I understand them. Yes, it is understandable. Neither Isabel Díaz Ayuso, President of the Community of Madrid, nor José Luis Martínez-Almeida, mayor of the city, they found the moment to approach the farewell of Almudena Grandes. Now, we already know that the writer was one of the essential, one of the greats of Spanish literature. That his work will endure and it will explain better than a hundred history books the miseries and hopes of this country. That beyond their philias and their personal phobias, Ayuso and Almeida represent both institutions and that, as such, they should fulfill their obligations. But I imagine them there, in that frozen cemetery, dwarfed by the flood of readers armed with their Big Books and, what do they want, I even feel sorry for them.
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It is possible that they even came to fear that the writer would attend her own funeral and, standing there, with her contagious and overwhelming laugh, her fearless booming voice and her even freer words, she will begin to sing them forty. She, who knew so much about breaking the silence, now with all the time in the world, turned into an unredeemed scourge. Yes, the match would have been uneven. She, so big. And they so, so & mldr;
Reference-www.elperiodico.com