This book makes Luna's previous collections of poems seem like marathon training.

OK, it may sound cliché, but it's what had to happen. And what I mean by that is that La tumba del marinero contains disproportionately cruel passions, and after all, isn't it that powerful, unrelenting feeling that overrides all other features of literature?

So I imagine that the action of this "political novel" takes place in a foggy seafaring quarter. Among its ramshackle hospital ward, the psychiatric ward for privateers who have lost their way at the siren's call, the weir over which seagulls and flying rats circle, the hollowed-out wrecks, the fumes of rotting fish, the taverns where the white powder is peddled, the maddening squawking of seabirds, a host of endearing scoundrels and a few honest observers. And in its centre, ordering everything else, a tombstone whose epitaph reads: "no corpse."

The afflictions that plague La tumba del marinero are undeniably larger than life (cancer, of course, but also the luxury of hot water and material precariousness, always accompanied by ethical degradation; destruction and love...). Although, on second thoughts, it’s fair to affirm that, as she can still distinguish between good and evil, the Gorgon declaiming in this Dantesque seafaring neighbourhood, saddened by the decrepitude of herself and her surroundings, manages to maintain a significant portion of her innocence. Morality persists in her spirit, and she is even bewildered by adult corrosion! And she accepts that there is still hope... could this be further from the truth?