El jinete polaco

“En un piso de la calle 52 Este de Nueva York, ante los ojos conmovidos de una mujer y un hombre que oyen tras las ventanas cerradas el viento del invierno y el rumor como de catarata de la ciudad a la que asoman muy pocas veces y encuentran en el baúl de Ramiro Retratista lo que nunca han buscado, lo que les perteneció siempre, sin que lo supieran o lo desearan, las razones más antiguas de su desarraigo y de su complicidad.
(…)
Ellos me hicieron, me engendraron, me lo legaron todo, lo que poseían y lo que nunca tuvieron, las palabras, el miedo, la ternura, los nombres, el dolor, la forma de mi cara, el color de mis ojos, la sensación de no haberme ido nunca de Mágina y de verla perderse muy lejos, al fondo de la extensión de la noche.”

If I were to read this book, it might improve my novel. I looked the book up because on page 73 of Spanish Literature: A Very Short Introduction, which I quite recommend, this novel is said to explore “second-generation ‘post-memories'” of the Civil War. I should read Sepharad, by the same author, which also appears to resemble in several ways the novel I am trying to write.

Other people can think up your academic books independently, but I had not thought they could also think up your novels; it is to be hoped that this Muñoz Molina person has not already executed my plans. I knew I was under the influence of Pedro Páramo, with the whispering voices, but being under the influence of texts one does not know about is the larger problem.

*

Muñoz Molina is from Úbeda, a town all made of stone in the province of Jaén. I have not been there since I was seven but I remember it very clearly. Úbeda has good ceramics and if I were to spend some weekends there late next month I could take a 40 hour course, paying 115 euros tuition which is amazingly inexpensive.

Axé.

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