Oddly enough, Moya isn’t actually a deep Bernhard reader. Still, he’s about to write some kind of pastiche novel, imitating his style.
I like that kind of pastiche-fictionon with grabbing someone else’s style. Stephen King had tried being Cormac McCarthy the Almighty on Rose Madder.
After this book, Moya received severe reactions and threats in her country. For obvious reasons, the book is generally a text in which he has his hatred of his country counted flat.
It based his context on a conversation (monologue?) with a returning exile from Canada (Edgardo Vega) for his mother’s funeral. The one-paragraph text consists of the two meeting at the bar between five and seven without breathing.
A text made up of the humiliation of carrion nationalism, which crawled from the country’s beer to the food culture, and the stupidity of the majority. Writers and artists take a significant share of this attack. It exposes the devastation of the average.
According to Vega, the country is a hallucination, making its existence a reality about the crimes it has committed. He reminds that the revolutionary poet Roque Dalton himself was sentenced to death within four days by comrades in the People’s Revolutionary Army (ERP) as a so-called CIA spy.
With the unresponsive approval of the masses, everyone from the footballer to the driver, from the bartender to anyone on the street is a war criminal. Although the book was written in the late ‘90s and received constant reaction, it continues to attract attention as Moya’s best-known book.
Leave a Reply