* There may be some spoilers *I read Los Conjurados in 2005. It's not that I have such an outstanding memory that I can remember what was I reading one, two, eight years ago. Moreover, if I can remember what I had for dinner last night, I'm on my good days. Anyway, I know I read this in that particular year because I tend to add footnotes, references, names, new vocabulary, personal thoughts on how little I feel when the book I'm reading is brilliant... all that on the margins. I don't like dog-earing my pages, but when a book is that good, when it makes me work and begin my little investigation, I write on it (unless it's a really old one, but I tend to buy paperbacks, so I can work with them without feeling too guilty; plus, I just want to read them, not brag about having a beautiful hardcover or the first edition of Whateverthename; at least, not for now). So, "dog-earing people" of the world, it's fine. You don't like using bookmarks and I write on the margins. We're cool. In this case, the first note was about Borges' prologue. This particular paragraph: “No pasa un día en que no estemos, un instante, en el paraíso. No hay poeta, por mediocre que sea, que no haya escrito el mejor verso de la literatura, pero también los más desdichados. La belleza no es privilegio de unos cuantos nombres ilustres.”My first thought was something about his pretty optimistic vision and his humility, then I continued with some kind of "emo lines" that I won't mention now. Nor ever. And that was dated "nov/2005". Today, I re-read it, and it was like reading a whole new book. And that's not because I found new meanings and all that, but because after those years, I didn't remember a thing :) “Why did I write those remarks?" "Who are those people Borges is talking about?” “Huh?!” It's not that this is a forgettable work, it's my memory. Or my lack of it, actually.Back to the book. It was written in 1985, a year before Borges' death. And there are little masterpieces all over this book. I personally love: Cristo en la Cruz, Juan López y John Ward, Abramowicz (“Esta noche me has dicho sin palabras, Abramowicz, que debemos entrar en la muerte como quien entra en una fiesta”, just beautiful), Alguien Sueña, Alguien Soñará, Los Conjurados (“En el centro de Europa están conspirando (…) Han tomado la extraña resolución de ser razonables. Han resuelto olvidar sus diferencias y acentuar sus afinidades”, a humble wish in the last days of his life).