A man leaves his town in search of the big life. What he finds isn’t bad people: it’s good people, convinced of their own goodness, doing exactly what they condemn in others. Twenty-one mirrors to recognize —without guilt, but without the mask— the hardest hypocrisy to see: your own.
Twenty-one mirrors, not a sermon. Each one portrays an everyday gesture we’ve all made and rarely admit.
Illustrated. Every mirror paired with an engraved plate on ivory paper.
Uncomfortable on purpose. It doesn’t point at the person beside you; it looks back at you.
To read and return to. Brief reflections that keep turning long after you close it.
There was no book he couldn’t have written better, no film he wouldn’t have fixed, no one else’s business that wasn’t “obviously being run into the ground.” From his chair he saw it all with ferocious clarity: the other man’s error was enormous, and he pointed it out like someone doing a favor.
He had never written a book. Never shot a single minute of film. Never built anything that could break. His entire body of work was tearing down everyone else’s —a comfortable trade, because the man who only demolishes is never left standing where someone could demolish him.
He confused good taste with talent, and contempt with intelligence. It’s easy to keep your hands clean when you never put them in the mud.
And someone will read this already sharpening their review, ready to tear the book to pieces from the same comfortable chair as always —without noticing they’ve just seen themselves on the page. Which was, of course, the whole point.
One of twenty-one mirrors.
Creator of Símbolos 360. He writes fables and books in code for those seeking something deeper: stories you read once and remember always. Initiated into ancient traditions, he turns them into tales for everyone. He believes in giving without noise; he tries to make each work, too, a way of giving back.
Symbols, hidden history and ancient mysteries, every week.
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