I recently read a book called Santa Evita by Tomas Eloy Martinez, which is about the life (or rather, the story of the embalmed body) of Eva Peron, otherwise known as Evita. I have rarely read a book so intense and profound. Since I finished it, I am trying my hardest to find out as much about her life as I possibly can. I went into Waterstone's today to see if they had any books about her, but pretty much all of them went out of circulation in 1996 or 1997. I have a couple of books, which I got off my mother, but if I want any more then I will have to find them online.
Evita is a trap. Once you've touched a part of her life, even for a moment, she will consume you. Since I started reading Santa Evita, she has been standing in a corner of my mind, demanding, as she did in life, love and attention. But she is also an enigma, a shadow slipping through my fingers. When I turn to look at her she hides away again. She beckons me to her, while running away. She calls for me to follow, and to stay away, in the same breath.
Well. Maybe that's just me. It's unlikely that everyone who reads about Evita will have the same reaction as me- I know my mother didn't. I am planning on writing something about her- maybe a short story or something about her life, and when I have, I shall post it here.
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