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El hombre es el don de la palabra. Levi, La tregua, pp. Levi lo haya manifestado, sino porque su habla-sin-habla nos constituye sorda, esencialmente. Kafka on the Shore is powered by two remarkable characters: As their paths converge, and the reasons for that convergence become clear, Haruki Murakami enfolds readers in a world where cats talk, fish fall from the sky, and spirits slip out of their bodies to make love or commit murder. On the contrary, like jazz and heavier-than-air flight, it is almost entirely a product of this century, and its evolution was scarcely imaginable when the century began.

Then, of course, came the Kishinev pogrom, World War I, the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, United States immigration quotas, the rise of Hitler, another world war and the Holocaust, followed in turn by the partition of Palestine, five Israeli-Arab wars, two Palestinian dispersions, a year Israeli occupation of Gaza and the West Bank and countless acts of mutual savagery.

Then came the Declaration of Principles, negotiated in Norway and signed last September on the White House lawn, and the recent self-rule agreement in Cairo.

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Thoughtful, well-informed and resolutely fair-minded, Mr. More consistently than any English-language predecessor, Mr. Tessler takes it as given that the struggle between Zionist Jews and Palestinian Arabs for a room of their own in the same small territory has always been, and has again become, the core of the rivalry. He then elaborates the dissonant counterpoint of political aspirations, cultural outlook and above all historical experience that have made that struggle a persisting, if asymmetrical, tragedy for both peoples.

As the story nears the present, Mr. Still, the dry stretches are outweighed by exemplary chapters on the formation of dissimilar and antagonistic national identities; the growing irreconcilability of two peoples living adjacently, but not together, under British administration, and the big bang of that brought Israelis independence and Palestinians a national disaster, as well as some three-quarters of a million refugees. Tessler is rigorous and commiserative alike, and his gloss on the fallout from the creation of Israel, which included a counterflow of millions of Jewish immigrants from the Arab world, is among the best things in the book.

So too, if regrettably understated, is his demonstration of how shock waves from the collapse of the Soviet Union and the gulf war of set both Israelis and Palestinians on the way to Norway and the White House lawn, each for their own very different reasons. Why, for all their tenacity, have Palestinians consistently found nation-building so much harder than their Jewish counterparts? DID Israelis who, in turn, so regularly complained that there were no Palestinians to talk to, have to apply themselves so assiduously to making that proposition self-fulfilling?

Political scientists like Mr. Tessler can hardly be faulted for hedging or avoiding such questions. But the introspective reader can also hardly help asking them on the long march through the story he tells. Persistent questions about the nature and impact of social structure and political culture, though possibly more answerable, are too seldom asked by Mr. Both Israeli and Palestinian societies have been substantially, even radically transformed since Israelis have confirmed that they can constitute and govern themselves and that there is more to their national identity than denial of Palestinians.

Palestinians, meanwhile, have shown themselves, the world and Israelis that they exist and can fight, that Israelis must talk with them, and that the Palestine Liberation Organization is their chosen representative. But, symptomatically, neither the Declaration of Independence for the State of Palestine nor even recognition by Israel have yet produced the Government, albeit in exile, that presumably ought to be the logical consequence.

Can Palestinians, in fact, constitute and govern themselves, as they never have before? Is there more to their national identity than rejection of Israel? The breakthrough agreements in Washington and Cairo, let alone the realities in Gaza and Jericho, only underscore their urgent and crucial importance. Why did New York City, the largest center of Jewish culture and home to more survivors than any other city in the United States, take more than half a century to finalize plans for its Holocaust memorial? Never Too Late To Remember traces the history of the numerous attempts to create a Holocaust memorial in New York City that began in —47, and focuses on the present project, initiated by Mayor Edward I.

Koch in , which is scheduled to open in Saidel is frank in attributing the many false starts and delays to conflicting political agendas, tensions among project organizers, and broken promises and commitments. Saidel , a political scientist and journalist, is the author of The Outraged Conscience: Seekers of Justice for Nazi War Criminals in America and has written extensively and lectured widely on the Holocaust for nearly twenty years.

Now they tell their stories in a book that is the living legacy of what Schindler did and what the human spirit can endure and overcome. Through their own words and more than personal photographs, we learn the truth of their experiences with Schindler, their incredible stories of day-to-day survival, and their ultimate triumph of rebuilding lives, reclaiming family, and recording their memories for future generations. They range in age from late fifties to nearly ninety. Some emerged from the Holocaust as the lone remnants of their families; others, miraculously, survived with parents, siblings, and children.

Their current lifestyles are equally varied: Some remain committed, observant Jews; others have drifted far from religious ritual and belief. Some cling to the past; others have spent a lifetime trying to forget. Some seem to take pleasure in every breath; others seem forever burdened by sorrow. What they have in common is this: Oskar Schindler gave each a second chance at life. Now we learn what they did with that precious gift.

Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC, and current director of its Research Institute, compiles a fascinating collection of firsthand accounts of the Holocaust. Against All Odds is the first comprehensive look at the , Jewish Holocaust survivors who came to America and the lives they have made here. William Helmreich writes of their experiences beginning with their first arrival in the United States: In preparation, Helmreich spent more than six years traveling the United States, listening to the personal stories of hundreds of survivors, and examining more than 15, pages of data as well as new material from archives that have never before been available to create this remarkable, groundbreaking work.

What emerges is a picture that is sharply different from the stereotypical image of survivors as people who are chronically depressed, anxious, and fearful. This intimate, enlightening work explores questions about prevailing over hardship and adversity: Aparte de mis padres, todos los miembros de mi familia, en ambas ramas, fueron exterminados por los nazis. Francamente, sigo sin poder hacerlo.

No era un silencio respetuoso. Mi madre siempre comparaba. A la vista de los sufrimientos de afroamericanos, vietnamitas y palestinos, el credo de mi madre era: Saidel , Seymour B. While Guns, Germs, and Steel explained the geographic and environmental reasons why some human populations have flourished, Collapse uses the same factors to examine why ancient societies, including the Anasazi of the American Southwest and the Viking colonies of Greenland, as well as modern ones such as Rwanda, have fallen apart.

Once-vital mines now leak toxins into the soil, while prion diseases infect some deer and elk and older hydroelectric dams have become decrepit. On all these issues, and particularly with the hot-button topic of logging and wildfires, Diamond writes with equanimity. But in general, Diamond provides fine and well-reasoned historical examples, making the case that many times, economic and environmental concerns are one and the same.

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With Collapse, Diamond hopes to jog our collective memory to keep us from falling for false analogies or forgetting prior experiences, and thereby save us from potential devastations to come. Scott Fitzgerald, a romantic and tragic figure who embodied the decades between the two world wars, was a writer who took his material almost entirely from his life.

Despite his early success with The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald battled against failure and disappointment. His friend and lifelong hero, Ernest Hemingway, was a harsh critic of both his behavior and his novels, but Fitzgerald accepted this with remarkable humility. Robert Service es autor, entre otros libros de, Lenin: Lisa y llanamente, Johnny era y es la estrella polar: Era poderoso y conmovedor.

El presente libro junta en una sola obra los temas que me han absorbido durante toda mi vida: El diablo es… aquel que te confunde y no te deja contar tu propia historia. El motor del libro es el horror contenido de Sophie. El mejor amigo de Otto, y su socio, Charlie Russel, deja el bufete de abogados y ataca violentamente a Otto por su convencionalismo. Este es el momento en que el gato muerde a Sophie: Otto es un hombre que ama a su esposa.

Otto es lo bastante mezquino para decir: Aunque a Sophie le sangra la mano en esta escena, su impulso es negarlo. Oh, no es nada. No me hables de ello.

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Estas reiteradas negaciones reflejan la estructura subyacente de la novela: Sophie huye de un posible refugio a otro y ninguno logra protegerla. Pero Otto arroja su tintero a la pared. Cerca del final, cuando se dirige a una divinidad y dice: Es un momento de alivio. Ahora me parece casi tan importante para la historia como el gato. A estas alturas, no obstante, no estoy seguro de querer siquiera descubrir nada nuevo.

Esta extraordinaria riqueza es, naturalmente, un testimonio del talento de Paula Fox. Las preguntas que plantea son radicales y desagradables. For generations of migrant workers, Imperial Country has held the promise of paradise and the reality of hell. It sprawls across a stirring accidental sea, across the deserts, date groves and labor camps of Southeastern California, right across the border into Mexico. In this eye-opening book, William T. Vollmann takes us deep into the heart of this haunted region, exploring polluted rivers and guarded factories and talking with everyone from Mexican migrant workers to border patrolmen.

Teeming with patterns, facts, stories, people and hope, this is an epic study of an emblematic region. VollmannHome to goddesses, dreams, and a dangerously uncorrupted literary mind Tom Bissell O ne morning, in , while I was working as an editor for Henry Holt, a manuscript contained on several compact disks was delivered to my office. Back at the dawn of the twenty-first century, it was still relatively unusual for submissions to arrive in any form other than a stack of paper, so the occasion was memorable for that reason alone.

Vollmann, who had been churning out thick, conceptually audacious books faster than New York publishing could keep pace. From through , for instance, Vollmann published eight books through five different houses. The book was said to be an attempt to define a philosophically coherent set of moral coordinates for when violence was acceptable. Many houses had already rejected it, which was why its fate had fallen to a year-old greenhorn such as myself. And now here I was, marshaling the entire assistantariot of Henry Holt to help me print the thing out.

A week later, I went to my boss and told him I thought we should do it. I knew enough about Vollmann to guess at his thoughts concerning the general barbarity of editors and believed my best shot was to convince him how much I loved the book and how sincerely I believed it would benefit from compression. One Monday afternoon, he heard me out over the phone. As we moved through sawdust-spiced air, the man I was now calling Bill smiled to remember his and my long-ago talk. I wanted to know: Did I ever have a shot at convincing him to shorten the book?

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Vollmann is a man of forbidding reputation, to say the least, which is why his speaking voice—as polite, deep, and expressive as someone selling you a vacation over the phone—so surprised me. He takes obvious pleasure in speaking, especially when he can add some mischievous wrinkle to whatever is being discussed: Vollmann has often been linked to Jonathan Franzen, Richard Powers, and David Foster Wallace, which makes a good amount of literary and cultural sense.

They were initially hailed as heirs to the cogitationally sweaty tradition of Thomas Pynchon and John Barth, writing fiction perceived as formally or intellectually challenging. For his part, Vollmann began as an uncompromising visionary drawn to equally uncompromising material, and though he has mellowed as a man, his subject matter has, if anything, grown even more confrontational.

This is to say nothing of his attendant identities: The city seemed like California without the masks or pretense: The truth was more banal: His wife, an oncologist, got a job in Sacramento about twenty years ago. Franzen tells a hilarious story of being a young writer in New York, meeting Vollmann, becoming fast friends, and inaugurating a draft swap. A while later, they exchanged work. Franzen gave Vollmann a dozen chiseled pages.

Vollmann gave Franzen an entire novel. Even so, he loves it here. Over the last few years he has had several offers to buy the studio. To my relief, he refused either to confirm or deny this. In fact, Vollmann never uses the Internet. The other half was split into what looked like a used bookstore on one side and a struggling industrial arts business on the other. I imagined Vollmann had a gallery somewhere that showed his stuff, yes?

Woodcuts, watercolors, ink sketches, silver-gelatin black-and-white photographs, portraits. His other inescapable influence is the female body. Usually they are nude. From where I was standing I counted at least two dozen vaginas, their fleshy machinery painstakingly drawn and then painted over with a delicate red slash. Vollmann uses live models, so every vagina within sight is currently out there right now, wandering the world. We walked over to a shelf lined with paintbrushes in old moonshine jars and little acrylic tubes of paint as hard as toothpaste fossilized.

Norwegian women willing to pose nude for him. One of the women who volunteered was an archaeologist in charge of excavating a site related to the worship of Freya, the Norse goddess of love, beauty, and war. His Arctic sketchbook had page after page of beautifully hand-drawn and water-colored portraits of Inuit people, northern landscapes, and walrus hunts. They were exquisite, which I told him. These were less colorful, and many were simple pen-and-ink portraits. The subjects were all sex workers. Some of the women, I observed, were quite skilled.

Vollmann stopped me when I came to a portrait of a woman languid on a hotel-room bed, a crack pipe beside her. The subject of the portrait, Vollmann told me, loved to steal his red paint and use it as lipstick, even though Vollmann warned her the paint was carcinogenic. According to Vollmann, she laughed off his warning, saying that something else was bound to get her. But Vollmann believes that, once one sheds any crypto-Christian assumption that sex must have a context deeper than pleasure, it becomes difficult to regard paying a consenting sex worker as all that different from paying a masseuse or psychotherapist.

Bill calls an escort service, finds himself with Ginger, and is doing as advertised. Have you been sleeping with prostitutes? Its appalling central character ponders, at length, his predatory nature with illiterate, impoverished prostitutes and wallows in sexual crapulence. Despite or possibly because of that, the book ranks high among the most grimly riveting things Vollmann has written. Running at generously text-crammed pages, and containing chapters, the book lingers at a hypnotic remove from its nightmarish narrative material.

There are, however, several sections that make it quintessentially Vollmann: Standing with Vollmann amid his many portraits and paintings of sex workers, I asked him how his wife and teenage daughter felt about his subject matter. There were quite a few photos and portraits of him as Dolores around his studio. How did she feel about Dolores?

Vollmann was silent for a moment. I can show this woman as she is or whatever she is, in all her ugliness and vulnerability and vanity, and she has nothing to say about it. That is what a huge portion of the human race has to go through, and I really get it now. After a career of hanging out with neo-Nazis, pursuing sex workers, doing drugs, dropping thousand-page books the way Updike dropped short stories, and being suspected of being the Unabomber, Vollmann, without even meaning to, had managed to cross the last line of decorum.

He had dared to abdicate his masculinity. As for being suspected of being the Unabomber, William T. Vollmann was suspected of being the Unabomber. His FBI file is pages long; only were released to him. When Vollmann first discovered he was a Unabomber suspect, he thought: Then I started reading more of it.

It was evenhanded, I thought, about Iroquois and Jesuits. Vollmann is one of very few American writers who can claim to have fallen under concerted government surveillance based on nothing more than what he thought and wrote. My poor Japanese translator has practically given up writing to me. One year, she sent me so many postcards. I never got one. It amounted to a rather ambiguous endorsement of the American Way: If fifty percent or ninety percent of the humans died, maybe the rest would be better off.

Would I push the button to release the virus? Like Gardner, who accidentally ran over and killed his younger brother, Gilbert, with a tractor, Vollmann lost his six-year-old sister, Julie, to drowning when she was left in his youthful care. That could not have been an easy judgment to read, much less ponder. Vollmann was born in Santa Monica in He moved to New Hampshire as a child and later to Bloomington, Indiana, where he went to high school. By all accounts, Vollmann did not have a happy childhood, at least when it came to other children.

Vollmann credits his father, a business professor, with giving him the encouragement he needed to pursue the life he wanted for himself: It reviewed well and finally garnered Vollmann an American publisher. He published his next six books acting as his own representation and sought the eventual help of his agent, Susan Golomb, only because dealing with foreign rights became unmanageable.

His books are too long in the way the Petronas Towers are too tall, the way foie gras is too rich: The point he comes back to in conversation, again and again, is how fortunate he has been to maintain his independence in a literary culture that can be hostile to such independence. You go to Vollmann for the same reason certain people chase storms.

The books are rich with Norse, Huron, Iroquois, and Inuit myth; are filled with excursions into Catholic theology and European history; and contain beautifully observed descriptions of landscape, clothing, and weapons. Twenty-three years later, he still has three books to deliver. On top of that, his devotion to on-site research has forced him to expensively travel to and inhabit the varied landscapes of his fictional dreams, sometimes at great personal peril.

Since we read from left to right, there might be dialogue which is occurring, say, on the left-hand side of the page, and then maybe in the middle part of the page people are thinking what they actually think as they talk to each other. I asked what would happen if Viking rejected it, which Vollmann knew was a possibility. Of course, I will be quite sad and worried about making a living. Vollmann was traveling in a rental car, near the city of Mostar, with his interpreter and a childhood friend who, like Vollmann, was a freelance journalist, when their car either hit a land mine or came under sniper fire.

Afterward, he said, Muslim snipers came running down the road, laughing and waving their rifles. Vollmann sat in the back seat, convinced he would be next. When the snipers realized Vollmann was an American, and that the men they had just shot were not Croatian saboteurs but journalists, the mood very rapidly changed, and the Muslims began to suggest to the still-dazed Vollmann that his friends had hit a landmine.

The car looked much worse than I remembered it. In , he had a serious bike accident, and later that year suffered the first of several strokes, which left him unable to read, write, or speak properly for months. Vollmann believes they may have been brought on by work- and finance-related stress.

It took three years for Vollmann to feel normal again, after which his beloved father died. Many of the stories have an antiquated, vaguely middle-European feel to them. Gathering them both up into her arms, so that they nearly warmed the still Christ child she also carried, the Madonna ascended three hundred and thirty-two flights of stairs, each step paler and less nitrous than the last.

Vollmann has never been one to make the grotesque lyrical.

Any type of permanent consciousness in the afterlife would, he believes, inevitably devolve into torture, and there would be no parting orange to leaven it. Consciousness is to our mortality what beer is to Homer Simpson: None of it makes sense. Bowie, Randy Newman, Jethro Tull.

After looking through his discs for a while, I said Lindsay should probably pick the music. He arranged before him the three paintings of Lindsay he was currently working on. One was a portrait, one was a nude, and another was a more impressionistic rendering of her as a gold-sequin-clad angel. Once again, he told Lindsay she looked beautiful. How salacious—how Terry Richardson—this must sound: The afternoon before, at lunch, Vollmann told our waitress he had a question: It felt like a dorky, sweet encounter, but, again, I have no idea how it felt from her end.

A man who constantly compliments women could be seen as wielding power over them, especially in social situations shaped by payment or gratuity, which I think is true whether we as men are aware of it or not. Here he is, painting a naked woman in front of a journalist. Whatever you think that indicates is of no concern to Vollmann.

I will admit to finding this calculated diffidence seductive. The morning before I visited Sacramento, I habit-checked my Amazon ranking on a book that came out seven months before and helped a friend fretting over the precise wording of a tweet he wanted to send to his followers. They allow us the illusion of tracking the fortunes of our careers in something close to real time.

It would be interesting to find and interrogate the first American writer who thought this would be a good idea. To my surprise, neither of them was aware that Bush had been painting. To my even greater surprise, both voiced their unwavering support for George W. Suddenly Vollmann was urging me to set up an easel next to him and paint Lindsay, who was now naked, for myself.

Vollmann was across the room, in his kitchen. As things become less liquid, everything—all the colors—shift around. Kicking back in an air-conditioned room and looking at a beautiful woman? In these pages Williams wrote out his most private thoughts as well as sketches of plays, poems, and accounts of his social, professional, and sexual encounters. Heller bores me with all his erudite discussion of literature. Why all the fuss about it?

Seis de diciembre de Estados Unidos se encuentra al borde de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Apenas unas horas en la vida de sus personajes le alcanzan a Fogwill para trazar un mapa descarnado y a la vez fascinante de la Argentina de las crisis. Thompson — La conquista de lo cool. Gilbert y Susan Gubar — Las mujeres y el cine. Ann Kaplan — POPism. Ensayos sobre lo ingobernable — Christian Ferrer — I feel good. Vollmann ha sido frecuentemente comparado con Thomas Pynchon y William S. Una inusitada caricatura humana del por entonces vicepresidente Richard Nixon ejerce de protagonista y narrador de la trama principal.

Estuvo en la Marina de los Estados Unidos. Su obra es extensa y ampliamente reconocida. El Richard Nixon real es una caricatura. A modo de prueba, valga este pasaje en el que Nixon describe su rol de pacificador como segundo al mando de Eisenhower: El Nixon supuestamente real no se expresa con frases sino con estallidos e interjecciones.

Habla como un capo de la mafia. Eisenhower y Nixon juegan al golf en el Burning Tree. Nixon es el negado consumado. Lo sigue protagonizando —esto es, mientras leemos—, en el revuelo apenas se le mueve un pelo. Y Richard Nixon se va enamorando poco a poco de la mujer que quiere electrocutar en la plaza de los letreros ardientes llamada Times. En un momento dado, mientras Nixon trabaja entre papeles dispersos acerca del famoso Caso, se descubre pensando en los nombres de sus protagonistas. Los buenos —villanos para los villanos: Los abogados campan a sus anchas como manadas de perros salvajes.

Fue, en cierto sentido, un asunto familiar. De los defensores de la vida supuestamente real que se preocupan sobre la tajada y la probabilidad de inminentes demandas por libelo. El manuscrito de Coover ha sufrido tantas vicisitudes como algunos de los personajes de la novela. Finalmente la verdad es despojada de su atuendo de renuencia.

La virtud parece haber triunfado. Por supuesto que el libro no iba a publicarse, porque era una obra innnmoral. Al editor, orgulloso de sus motivos —una incongruencia triunfadora—, no le hizo gracia que Coover ofreciese meter a Eleanor. Como un vertido de crudo, los rumores de demandas legales inmediatas comenzaron a contaminar las oportunidades del libro. Los chanchullos se multiplicaron. En ninguna parte se hablaba a las claras. El agente de Bob dio el parte: El agente de Bob dijo: Tocaba remangarse para discusiones exasperantes.

Una singularidad desnuda — Sergio de la Pava Estado: Su primera novela, Una singularidad desnuda, fue rechazada por varias editoriales estadounidenses. Su personaje principal, Euchrid Eucrow, es el producto de varias generaciones incestuosas de consumidores de aguardiente. Big Bang — Simon Singh Estado: A cierto nivel, todos podemos entenderlos. La hoja plegada — William Maxwell Estado: La conquista de lo cool. El negocio de la cultura y la contracultura y el nacimiento del consumismo moderno — Thomas Frank Estado: Y es por un simple motivo: Frank lo explica con films, revistas, bandas y spots.

Todas las banderas levantadas por la cultura rock fueron cooptadas por el marketing, al punto que una y otra convalidan el conformismo.

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Estaba muy metido en el indie rock. Era muy emocionante para todos los involucrados: Hoy tienen sus lindos vegetales y sitios web como Tumblr. Es como una pesadilla, un paisaje del que no podemos escapar. Esa es la gran tragedia. Cruzar California — Adam Langer Estado: Abandonad toda esperanza porque su nostalgia es cruel y sus afectos implacables. El propio Zweig confesaba en la intimidad: Su primera esposa pensaba lo mismo: Mientras Thomas Mann declaraba a la prensa: Robert Darnton y Vivian Folkenflik.

Ha sido expulsado de dos regimientos […] y apresado cuatro o cinco veces […] por atrocidades contra el honor. Muy pronto, la industria del libelo quiso convertirse en la internacional del chantaje.

Y finalmente daba su zarpazo rastrero: Darnton es un grano en el culo para los historiadores franceses: A Darnton no le importa: En algunos esta tendencia provoca urticaria; en otros, literatura. Ella se limitaba a decir: Fue poco antes del viaje a Lourdes.

Tampoco quiso sumergirse en las aguas supuestamente milagrosas del manantial: Dante, poeta del mundo terrenal — Erich Auerbach Estado: Los reconocimientos — William Gaddis Estado: Todo resulta abrumador en esta novela descomunal —descomunal en todos los sentidos que puedan imaginarse—: El estilo de los otros — Mauro Libertella Estado: Texto de referencia para cualquier investigador de la Edad Media opara cualquier universitario interesado en el siglo xii, esta obra deMartin Aurell supone un fascinante estudio del poder y sus fuentes.

Libro de Margery Kempe. Cuentos reunidos — Clarice Lispector Estado: Que Hubert Selby Jr. Postales de invierno — Ann Beattie Estado: Jernigan — David Gates Estado: Los Obreros Contra El Trabajo. Pepitas de calabaza Precio: Este volumen, que ofrece un examen de la actividad obrera tanto en contextos revolucionarios como reformistas, pone de manifiesto la persistencia de una resistencia directa e indirecta al trabajo.

No es este un libro que haya pasado desapercibido precisamente: Memorias — Nadiezhda Mandelstam Estado: Futbol contra el enemigo: Little boy blue — Edward Bunker Estado: Un libro delicioso para leer sin prisa, con el smartphone apagado y los sentidos abiertos. Ingenuo, es la palabra. Es un libro ingenuo. Es un libro para encontrar el reposo en medio de la actividad, para hallar una ventana hacia un modo muy diferente de vida, de pensamiento y de espiritualidad.

Encuentros con las letras. Obrist no tiene paz. Mientras que su deseo se eleva durante su encuentro BDSM, se contiene y demuestra que el aquelarre es digno. Read more Read less. Kindle Cloud Reader Read instantly in your browser. Product details File Size: December 12, Sold by: Enabled Amazon Best Sellers Rank: Share your thoughts with other customers.

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