There are many books that probably never read in my life, but others although if I read my regret, never reread, in fact, three of his novels, to be exact, were of such texts are read not for pleasure but by compromise, and if the commitment has to do with a course, because either way, Mr. President Miguel Angel Asturias, Rayuela de Julio Cortazar and Hundred Years of Solitude Garcia Marquez books halfway necessarily made me wonder what was there and never stopped to seem awfully dull. These could be called the masterpieces of the secular religion that seems to be the twentieth century Latin American literature, with a wide range of parishioners, which in these lands, among the small minority who reads, may be the majority, but now with difficulty found under 40 years and that apart from readers, are strong advocates of his works, a situation that when they have complex writer achieves levels of fundamentalism.
When one, an act of honesty, says he does not like these books or other works of these authors and others that make up the pantheon, they choose to censure and excommunicate the Latin American intellectual level, the more measured start, with some compassionate leave, and who speaks with an illiterate, have us a long inventory of the reasons why, according to them, as a Latin American reader is bound to like the same, of course there are also those who give us a series explanations, some more stupid than others, of why these works are necessarily part of the great literature and if you do not see them as such is because it is a total ignorant. 
Personally I can not say whether the boom is good or bad writers, but it is undeniable that lack of connection between his books and the new generations, I think the best and has a lot to see that they were made to a very specific time, so that when a change of conditions made them anachronistic, this happens mostly with Mr. President, but still needs to happen to someone strange to read, is special Hundred Years of Solitude, imagine a magical and coming Latin America and get off the plane the first thing that comes across is with a McDonald's billboard as anywhere in the world, only studded by some local gang graffiti, which will no doubt among the few places that remain, and Latin America is dreaming that simply does not exist or rather never existed, just was anchored to the ideals of an era in which, in theory, the ideological factor was too heavy intellectual work, and I say in theory because it has also much mercadológica equation, designed to sell the typical messianic pose of the writer and good vibes with people. This lack of connection 
also existed with respect to new generations of writers, as in Roberto Bolaño was more than apparent, but with the arrival of Alberto Fuguet and Edmundo Paz Soldan, which incidentally also have face serious intellectual and boring, with books like or McOndo English Spoken , eventually become obvious, creating a veritable pandemonium among the parishioners of the cult in question, who do not understand that we grew up in an environment desliteraturisado for ideological reasons, and in which the only intellectual icons were Gene Simmons and Dee Snider with all the little politically correct that this could be or sound, it is a reality, so that when, for academic commitments, we approach these works, there was no point of connection with them, since most citizens were Gotham City than any people of Latin American highlands which butterflies fluctuate freely. 
An avenue, broad in relation to most of the city, with trees that left little room to see how the buildings fell on the evening, on sidewalks and on the roots of the trees scattered a horde of rebels, 15 to 60 years, many with their collection of vinyl under his arm, hoping for an autograph, loose hair, black dress and boots, trying to escape the pollution and the uniformity of the city, the relentless metal echoed in the car horns, while Gallo beer cans were diluted slowly. 
Once inside the room, which has a lot of industrial warehouse, the local False Prophet had a presentation that began with very Fogeo good shape, the lights went out, everything was at a standstill, suddenly were heard the first throes with the guitarists Gary Holt and Lee Altus, they immediately would join Jack Gibson on bass and drums, I do not know if was Tom Hunting or Nicholas Howard Barker who played in the second theory is one who does live, finally made its appearance vocalist Rob Dukes, immediately saw a wave of phones trying to perpetuate the instant rise. 
And again there was darkness; opportunity that many took the opportunity to go out and talk and take a breath, was heard, or thought he heard, a slight feedback and that was the alarm to go immediately, amid the shadows of the screens side began to play the video Hordes Of Chaos Kreator (that certainly seems to be Manowar), a somewhat bland presentation that made the public were a bit cold and distant, it was impossible not to think about certain rockstarismo; prejudice that I rejected outright by knowing about an hour later to Mille Petrozza. 
still immersed in the darkness of the night, stray dogs attacked the volcanoes of garbage, while the homeless were made of empty cans for recycling and that place was just a point, and unthinkable lost in the immensity of the city, a small spot in our minds that try to never delete, because they are those moments, those hours of adrenaline, which makes a metal continue to breathe and feel so proud to be what it is. 