Right now I'm in the middle of Gabriel García Márquez's "Memoria de mis putas tristes." As with all his books, it is a tale of obsession, filled with his usual array of characters and magic, both in setting and in the language itself. It is (in spite of its title) a tribute to all women and the mysteries of all things feminine. This book is being sandwiched between Edward Rutherfurd's "The Princes of Ireland:The Dublin Saga" that I finished last week and its sequel, "The Rebels of Ireland."
A kilted Celt on the border.
Kentoc'h mervel eget bezañ saotret
Omne bellum sumi facile, ceterum ægerrume desinere.
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