Reading My body in your hands (Editorial Terracotta, invisible writing, 2009), first novel by Rose Mary Espinosa that took seven years to finalize, I wondered if readers not to mention American-Mexicans, were prepared to enjoy it without the Judeo-Christian judge within us jump out of his box of surprises, ruddy with indignation. The second novel by Rose Mary, Crazy for me (since the title is a delightful transgression) similar doubts assailed me: in a society where women have not been educated to rule over their sexuality and should cultivate patience and resignation when they experience desire for a man, how will a girl so completely unabashed and self-esteem as bulletproof Angel Kiss? The most unusual is that, except for a couple of references and sexuality within a unusual, both novels are almost antithetical to one another. What my body in your hands is of exquisitely poetic, Loca for me what is the exquisitely nasty (best word I can think of, sorry).
The author was born on March 4 in Mexico City. The last face she would place the author of these adventurous novels, would be precisely the Mary Rose, of such sweetness that even the mischievous sparkle of her big green eyes get dim. No, does not look like an innocent woman who is not synonymous with sweetness, even insist that the common place to associate one thing with another, "quite outspoken and even fashionable to suppose. But there is definitely the kind of woman you would imagine after such characters, let's call them, perverse, in a matter of words that describe sexual temperaments, Castilian is maddeningly limited: one of the reflections arising from my reading of the work of this author definitely off usually in our context.
My body in your hands are immersed in one of the few taboos that are still valid: sadomasochism. Never named as such, and it is great: it would have been redundant (and narrow minds are limited to wonder how Aurora, the narrator, have so little dignity, without asking even if the fund does not will enjoy as much as Angel Kiss enjoys sexual exercise unbridled crazy for me, as distinct from those needed for his eloquence. The first novel by Rose Mary is crying to be carried away by emotions of the protagonist and closure of any ideology or moral judgments. It's not like someone would call simple soul, a story about domestic violence: it is much more than that: the poetic reconstruction of a thousand nicknames disease receiving psychosocial and yet has no name. And if I am forced to be specific and name it yet, I would love.
My body in your hands is a love story. True love: perfect synchrony conditions taken to limit their eager: the possessed and the possessor, terms also used in the broadest sense of the term "everything here is broad, deep, wide, exacerbated: the title for nothing is accidental or the result of a random poetizante. Indeed, this is a body that lacks any desire other than the loving hand of the executioner. An object provided with the ability to break apart and rebuild again and again to return to be broken again, into something less fragile: a gargoyle, for example. But a gargoyle that never ceases to belong to an other which is enough to make her his blowing in more ways than one.
This story of family, narrated with unusual delicacy and tenderness that may scare, again, simple souls, I brought to mind the plot of a film that remains unmatched and whose violent content at the time loving attributed to a cultural issue. I mean the Japanese Empire of the senses, where a couple anxiously pursued pleasure, endlessly circling around the element that will increase your pleasure, until she produces to him one last orgasm that will last until death. Nobody, not me, at least, would doubt the love of these lovers ... nor doubt that this sentiment is present among the lovers of my body in your hands, however great the suffering each infringed.
The conflict is with a mood ranging from the Gothic novel-a feeling that tells a ghost who can be included in any hollow-everywhere, the police thriller and suspense; line the path of the narrator of holes and silences that happen to be shouting rose petals are blood stains and blood flowing like tears, with the same reasons that range from joy confused with pain, emotional pain of knowing trapped in a vicious circle, however, has no intention of leaving. Because Aurora is aware of the anomaly and yet wallows; rolls it as on a sheet made from the tiny fragments of a statue destroyed, that vindictive and lovingly embedded in the skin.
And while this couple is immersed in this relationship that in turn feeds the art of sculptor and resentment of frustrated artist doomed to be muse, to move characters around sadly accustomed to violence, by dint of living with the quintessential music of pleasure fused with pain from the sick euphoria of those who suffer and rejoices, but trying not to touch the boundaries of these bodies are destroyed and rebuilt each other. Bodies would be nothing without each other. And it's not end up the unwitting witness considered "normal" but who sense in "it" untouchable, almost sacred as terrible as all the intangible and unnamable; language, the narrator says, "(...) the two realized without having to speak: blood, pain, surprise The quiet, at least that we were together (...) "(p. 200)
malice I stress I do not know how else to name it-with Mary Rose tackles this thorny love story. I want to emphasize that it is a story of love, and love pink and not necessarily with a happy ending. Love admits violence because the re-developed love poetically and make it a kind of covenant. The language, therefore, is predominantly poetry, which does not rule out fast, addictive, hypnotic. Notwithstanding the foregoing, Loca by me (Grijalbo, Mexico, 2011) is read with much more agility perhaps because it is the opposite of its predecessor. It is also a love story but, as its title suggests properly, a love story starring a single person who sees his lovers as mere instruments of pleasure, something that undoubtedly will shock more than one, in effect, this is a position typically hembrista (not feminist eye.) In an interview, Mary Rose referred to this novel, in its draft stage, as a story about wine tasting and tasting lovers as parallel tracks. "
Angel Kiss, the protagonist, has something in common with the narrator of my body in your hands, with the important difference that the Angel Kiss like the pain has to do with the desire for pleasure and not with the desire to please another. That, and almost conversational language and humor with which the star of Mad About me address that paraphilia, places at the other end of the first novel by Rose Mary.
"On behalf of two couples received at different times, cuts virtually invisible in the back. They both shook his hand: one was high and tried it with a scissors, and the other a multimedia artist, who broke a crystal glass to put "spice" to the performance (...) And I think I'm going from bad to worse, because not long ago a guy came to my house with a razor. The cutter passed him first because he was a student of architecture, but the Gillette ... "Chale" I thought. As I was very convinced, he taught me what he had in the kit of flogging, a rope, some candles and various wooden hangers for hanging clothes, if we needed something more turnoff to the blades. "(Pp 56 and 57)
openly declaring "bitch." It is not hypocritical. Do not fool anyone. It's so clear to address his "gallant" one can not help wondering if this is a kind of kamikaze. But before Angel's Kiss, sexist and hypocritical environment almost kneels before her, "I had to be clear, though he was the mamey, in my bed the beautiful and the boss is me. "(p. 76)
But if Angel Kiss is not sufficiently emancipated final subversion will arise when found not require as much "stuff" for sexual pleasure that once explored and discovered everything there was to explore and discover, is a mysterious land that never disappoint, who knows better than anyone and is always available: her own body . Self-sufficiency is Angel Kiss and cubed. Make a pact with herself, her great love ... your only love, but has come to love men as taught him that sex is everything, and leaves the scene of the latest adventure, which promised to be the most exciting of his life with satisfaction, who has taken a huge burden off. Like all the sexual adventures of his life, including the unusual loss of his virginity, Angel Kiss has had sufficient time to reflect on what you want.
This author, bolder than simply provocative, makes us see both sides quite transgressive, not only sexuality, but the feeling of love and makes us think, not without concern, what other taboo inspire her third novel. Is responsible for the blog "naked" in the Universal and the column "Lipstick in the mirror "in the magazine GQ. It also works for Day Seven, Leopard, Letras Libres, Nexos, Reforma and El Financiero.
Enter the fantastic blog of Rose Mary Evans, the naked
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