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It has happened to all of us, we’re talking with our brother of a childhood memory and suddenly he says, but you didn’t do that, I did. And that seems normal. But, what do we remember when we remember? Scientific studies show that in less than twenty-four hours we have already changed the memory of what has happened to us. Perhaps our memories are not always completely ours, only partially ours, partly they are what others who were in the same place have told us, and partly perhaps they are memories of others that with time are infiltrated in our brain. The narrator of El Ladron de Memorias does not steal memories, but he feels like a thief, because he is drawn to pulling at some moments other people’s most intimate memories, only to realize that he can no longer differentiate his memories from the others. The Stealer of Memories is an autobiography of the entire world.
Rarely have I had the opportunity to read a book on ebook format with the characteristics of The Stealer of Memories . Mois Benarroch has the strange particularity of talking about anything and has a way of making you unable to stop reading. I have compiled many fragments of his book because they seemed interesting, intuitive and I think I almost believe that in fact the author is a memory thief:
…But there is one that doesn’t go away. And it is that every text is autobiographical. Each character is the author. Nothing original in that. I know. But I’m not saying that every text is based on the life of the writer. Just the opposite. It is based on the not-life of the writer. The wife who appears in the text of a male writer is not the writer’s wife, and vice versa, the homosexual will be the one who was not, the rich one is the rich one that the writer longs to be, if he is poor. The writer defines himself by what he cannot be. What he cannot be is not infinite. One cannot not-be just anybody. He can only be characters or people he is able to imagine…
I have read, as I said, other types of books, thrillers, suspense, mystery and action novels, but it is the first time that I find myself in front of a text that I can categorize as philosophical. I recommend it. And I hope that the author does not steal your memories. Well, in fact, this had already happened to me before with a book by Pablo Fergo. But this space totally belongs to Mois Benarroch. Blanca Miosi, author of Dimitri Galunov .
