I'm reading the new novel by Fabio Volo, that regardless of the writing really does have a mood, a flavor so special to capture significantly. Fabio '' The time that I 'refers to a particular concept, or that the quality of this, the fleeting moment, just when you're just to catch you already slipped out of hand.
The time that I regret the pain and introspection of what passes and never returns. And, in his case, it is also a number of considerations with special relationships with his father, the love never said.
fact, there are the delicate, soft light and time shifts between the present situation of the protagonist, Lorenzo, who finds herself alone, left, compared with his friend Nicola, and memories of a teenager, when he was poor.
Lorenzo is heartbroken because he lost (like a real jerk), his great love: when should live when he had time, however, there has been lying at the time, without considering that the other person hands proceeded fast .
For a woman of 36 years is usually the case.
So much faster than 'she' has itself left to go to that one chance to get married and have at least one child! He did not want a child, and when he finds himself brooding on the memory of the smell of his partner in the house, re-evaluates the substance of his choice, no choice indeed.
However there is a large detachment with his past youth with little chance, who lives and works with the parents until a big disappointment in love does not feel the desire to reclaim the world, make money, seek assurances.
Upstream of all, however, there are music and lettaratura as the desire for pleasure Sapre, though perhaps not until the eighth grade on, the protagonist (or the author?) Culture has a huge, internationally.
Lorenzo, Fabio, as we are all children of the '70s, 30 years old also wants to find out more worlds, traveling above the clouds, feel the love as it was two hundred years ago ... dreams, after all.
And after all, also love the look. Only he primarily found in women but not in his passions, much more reassuring and never disappointing.
time and space, in reading, beyond all boundaries, freely choosing where to stop this, at what point exactly. In the literature, nothing and no one will leave you never, never decide to not love you, in case you'll be (one way) to give or take away that special.
a book and those slaves to escape to the world that no one can remove us, whoever we are: prisoners, priests, pedophile, crazy, lesbian, mothers, children and wealthy entrepreneurs.
front of the pleasures of reading we are all equal, all different, with our personal concept of quality time, very special.
Amati, love without reservation. We give the world something we take from our world and the good things that we need to be happy, a good compromise! For some it's the music.
So, Fabio, what's the difference between literature and give birth to a baby?
The literature does not hurt you or betray you ever ... that's what.
But neither will ever tell you that you are unique and special, you do not love you back.
your child, while not absolutely certain that never let you down.
The love between men and women, however, I do not know. It 's a difficult concept, sometimes barely manageable.
Unfortunately Fabio's right, we live in a world without money, without position, without a status it is difficult to even have friends, let alone love!
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