José Saramago on my hands.

Since I started writing my own book, all other books were sent to the Land of temporary vacation.

The piles of tomes are still saying hi to me, every time I pass through my Cairo living room. I still carry the occasional book in my bag for emergencies (all occasions that entail a period of waiting for something are occupied by my recently neglected reading) and remain faithful to the "Oprah Magazine" and the "Vanity Fair". But the rythm in which I am used to devour books has decreased exponentialy.

Only the portuguese Nobel prize winner, José Saramago, could make me open an exception in times like this when the only book I have in mind is MY OWN.

"The Gospel according to Jesus Christ" caught my attention. A polemic, honest and brave book. MY KIND of book.

With a guilty feeling in my guts, I grab Saramago´s infamous literary piece promising I will only eat a few pages of it until I return to work on my own book. It´ s a literary adulterous relationship and it feels AMAZING.

"Human vocabulary is still not capable, and probably never will be, of
knowing, recognizing, and communicating everything that can be humanly
experienced and felt."

Jose Saramago