As We Read A Text In Our

It Has Always Been My Experience That, Whatever Groupings I Choose For My Books, The Space In Which I Plan To Lodge Them Necessarily Reshapes My Choice And, More Important, In No Time Proves Too Small For Them And Forces Me To Change My Arrangement. In A Library, No Empty Shelf Remains Empty For Long. Like Nature, Libraries Abhor A Vacuum, And The Problem Of Space Is Inherent In The Very Nature Of Any Collection Of Books.

At Different Times And In Different Places I Have Come To Expect Certain Books To Look A Certain Way, And, As In All Fashions, These Changing Features Fix A Precise Quality Onto A Book's Definition. I Judge A Book By Its Cover; I Judge A Book By Its Shape.

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.

Each Book Was A World Unto Itself, And In It I Took Refuge.

Nothing Moves Except My Eyes And My Hand Occasionally Turning A Page, And Yet Something Not Exactly Defined By The Word "text" Unfurls, Progresses, Grows And Takes Root As I Read. But How Does This Process Take Place?