Rooms, "Habitaciones" in English. Inhabited place, a place to live. Each "piece" of this collection is like a room, room light or dark, dark room light which shows live and thrilling characters, room, place of privacy, everyone at home and in themselves, individually, locked.
The room is also a literary device, in this book we have access to a series of rooms, with fragments of life, stories that never end, happy or sad, tragic or comic.
These chambers, these devices feature reminiscent of Flemish painters, these miniature scene with perspective, called "Camera Obscura" which allowed them to complete the interiors where they put their characters caught in their daily actions, open a letter, to look in the mirror, for example. The Flemish painters brought intimacy in paint, tiny matters, changes which in everyday life, become events. Thus, Sumalavia painted tiny beings, in their quivers invisible, doubts and sorrows, just Visible constructed with carefully chosen words, few, where ordinary events are coming out of their daily lives. This tremor past the door of the room closes in on them and leaves us, we readers in the dark about what will happen or not, in our tiny subjects. Taking a gate in the figure is always frustrating, but the choice is such coherent until the mania.
The patented form and exact choices of words may sound like poetry. But nothing so far from poetry and its excessiveness of an enclosed and highly codified its parts. Every breath is thought there is no place for the lyrical. Sumalavia is a concise and thoughtful writer who focuses on his characters as an entomologist would do, observe and eventually pin them not without pain. Then we show them still alive in their last movements. Until the end, probably holding us back, reading leads us through paths elusive, yet we believe in salvation possible, but very quickly, within our experience of the reader, we guess that this will lead to nothing good, no hope, no escape, all rebellion is useless, everything will eventually be repeated or completed in the state.
Perhaps it is d’une métaphore de notre pays, le Pérou, et d’une ville assez fantomatique vue depuis la littérature, qui est Lima, avec ses accès de fièvre qui ne mènent à aucun changement visible. Que de soubresauts, parfois, mortels… Ou bien s’agit-il plutôt, au de-là de l’être se débattant dans son for intérieur, d’un livre sur cette citadelle immobile qu’est la vie de nos intellectuels et écrivains de Lima, toujours enfermés dans la capitale et dans leurs pensées, tournant le dos au reste du pays, s’alimentant de l’air vicié de polémiques et de petites escarmouches internes qui n’apportent plus grande chose à la real life of the country? These pieces would be the place of confinement of one who knows and recognizes its uselessness shown in lowercase characters with lives and bleached by the particular filter of the author.
In all cases, for much of the young Peruvian writers, fiction is coming to its limits and the quest to find the moving shape, microscopic or exaggerated to say about nothing lasting in a world where more huge than ever literature is lost amid a multitude of new ways to communicate through language, and outside of language. Taken aback, we, the writers have several escape routes, or continue as before or try to adapt to new ways, blogs, books on the internet, etc.. .... Also, the micro-narrative is an answer to the acceleration of the present time: release the player before he let go. Leave with all his questions, let alone before the door closes. The literature does not give more answers, it does not close over there more room for identifications and characters, each in his room is his life, a set of pieces does not a house but is a set of parts .
Brevity, the patented miniaturization, unfinished appear to correspond well when you live, or a commitment soon, or is much less concentrated. We can read on screen and deny us the pleasure of touching the paper and hear the little noise from the pages turning. The boom in its brief forms facilitates access, but leaves us a little about our hunger, we enjoy big meals that we eat and some time with us after the work of digestion.
Perfection is to say everything in a few words, or never able to say anything, neither short nor long, which would explain the longevity of the literature and our ever-renewed pleasure to dive into the pages, many or not , d'un nouveau livre. J'ouvre "Pièces" avec plaisir, et aussi vous vous J'espere that ouvrirez of ces pièces chacun, avec l'oeil curieux qui n'était pas celui of forcément invited, au départ. Greece
The room is also a literary device, in this book we have access to a series of rooms, with fragments of life, stories that never end, happy or sad, tragic or comic.
These chambers, these devices feature reminiscent of Flemish painters, these miniature scene with perspective, called "Camera Obscura" which allowed them to complete the interiors where they put their characters caught in their daily actions, open a letter, to look in the mirror, for example. The Flemish painters brought intimacy in paint, tiny matters, changes which in everyday life, become events. Thus, Sumalavia painted tiny beings, in their quivers invisible, doubts and sorrows, just Visible constructed with carefully chosen words, few, where ordinary events are coming out of their daily lives. This tremor past the door of the room closes in on them and leaves us, we readers in the dark about what will happen or not, in our tiny subjects. Taking a gate in the figure is always frustrating, but the choice is such coherent until the mania.
The patented form and exact choices of words may sound like poetry. But nothing so far from poetry and its excessiveness of an enclosed and highly codified its parts. Every breath is thought there is no place for the lyrical. Sumalavia is a concise and thoughtful writer who focuses on his characters as an entomologist would do, observe and eventually pin them not without pain. Then we show them still alive in their last movements. Until the end, probably holding us back, reading leads us through paths elusive, yet we believe in salvation possible, but very quickly, within our experience of the reader, we guess that this will lead to nothing good, no hope, no escape, all rebellion is useless, everything will eventually be repeated or completed in the state.
Perhaps it is d’une métaphore de notre pays, le Pérou, et d’une ville assez fantomatique vue depuis la littérature, qui est Lima, avec ses accès de fièvre qui ne mènent à aucun changement visible. Que de soubresauts, parfois, mortels… Ou bien s’agit-il plutôt, au de-là de l’être se débattant dans son for intérieur, d’un livre sur cette citadelle immobile qu’est la vie de nos intellectuels et écrivains de Lima, toujours enfermés dans la capitale et dans leurs pensées, tournant le dos au reste du pays, s’alimentant de l’air vicié de polémiques et de petites escarmouches internes qui n’apportent plus grande chose à la real life of the country? These pieces would be the place of confinement of one who knows and recognizes its uselessness shown in lowercase characters with lives and bleached by the particular filter of the author.
In all cases, for much of the young Peruvian writers, fiction is coming to its limits and the quest to find the moving shape, microscopic or exaggerated to say about nothing lasting in a world where more huge than ever literature is lost amid a multitude of new ways to communicate through language, and outside of language. Taken aback, we, the writers have several escape routes, or continue as before or try to adapt to new ways, blogs, books on the internet, etc.. .... Also, the micro-narrative is an answer to the acceleration of the present time: release the player before he let go. Leave with all his questions, let alone before the door closes. The literature does not give more answers, it does not close over there more room for identifications and characters, each in his room is his life, a set of pieces does not a house but is a set of parts .
Brevity, the patented miniaturization, unfinished appear to correspond well when you live, or a commitment soon, or is much less concentrated. We can read on screen and deny us the pleasure of touching the paper and hear the little noise from the pages turning. The boom in its brief forms facilitates access, but leaves us a little about our hunger, we enjoy big meals that we eat and some time with us after the work of digestion.
Perfection is to say everything in a few words, or never able to say anything, neither short nor long, which would explain the longevity of the literature and our ever-renewed pleasure to dive into the pages, many or not , d'un nouveau livre. J'ouvre "Pièces" avec plaisir, et aussi vous vous J'espere that ouvrirez of ces pièces chacun, avec l'oeil curieux qui n'était pas celui of forcément invited, au départ. Greece
Cáceres.
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