I suppose one can write a whole dissertation about El Principe Destronado, concerning the long-lasting effects of the Spanish Civil War and life during Franco's rule. But El Princie Destronado is much more than that. Sure, we see the father, representing the dictatorship with his arrogance, the mother the defeated Republic, and the child, the future generation, stuck in between. But we see everything from the point of view of the three-year-old runt, Quico, across the duration of a single day in March of 1963. Quico is a picky eater, he carries treasures in his pockets, he plays with his older siblings and is convinced his little baby sister can say more than a-ta-ta. Everything gets filtered through his daily troubles and triumphs, from not having peed in his bed in the morning until his frantic efforts to fend of the demons at night as he goes to sleep. His older brother, who is not old enough yet to go to school, bullies him, plays with him, and convinces him to do things he will get in trouble for. Through Quico's wanderings among the rooms of the apartment of this upper middle class Spanish family, we experience the relationship of the mother with the two hired maid/baby sitters, the struggle of the women not to lose more men to "the war" (later, the film adaptation is aptly named "la guerra de papa"), and the crumbling marriage of a couple. All the while, little Quico gets himself in trouble after trouble and his musings highlight the difference of what is important to him versus to the adults around him. He is the prince who has lost his throne to his baby sister and he has become a nobody, fifth child among six, and his troubles, after following a single day of his life, are just starting, it seems. Written in the 60s and published just two years before Franco's rule ended in 1975, the book carries a foreboding that lingers.