Florentino continues to binge on unrequited love, while also seeking out other women whenever he can, able only to write love letters, still pouring his essence into declarations on behalf of others. It's a strange kind of proxy life, slightly irritating to read. His meeting with Ausencia Santander recalls the earlier encounter with Rosalba, but this is a longer sensuality, that picks up again another portrayal of what he sees as the ferocious sexuality of women ( which is there in Fermina as well, despite her reserve). So where's it all heading? The writing's good enough to keep on ploughing through a text that just keeps my interest piqued. Maybe I'm in the wrong mood or place for this kind of book. I think one of the problems is distance - I feel that I'm looking at this story in all its exotic picaresque glory though a telescope, enough to focus on the paragraph I'm reading but without getting any sense of a wider perspective. Put another way, I'm handling the beads of a rosary one by one, without much meaning attaching to the process, I'm just plodding on from page to page. Going up a long set of steps hoping that there's going to be something at the top. Page 182 now, my reading is slowing down.
No comments:
Post a Comment