Tokio

Maria is not there. She left. There is no way of knowing where. From that absence, the Tokyo narrator carries on his days, between the fleeting illusion of finding that lost love again, his work days, visits to his mother's house and a kind of inorganic and vain research in places where she ever was. Decarli wrote a novel about the loss of love, but without being trapped by melancholy. With procedures of the detective novel, but without crime or detective, installing the permanent feeling that reality, as happens in the fantasy genre, becomes disturbing, impossible to understand. We look for María, along with the narrator of this story, with the suspicion that we will never find her. And even with the fear that Mary may never have existed.