Nuria meet next week the first three months of life. Have gone fast, too much for my taste, but I enjoyed voraciously, savoring every second spent with her. I never thought that motherhood was so exciting, because I was never too fond of children. Until you have your own, do not you realize the enormity of that magical link that binds you to them, that unconditional love that would resist the fiercest tests if necessary. It's a unique experience, but we already know all of you who are parents. And do not care nor fatigue or lack of time, because every look, every smile, you light up the black day you may have.
I think it was the longest I've gone without writing since I started this blog. And I think it's time to retake it. I imagine that my entries will be much more sporadic than before, but I refuse to permanently abandon an area that has given me so much joy. Although difficult, I read, sometimes. I have to recommend you in fact two wonderful readings that have made me enjoy a lot. The first is The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss of . I suppose many of you have already heard it. Kvothe history, childhood and youth as told in this book, we catch so that it is almost impossible to separate from her book. And someone tells you it is not too fond of fantasy books (although I loved M. rings, despite some passages extremely tedious for my taste). The problem is when you get to the last page and realize that you still have a while before we can know how to continue the adventures of our character. Rothfuss Hopefully we do not have waiting too long. The other book I wanted to recommend is unaccustomed earth, the writer J
hump Lahiri. is a collection of stories, some related to each other, describing a world that the author knows well, the Indian immigrants in the United States and its problems of adaptation to American culture. The difficulties of understanding between the generation of newcomers and their children raised in the United States and are the backbone of this network of stories that are nevertheless very close and emotional. And if you urge to read it in English, you will find that is not particularly difficult, because Lahiri's language is plain and not lost in too many frills. Anyway, I hope to hang more comprehensive review in the future, if circumstances allow. Now I am finishing In the hands of the devil, of Anne Marie Garat, whose 1340 pages, absorbing and brilliantly written, have been occupying my (scarce) spare time over two weeks.
Greetings to all those who, in spite of my comings and goings, you read on this blog.
