Veraniegas Readings - Federico's blog - Digital Libertad Digital Libertad
Willing to look good in this summer, I fulfill my postponed annual obligation to count in August the last thing I have read and I can recommend.I usually limit myself to reviewing black novel and great novelons of the nineteenth or twentieth century, of those who last a week or two.However, the novel and alear recommendations of this last season are in our files, so I ask our chief editor to rescue those of recent months so that he who wants to hear my comment and check how I obey Isabel González.The formula is very simple: author, title and, below, the corresponding link.I will consign the readings of the last weeks, in which, as always that I must write something, I harass the reading voracity;There are author, title and reading file.
Saki, the unbearable Bassington, Valdemar.320 pp.Pocket.
I don't know why I had always refused to read Saki.Surely I believed it - and it is - a dusty and forgotten Woodhouse, but this, which is the first novel of the English Satirical, goes far beyond satire.It is one of the saddest novels I have read in my life.First humor, afterwards, melancholy in the end.Fate as anecdote to have tea.Well, ice cream.
Jeffrey Archer, The Importor, Debolsillo, 573 pp.
He went to Thatcher's successor and was a superb writer in the 80s.In the end, he became a victim of a story that he had novel and that, to summarize, is similar to that of Hugh Grant with the prostitute Divine.The best book - Luis Herrero loves him - but without reissue and unenforceable except in Iberlibro, is the race towards power.I read it a lot but as long as I do not give it it, it seems masterful to me.This is more commercial and remembers the saga located in the USA policy and with a plausible president but of Reaganian line, that is, unlikely after the Clinton and the Obama.But judicial errors, induced by evil, are almost always enjoyable.The exception, the last and atrocious book of Grisham the appeal.This of Archer is pleasant, venial and his trade survives any mess.
Penelope Fitzgerald, the bookstore, Impedimenta, 180 pp.
One of many pleasant surprises of those small publishers who have sprouted as fungi in the ins and outs of the slabs of the big stamps.The history of a bookstore in a lost town in England in the mid -twentieth century.It is not something great, very rare and very new.It is simply good literature.
Vikas Swarup, six suspects, Anagrama, 549 pp.
His first novel was Slumdog Millionaire, which I have not read although I liked the movie.This is the second, worked, coral and such.He reads good but he lacks an editor like the Goncourt, who took a third of the original, and very well removed.Current India with its legendary complexity and its corruption to the Mexican.But it is not as good as the lightning of August, by Jorge Ibargüengoitia (Joaquín Mortiz), or Arránc me life, the first and best of Ángeles Mastretta, who, by the way, has been taken very closely to the cinema and can be seen in Imagenio.The Vikas, for which India, Bombay and Bollywood like it, well.
Tom Rachman, The Imperfectionists, Plata (Uranus Ed), 345 pp.
Rare and gloomy novel, with unequal development but, in general, worthy of being read and, by the pessimists, rostened.Everything is quite unlikely, but the good literary hand saves it.And, attention, it is the author's first.
Gabriel Zaid, the too many books, Debolsillo, 151 pp.
Only for the brief rehearsal or long article that gives title to the book is worth buying it.The best of the Pazianos back is in full form.No alharacas but, as always, of the most civilized.A conforting book.
Garci, interviews, notorius editions, 288 pp.
A surprising book, whose best chapter is the self -mantee, that Garci himself is made.But except those of Gistau and Prada, which are good but too bicomplastic, for my liking, it is very interesting to read them.The book is over that mixture of narcissism and humility, obsession and middle class, mitomania and the healthy habit of taking importance that Garci Borda like no one, that is, like Garci.As I have treated little, I still don't know if we are facing the character of an author or the author of a character;Of course, the opposite of Pirandello.But Garci is one of the most curious intellectuals in current Spain, very worthy of being read.As addendum, the book has very complete bibliography, filmography and script.In the latter, the many scripts that never arrived in films stand out, among which the gaznápira has surprised me.I thought that in that novel, which is the linguistic biography of my region, I had not repaired anyone, but yes.It had to be, of course, José Luis Garci, so ready, so his.
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, the efforts of a house and love is more maze.Chair.Celsa Carmen García Valdés edition.508 pp.
It is incredible that there is no film about Sister Juana, without a doubt the brightest woman in our golden century, beautiful, intelligent, tragic.Octavio Paz studied her in Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz or the traps of faith, but I would prefer a leaflet to Douglas Sirak.Or a period biopic like the television series "Rome" but with the "Los Tudor" wardrobe.With half of Sor Juana's legend it is impossible not.Legendary beauty, writer only comparable in her century to María de Zayas, poet Gongorina, with her popular vein included.These are his two courtly comedies.I have read love is more labyrinth, irresistible title, and I have spoiled in the efforts of a house.Only for Baroque lovers.But, ah, how baroque!
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Ludmila Ulítskaya, lies of women.Anagrama, 174 pp.
Perfect summer reading.Novel Nothing conventional, almost succession of stories;author nothing known;Original and very suitable point of view to comment on the terrace, after dinner.Or in bed, after.If the difference in the lying of men and women is discussed, it may not be.
Yoshimoto Banana, N-P, Tusquets, 186 pp.
I liked the precocísima kitchen (tusquets).I remember above all a scene with the protagonist in the fridge, most tragipop.I got bored in Amrita and I no longer read deep sleep or tsugumi.I will reconsider them, because this brief novel is very good.Rare like she alone, Japanese at last;But, despite her academic consecration, talented.Never abounded and now, less.What a curious, so strange society.
Arne Dahl, mysterious, destination, 492 pp.
Proof of the decline of the genre of the black novel in Sweden.It is not the only but very striking.Recommended to ruins scholars.
Johan Theorin, the time of the shadows, Mondadori, 394 pp.
Good proof of the complexity achieved by the Swedish black novel, which although it is running out and exhausting us produces very respectable pieces, such as this of the Öland saga, no less than four volumes.Friends of the genre will not disappoint them.To those who look for something more original, yes.But, of course, it does not promise what does not give.
Michael Marshall, Los muertos solitarios, Roja&Negra, 424 pp.
While Mankell makes a fool of himself in Gaza and Sweden bores herself, the genre continues in the United States its own rhythm, with the classic reference cities.Here we are facing the classic hunt for a serial murderer who pululates by Seattle, Portland and North Hollywood.Something conventional, including twisting and mania of musical keys, but of good level.It will not disappoint.
Camila Grebe and Asa Traff, I watch you.Editions b.385 pp.
Good first novel and fascinating flap - all a subgenre within the genre - of two Swedish sisters, especially the greatest.The new commercial formulas of the genre are faithfully fulfilled, including the hateful intercalation in italics of the murderer's monologue, which in principle must be skipped.Too bad because there is wood, even if it is not from Boj, in this couple.Nothing is left to the imagination: "I watch" you, obviously, an independent woman who feels spied and rightly.Loose final.
Charles Barbara, the murder of Pont Rouge, Ed Gallo Nero, PP 142.
A curiosity of 1855, below Poe and too close to Murger, author of the famous scenes of Bohemia life, bad novel of great charm on which "La Bohème" is based.Barbara shows us the poor life of Murger's characters, which is called Rodolphe.These details are given by excellent footnotes that make the little thing more readable.The folletinesco cult to the folly is striking.For collectors.
And some reissues. Una, de Patricia Highsmith, La casa negra, en MosaicoPocket, 327 pp.Classic, dark, unpleasant, unmarkable;Another, from e.H Carr, the romantic exiles, Anagrama, 442 pp.The fascinating adventures of the Herzen and company (Bakunin among them) that led Isaiah Berlin to write Russian Thinkers, even without translating into Spanish.It can be accompanied by the reissue of Andrés Amorós of another classic of ours: Vicente Lloréns the romantic exiles (SM).And if Teresa is, by Rosa Chacel, impressionist biography of Espronceda's lover, better.For recommending that you are not left, although maybe this year I have spent a little.
Morning recommendations
