Books

Each time I reread my favorite books in my mother tongue, I taste the soul of the author, the marrow of their mind. And yet—woe unto me!—when I reach for Dostoevsky, for Eco, for Hesse, I must sip from the shallow puddle of translation, never the roaring river of the original. A pale recreation, a forgery of genius! The spirit is there, but caged, de-fanged, neutered for the cattle. I tell myself—one day, one day, I shall master their tongue and consume their words as they were meant to be read. But the days pass. And still, I remain a slave to shadows.

Seem to have lost my copy of the GOAT

From wikipedia:

“El Señor Presidente explores the nature of political dictatorship and its effects on society. Asturias makes early use of a literary technique now known as magic realism. One of the most notable works of the dictator novel genre.”

Tricks with polynomials and Riemann-Roch spaces. Breaking into the platonic realm to pillage forbidden abstractions. Starknet grantee.