To attempt an analysis of the works of any contemporary writer is fraught with difficulty, particularly when the author in question is given to creating texts which trick and trap an unwary reader. Such is the case of Arturo Pérez-Reverte who has described his own process of writing as being ‘like laying a minefield’. In that minefield, he ‘places his tricks, traps and false leads’.

When a reader becomes aware of having been fooled by one of those tricks, traps or false leads, the natural reaction is to try to understand why. A possible response may be to blame oneself for being dense, distracted, or a bad reader. However, perhaps a more human response is to search for someone else to blame, namely the author of the text. Either that author has written badly, has failed to give adequate information, or has not been up to the task of keeping the various strands of narrative moving forward in a coherent fashion. It is equally possible that the author has been clever and has outwitted the reader. Whatever the reality turns out to be, one thing is certain: once a narrative trick or strategy has been identified, the illusion of fiction is broken and we, the readers who have responded in many different ways, all become aware of a consciousness behind the written word, a ‘sensibility (that combination of feeling, intelligence, knowledge, and opinion) that “accounts for” the narrative’; in other words, the implied author. In that moment between the realisation of the trickery and reading on (or closing the book), we have a sudden glimpse of the author sitting at his or her desk and chuckling at our expense. In that moment, in ‘that textual gap’, to use Wolfgang Iser's terminology, we are brought face to face with the notion of authorial intention. We ask: ‘Why did the author lead us down a false trail?’ ‘Why fool us as to the identity of a narrator/character?’ ‘Why end the story in a completely unforeseen way? Or, indeed: ‘Why did he not end it at all?’