Sergio Ramirez

I read Sergio Ramírez's latest novel,

and I find myself riding a carousel of life, a story that turns on itself to tell and discount, say and unsay, through a wealth of vocabulary that is also wealth. of life.

A fairy tale plot spills over and sets into motion, dressed and undressed, with an injured princess under the walls of a ruined castle.

She will go on carriages, trains and boats through a hectic world, a knot of her own and other people's fictions.

What is told may or may not be.

Desires, espionage, fatality, hugs, poisons, kitchens, hairdressers and commercial agents rise and fall.

The imagination is feverish, life is disparate and has its colors.

Everything is possible, because everything smells like chocolate and at any moment Bucharest, Paris, Istanbul, Chapultepec, Emperor Maximilian, Rubén Darío, Madame Blavatsky, Gustave Flaubert, Pastora Imperio or Alfonso XIII cross paths on the carousel of our destiny.

In a poem titled

, also with wooden horses that circle the calendars, Federico García Lorca said that the holidays go smoothly and time brings them and takes them away.

The story in perpetual transmutation of

comes and goes until it reaches Nicaragua.

Sergio's novel is a day of celebration, a celebration of literature, written between 2014 and 2023, in Managua, San José, Princeton and Madrid.

We are not responsible for all the curves of destiny and reality, but we are responsible for ourselves.

Words are put into play to avoid resentment, so that nothing perverts a creative will.

That at 82 years old, after his exile lived and relived, he has written this novel is a necessary day of celebration.

The joy of a fiction is a form of resistance.

The readers know it.

Yes, joy and literature are forms of resistance.

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