I always imagined the art of writing romantically, ink-stained
fingertips and crumpled piles of paper about my feet. In reality,
my writing life is spent chasing a blinking cursor back and forth
across a computer screen.
However, I imagine Isabel Allende to be a writer in the rudimentary
sense of the word. Unlikely as it is, I picture her with plume, ink
pot and vellum, the light of a candle at her wrist.
Crafted around the pretense of a lover's request for a story untold
to any other, THE STORIES OF EVA LUNA by Isabel Allende is like
getting caught up in a love affair of the written word