to And I said on occasion that Eduardo Mendoza seemed the most English of English writers, and reading The amazing journey of Pomponio Flato reaffirmed me my belief. Reading this book (which, incidentally, I have returned to give, following a personal tradition that comes from who knows what arcane) I returned to relive the wonderful evening that I have brought PG Wodehouse and Evelyn Waugh, especially the latter, which I find a similar (literary) amazing with the Catalan writer.
Namely, only from my point of view, both have an undeniable masterpiece, Brideshead Revisited and The City of Marvels . Those who have come to these authors for the first time through these novels, will not surprise the rest of his literary output. Luckily, one began to read the two writers which was, is, for those novels that support your body real good narrative and make this argument as futuristic where 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 1. That is, besides the aforementioned masterpieces have another masterpiece obvious and is the sum of the rest of his novels, so that to focus on Mendoza, his second major work began before the first, with The Truth About Savolta case, and for now (and God save your grace many years) continues with the novel I just read in the manner of Balzac's Human Comedy . Although in this case, I would call The human descojone were it not speak of a most elegant writer, at least in form.
A Eduardo Mendoza, in his own words, can you think of the novels of the most peregrina, and in any case, as he says: "I go through life trying to write a novel and, as I leave, do another and the public." I do not know if this is modesty or a way to hide that he has a prodigious talent and special usually scarce. Reading this novel, I hate to imagine what work was trying to write, and I sincerely hope that was not something like The Gospel According to Jesus Christ of Saramago. However, those who continue his work with devotion bordering on delirium (mystic), gives us no cheese, and I guess all that nonsense that goes around telling the bully meapilas account is the catch with paper smoking and are only able to enjoy a hilarious book if, before the writer sings his particular mea culpa. At the end of the day, this man has to eat and some other pious fib not hurt anyone, especially if they are also messing staff. Yes
may be true, as has ensured that the novel occurred to him to see the literary and taste around us reader: historical novels pseudoinsoluble surrounded by a mystery where religious sects and other little people sets in solfa pious among a sexual fling, as little as rogue. And what better way to follow such illustrious predecessors to go directly to the source of our Western history, the times of Jesus Christ? And what better character-religious historical Jesus himself? While this may seem a novelty in his fiction, is not whether we know something of his work, and try to show later.
For our comfort, and excellent skill, re-use the resource that gave such a good result in Without Gurb news: someone is out of place in a place that is completely alien, but by all means try to understand and sac enter it with disastrous results. If you think about it, this happens in many novels of Mendoza, it's a clearer way ( unprecedented Island ) or a little more covert (Verbigratia, The mystery of the haunted crypt ). What happens to Pomponio Flato of this new novel is not unlike what happens to Gurb in Barcelona, \u200b\u200band while he took the beautiful form of Marta Sanchez to walk among us, the poor Pomponio Flato becomes almost in spite of Hercule Poirot in a scruffy and aerophagia. And to make matters worse, instigated by a Baby Jesus endeavored to solve a family case whose solution, guess, already has. The appeal is simple: the character wanders as a stranger in a series of circumstances that the reader already knows too well in advance, and the incidents in which entangled in its clumsiness resemble those of a toddler trying to decipher the world adults. Say that the action is easy to discover, not to run. The two teachers I know in these conflicts are mentioned Jardiel Poncela and Evelyn Waugh (for example, Scoop), and if there are many more geniuses at risk for these mess is because you have a smart sense of humor , skilled and extremely thin to avoid errors in the effort. Needless to say, Mendoza exceeds any expectation that one can do.
As for the time and place where the action is, I think Mendoza has reached the culmination of his particular obsession: the lives of the saints. I suppose that Jesus Christ (or the children's version of Jesus Christ, rather) is the most you can hope for a writer who has peppered his novels of saints and Christian themes to the delight of our comprehension. It started already with the mystical raptures Nemesio Cabra, the confidant of The truth about the case Savolta , and very rightly continued The City of Marvels with the visit of St. Eulalia of Barcelona mayor to demand greater respect for their sponsorship of the city with impunity usurped by the Virgen de la Merced. Nor should we forget that as long as Mendoza in that novel (and there is no reason to doubt his word), the urban idea of \u200b\u200bthe Eixample in Barcelona was inspired by a councilor for a visit to his office divine council, building that was not burned down shortly afterwards by the mayor by the timely appearance in the municipal offices in Santa Eulalia, St Agnes, St. Catherine and St. Margaret, "accompanied by a dragon laptop." The largest religious deployment Mendoza left him unprecedented Island, is well seen, is a hagiographic book all the way, and along which shamelessly, namely, St. Mark, St. George, St. Nicholas, St. Mamas, St. Pelagius , St. Mary of Egypt and even the very Immaculate Conception, which is given a ride with the ineffable Fabregas to stretch the muscles a bit after so many years making the statue, to finish to a show that only the fevered mind could conceive of Mendoza: "Clerics fandango danced pigeon dressed with novices who were forced to wear the cherubim." As you can easily see, now the Holy Family and other relatives are the protagonists of Mendoza a book is just the logical extension of a thematic obsession becomes more and more over the years in service.
For all this, when I finished reading the book he has given us the great Catalan writer (who lives mentally between Cambridge and the Vatican), I have not stopped him right when he said that did not distinguish a line between his novels, and I might add that each of them is a new chapter of a great masterpiece that does not support fakes, because a thug as faultless as Eduardo Mendoza only occurs in the literature every several decades.
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