¡Coño, que bueno! I'm so proud that I could read a pre-20th century novel (quite short) Shame on me, but I think I had only done so for Flaubert. Heheh, anyway, it's excellent. So freaking frightening and so ambiguous! I’m really grateful for the delayed Spanish trains, for I could not take my eyes off the pages and (well, everyone knows I hate work, not mine but all, the very...
more ¡Coño, que bueno! I'm so proud that I could read a pre-20th century novel (quite short) Shame on me, but I think I had only done so for Flaubert. Heheh, anyway, it's excellent. So freaking frightening and so ambiguous! I’m really grateful for the delayed Spanish trains, for I could not take my eyes off the pages and (well, everyone knows I hate work, not mine but all, the very concept of it) never wanted to arrive at my destination any of those exciting mornings in the company of James’ “othersâ€. Some parts were deeply attractive, like reading a magnificent essay on people’s feelings, fears, thoughts and choices, made out of intuitions and uncertainties. It’s poetry in the form of a horror’ story. P/d: Maite, tienes que leerlo. Tú, lectora voraz, a lo mejor me llamas “cagona†o “mamita†para toda la vida, pero me arriesgo sufrir tales infamias.
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