[Excerpt] from Prologue by Rolf Carle in 'The Stories of Eva Luna' by Isabel Allende
You think in words; for you, language is an inexhaustible thread you weave as if life were created as you tell it.
I think in the frozen images of a photograph. Not an image on a plate, but one traced by a fine pen, a small and perfect memory with the soft volumes and warm colours of a Renaissance paainting, like an intention capturesd on grainypaper or cloth.
It is a prophetic meomnt; it is our entire existence, all we have lived and have yet to lifve, all times in one time, without beginning or end. From an indefinite distance UU am looking at theat picture, which includes me. I am spectator and protagonist.