Aquí, Borya / Borya Here

Extraviado en un mar de contradicciones existenciales, un escritor busca su historia en medio de un laberinto de recuerdos enredados y borrosos, de breves reflexiones y angustiosos momentos, de persecuciones y sospechas. Paulatinamente se sumerge en el absurdo entre la necesidad de saber qui幯 es Borya y la tentaci鏮 de convertirse en 幨, entre pretenderse libre y sentirse manipulado a distancia, entre libros y personajes de libros que le acechan.

Dos absurdos en la cara m嫳 desesperada del mundo: el escritor frustrado que viaja en bqueda de libros jam嫳 le獮os; el desconocido que, desde una tierra desahuciada, suplica por tel嶨ono que se le permita pagar una deuda. Entre delirios y accidentes, todo en esta novela luce como casualidad y puede dejar de serlo: juego de espejos donde los idiomas se mezclan, donde todos somos utilizados y sometidos por una causa inentendible, donde las urgencias del mundo s鏊o lo son si hay en torno a ellas un debate medi嫢ico. Sin c嫥aras no hay sangre. Sin reality show no hay realidad. Sin lector no hay obra.

Esta novela es un juego inteligente donde los motivos, a manera de matrioshka, se van descubriendo uno a uno, con un final inesperado.

ENGLISH DESCRIPTION

"Chroniclers travel in order to tell, to narrate stories, to turn places into words; I travel to defend what was told and not heard."

Lost in a sea of existential contradictions, a writer searches for his story amid a labyrinth of tangled and blurred memories, brief reflections and anguishing moments, pursuits and suspicions. Gradually, he plunges into the absurd: between the need to know who Borya is and the temptation to become him; between imagining himself free and feeling remotely manipulated; between books and the characters from books that lie in wait for him.

Two absurdities in the most desperate face of the world: the frustrated writer who travels in search of books he has never read; the unknown man who, from a forsaken land, pleads over the phone for permission to pay off a debt. Amid delirium and accidents, everything in this novel appears to be coincidence--and may cease to be so: a hall of mirrors where languages intertwine, where we are all used and subjugated by an incomprehensible cause, where the world's urgencies matter only if there is media debate around them. Without cameras, there is no blood. Without a reality show, there is no reality. Without a reader, there is no work.

This novel is an intelligent game in which its motifs, like a set of matryoshka dolls, are revealed one by one, leading to an unexpected ending.