I can not imagine to the family and friends of Almudena Grandes sitting in the plenary hall of the Madrid City Council in the session in which she is declared the favorite daughter of the capital, applauding who will preside over it, the mayor José Luis Martínez-Almeida, who has said in thick letters that he does not deserve such dignity. That train has passed, other days will come, and new editions of his books that will make it little less than immortal in your city and ours. After the lack of respect exhibited by the conservative provost towards a dead person, ripped too soon from his own and his readers, the three left-wing councilors would do well who achieved the commitment to give him that honor by breaking his pact and leaving the poor man without your budgets. So he would be forced to crawl a little more before the extreme right, the audience you want to please by throwing your darts at the writer. Thus the legislature would be very long, like a good novel by Grandes, to that politician who is more than easy tweets and headlines that are thrown into the mountains.
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The «Chiquilicuatre of Genoa» (Esperanza Aguirre dixit) has inaugurated the year of that PP that does not believe itself capable of an absolute majority. He who justifies himself unnecessarily, attacking those who cannot defend themselves, weak with the strong and strong with the weak. The one who never has a choice but to do what others command. A few months ago, he himself hastily replenished the street in Vallecas from the ‘Baleares’ cruise ship, the ship from which the civilian population in La Desbandá was fired on the road from Malaga to Almería in 1937, killing thousands of people, to serve a sentence. I don’t know if I heard the strong voice of Almudena Grandes speaking about it on the radio or if I imagined it.
It has become fashionable to look at the dead of others and rejoice in the misfortunes of others. It used to be a nasty upward effect of anonymity on social media. Now the representatives of the institutions take such sad relief because everything sticks except beauty. It is shocking, since politicians tend to treat each other in a cordial way: Pablo Casado: “I have covid.” Pedro Sánchez: “I wish him a speedy recovery.” Flowers are thrown at social gatherings and they dine together with the allowances paid by the taxpayer. Anger and rudeness are reserved against cultural workers, you insult Elvira Lindo and I attack Vargas Llosa; I am glad that Antonio Resines is in the ICU and you that Bertín Osborne spends Christmas in confinement. My Government gives Pérez-Reverte a gold medal, yours to Sánchez Dragó and the other to Javier Marías, and a monumental tangana is mounted although they do not need any medal, nor have they asked for it. I hate Ana Iris Simón without having read her book, and I love Karina Sainz Borgo without having leafed through it; I join the pack that detests pianist James Rhodes. On Monday, the writer Benjamín Prado wondered, scandalized, who Almeida thinks deserves recognition from Madrid more than Almudena Grandes, what the mayor reads. And it was answered that nothing. I agree. On her formal walk with Andrea Levy through the last Book Fair, she advised him ‘Memoirs of a bachelor’ by Emilia Pardo Bazán, what a nice moment. Novels are thrown like chinitas, or to make blood. But it would never occur to them to open one.
Reference-www.elperiodico.com