En un Madrid inundado en el que la Castellana es navegable y los habitantes hablan en V.O. en inglés, subtitulada, un padre busca a su hija adolescente fugada de casa, pero no quiere acudir a la policía; un empleado municipal sospecha que su mujer le engaña; el personaje de una novela adquiere vida propia, se le va de las manos a su autor y desaparece en la ciudad... Tres casos difíciles para Carlos Clot, el melancólico detective que deberá enfrentarse a una poderosa y oculta trama criminal. ( )

En un Madrid inundado en el que la Castellana es navegable y los habitantes hablan en V.O. en inglés, subtitulada, un padre busca a su hija adolescente fugada de casa, pero no quiere acudir a la policía; un empleado municipal sospecha que su mujer le engaña; el personaje de una novela adquiere vida propia, se le va de las manos a su autor y desaparece en la ciudad... Tres casos difíciles para Carlos Clot, el melancólico detective que deberá enfrentarse a una poderosa y oculta trama criminal.
Fundiendo comedia, novela negra, ciencia ficción y western, Sangre a borbotones, como una droga de diseño, altera la percepción de la realidad y la ficción. La editorial Lengua de Trapo advierte: no debe administrarse a lectores con un historial de reacciones alérgicas al uso de la fantasía o sometidos a tratamientos con altas dosis de narrativa convencional...
Humor desbordante, inteligencia crítica, dilema moral y precisión narrativa... ¿Ha muerto la novela? Muy al contrario, Rafael Reig demuestra que goza de excelente salud con esta suerte de Blade Runner madrileño filmado por Woody Allen. ( )

This nasty story just screams to be made into one of those pornographically vivid B Grade horror films that have become so popular recently: it is almost entirely without any merit whatsoever and yet, like Hostel and Turistas and Saw, you stay with it to see how it ends.

Six phenomenally stupid youngsters holidaying in Mexico set out on an unplanned excursion to a remote archaeological dig where one of them, Mathias, hopes to find his brother.

A long bus journey, then a long taxi ride, takes them into the heart of the jungle where they set off in search of the path to the ruins, with only a hand drawn map to guide them.

After a lengthy hike they eventually find the track they need and, despite the fact that it has been deliberately hidden, they set off blithely into the unknown. The path ends at an artificial clearing around the hill the want to reach.

Suddenly Mayan Indians appear, trying to stop them crossing the bare clearing and reaching the verdant hill. Although the Indians are armed, the tourists don’t take them seriously and one of the women moves back to take a photograph of the stand off, stepping as she does so into the green vines that cover the hill.

The Mayans do an immediate about face: instead of trying to prevent them reaching the hill they now force everyone onto its leafy slopes, remaining in place below to ensure no-one comes down.

To cut a 300 page story short, the place is deserted and the youngsters soon realize that the growth covering the hill is not only lethal but intelligent and carnivorous, feeding on living flesh. They are surrounded by armed Indians who will kill them if they try to leave, so all they can do is try to survive and hope to be rescued.

Quite frankly, these six deserve the Darwin Award for removing themselves from the gene pool: this story may have been vaguely credible if set in 1906 but in 2006? Never.

Four young Americans pal up with a German and a Greek [who can’t speak any English or Spanish] in Mexico and they go on an excursion using only a hand drawn map without asking any locals for information or advice. They set off into the unknown without a word to anyone and just a few drinks and snacks – no extra clothes and, most unbelievable, no cell phones.

One can suspend – with difficulty – disbelief during the 90 minutes of a gore-filled flick but not through over 300 pages of blood-splattered prose. To enjoy this book even a little, check your intellect in on the first page. ( )