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245 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
- ¿Qué tal? ¿Cuánto tiempo?Lo siento, pero no estoy acostumbrado a estas formas, me sacaban del texto, aunque lo que pasara durante esos diez minutos centrales fuera notable. También es posible que sea el estilo del terrorista o que hablar de terrorismo requiere adoptar sus formas, pegar dos o tres puñetazos en la mesa, conseguirlo todo por el camino corto, a machetazos. Y, precisamente, porque esos diálogos encajarían mejor en una obra de teatro, el texto entre los diálogos me ha parecido superfluo. Es más, hay una historia de amor que es del todo prescindible.
- ¿20 años?
- Por lo menos... y... ¿qué tal llevas ahora aquello de que me tirara a tu mujer?
(malas caras, gritos, reproches, algún empujón que otro... y diez minutos después)
- Venga, tomemos una copita de vino, por los viejos tiempos.
- Prefiero que demos un paseo por el parque.


“You looked at me all evening as if you were wondering whether I really believed what I said… No, without September Eleventh none of the good things that have happened over the past few years would have happened. The new attentiveness to the Palestinians, still the key to peace in the Middle East, and to the Muslims, still a quarter of the world’s population, the new sensitivity to the threats in the world, from the economic to the ecological, the realization that exploitation has a price that is always rising - sometimes the world needs a shock to come to its senses. Like people - after having his first heart attack, my father is at last living as sensibly as he should always have lived. With some people it always takes two or three.” (56).
The eye finds no purchase among the trees, the church tower, the electricity supply with its masts and cables. It finds no mountains in the distance and no city nearby, nothing to set boundaries and create a space. The eye loses itself. (88)
The view from the window gripped him. All those houses, all those people, all those lives. The energy with which people drove back and forth and worked and built. With which they owned and shaped and inhabited the earth. And they wanted it to be beautiful. Sometimes they built the tip of a skyscraper like a temple and a bridge like a harp and buried the dead in a green garden y the river. Jan was astonished. Everything looked right. But he was so far from it that he didn’t feel it was right. He remembered the fairy tale about the giant’s toy. In the picture in the storybook the giant’s daughter picked up a plow, from which the horse dangled in its harness, and the farmer from the reins. (185).