In every age, Madrid, readers of Madrid, those from all sides, must return to prose of Manuel Longars, great writer of city. It is not in FIL, for whatever reason, because y are lazy airplanes, because y escape lights as soon as dusk and do not see or football, or because, being of lineage of Rafael Azcona or Rafael Sanchez Ferlosio, has not been winner. It is, like those survivors of best memory of Madrid, of those who prefer not to, Bartlebys of bustling city in which every hour seems to have, because yes, a thousand cares, 999 of which are useless.
Since longars should be compulsory in schools of Madrid. But not only in schools where classes are given, but in everyday schools of life, in which egos are dealt with luminaries that are not so much, but that thrive in endless pole that is literary life, so crowned with thorns. He has done his work, from novel of corset, for example, trying to you to Ramon Maria del Valle Inclán and for kinship to Miguel de Cervantes, to this romanticism that has in rhythm, and in that humor, reflection of readings and gossip of street that R Esumen your vital dictionary for writing. As Samuel Beckett who spoke with James Joyce one second out of four hours of billiards, attends meetings and even calls m, but it is possible to see him in a corner, as one of characters of his friend Azcona, as if he expected to appear by miracle Silence PA To be devoted to listening only to ir ghosts. Among his ghosts re are real beings, like Juan Eduardo Zúñiga or Luis Mateo Díez, with whom he shares animated scenery of Madrid.
For this silent and careless man of oils of literary fame has written one of great novels of Madrid, Romanticism. A novel, moreover, that every certain time would have to read to know that, in effect, Franco died, that in district of Salamanca (Madrid) y mourned before and after time, and that at that time when mourning poor felt relief and rich stayed To moon of Valencia, or to light off of Pardo. He has so much humor, but also so much reality, about what Franco/transition hinged, that metaphor of what was going on in that neighborhood of rich (and poor) that seems to lie that this book has not been kept in retina, so forgetful, of readers. It produces a sense of emptiness when talking about Madrid and its books and insists on ignoring this masterpiece.
Seeing now in FIL de Guadalajara, Mexico, that splendid black tube that Alberto Campo Baeza designed to be emblematic of presence of Madrid in Great fair I remembered again romanticism.
But that's not anybody's fault, as Dickens and Cortázar say. The fault is of Longar, who is not presuming to be writer of anything; He is going to buy bread, he learns results of football because y are told newsagent, and he withdraws at nine o'clock at night as if he were a Benedictine monk. And at dawn he starts to write, to hear absolute ear of literature in communion with stories that n come out, like absolute ear, precisely, of a loom in which exigency and disdain for great give of itself main garments.
Seeing now in FIL de Guadalajara, Mexico, that splendid black tube that Alberto Campo Baeza designed to be emblem of presence of Madrid in Great fair I remembered again romanticism, and I have remembered his truly humble author so anonymous in street com or in occasional anthologies. The book of Longars on which so much attention I claim narrates moment when Madrid changed light, hopefully forever. You will gain light, a title of León Felipe, gives poetic air to that tunnel towards light imposed by Campo Baeza with authority and beauty. Seeing it I felt that on one hand it came out frankly, already dead, already sufficiently mourned in district of Salamanca, and in or one remained what absolute ear of Longans listened as y fired him for ever those who lived much worse with him. Longar narrates light that comes back. Those who won light, indeed, as expected by old Zamorano poet who made Mexico his residence and sadness.
You'll win light. Then read romanticism and you will see that it is true what Carroll warned Alicia: You have to know what color is light of a candle when it is off. Or when it's shutting down.