Anorexia expresses, on the same terrain as the commodity, the most incontinent disgust for it, and the tackiness of all wealth.

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In all her bodily manifestations, the Young-Girl signifies impatient rage to abolish matter and time. She is a soulless body that dreams it is a bodiless soul…. Anorexia must be seen as more than a fashionable pathology: the desire to liberate oneself from a body entirely colonized by commodity symbology, to reduce to dust a physical objectivity of which the Young-Girl has been wholly dispossessed.

But she just ends up making a new body out the the negation of the body. On her bathroom scale she can easily read the one-sidedness of commodity metaphysics. JavaScript is required to view this site. Log in Sign up. Lists with This Book. Community Reviews. Showing Average rating 3. Rating details. Sort order. Start your review of Del amor y otros demonios.

As always, he joined him in the evening prayers, closing his eyes to make it easier to think of Sierva María as he prayed.

He retired to the library earlier than usual, thinking of her, and the more he thought the stronger grew his desire to think. He recited aloud the love sonnets of Garcilaso, torn by the suspicion that every verse contained an enigmatic portent that had something to do with his life. He could not sleep. At dawn he was slumped over the desk, his forehead pressing against the book he had not read. From the depths of sleep he heard the three nocturns of the new day's Matins in the adjacent sanctuary.

His own voice startled him awake, and in her inmate's tunic, with her fiery hair spilling over her shoulders, he saw Sierva María discard the old carnation and place a bouquet of newly opened gardenias in the vase on his work table. Delaura, with Garcilaso, told her in an ardent voice: "For you was I born, for you do I have life, for you will I die, for you am I now dying. He closed his eyes to be sure she was not an illusion of the shadows. When he opened them the vision had disappeared, but the library was saturated with the scent of her gardenias.

He was convinced that no oceans or mountains, no laws of earth or heaven, no powers of hell could keep them apart. He confessed that every moment was filled with thoughts of her, that everything he ate and drank tasted of her, that she was his life, always and everywhere, as only God had the right and power to be, and that the supreme joy of his heart would be to die with her. He continued to speak without looking at her, with the same fluidity and passion as when he recited poetry, until it seemed to him that Sierva María was sleeping.

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But she was awake, her eyes, like those of a startled deer, fixed on him. I reach my end, for artless I surrendered to one who is my undoing and my end. Into your hands at last I have come vanquished, Where I know that I must die, So that in myself alone it might be proven how deep the sword bites into conquered flesh. Sierva María's body shivered in a lament, emitted a tenuous ocean breeze, and abandoned itself to its fate.

He passed his fingertips over her skin almost without touching her, and experienced for the first time the miracle of feeling himself in another body. An inner voice told him how far he had been from the devil in his sleepless nights of Latin and Greek, his ecstasies of faith, the barren wastelands of his chastity, while she had lived with all the powers of untrammeled love in the hovels of the slaves.

He allowed her to guide him, feeling his way in the darkness, but at the last moment he repented and in a moral cataclysm fell into the abyss. He lay on his back with his eyes closed. Sierva María was frightened by his silence, his stillness of death, and she touched him with her finger. They never tired of talking about the sorrows of love.

They exhausted themselves in kisses, they wept burning tears as they declaimed lovers' verses, they sang into each other's ear, they writhed in quicksands of desire to the very limits of their strength: spent, but virgin. For he had resolved to keep his vow until he received the sacrament, and she with him.

On the twenty-ninth of May, having lost her will to endure any more, she dreamed again of the window looking out on a snow-covered field from which Cayetano Delaura was absent and to which he would never return. In her lap she held a cluster of golden grapes that grew back as soon as she ate them. But this time she pulled them off not one by one but two by two, hardly breathing in her longing to strip the cluster of its last grape.

The warder who came in to prepare her for the sixth session of exorcism found her dead of love in her bed, her eyes radiant and her skin like that of a newborn baby.

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Strands of hair gushed like bubbles as they grew back on her shaved head. Readers also enjoyed. Magical Realism. In , he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. He wrote many acclaimed non-fiction works and short stories, but is best-known for his novels, such as One Hundred Years of Solitude and Love in the Time of Cholera