Swifts fly nonstop for months. They do not stop at all because they are able to meet all your vital demands in constant flight. Which confirms in some way what the wonderful sensation of fullness of flight can suppose for a living being.
Aramburu Perhaps he takes the swifts as a metaphor for restless life, of love without a country, of the notion of existence from a privileged position at that point where everything can be seen in a different way, without anything hindering the complete visualization of what is that we carry and what we have left.
In a novel as interesting as it is timely, Aramburu lets go of his best-seller Patria and just leaves the rope a little unrefolding so that those who approached his literature from its sociological aspect will still find a haven in that image of Spain in the boiling state. Although this time the story goes more from the inside out, from the complete mimicry with the protagonist to that magical ability to show reality from the vision of another.
Toni, a high school teacher angry at the world, decides to end his life. Meticulous and serene, he has chosen the date: within a year. Until then every night he will write, on the floor he shares with his bitch Pepa and a library from which it is shed, a personal chronicle, hard and disbelieving, but no less tender and humorous.
With it he hopes to discover the reasons for his radical decision, to reveal every last particle of his privacy, to tell his past and the many daily affairs of a politically troubled Spain. They will appear, dissected with an implacable scalpel, his parents, a brother he cannot bear, his ex-wife Amalia, from whom he cannot disconnect, and his troublesome son Nikita; but also his caustic friend Patachula. And an unexpected Águeda. And in the succession of love and family episodes of this addictive human constellation, Toni, a disoriented man determined to recount its ruins, paradoxically breathes an unforgettable life lesson.
