Scan barcode
A review by helgamharb
The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares
4.0
The dead remain in the midst of the living.
The Invention of Morel is a satirical tale which questions the boundaries between fantasy, imagination and reality, exploring the subject of man, God and immortality. Where are we going? Where were we before?
The narrator of the story who is wanted by the authorities, takes refuge on an uninhabited island, where there is a museum, a chapel, a swimming pool, a stairway, a secret door, mirrors and a mysterious deadly disease.
My life was so unbearable that I decided to go there anyway.
But who built this place? And why did they abandon it?
At first he assumes he is alone.
When one is alone it is impossible to be dead.
But after some time he sees people and among them he sees Faustine and falls in love with her.
She watches the sunset every afternoon; from my hiding place I watch her. Yesterday, and again today, I discovered that my nights and days wait for this hour.
She sits there, as if posing for an invisible photographer; she surpasses the calm of the sunset.
But why doesn't she notice him? Come to think of it, why nobody seems to see him? Why does he feel the same actions and conversations of the people repeat every day? Why are there two moons and two suns in the sky?
Is he hallucinating? Has he lost his sanity? What is real and what is an illusion?
I think I must be in hell.
The Invention of Morel is a satirical tale which questions the boundaries between fantasy, imagination and reality, exploring the subject of man, God and immortality. Where are we going? Where were we before?
The narrator of the story who is wanted by the authorities, takes refuge on an uninhabited island, where there is a museum, a chapel, a swimming pool, a stairway, a secret door, mirrors and a mysterious deadly disease.
My life was so unbearable that I decided to go there anyway.
But who built this place? And why did they abandon it?
At first he assumes he is alone.
When one is alone it is impossible to be dead.
But after some time he sees people and among them he sees Faustine and falls in love with her.
She watches the sunset every afternoon; from my hiding place I watch her. Yesterday, and again today, I discovered that my nights and days wait for this hour.
She sits there, as if posing for an invisible photographer; she surpasses the calm of the sunset.
But why doesn't she notice him? Come to think of it, why nobody seems to see him? Why does he feel the same actions and conversations of the people repeat every day? Why are there two moons and two suns in the sky?
Is he hallucinating? Has he lost his sanity? What is real and what is an illusion?
I think I must be in hell.