The missing painting:
Noise that no one can hear except me, lights, people, and places that no one else knows, and others do not even believe. When I Was Alone is a collection of stories whose events will amaze you, and whose details will terrify you. It happened to some and it may happen to others, with a slight difference in the events.
Advice: If you read the book and feel afraid, do not sit alone, and if you think that you will not feel fear, do not sit alone either!
Aguilar realizes that something irreparable has happened to his wife as soon as he enters the hotel room where she is staying. He tries to discover the identity of the man who was with her, and to find out what specifically happened that put her in this strange state, but he discovers how little he knows about the deep turmoil hidden in the past of this woman, who found that her only weapon was to build her own world and withdraw behind the thick walls of madness.
Through a revolving narrative, Colombian writer Laura Restrepo enters the minds of four characters, trying to reveal their contradictions, their stormy lives, their turmoil, and their intimate details, charmingly intertwining violence, crime, love, and loyalty.
“Delirium,” which won the Alphaguara Prize in 2004, is a novel that, through the succession of voices it narrates, will immerse you in vortexes of delirium, too.
ومن خلال تجارب الكاتبة الشخصية وتجارب النساء وضعت مجموعة من القواعد على طريقة الفتاة التي تجذب الرجل بحسب وصفها ، كي تتعلم منها النساء أن لا يخضعن طوال الوقت للرجل حتى لا يصبحن مُملات ، فبين الحين والآخر علي المرأة أن تتجدد ليشعر الرجل بالتغيير
After trying my previous book, “In Defense of Insanity,” it occurred to me to do it again. The issue, in brief, is that I select from things that I have previously published in periodicals or introductions to books, what I consider to be valid beyond their time.
This book is not a continuation of the previous book, but rather a continuation of it.
It contains Lee's opinions on art, culture, journalism, women (and some politics). The question that confronted me in my first book confronts me now: What do these articles have in common?
The answer is as naive as I answered earlier: What unites these articles is that I wrote them.
The opinions here are my own, which may mean nothing to some of them, and may not mean anything to others. But it was important to me, myself, to say these opinions, and to record them, and among them was a farewell to figures like Assi Rahbani and Al-Dhahirah Rahbani, and even a farewell to a number of friends who had passed away, and who had passed through my life only briefly. Perhaps some bitterness still exists here as well. Upon reviewing the articles, I discovered that I was insisting once again on the losses that had befallen our lives. These are losses greater than military or political defeats. It is our constant humanitarian bleeding. And the one who gives us life...or makes us mad.
