M Sarki

http://msarki.tumblr.com/post/106654159223/woman-in-darkness-by-luisge-martin

It took me just a little bit past the halfway mark into the reading of this tantalizing book before I felt myself becoming extremely filthy and complicit in my slow, but devoted, undertaking. I felt complicit because I believed I was being written upon by something I should have closed and turned away from. But in order to continue on with my reading of this sex-driven deceitful erection I reminded myself that this was a so-called “thinking person's book” dealing with duplicity and debauchery. And I like to think of myself as introspective and willing to have an open mind. But more importantly this book was begging the question as to which side of the fence I might stand on faced with the same given circumstances. I am certainly aware of lies and deceit engaged in by specific others I have had acquaintance with and/or superficially known or been a member of the family in some temporary or permanent fashion. And I realize and accept that none of us are completely honest with ourselves and others all of the time. But it has been my personal quest to be as truthful and forthcoming as I am able to be, given my own character flaws and subject past involved in the time others spent directing my upbringing and choosing my environment to grow up in. But I personally refuse now to be involved in a deceitful or dishonest relationship with anyone I am currently intimate with. People I cannot be honest with remain just acquaintances or a family member I am merely cordial with, and therefore, keep safe distance from.

The deceit among all the characters in this book is despicable. Even the writing is performed in a way that tricks the reader into thinking this book was written for him (or her). There is a promise suggested within this privilege of literary sophistication that somehow the story of these lives we are being entertained by will lead us eventually to something endearing, or even redeeming, and if not, at the very least, give us a dreadful ending we will never forget. But the book fails. And not one promise is ever kept. The ultimate victory Luisgé Martín can claim as his own is his achievement of having made his beastly mark upon me (and also that I read his text through unto the very last page). Something I am neither proud of nor thankful for.