Los perros mojados huelen a lluvia

An open book is rarely just a book. And this may not be just a compendium of stories, but also a collection of clouds and declarations of love, a self-portrait by René Magritte, a liturgy of birds, a star with armrests. Stories where Pushkin does not pull the trigger in his duel, Camus has a very bad loss, Schumann is white and in the bottle and where if they want me to put it out, a fireman says, let them bring the fire here. Like the best Cortázar, Luis Mario manages to twist reality and words until distilling beauty and wonder, even in a simple potato.