Piovono corvi

On the farthest reaches of the state, there is a hotel. Most of the guests at the hotel are not passing through, because they have nowhere else to go. In theory, they are hiding, but the truth is that this hotel is the physical manifestation of an unwritten pact of self-exile between the Party and certain inconvenient figures who must be swept under the carpet of civil society. Not that this is particularly important anymore, given that increasingly extreme climate upheavals on the one hand and a civil war that is forbidden to be called such publicly on the other are running out of time for power struggles. Daniel Cuello returns with a powerful fourth graphic novel, in which there is less and less room for hope, and cynicism is the only possible substitute for irony. Between Alex Garland’s Civil War and Gabo Márquez’s No One Writes to the Colonel, this is a tense story with an inevitable trajectory, reminding us that the night is always darkest before dawn.