Literature is a great mystery and I am more convinced every day. Today, via phone, my mother made me a recommendation on a book he had just read, provided by my brother. He insisted that he read on the grounds that they liked both and each for a different reason. The novel in question is called Salvatierra and the author (unknown to me, despite being bookshop) Peter Mair. And here is what the author thinks about going to a bookstore:
"Log in bookstores lately, I get very anxious. I try now to understand the causes and noticed that several and somewhat diffuse. For starters, my house is full of books, many do not read, or read by half, books on shelves and piled on the floor against the walls, divided into towers of different literatures, Argentina, English, Latin, English , French-collapsing towers every so often and I have to get up again. No more room for books, but always adds some. So I go into bookstores and saturated and crushed by the weight of unread, read the weight of the earrings and rings intact from my friends, collecting dust on my desk. Activity with original sin, a feeling of "I should not be here, but I throw myself on the desks of news and I regret it almost immediately gives me tachycardia. All those caps, that cultural graphic design rubbing against the strings, the marketing worked on me, making me calculate how much money I have in my pocket. Something disturbs me. How people write, think, how they publish, they seem all César Aira, and I did not write, unpublished, without even a book on the soul, as Pasolini says. How well does the world without one (the publishing world and the world). What a beating for literary ego.
happen too many things at once in these new tables. Especially in local news, one can see the clashing forces together: the publishing inventions, attempts to reinstate an author, shyness overlying a colleague that finally encouraged, betting on quality (that word of the dairy industry as it says Cucurto), the keen eye of an editor, bestsellerismo hopes, rewards, poses no inns on the lapels, the back cover of praise written by the author himself, all that with the wind and carried. There is the visible war of Argentine narrators part, publishing groups, the oblique incidence of the intellectual field, a strange cut of what is written today. One knows the internal led that list, the friendships that were broken in editing process, the gratings Hormonal the final list, and the lobby of that other collection, cafes secrets, gossip, emotional extortion. Each book is the tip of the iceberg of an attempted cultural operation. The titles are drawn together sparks. As in all periods.
Then there is the anxiety when I just get a book, because I look askance and waiting, I detect, for a moment I do myself upa, concealed among the tables. Then the weeks, the book is out of focus, it will eventually move away from the racks to the balances and stock sheds. The director of the library Hernandez, Ezequiel Leder Kremer, told in a round table where a plague of the libraries are the authors of incognito in search of his own book. Come, seek, ask for a book, make the employee go to the basement to look and then left in a visible place. Dan work and not buy anything. And there are sad stories. The Fitzgerald, for example, when in his last years as a scriptwriter in Hollywood wanted to show his new secretary that he was an important writer and was carried by the various libraries of the city looking for his novels can not find a single title. " Extract
Log in bookstores by Peter Mair
Posted in Blog: http://pedromairal.blogspot.com/
Well, Peter, the fact is that while doing an analysis of ten of the case, do not have the magic of books, this encounter occurs in the ether, that strange phenomenon of the target reader who travels by word of mouth, thousands of miles in this case, and getting the author to a wonderful gift: the readership.
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