Before starting to read "No one kills me" by Javier Azpeitia (Madrid, 1962), I invite the reader to take a moment to himself. I invite you to stand in front of a mirror and look into his eyes, his eyes, and to review carefully each of the organs that make up and then all together. After observing for some time remain, to address its reflection, go to him and ask this question: Who am I? If this seems too complicated, it can start another, more simple: What am I? Now, is now in readiness to take off the cover of the novel that is in your hands and start reading.
identity, might not be anything other than the correct alignment between the body and mind, and if the twentieth century served, among other things, to compound the lack of response and create more confusion about the concept of a individual, thought to himself and put in relation with the surrounding world today, the situation in this respect is not much better. Salman Rushdie has defined the "I" Modern as "... a shaky building we build with scraps, dogmas, childhood injuries, newspaper articles, casual remarks, old films, small victories, people who hate or love." And this is precisely what happens to the protagonist of the novel, a fragmented being condemned to wander endlessly from one body to another. Forced to reincarnate again and again through the "metempsychosis" Greek philosophical term that was used to Westernize process of transmigration of the soul, covered in oriental doctrines. An individual who is forced to wake up every once in someone other than who he is, with no memory of what once was and tormented by guilt for something that you can not remember, and whose only reference to identity, which is formed through the accumulation of experiences and feelings learned, after passage through the body of each of the different characters that make up the novel and also his life. A character placed on the dashboard of a game where the starting square is confused with the arrival, without a clear end, no winners or losers, whose only purpose is to play, as life is to live.
a novel is structured on eight chapters which in turn represent eight boxes of snakes and ladders, through which pass their characters, and where until the end of the book is not clear who one who moves the chips and who is pulling the dice, because as Stephen Hawking say the famous statement refuting Albert Einstein: "God not only plays dice. Also sometimes throws the dice where it can be seen. " And facing the protagonist and the reader then, a new frame of mind: we are children of a randomly chosen destination or else we are but the result of a succession of causes and effects. The author in the novel takes a stand against this issue as it makes clear the very beginning, in his book's dedication: "To Lucia Azpeitia, already knows how to choose at random and the importance of seeing the moon every night", then by the mouth of one of his characters when he says: "... you have to choose what things are in the past and what things are in the future, as if time was not a single fluid unstoppable ... Or you can play another game more common, just fun: it's like if everything had already happened, and you're dedicated to searching for the culprits, the uncaused wedges. As if some things happen because other have happened. It is the great game of ethics, pure geometry, and gives you the freedom, the hallucination of free will, the price of stupidity, ha! .... " The fact is that this novel reflects the troubles of the past century existentialism that poured over us, causing the characters the same feeling of emptiness and vertigo known to be floating on nothing. Thus causing dizziness and nausea after, while the permanent feeling of being abroad in a world that no longer recognizes as his own. But far from building a story and hopeless, "No one kills me," as says the title of the work, taken from one of the passages of the Odyssey and is part of the deception in which a man, Odysseus, get rid of died devoured by the giant Polyphemus, is intended as a way to get rid, in turn, that existential burden hanging over us that makes us fear the end and not make sense of all this. And is that a vision existentialism posisitivista no longer a trick that allows us to get rid of uncertainty. So, if indeed all around us is meaningless, why worry about anything and not begin to live without those burdens that plague us. "The game of the goose represents life, but should not be interpreted, but to play. Life must be lived: catch it and not let go! No matter what lasts. "Say during one of the passages in the book. Characters appear
constructed as a character of characters, or what is the same: a character that is created and is due to the existence of others, as a sort of Frankenstein monster. Thus, the link between the formal and conceptual walks and work harmoniously within the text. Formally, as we have seen, by the transmigration of the protagonist's mind and its passage through each of the other characters, and conceptual basis of the idea of \u200b\u200bthe existence of a collective unconscious that is an undeniable part of our identity as human beings. That laboratory rats, subjected to certain learning experiments, learn, and that these skills learned are transmitted to their offspring from generation to generation not only in direct genetic line, but to the entire species is a scientific theory that attempts to prove a character in the book through these experiments. Experiment that should serve to question inside and outside the book, whether human beings suffer the same memory dictatorship of the species, linked to the idea of \u200b\u200bthe collective unconscious postulated by Carl Gustav Jung, as a mark of identity that dominates all the time and which serves as the driving force behind the creation of the self, encapsulated within a body. "The self is an illusion that encourages them to live, which keeps alive each of the parties to a sort of huge mound ..."
reprehensible
The only downside to the novel is its call to the reader, who not only claims attention and concentration, but the use and the ongoing work of memory, making it the memory reader a formal element of the book that serves to place, as equals, in the same position in which is the main character, forcing him to have to make the same effort, always, remember to build. In this case to build the puzzle of a distressing story, the author spins perfectly, leaving no loose ends or you can cross off as inconsistent. Complying fully with the requirements that are needed to draw a story genre halfway between black and fantasy, between modernism and postmodernism some dyes, which are reflected in the construction of a scenario - city, Madrid 2007, where the population is being decimated, gradually, by elements of the apparent escape human control, like a bird flu pandemic or terrorist attacks and terrorist attacks unknown contingencies. A story that is difficult to remove the eye and getting to catch the reader in such a way that almost imposes the condition of having to be read in one fell swoop. But above all, and perhaps this is what makes the novel, a good novel is that it offers no answer. And not only does not answer anything, it raises the same questions that human beings being what it is, and includes new ones. New questions are added to the collection of uncertainties with which we wake up every day, with ourselves or others different. The question of not knowing if we are children of a fiction, and if so, what fiction, and who creates it. We? ...
Other references: *
Review
Rafael Reig in La Voz de Asturias
is curious that a country like ours, so given to poetry anthologies, not produce more anthologies like which concerns us here, a project of Atlantis Editions surprising as the risk involved and the audacity of having actually carried out, especially given the almost total lack of possibilities of publishing a new author without godfathers this or any else on the planet. Tic-Tac. Stories and poems against time has, among its pages to 60 authors, some of whom credited and a solid writing career, or at worst, a name enough to be recognized as quality assurance in the market. Among the former are no less than Espido Freire (time away), the Spaniard Rafael Reig (Time on the tablecloths), poet and novelist Leopoldo Alas (grandson of his namesake and is involved with the poem (A common language) or Ronaldo Cuba's Menendez (The Butterfly Effect), all authors with published work, relatively young and that criticism has recognized its proven worth. Among the latter, Ouka artist Le (e) you or the versatile Luis Eduardo Aute, who contribute to this anthology two unpublished poems (Cintra Notebook and What it is, but ya). Joining them hitherto unknown names like Alberto Massa, César González Álvaro, Julio Montesinos, José A. Gallardo and Guillermo Aguirre. 
Among 
Eerno 
Herman Melville 
