Just started this book and immediately am feeling afraid of the day when, like all novels, the story will end. I turn the pages slowly, read some chapters a second time just to pace myself, and try to take breaks in between chapters by doing other things…a swim, a walk around the pool, a brief staring overhead at the palm trees and listening to the birds, a moment to let what I am reading settle in a bit more deeply.
Maybe it is because it is a story set in a city I know well, Barcelona, and where I lived for a few years, or maybe it is the amazing descriptions the author gives of the smallest details, the characters you feel are long lost friends and the glances and nuanced behaviors that you can almost feel, touch or hear.
There is nothing more sacred than the moments spent lost in a good book. The ability of a writer to transport the reader to a different time and place with a collection of well chosen words on paper and a story that can take us from wherever we are, to a new place and time.
