circumstances I met Nacho Ferrando did not portend to be a wake admiration in me, and I had the irritating habit of winning most of the contests stories to which I had. Eventually I found a solution to preserve my self-esteem fails to submit to competitions and I started to measure myself against rivals of my size (ie, myself).
not without a certain mood of flagella, I read some of their stories. Ferrando discovered that, besides winning short story contests, had the irritating habit of writing very well. Had in them a particular vision of reality, a vision corner, almost perverse in its efforts to subvert the normal order of things. It seems that watching reality following a sharp maximum that once you listen to Luis Landeros: "When you write, remember that you live in a far country."
In general, in the literary world (assuming there is something what we can call it that) a certain contempt for the stories. It's easy to find remarkable stories published by novelists who are nothing more than short stories told with more or less care, and scenes that they could not fit into any of his novels. But there are true stories, you could say they have no deep literary intention. Less common but equally frustrating is the opposite case: that of the writers who, covered in a solvent technique, produce stories in series in which little or nothing to say.
But none of this happens in Sicily winter, the second book of stories by Ignacio Ferrando, published by JDJ Editors. The raw material is none other than the reinterpretation of classics, from Ovid and Homer to Valery or even Gregor Mendel. Perhaps all that, each of the stories is a small piece of craftsmanship, unlike the others, like it was carved on wood to adapt nodules, without attempting to submit them. And it takes risks Ferrando. Not content with the obvious and invites the reader on a journey full of folds and ridges, not lecture if catechize. So
Sicily winter is a book so different, or even make up stories that seem too each other. They are like train tickets to travel invite the reader waiting in the certainty that no two trips will be equal and uneasy at the prospect of the trip some forgotten loophole enlighten your soul. Of course, if the reader is willing to embark on such trips.
not without a certain mood of flagella, I read some of their stories. Ferrando discovered that, besides winning short story contests, had the irritating habit of writing very well. Had in them a particular vision of reality, a vision corner, almost perverse in its efforts to subvert the normal order of things. It seems that watching reality following a sharp maximum that once you listen to Luis Landeros: "When you write, remember that you live in a far country."
In general, in the literary world (assuming there is something what we can call it that) a certain contempt for the stories. It's easy to find remarkable stories published by novelists who are nothing more than short stories told with more or less care, and scenes that they could not fit into any of his novels. But there are true stories, you could say they have no deep literary intention. Less common but equally frustrating is the opposite case: that of the writers who, covered in a solvent technique, produce stories in series in which little or nothing to say.
But none of this happens in Sicily winter, the second book of stories by Ignacio Ferrando, published by JDJ Editors. The raw material is none other than the reinterpretation of classics, from Ovid and Homer to Valery or even Gregor Mendel. Perhaps all that, each of the stories is a small piece of craftsmanship, unlike the others, like it was carved on wood to adapt nodules, without attempting to submit them. And it takes risks Ferrando. Not content with the obvious and invites the reader on a journey full of folds and ridges, not lecture if catechize. So
Sicily winter is a book so different, or even make up stories that seem too each other. They are like train tickets to travel invite the reader waiting in the certainty that no two trips will be equal and uneasy at the prospect of the trip some forgotten loophole enlighten your soul. Of course, if the reader is willing to embark on such trips.
