A book is not just the content.
So, when I a book, my fingers will scroll through the pages, my hands grab him and my gaze lingers on the images.
The cover image, perhaps, Martin portrays the brave little girl who decides to fight his war and he does since his childhood, riding, sculpture, his imaginary horse, while in the background, far away, the village and its people, remains a stranger to this battle alone.
in the front cover, the one that finally closes the book, who knows, there is now great Martina, who grew up and the serene look and hair in the wind ... and again, in the background, a fragment of the coast that plunges into sea.
The country, the land and its people, often remains far from the battlefield and the brave fighter is alone, isolated from the whole world is so proud to fight.
I think that Martina is not a person, if not many people: all those people - victims or perpetrators, because the piece of history in which it takes the photo - who decide to fight, to win their war.
A war of conquest, of victory, slope, inevitably marked by blood.
Not surprisingly, this novel takes place in the series "The reasons for the West," where he pretends to address the issues that are burning up the modern world.
not finished as long as they fought to conquer new territory or to remove that occupied, at the last occupant. For various reasons, for different ambitions, different purposes for different ideals ... in search of justice which men have invented, cataloged, organized according to their mental and cultural models.
There are real reasons to justify a war, this war, the war we fight every day, we in the West?
Is there really a need to think of a battlefield, like a soul where the conflict can be overcome with reason dl faster?
Can you really a judge to restore dignity to a body battered by injustice?
Or perhaps, the mind that dwells in that body, can try to seek justice in his case, giving the court the only task of assessing what is more just society that has built its own rules?
do not know if this novel can truly be understood as a moving narrative variations on the theme of bullying, when, again, this delicate issue of human relationships is so little known and valued by our system executioner.
Rather, I believe that this novel suffered, is the pain that attacks anyone who moves the social competition, to forget that the competitors are simply people, and then humans, animals.
In these lines written "blood", each page is a meditation on family and social relationships, on condition that the family, friends, work colleagues, social organization and executioner, entails.
page full of pictures made of words and words made of images and aphorisms to meditate and transcript, and names of people who are in the streets of every small town ... maybe because you simply talk about life and the need for break away sooner or later, from everything you crashes heavily to the ground and not allow you to free yourself from any unnecessary burden.
A book whose theme is the filial love.
That son that sometimes, in this society of "doing", we tend to forget or give to others, only to worry about its economic future (perhaps, just an excuse to govern our sense of guilt in leaving him alone to himself and us to dedicate ourselves, body and soul, our professional business), but so little of his needs and difficulties of his infant, child and therefore, man: victim among the victims.
But the love that lasts and lasts branch, throughout the unfolding of the story, as if to hammer the consciousness of its protagonist, more and more aware of the futility of his many activities that take away time with his daughter. A final
quiet, simple and distracted from the overall complexity of a text appealing and understandable, even to the most subtle.
The closure of a complicated story, the story common to many of those who love to reflect on the events of his own existence, is confused and concerned with the triumphant entry of low-power of love.
Sol this is worth fighting for and fighting the good fight, winning our war anyway, even if left alone to enjoy the freedom given to us from the love and who truly loves us for who we are and not for what build.
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