Although it may sometimes seem otherwise, not always you can wander through the world. There are occasions that touches retreat into winter quarters, and is a good time to read, among other things, how to roam the world for others. Of course, one does not travel with anyone. You must select either with whom we share backpack.
So you have to find someone to walk through the world seeking the same. Or not looking for anything, which is the way to look around. Something like that is what makes Javier Reverte in Heart of Ulysses . Reading it, one has the pleasant impression of having shared with him a talk to the warmth of a tavern, as if the reader is a customer comfortable and the author fixed a newly arrived stranger willing to share news of the wider world in exchange for a jar of wine and a little company.
Javier Reverte's writing is clear, surround, journalism has makings of classic, black and carajillo snuff desktop, with an air more reminiscent of Vázquez Montalbán that Kapuscinski. Perhaps the traveler has something Reverte Pepe Carvalho, the detectives of black cinema. He imagines an aspiring smoke with determination and some bitterness at a port, about to board a boat to follow the footsteps of the travelers who preceded him, from Ulysses to Lord Byorn.
But there may be a facade, because guess Reverte's generosity that wants nothing to share what he loves, the philosopher in the etymological sense of the term. Just be willing to sling a backpack and share the dusty road.
And, when you start walking, mumbling the same maxim that the mysterious sailor Arnaldos Romance del Conde:
I do not say my song
But who goes with me.
So you have to find someone to walk through the world seeking the same. Or not looking for anything, which is the way to look around. Something like that is what makes Javier Reverte in Heart of Ulysses . Reading it, one has the pleasant impression of having shared with him a talk to the warmth of a tavern, as if the reader is a customer comfortable and the author fixed a newly arrived stranger willing to share news of the wider world in exchange for a jar of wine and a little company.
Javier Reverte's writing is clear, surround, journalism has makings of classic, black and carajillo snuff desktop, with an air more reminiscent of Vázquez Montalbán that Kapuscinski. Perhaps the traveler has something Reverte Pepe Carvalho, the detectives of black cinema. He imagines an aspiring smoke with determination and some bitterness at a port, about to board a boat to follow the footsteps of the travelers who preceded him, from Ulysses to Lord Byorn.
But there may be a facade, because guess Reverte's generosity that wants nothing to share what he loves, the philosopher in the etymological sense of the term. Just be willing to sling a backpack and share the dusty road.
And, when you start walking, mumbling the same maxim that the mysterious sailor Arnaldos Romance del Conde:
I do not say my song
But who goes with me.
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