The hundred and forty-four pagesby Alfonso Barguñó Viana (H&O). When you’re a literary critic of my size (my professional size, of course, which is even bigger than the size I wear in pants), it’s easy for the texts on the back covers of most published books to produce a satiety, a feeling of fullness. of already seen and, come on, I’ll say it, sleepiness. Examples? A story in which love and destiny intertwine. well, by the way. A novel in which the protagonist must face his own people… man, what a fucking joke. For the first time in the history of literature, a narrator undertakes to write about the details of the production of a book. —eh, still “stop it”, go hard, H&O!, by selling us to our readers that this proposal from Barguñó Viana (assembling a text around prosaic bibliographic elements like paper, ink, code ISBN of a book) has never been done, which is original, and thus you stand out and hold my full attention as a reader. Additionally, I intend to copy and do the same here: also “for the first time in the history of criticism”, Germán Collazos commits to telling you how he usually creates the acclaimed reviews that he writes for this illustrious digital media.
blood red (ed. by Servando Rocha; La Felguera). The first thing I do is choose which books to include for each of my assignments. German news. Based on what criteria? This should be based on whether they are good books (although sometimes I include a classic just because it inspired a good joke) or whether there are an equal number of authors ( which, sadly, I was not able to meet on this subject). occasion), but most of the time, these are books which seem powerful, impactful, strong in their originality and their surprise, a criterion which should not be very different from that used by the directors of news journals if popular in our country. country (already, you know, the weeklies like Events either The case which brought together the horrible chronicle of daily crime for the greatest pleasure of Spain at the time) and whose most impressive and morbid titles now appear compiled in this addictive anthology of the real true crime Spanish.
Misunderstoodby William and Jim Reid (translation Ibon Errazkin; Contra). Once the chosen books have been read and analyzed (you should see my notes, which I usually write down on one of these napkins), Thank you for your visit which I catch at the bar), it is time to start writing your reviews, for which each literary critic has his little rituals which help us to undertake such an arduous task with joy and pleasure. One of my useful habits? Play music in the background, including that of legendary alternative rock groups like the essential The Jesus and Mary Chain: their entire story is told in a sincere and hilarious way in this volume which traces the trajectory of a group which conquered the world but He began his career in the Scottish town of East Kilbride (so sad and bland, my colleague Miguel Alcázar – who lives five minutes away – tells me that he only gives time to do drugs, to start inventing heteronyms or starting big groups style of music. shoegaze).
Deep inside meby Marc Antoine Mathieu (translated by Irene Oliva Luque; Salamandra Graphics). A little music and everything (“Under the skiiiiees of April…” that the Reids sing), things may not flow, and in those cases, I get stuck, sulking, prey to that creative block to which in Spanish we relate gracefully and metaphorically. remains empty. So I suffer the unspeakable, even if I will begin to take it better after discovering that Mathieu’s face became “black” in his last book and yet it was applauded by international critics: Deep inside me is a very cool comic that explores the limits of graphic form and the darkest corners of the mind, featuring a large number of black boxes (as if there was nothing drawn in them!), on which one can only wonder whether we are confronted with genuine shamelessness or unprecedented genius.
Prison Rockby Jorge Barco Ingelmo (Elefante Island). But if I don’t stay white – or black – and the thing sinks… Oh, if the thing sinks! Time stops, the outside world ceases to exist, and to write my critiques I lock myself in my house for so many hours that I end up considering myself as one of those prisoners deprived of liberty who, from their prisons, only know the outside. world through television. It is on these subjects that this curious and fascinating collection of poems revolves, with a rock and roll title and written by a prison guard who uses his knowledge of the subject and his powerful verses (“How difficult it is to be a prisoner / to the eyes of the world / And that there are prisoners at home / believing themselves to be freer”) to tell us about a world – that of penitentiary centers – which is nevertheless so unknown to us.
The immortal comedyby Ágnes Heller (translated by Aurora Echevarría Pérez; Seix Barral). And that’s it! Once the reviews are written, all that remains is to send them to my superiors at elDiario.es and wait, wait what?, for them to be published and, delivery after delivery, give me the immortal fame that allows me to enter the Olympus of the history of humor [nota del corrector: ¡menudo flipado eres, Germán!]. At least, I dream of it while reading this fascinating essay by Ágnes Heller, a fascinating tour of the work of the greatest actors in the history of humanity: Aristophanes, Shakespeare, Chaplin, Woody Allen and other geniuses humor which, eclipsed in life by his own dramatic works or those of other more intense and serious contemporaries, we now remember as our imperishable references in the field of wisdom, intelligence and happiness .
