Caracas, October 15, 1997
Christopher Domínguez Michael
Vuelta Magazine
Mexico City
Dear friend,
I write to you because I recently finished reading Tiros en el concierto, one of the books of the second half of your Literatura mexicana del siglo V that has truly impressed me most.
As soon as I began leafing through the pages, reading the index of authors and subjects with which I am not entirely unfamiliar, pausing over certain passages and noticing the system of footnotes (a work of art unto itself), I immediately felt I would find it interesting. But I did not know to what extent. I anticipated a pleasant read, as I had experienced many times before thanks to the author. An ideal book from which I would delight in learning, in the throes of a postoperative convalescence in which I still linger. But this book did nothing but unsettle me. After reading the first two chapters (Reyes and, above all, Vasconcelos) in one fell swoop, I felt I was holding in my hands something more intense and dramatic, even dark. I jumped to the “scenes of the fifth century” and then to “Contemporáneos, the enemies of the promise” (alas) and did not feel particularly relieved.
“Well, stop reading for now,” my wife said to me, seeing that it was keeping me awake, like when she sees me reading Bloom or even Steiner. It was not the same. My reaction was not one of outrage or opposition. What I felt was that something very deep (among Latin Americans) was being elucidated through what I was reading. I do not wish to somberly dramatize my reading of your book; I think nothing could be further from your intentions. Your book is like the (re)birth of a true critical conscience in all our language’s literature. I see it as an example of courageous lucidity, and I was moved by its immense understanding and commiseration. What it gives us, in the end, is tragic pleasure after great catharsis.
So I thank you kindly for having had your book sent to me, which I consider a sign of friendship. Take good care of yourself after this lengthy effort, and care for your soul. The vultures must be circling above you.
With warmest wishes,
Guillermo Sucre
