The Man Who Killed My Soul on a Thursday
Autor: Florica Bud
Autor: Florica Bud
30 de zile drept de retur
Cumpără acum și il ai în 2 zile.
Coșul pentru cumpărături va fi folosit de cititorii din România.
Cititorii din Diaspora sunt rugați să comande cartea de pe situl Amazon corespunzător țării în care locuiesc sau de aici
The action of the novel “The Man Who Killed My Soul on a Thursday” starts at Hercules’s Spa in the pool of the Roman Hotel, where the janitor found in the morning a dead young woman. That evening, the senator Sava Sandorian was there with his camarilla. One question’s in the air: is the dead girl in the pool part of the official’s entourage? The senator separated from Saviana – the teacher who read everything that came her way, because she got pregnant, and he didn’t want the baby. A post-revolutionary world, rich overnight. Money – power – motley characters, inhabit a swampy, smelly, unstable world. Gays – lesbians – stylists – monicas prepared to satisfy any men who own luxury limousines. Anatolia, a teenager, aroused the interest of several rich and famous ladies. “I talk to my fate fairies every day,” Anarotha said, “to change my sex, to become a one-eyed male fairy,” “Argentina didn’t join the game of blind passion she triggered in her female mates,” “Amedea… left behind the age when she needed to accept money from men and women as well,” “Arthemisa... preferred an alliance with a man,” “Aristiţa wanted something hot and passionate, as she was bored between the two monthly paydays.”
Caricatured characters, only made of lines. They lack heart, color, essence. It’s the sketch of a superficial world, devoid of depth. It’s like a lake surface, the depth being hidden somewhere down. Sava Sandorian’s life is like a leaking faucet, through which monicas flow incessantly. The monicas’ pool is flawless too. They flow in a monotonous, boring, banal rhythm. They are all pretty-eyed, beautiful, siliconed. This monotony so well managed, dosed, pushes the reader to disgust, nausea, saturation, which many Romanians face. It’s a world of pretty-eyed damn bitches. The novel ends with the senator Sava Sandorian driving away to Hercules’s Spa, where he hopes to find Saviana waiting for him. Florica Bud succeeds, through the novel “The Man Who Killed My Soul on a Thursday” to acquire the authority to write on her business card, simply and worthily, under her name, the magic word: writer, novelist and prose writer. As she wants. She deserves it. She worked hard, and the results are visible.
Seeing the abundance of women in the life of our character, you can make an analogy to the legendary seducer’s life, Don Juan, in the Romantic era, the classic man of desire and sensual pleasure. “A shadow wandering around the world with a multitude of women around, attracted by the mirage of the ideal woman,” as he is defined by Daniela Sitar-Tăut in her excellent monographic study “Don Juan – a mythographic character,” Universităţii de Nord Publisher, Baia Mare – 2003. But Sava Sandorian’s situation differs completely from Don Juan’s. Sava is surrounded by women because of his social position, and for various favors they could later have, effortlessly from him, whereas Don Juan, never really in love, made particular efforts and used different tricks, a real arsenal of practices to conquer his heart’s desire. In addition, in the end, Sava Sandorian goes back to his family, who accept him, and, seemingly, they will live happily ever after, while old Don Juan, is still a dandy, tired of so many adventures, regretting his youth wasted for the sake of women whom he never loved.
Ion M. Mihai