I think of Andrés' writing as a puzzle. Every text I have read by him is a piece of a larger work. I find traces of all his previous work in this novel. I get the feeling that, as is the usual technique for solving puzzles, Andrés started by putting together the edge (using all the pieces with straight sides) and is now continuing with the next strategy, which is to put together pieces that have parts of the sky, the sea, and trees, to try and compose the interior. If this were the case, if this image of the puzzle truly served to describe his literature (in fact, I think I am using one of the resources he uses most and that I like the most, which is when he chooses any element of cinema, music, cuisine, transport, etc. and gets the most out of it to serve his purposes), that would speak to us of a universe (chaotic, ironic, meaningless, overwhelming, humorous) that condensed and gave, through distillation (sometimes more or less corrosive, sometimes more or less lubricating), his worldview. If this were the case, I insist, I believe that Andrés would be achieving something that is very difficult and uncommon. I do not mean to say that it is a static world, but rather one that is protean enough to unfold and look at itself and other people with harshness and naivety. In short, I liked this novel so much that I devoured it like a ticholo, in one bite. I hope the same happens to you. Enjoy!