A few days ago a dear friend of mine, conspicuous and acute psychologist, appeared smiling with this title as a gift for my birthday, knowing that I would complicate the existence during the time it would take read it. It was. This is a short novel, but not too simple. Narrating in first person, a university professor and seventy years is installed on your couch next to a listener unfamiliar that the reader can assimilate as soon oneself, to hear that, patient, a cluster of reports that the professor has to tell, or in my impression, to confess. The memories start eight years earlier, and revolve around an intense relationship the teacher establishes with a student of Cuban origin, thirty-eight years younger than him. The result of all this is a wonderful delivery from the American Philip Roth, where we get into the conflicts of a learned man, and seductive sound that pays not without difficulty and first time negligent emotions, insecurity of obsession, passion anachronistic, the uncomfortable lack of control of the intellectual. We have a really dense novel, which deceives easy reverberates reading but before long, their deeply human thoughts about sex, anarchy, love, the inevitability of aging and death attitude. This is the dying animal.
In short: short text, but focused and subtle, and therefore almost damn-inducing violence against the hard facts of life. Reading experience, mature and highly recommended.
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