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338 pages, Paperback
First published July 1, 2017
"Who has not,
at one point or another,
played with thoughts of his ancestors,
with the prehistory of his flesh and blood?"
Jorge Luis Borges, I, A Jew
The upright and irreproachable men I had admired for as long as I could remember, the flesh of my flesh, abruptly became blurred, reduced to timid, vulgar and inconsequential individuals. My former clarity became turbid. Clay became crust. The tight weave became unstitched, revealing its threads.
The custom of the double life has been repeated in each generation. If this is not a habit, a custom, a trend, I don't know what it is. An enduring coincidence? A hereditary gene? A vice, an illness, an infection? An echo? How to escape it? Can atavistic viruses be eliminated? Can contagion be avoided? Can this intangible, genetically transmittable part of us ever be decontaminated, or does it become intrinsic from the start and all we can do is bear it? How can we be sure what is ours, our own, and what is passed on if everything comes to us melted down and mixed up at birth? Were the men of my family aware of obeying an established mould? Did they ever set to correct that that tradition, or were they simply carried along by it? Am I yet another such man?Will I repeat the story I am writing? Or am I writing it down in order not to repeat it?