As We Read A Text In Our

In The Books By Ruy-sanchez We Find Again The Erotic Conviction That Allows Us To Read With All The Skin. The Erotic, In His Narratives Is Not A Subject Or A Phrase, It Is The Clay Of What They Are Made. In His Novels Every Experience, Trivial Or Extraordinary, Breaths Through The Erotic.

If The Library In The Morning Suggests An Echo Of The Severe And Reasonable Wishful Order Of The World, The Library At Night Seems To Rejoice In The World's Essential, Joyful Muddle.

The World That Is A Book Is Devoured Bya Reader Who Is A Letter In The World's Text; Thus A Circular Metaphor Is Created For The Endlessness Of Reading; We Are What We Read.

And Sometimes, When The Stars Are Kind, We Read With An Intake Of Breath, With A Shudder, As If Someone Or Something Had 'walked Over Our Grave,' As If A Memory Had Suddenly Been Rescued From A Place Deep Within Us - The Recognition Of Something We Never Knew Was There, Or Of Something We Vaguely Felt As A Flicker Or A Shadow, Whose Ghostly Form Rises And Passes Back Into Us Before We Can See What It Is, Leaving Us Older And Wiser.

Unicorns, Dragons, Witches May Be Creatures Conjured Up In Dreams, But On The Page Their Needs, Joys, Anguishes, And Redemptions Should Be Just As True As Those Of Madame Bovary Or Martin Chuzzlewit.