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360 pages, Paperback
First published November 4, 2002
The theme of the double – and of the double’s double, and so on ad infinitum in an extensive set of mirrors – is found at the center of the labyrinth of Julio Arward’s novel, a novel that – and now I am writing as the literary critic that I am – is a fictitious autobiography in which the author pretends to be Cosme Badía and, recalling with a memory that is not his own, invents the world of the two first cousins and makes out that he is recalling this world without for a moment forgetting Faulkner’s description of the novel as a writer’s secret life, wherein exists a man’s shadowy twin brother.
I arrived in the city of Nantes, literature-sick and tragically unable to write, one rainy day in the month of November last year. I arrived out of sorts on account of my literary block and, to make matters worse, I sought even more reasons to feel bad and worried. I told myself, for example, that I had been a thief of other people’s words too often, that frequently I acted as a parasite on the writers I most admired.
“Después de todo, quien escribe con sentido del riesgo anda sobre un hilo y además de andar sobre él tiene que tejerse un hilo propio bajo sus pies (…) de la misma forma que cada vuelo lleva consigo la posibilidad de la caída, cada libro debería contener en sí la posibilidad del fracaso.”Y este es uno de los puntos fuertes del libro: la valentía para dejar de ser un parásito literario de otros y no formar parte del uniformado ejército moderno de lo idéntico, aunque se fracase en el intento, que no es el caso.

