The Word Of Sofia
(Jostein Gaarder)
I adored this book, already it makes some time that I read it, but still continues sufficiently present in my memory. As I always say, a book, is a friend who talks with us, at the solitude moments, a always open door, for new knowledge, a call of attention for events, subjects, situations. Always that I read a book, the subject or history, becomes current, whichever the real height where was written. Each line, each paragraph, takes us á scene to a life that although not to be ours, enters in us, becoming ours. To rescue the information, the memories or simply to create empatia with a certain subject, sharpens our critical direction of the knowledge. The world of Sofia is an adventure, in our ímaginário of creation, where all we have a teeny space of recriação of the proper subject in the day to day life, always that in we ask them, who we are, of where we saw, for where we go. That reality is this that all we have, but that we do not know, that enigma in tansporta for here, exactly without wanting and in makes them to create history. The magic of the book carries us to the imaginary reality from the being or to be and does not complain for us the feeling of psychological, philosophical analysis of the proper writer or the própia life. We can believe everything, less about that we think to believe, to create them illusions to me, to make reflecções, without never deviating the direction of only virgula of our life, or the manuscript that in them enters in the soul atravez of the writing of the author.
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