Ernesto Sabato died, at age 99, and I felt bad, really, because my life is intimately connected with it, especially my literary life. I'll explain.
reader While I was in Lawrence, Kansas, attended classes of American Literature. Read On Heroes and Tombs Sabato, and reading and work I had to do on this novel, I plunged into a world of interesting parallel readings, such as The Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell , among many other, usually related to the theory literature. The work I did for the teacher dealt Fernando Souza, the most dark and disturbing novel, which attributed the role of absolute hero, a hero corrupt, cruel and incestuous, but hero after all. The work was a considerable success, so much so that soon began to suggest from the English department if I wanted to stay in college longer than contracted. The work got to pass to consider myself a poor little boy with two neurons to someone highly profitable. It was a great personal success for me. And years later, in Spain, rephrased and published in a journal of Ferrol, Concepción Arenal. Science and Humanities. So when I learned of the death of Ernesto Sabato, author of Tunnel, and meaning in encausación of heinous crimes of the military leaders of Argentina, I could only remember his fascinating blind Report of On Heroes and Tumas. A section of a book that changed my perception of myself, and gave me wings to believe that I could create something, even through literary criticism.
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