De cabeza

He's a wooden-hipped oaf with an almost nonexistent ability to name what's going on inside him. He presents everything as best he can, in an orderly and measured way, so as not to get his hands dirty. She's a charming, absent-minded woman who writes the way she lives: stirring everything up, stark naked, with her heart in her mouth and no brakes. She writes on impulse; he writes as best he can. We, the readers, are caught in the middle: privileged witnesses to what they haven't yet seen, accomplices in a tension that sweeps us along. Completely dizzy but also completely surrendered, because unresolved love is a raw, delicious, and very, very playful force. Sooner or later, a decision must be made: either dive headfirst into the water, or keep pretending it's too cold.