Siberia

Siberia may be the last novel I publish. I recognize that a new reality is being built in which I have no place. That's why I throw this literary dart and I'm preparing to resist with my foot in the stirrup. Deep down Siberia is a libel against loneliness. Siberia is not a place (Russian Siberia or Extremadura Siberia, that incredible region in the northeast of Badajoz); it is more of a state of mind. There will be those who, confusing fiction with reality, think that it is an immolation, a controlled blasting of the author at the moment when it could be forgotten or tamed. I must warn, in any case, that Siberia is an imaginary text. Any resemblance to reality would be scandalous.