2. One thousand pages later

After reading a book such as "Die Wölfe aus dem Wald der Ewigkeit" or "The Wolves of Eternity" by Karl Ove Knausgård you, like myself, might be confused. But I have to say, that is a very comfortable kind of confusion, like a hot summer afternoon when you have something to sip on and a cool shadow over the head. I was not looking for the greatest literary mastery in this book, not even a perfectly constructed plot. Having had the chance to "meet" the writer before (while reading all of the six volumes comprised in " My Struggle"), I knew I was stepping into an unreal, deep, at times dark world which now has become part of my world. The characters' emotions, thoughts, sensations, anything internal makes the story move forward. Changes come in sudden waves. The fact that we don't follow a character's story from start to the end has created a certain degree of earning in me. I wanted to know more. I wanted more of those quotidian moments, the foods, the smells, the clothes and colors. I wanted to know what did they feel when saying those things, or eating that food. I wanted to be closer. But the author left us wondering. He did it many times throughout the course of this fat book. Now at the end, what am I left with? I've spent hours and hours submerged in a story that was not much of a story(not much was happening on the surface) so then, what did those words mean? Well, the words created a kind of floating sensation. I was flying above a world where rivers of sensations were sprouting out of each other, meandering and infiltrating themselves in anything that could give them life. Anything that could keep them alive. I'll remember the emotion, the torpor, the nothingness inside that vacuum. A world where things did not happen because nothing ever happens if not felt. I'll remember myself there.