Reading Matter.

While we were here in Galicia in the summer I read a book by Antonio Muñoz Molina in which he wrote about his reading and writing habits. One of the writers he praised was Max Aub, born in France in 1903 but brought up and educated in Spain and then forced to live in exile after the Spanish Civil War. He died in Mexico in 1972 and so never returned to Spain. He described Aub as one of the great writers about the Spain of the pre Civil War period and I was determined to read him but simply ran out of time before we returned to England. 

 So on Monday, after the rain eased a little, I made my way to Vigo library and looked for “El Laberinto Mágico” or at least the first two or three books in the series. Now, according to the computer all the books were available and I followed the numbering system around to the correct shelf. There they all were, except for volume two.

 So I took out volume one and informed the librarian of the problem. I’m not entirely sure why I bothered to do so for all I received in return was a bored-sounding, “oh, debe de estar mal puesto” – “Oh, it must have been put in the wrong place” in a kind of what-do-you-expect-me-to-do-about-it? tone of voice. The idea that someone might from time to time do a quick number check to hunt for books which have been “mal puestos” didn’t seem to occur to the helpful people working in the library. 

Anyway, I’ve made a start of book one and will return to see if book two has been relocated. This first book, “Campo Cerrado” – “Closed Field”, follows the progress of young Rafael López Serrador from small village to larger town and eventually to Barcelona, with his gradual political awareness as he goes along. It reminds me a lot of the work of Arturo Barea whose autobiographical work covers the same period. 

Max Aub’s work also includes comments on Spanish attitudes. At one point we see young Rafael going to a bullfight. The writer comments: 

 “The only thing a Spaniard does NOT think about when he goes to a bullfight is death. If this were not so, the spectacle would be unbearable, as it is to many foreigners who come in search of that bitterness. There is nothing more cheerful and optimistic than a bullfight.” 

Well, all right; it’s a way of looking at things and I have heard others say that the brilliance of the spectacle just carries you along but I’m not sure I quite see it myself. But then, I don’t go to bullfights for just that reason. 

Maybe it’s like being a flamenco dancer; you have to be born into the tradition!