Posted in sémèmes

Zafón IX

Deoarece imi displac maxim numerele pare, nu puteam sa termin seria in VIII – desi ar fi fost un infinit vertical…

Poate si pentru a mai zabovi putin in magie, cateva extrase din “Labirintul spiritelor” – in cautarea melancoliilor prezente si a paginilor recent trecute…

“Stories have no beginning and no end, only doors through which one may enter them. A story is an endless labyrinth of words, images and spirits, conjured up to show us the invisible truth about ourselves. A story is, after all, a conversation between the narrator and the reader, and just as narrators can only relate as far as their ability will permit, so too readers can only read as far as what is already written in their souls. This is the golden rule that sustains every artifice of paper and ink. Because when the lights go out, when the music ends and the stalls are empty again, the only thing that matters is the mirage that has been engraved in the theatre of the imagination all readers hold in their mind. This, and the hope every maker of tales carries within: that readers will open their hearts to these little creatures made of ink and paper, and give them a part of themselves so they can be immortal, even if only for a few minutes.”


“Every day I became more convinced that good literature has little or nothing to do with trivial fancies such as “inspiration” or “having something to tell” and more with the engineering of language, with the architecture of narrative, with the painting of textures, with the timbres and colours of the staging, with the cinematography of words, and the music that can be produced by an orchestra of ideas.”