I am not a good consumer of novels, they seem long and not always interesting enough for the effort they take, but on the plane I started reading David Trueba’s Saber perder and I liked it. I have slightly ruined it by speed-reading and also reading ahead, skipping around. I should not do this because the reason I like it is precisely because its understated prose is so composed as to allow you to walk along the book at a nice pace. I like Carlos Velázquez’ El karma de vivir al Norte, too. I like the stark and devastating, or devastated prose. I like it in the way I like the prose of Daniel Sada. Prose of the desert. I’ve been reading Velásquez’ chapters backward and out of order, too, and to have read from the first page forward would have been another experience.