(The Idea of the Ash) Is there actually something that those who love like the most than
alking about love? Examine it, remember it minutely, observe it and analyse it. Into the past: What did we say? What were we hinking about? What did we want? And into the future: Where ill we be? Will we still be in love? Talk about love and piece it ogether, after the death of the loved one, after the loss, in order ot to miss any detail, to convince ourselves that we have actually xperienced it, that we are experiencing it, that we won’t forget ny word told, and that all that ceremony rescues it and saves it rom among all the rest of the loves of the world and among all he rest of the words of love, that they are unique even though they are always the same ones. In the emails sent between lovers n this daring novel (oft-times transformed into essay, and de- ands a special attention and complicity from the reader), seduc-
tion mixes with some kind of telepathy and mutual findings reveal n ancient knowledge of each other. The lovers are torn apart by a huge ocean, that saves, in spite of the deep fissure that all exile opens, the intimacy of the epistolary genre, in which two almost inaudible written voices, understand themselves by lip reading each other, this coloured in borderline flesh is not only in the inside or outside of our own body, but in-between one body and another. Flesh that trembles with desire and enunciates the longing of reunion. “Everything in this book, says the author, is as if responding to one of the essential questions laying underneath the text, “is epitaph”. A captivating demanding first novel in which silences mean as much as the excesses of love and the language of the lovers that “star it”.