BURNED (Wells Tower)


Wells Tower, was born in Vancouver (Canada) in 1973 but since childhood living in the United States. He has published stories in various newspapers and magazines and has won major awards.

born with elevator unparalleled experience and a new form of communication: conversations lift. That is, to communicate with one or more persons sharing a ridiculous space for short periods, without having to rectify the position to regain the aura of privacy.
elevator conversations because people engage grouped, invading the minimum living space, it causes some discomfort. We must defuse the violent situation and it starts a conversation without a clear sense, nor need to. But it begins with a background pattern, which is the essential foundation of such talks, the speaker give a damn, a damn. No interest or his opinions or his way of seeing things. Not interested in his face, his clothes or his life. Just want the elevator overpost comes once a floor that was pressed.
This review is held on the same basis as the elevator conversations: the book in question in this post I care very little. I do not take the issues that touch, I do not care about the landscape and characters of his stories, does not interest me the language and narrative technique used does not show anything new.

Now imagine a reader lost in the Casa del Libro. Not sure what their next reading. Browse books to see what they buy. In his hands is all destroyed, burned all and on the first page reads as follows: Bob Munroe
awoke face down. She had a jaw, the morning birds had howled and quite dirty underwear.
few lines below:
was now surrounded by crumbs: under bare chest, stuck in the sweaty folds of the shoulders and neck, but felt that the greatest and worst of all had it in the ass crack , as if someone had shot an arrow there flint. "Morning Birds
? The birds only. All day. Is it a bird morning rooster?, "The sparrow?, Is the blackbird? I know of no bird it is only in the morning and fall to get struck noon. And it does not howl. No howling and metaphorically: sing, howl, chirp, chirp, scream ... Or even, perhaps, some emit sounds that resemble some horrific screams.
"Within the ass crack? Tufo's writing brat not shocked or nuns. Can be described in a more elegant and provocative, but above all a literary form. The first page
bird howl morning and we hit a plant ass crack. Peculiar use of language, in all likelihood the reader will not buy the book lost. This is what I have done if it were not is chosen by the reading group I frequent. Reviewed
details of the first page, note that all destroyed, burned all is a storybook. Final
open everyday issues, even bland, some tension, short diversions of the plot to return to the thread of the story. Come on, it is another author who draws on Carver, Salinger, Cheever ...
Tower is a young author. It is legitimate mimic the classic style and do it correctly is not easy. I hope in the future write something that interests me.

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LARGE RATES (Josep Pla)

Home
Pla reading this short and sweet book, dedicated to Catalan people who have left their mark on the cultural life of his time, some even a huge influence on the arts worldwide.
The characters in question are Aristides Maillol, Salvador Dalí, Isidre Nonell, Antonio Gaudi and Casals.
The book has only two hundred and forty pages. It is easy to deduce that is dedicated to exposing an intricate biography of each artist and a judicious study of his work. However, one ends the book with the impression that they have learned about a huge amount because, in effect, read about their lives and on the peculiarities and artistic influences of his works. It's funny. And it plays slightly Josep Pla, the just, the typical aspects of any biography is dedicated to capture in detail the more mundane matters, the closest to the person's life, those who awaken the interest in learning more about these inaccessible superior beings. Pla
The language is hypnotic. Catch the reader with peasant expressions, plain, but in an intellectual depth and elegance affordable only chosen people, gifted writing. Fortunately, no loss of quality can be seen in the translation from Catalan to Castilian, which is logical in the case of two languages \u200b\u200bwho live for centuries.
essayist and writer of larger size. Essential.
I have already prepared what is considered a masterpiece of Pla, The Grey Notebook .

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The Crying of Lot 49 (Thomas Pynchon)


My next review will focus on a book of Pla, Josep Pla. I always read something that is required by this author. So far I have not done. I always liked this man. With that mischievous face, those eyes that tear at her smile, her voice pierced by the snuff uttering the phrase with a funny accent Catalan. In addition he spoke and wrote with intelligence and common sense.
Pla said, among other things, that the substance of a writer is to be intelligible. To write have to understand you.
The book will outline briefly the outlines of life of some important figures in art. One of them is Dali, who will inevitably relate to Buñuel and Miro.
From childhood I have these images in one eye by a razor Lancing, ants out of the palm of a hand or a woman instead of the mouth is the beauty of the armpit. I have memory of a tiger jumping out at me from inside a fish out of a grenade, a gentleman with a mustache picturesque trying to be silly, but implied that one should be intelligent because it is so blatant stupidity. I have a record of the portrait of a woman who was combing her hair and was not seen with the naked eye, however the lady was there and I knew it.
already in adolescence, between the readings initiatory usually only valid for that, to make you feel young, it goes a must. I remember, for example, the story titled Kiss of Samuel Beckett. Use
dreams, thoughts, intangible, something as true that the visible and reach the inexplicable. However, the viewer has its meaning in the tip of the tongue without being able to express it, just feel it.
talented artists are always intelligible.
On the other hand, have the ability to put words together without saying a word is written very profitable. Just ask if Burroughs or Pynchon.
A Burroughs, at least, was not understood anything from the first word. A man who fifty percent combined opiate and blood in your circulatory system and is capable of writing a text, deserves the admiration of the university and by extension all Cultureta beyond. It's something that gives much intellectual prestige. Read Burroughs. The art of saying nothing or of not knowing what is said, or not even know what you mean. Anyway, I'll leave. A Pynchon
unfortunately he understands everything and is worse off. Thomas Pynchon in The Crying of Lot 49 , tells a story without meaning, with very good words, though. But does telling everyday actions and events. It tells the "nothing" through a continuous anecdotes starring people of flesh and bone, with cities that exist in reality, organizations that resemble real ... If a woman is with your lawyer and goes to bed with him, if you visit a philatelic expert (with tweezers and magnifying glass included) and speak of counterfeit labels, if your husband works in the radio, if you drink whiskey and gets drunk, if you drive a Chevrolet Impala on Highway, all this leads, inevitably, is perfectly understandable and palpable to the reader. Precisely, it is easily understood, each page can not be written to a term that means "nothing."
In all honesty, I must say that my opinion is that behind The Crying of Lot 49 nothing worthwhile. To remedy this, Pynchon is not drug disappears. Resounding success. Someone could write a bestselling text and not appear in the media, deserves the admiration of the university and by extension all Cultureta beyond.
a teenager imagined that when I write a novel more fundamental. In my contract with the publishers have a clause that would clear my lack of participation in the promotion of the book. Seek to go unnoticed. I have advanced. And what I see, my idea was not bad (or original).
The saddest part of this book is the inordinate prestige of its author. The reader is dragged through the novel not help wondering where is the genius?, certainly appears, where is it? Here there is. Further searches.

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EVERYTHING DIES (John Connolly)


John Connolly was born in Dublin in 1968. Is a columnist for the Irish Times. He lives in Dublin but spends part of the year in the U.S. (this in a cover of your own novel is very sophisticated, I could not resist copying it here.)
There are titles that should be reserved for the masterpieces. All that dies is one of them. Taken from a verse of John Donne, is, in fact, the best of the novel. If adds that the cover photo is excellent and well meet its mandate, the book itself becomes a very attractive consumer product.

All that dies. John Connolly
.
title and author's name leading a photograph that conveys awe, a scary question of what we imagine, we can find inside. Well
by the publisher. Tusquets.

All that dies is a detective story. Detective. Novel. Whatever one calls the genre today.
I'm not a regular reader of novels genre: vampires, science fiction, zombies, detectives, upholsterers ... The fact is that for I wanted time to read this book, not knowing at all what it was.
story begins with a bloody murder and cruel in the extreme. Continues with a shootout to Bruce Willis in full faculty and engaged with the detective Charlie Parker. I do not know, I know. Continue reading.
The protagonist is a former policeman, cynical, reckless, who gets along better with people from the underworld that the FBI is a man who is accompanied by murderers, very nice of them, with which the author makes us fell in love (because of a bad scattered brains are not as unpleasant to watch.)
The story is told in first person, as the classic gender, with sporadic analepsis that keep us on track of two parallel stories. Since it can not be otherwise contribute to the twisted narrative metaphors of a solitary detective. Nothing is out of the ordinary in such novels.
Connolly The mounting frame can not deny that it is very elaborate. The author does not intend to invent anything great time outside the box and classic novels, just want to tell a story, bit tricky, though, that we seek good time reading. It does.
All that dies is a novel recommended for any reader who wants to have fun. If the reader is a fan of the detective genre not regret taking the time to read John Connolly.

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EN LA FRONTERA (Cormac McCarthy)


I return to the realm of McCarthy, this time in the thirties of the twentieth century, the border between Mexico and New Mexico, and again, after reading the last line, close the book shocked.
At the border is the second volume of the trilogy of the border and, in my opinion, is better novel All the Pretty Horses . It has more complexity in the plot and deeper in history.
I was shocked because McCarthy makes you walk their characters. See as sniffling, shaking his hat and dusty or and fanning the embers of the fire. Breathe the smell of burnt stick moistened by the dews of dawn, smell the sweat of the horses and feel in the palm of the hand-shake his hips.
McCarthy is the author of the tiny details. While highlighting the most trivial gesture, look more silent, more prosaic detail, is able to wrap in the hostile landscape of mountain and desert to share in the story to the dark sky and punctuated the night. While
tells the majestic presence of the wolf, the survival instinct become intelligence, shows the limitation of human beings in half so adverse as nature. At the same time as us characters with integrity and honesty almost innate, appear in his account of evil and hate most inexplicable. The disregard for life as something transcendent. Living the moment, without regard to anything or anyone, without the possibility if you want to respect yourself. Despair and sadness assumed as intrinsic to life itself.
The story that McCarthy tells At the border is of spectacular beauty, this must be added to the number of events that the author narrates with his usual style, detailed in the gesture, concise and poetic dialogue description landscapes.
The protagonist of the novel is a solitary character in crosses with people wandering alone and lonely. When you return home with his family, makes him understand what happened to the best of life is normal, that life is only a more or less monotonous succession of trivial and inconsequential facts. When normality is replaced by the extraordinary is just sickness, violence and decay.
At the end of loneliness.
However, regardless of what happened, the morning sun will come out the same for all without distinction.

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Diary of a seducer (Soren Kierkegaard)


Considered the forerunner of existentialism, Soren Kierkegaard Danish (Copenhagen 1813-1855) is known for his role as great philosopher and essayist. Personally know having published novels or stories. I was curious to see what he wrote and how he writes fiction. The introduction
discovered the diary explains the circumstances surrounding the period of time covering the story tells us. Talks about his players, who knew more or less directly, their manners and behavior, including delving into the complicated personality of the diarist. The distances, it reminded input Quixote, which Cervantes speaks of the manuscripts of Cide Amet Benengeli found for him. It is known that Kierkegaard felt admiration for Cervantes, in fact in some passages of this book mentions the Gitanilla .
A very smart friend of mine told me once that the excessive desire for sex with as many women as possible with some men, because they have been unable to overcome his last term partner to abandon them. That way, almost aggressive, stringing different relationships seems more like a vendetta against her, against all. Misogyny, in short.
The author of the paper, Johannes, misogyny than Don Juanism suffers from pathological supine. How to seduce Johannes, a poetic and original, is to make the lady in question who is totally surrendered to their wishes. When the deceiver knows that the victim is able to drop everything for him is when he leaves, but it can be blamed for not demanding anything because nothing is promised or demanded.
Seducing a girl is not an art, but it is, and how!, Namely to find a girl that deserves to be seduced . Despite language
romantic situations "love" that now seem comic and children, is curious to see the beginning of relations between men and women remain the same basis. Occasionally exposed
generic reflections, nothing severe, just as pure fun, on the sexual conditioning or social evolution of man and women. Therefore, the recurrent discussion of women against men is not new.
What at first seems only the story of child behavior from the seduction of the time (seen from today), has become an interesting intrigue caused by the coldness of the protagonist controlling their desire to be attractive to Cordelia, a goal of his stratagems .
Crossing, the involvement of other characters and the complication in which the protagonist gets to take up "good order" carefully designed plan, round out the story, despite the story as a newspaper manages to keep the reader the thread of an enjoyable adventure. Entertaining narrative carried until the end of ingenious ways.

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PLAGUE OF DOVES (Louise Erdrich)


Louise Erdrich was born in Minnesota in 1954. He has published several novels with which he has won several awards and critical acclaim. In fact, this novel is sold with a belt in that letter is displayed unsurpassed resaltona praise from Philip Roth.
A criminal event occurred in 1906 is the apparent axis about which the reader can infer that the novel will turn. It turns out that Erdrich's novel divided into several parts, not all necessarily connected to the incident, and if the author had no intention of keeping them linked to no avail.
We narrate the adventures of the characters involved in one or another how this unfortunate event. While narrating the story, characters who have died were elderly people who have spent their entire life living with the descendants and relatives of the other players made. Everyone tells you that much you should remember. No one is guilty. Only by stitching the various stories from the various reports can be seen that, in reality, no one is innocent. Erdrich
then embarks on the story of the adventures experienced by the ancestors of these honest criminals and innocent victims to found the small town where these people live. And it is that history (capitalized), still trying facts without widespread impact, is a thread uncut that involves us all equally regardless of the acts of this. From here
not understand anything. She cooked us a pie of such caliber, that given the confusion that comes over the reader, he read on to see if the matter ends up having some sense.
Thus, the novel that has a stimulating and attractive start becoming just a long rambling disorganized and diffuse character narrators, who arbitrarily are appearing throughout the story. In the last third of the novel the reader finds himself in a whirlwind of events, experiences and frustrations of the characters for which has not been prepared at any time in history, thus breaking the harmony of the narrative. Probably my intellectual timidity
I can not understand the meaning and scope of this work. Because if Philip Roth says he is a brilliant novel, someone tell me who is the courageous commitment to my opinion.

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CLIFFS Howth (David Pérez Vega)


David Pérez Vega, a poet born in Madrid in 1974, is professor and secondary school. Cliffs of Howth is his first novel.
I have always maintained a theory, these homespun ranker, which can be summarized as follows: who is fluent enough to be able to write poems with a certain decorum, you can write a novel with greater ease than any mortal. I do not know much about the art of verse but I think David Perez writes poetry with skill and talent.
reading the novel turns out to be a surprisingly pleasant reading. What's "amazing" is because of the burden of prejudice that, unfortunately and ongoing experiences, the novels of writers rush things. David Pérez
trace a plot intricacies and devious, with flesh and blood, almost tangible. Even manages to insert a passage that has tragicomic moments: three wise exercise of oligophrenic is a good base to cause a picturesque location, and the author manages to convey the comic angst of the characters in this passage.
employs a correction in the language, saw the picture, is worth mentioning. The narrative tone shifts between distantly moderately intimate and poetic, without whining or carefree poses "wrung the rag from the kitchen as if it chokes off the neck to the reality or the dirty bird of bad luck." And something very important: things happen and appear diverse and well-shaped characters. This, blended, Howth Cliffs makes a close and compelling story. Halfway through the book
surprised me trying to extend the reading as much as possible. And is that the abundant analepsis make the story enjoyable reading, and relax the back and forth in time. When taking off from the book, I realized a long time carrying a attached to a pleasant adventure starring a young common among ordinary people. David Pérez
portrays us. Yesterday put us as old as the mirror. It shows a structured life as neutral parameters we boxed. No search this novel spectacular adventures or experiences.
Boredom and fatigue, monotony of married life, with work in the background, where I actually used all the energy leaving no strength to talk to who share a bed.
Ricardo, the hero begins to recall his youthful trip to Ireland and interspersed with her student life with their married life with her current life working in a multinational.
With this background, interspersed with adventures of late adolescence, the reader begins to wonder about the title of the novel. Is it metaphorical? Will you show really the cliffs? Up to half of the novel the reader is work them into account, without having been mentioned. But from this point the author does occasionally feel the salty taste on the lips, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and the cry of birds flying over the sea. During the next leg of the novel the reader is now explicit reference to the cliffs but there are still missing. Until finally shown as a place of meditation and separation from the star during stay in Ireland. Narrated
from Madrid, Cliffs of Howth are revealed as the place where Richard deposits the memory of his youth. Deposits where the frustrations and the memory of past mistakes. Where is the inevitable question of what could be.
The verdict is clear. When you are young all the circumstances of life are considered contingencies. From the perspective gained maturity accept the finality of everyday life.
"My parents do not criticize anything, but sometimes I feel in them a passion for being sad resignation. I notice in the shape of turning the pages of a newspaper or closing a door, then makes the air flow, and the slam is stabbing me like a reproach. I guess this can happen when a third time to leave the room of my childhood. "