Wednesday, November 11, 2009

"While the Women Are Sleeping." Javier Marias.

One-minute review: Older, bald, fat man, a Spaniard. Young 23-year-old Spanish beauty. On the beach. He films her from every angle. Continuously. Why? He explains one night by the pool. He adores her. He wants film so that he can continue to adore her. Why? Because she will change. Or she will grow old, or she will leave him. He can’t allow that. He will have to kill her while she is in the phase of her great beauty before she begins to change or leave.

The narrator asks, what if I tell Inés (the girl’s name) or the authorities what you have said? No problem. We are leaving tomorrow to go back to Barcelona. Early. We will not have time for the beach. You can’t have anything done to me because of intentions. Besides, what if she is already dead? What if I have already killed her? The narrator looks up at the balconies of their rooms. His wife is there. Inés is not.

The New Yorker (November 2, 2009), 96 – 105.

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