imagine that once the best way to find out what life was like a rural physician at the time of Balzac, or of an adulteress at the time of Flaubert, Balzac was read or Flauvert. Perhaps, long ago, among the strips of pay that writer was to tell stories, to explain what others ignore. I would argue that the lengthy and detailed portraits of the physical and mental landscapes of the contexts and characters Proust responded to the writer's certainty in his orbs burguesiles inaccessible to the ordinary reader. So maybe there was a time that made sense to tell a story, or a jácara gossip, and even write a novel. It happens that in this century sees us, which are stories abound. All are stories, everyone has one, or two, or three ... Stories can also be illustrated with photographs, maps, maps, certificates, medical reports, clinical reports, invoices, performances, dances, songs and various materials, and now with the digital book-long story. But all these stories, information and investigations are unnecessary, and unnecessary is that literature itself is so because the reader already has all that information, the reader has already been there, seen that and I thought in that other. At this very moment the novel must shed its documentary role, and even psychological, Céline released anew the question that he himself took care to answer: What is left to literature? Not much, if anything like that.
not little bread crumb style that thing, or minor issue to be taken in jest. I guess the style or learning or copying, or pretends not invented ... or have or not have and certainly will not be acquired in any case ... Bruno, Baldea or tray. And will be assumed to chivalry and elegance that we all have our stories, but the style, which means Céline's style is a thing of Montero Glez.
Céline added that style appears once every century therefore there is only one chance encounter one. Something like Halley's comet, passed on this side in 1986 when I was 9 years and voverá not happen until 28 july, 2061, when I already will be cops or the hole. I missed it, like almost everyone. And look what I had told my cousin Wenceslas I could not lose because there would be no repetition or VHS video, or play it again Sam were worth, no possibility that the universe bends to my whim and repeat the phenomenon, to the dismay of the small child lenguareta the member of a generation and Mountaineer, communing with the holy trinity of Bruce Lee, and Samantha Fox Arrocet Mustache, a generation that, as I said before, only gave him for looking to the sky when he drank from the jug, or when booted by Antonio Molina.
At this point, I find that I digressions and I have to Celine, the comet Halley and Montero Glez dance. To finish spinning all this discord should I add to my brother. And that was my brother who I became aware of the arrival of another kind of kite when he said, "Leete, it is very great, and best of all, the author is English, and is alive! -. The relevant thing of all authors vividly why we read at that time were killed. Anyway, I opened the first page, and reading the first sentence I heard about the advent of style. Gave witness to this matrix the ecumenical tide that broke in my skull when I read that that Charolito only trust his cock the only thing in the world could never give up the ass. Scientifically analyzed the rest of the book, sentence by sentence, seeking unsuccessfully to articulate the method that concatenation of words and ejaculations polymorphic plastic. Then I began to write jokes imitating his style, until I pretended it was him who I was imitating me and let me talk about my plagiarist Montero preferred. And now, just remember the words of my brother when I said ... "and best of all, is English and is alive" ... as if that were to be alive to do so closer, more accessible, as if inevitably that unites us and force us to coffee and cigarettes. Yes, Montero Glez is alive and well, for several days, with facebook, it is my near friend.
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