Mi-a recomandat-o astazi Goodreads-ul. Ştiu că nu sună foarte logic dar rar am mai dat peste un roman cu un umor atât de direct şi subtil, sec şi spumos în acelaşi timp. Nu ştiu dacă e cea mai potrivită mostră, mai ales scoasă din context dar merge perfect cu melodia:
“You look a little worse. Has the pain come back?” he asked me even before we’d sat down in the library. No, I answered, fortunately the stabbing pain had not come back—that was all I needed—but I’d been beset by so many troubles all week that I hadn’t even remembered the pain, because my relationship with my partner, I told him, had collapsed, not because of my upcoming trip but because of the entrance on stage of a two-bit actor she’d had an affair with, I confessed, and I had the impression that he lifted his eyes slightly, as if to look for the horns on my head, though Don Chente would have been incapable of such a thing, he was much too discreet. He asked me, with as much tact as possible, if Eva had persisted in her lapse, using the word “lapse” as if she had simply taken a misstep and tripped and fallen on her back with her legs
spreadeagle so he could penetrate her, hardly what had really happened, with her going off enthusiastically for her early morning fucks, but I refrained from making my accusation too specific and answered only, no, apparently the affair had ended, though when dealing with that kind of sleazy activity it was difficult to know for certain."
Ok, încă unul care nu se potriveşte cu melodia 8-|
"Nor would I tell Don Chente about my via crucis over the following days, when the test came back positive, and thus began the bitter discussion about how to proceed; an abortion seemed to me to be the preferred course of action from every possible point of view, whereas Eva, due to her natural feminine protective instinct, declared somewhat tentatively that she was in favor of keeping the child, though she wavered between that position and mine, constantly bursting out in tears so as to stoke my feelings of guilt, even though she was the only possible
guilty party, no matter what, whether the child was mine because she had lied to me about her supposed infertility or, more likely, that due to the excitement and urgency of her initiation into adultery, she’d failed to take the necessary precautions
and now the spawn of that circus performer was growing in her belly."
Horacio Castellanos Moya, The Dream Of My Return