A subtle psychologist and a magnificent stylist, Javier Marías never ceases to surprise critics and readers. In the hero’s hands, a woman is dying; her young son remains alone in the apartment. What should he do? Call her husband, or take the child with him?
A stranger’s death is unreal—it’s theatrical. You can die in a brothel in one pair of socks, or in the morning in a bath with one cheek covered in soap. And it will be a comedy. Or die in a duel, clutching your hands over a gunshot wound to the belly—then it becomes a drama. Or die at night, when the home is asleep and dreaming of you while you’re still alive. And then it becomes the novel you’re about to read.
Marías conducts his report from the orchestra pit of the “Theatre of Death”—he is between the audience and the stage.