" The novel is the private history of nations ." Balzac.
And human beings, I would say. At times, the novel and fiction, delve into of historical, social, personal, to create a parallel story, autonomous, but dependent on certain aspects of reality.
Such is the case of Old Gringo, a novel in homage to Ambrose Bierce, by Carlos Fuentes. In a previous post, I had written about the American character, of which nothing was heard after his departure to Mexico in 1913, a Mexico involved in a struggle that sought social and political restructuring, where noble ideals of freedom and equality gravitated in the minds of his fighters.
The old gringo just wanted a dignified death, rather die against a wall Mexican ng that a disease or falling down stairs, I'm old and tired. He began his latest venture, with a final scattered, but powerful: death.
And it is here where the novel emerges to transform reality and make use of his inseparable companion creative: imagination. Walking together in a maze, wonderful imagination and poetic prose of Carlos Fuentes, are weaving, weaving situations implausible, fantastic, tragic and beautiful to honor the end of The Old Gringo.
The Old Gringo, or rather, Ambrose Bierce, in deciding how would his death just used the power sought in the country where he decided to die, where his eyes were blessed by looking at the magnificence of the Mexican desert, where his feet rested on a ground mag ica and sacred, where his sense of smell was enthralled with scents of culinary wisdom, forged thousands of years. Where did not die alone, but embraced by the aura of a great nation.
The novel allows us to sneak in the shadows light of life, dancing in the mysterious and extraordinary atmosphere. It allows us to play God, playing the oracle of Delphi.
"Memory is our home, and thus becomes the only true desire of our hearts, the ardent search of our small and unsafe havens, buried deep within our hearts."
By Vic Volta.
And human beings, I would say. At times, the novel and fiction, delve into of historical, social, personal, to create a parallel story, autonomous, but dependent on certain aspects of reality.
Such is the case of Old Gringo, a novel in homage to Ambrose Bierce, by Carlos Fuentes. In a previous post, I had written about the American character, of which nothing was heard after his departure to Mexico in 1913, a Mexico involved in a struggle that sought social and political restructuring, where noble ideals of freedom and equality gravitated in the minds of his fighters.
The old gringo just wanted a dignified death, rather die against a wall Mexican ng that a disease or falling down stairs, I'm old and tired. He began his latest venture, with a final scattered, but powerful: death.
And it is here where the novel emerges to transform reality and make use of his inseparable companion creative: imagination. Walking together in a maze, wonderful imagination and poetic prose of Carlos Fuentes, are weaving, weaving situations implausible, fantastic, tragic and beautiful to honor the end of The Old Gringo.
The Old Gringo, or rather, Ambrose Bierce, in deciding how would his death just used the power sought in the country where he decided to die, where his eyes were blessed by looking at the magnificence of the Mexican desert, where his feet rested on a ground mag ica and sacred, where his sense of smell was enthralled with scents of culinary wisdom, forged thousands of years. Where did not die alone, but embraced by the aura of a great nation.
And at the end of our journey, we should have this magnificent privilege to choose the way our story is ended, because in the course of her are victims of numerous factors and circumstances beyond. At least, our destiny is ours, as our death. Just us and no one else.
"Memory is our home, and thus becomes the only true desire of our hearts, the ardent search of our small and unsafe havens, buried deep within our hearts."
By Vic Volta.
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