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247 pages, Paperback
Published October 4, 2018
Captain Blackadder: And then the final irrefutable proof. Remember you mentioned a clever boyfriend?Marias, in common with many leading non-English speaking authors, is also a prolific translator, and in “My favourite book” he comments that if a writer is really honest then their favourite book will be the one they themselves have written. Which gives him the wonderful pleasure of being able to hand his accolade to Tristram Shandy since he wrote it in Spanish, being responsible for an award winning translation.
Nurse Mary: Yes?
Blackadder: Well, I leapt on the opportunity to test you. I asked you whether he had been to one of the great universities, Oxford, Cambridge, Hull.
Mary: Well?
Blackadder: What you didn't spot is that only two of those are great universities.
Mary: You swine!
General Melchett: That's right. Oxford's a complete dump!)
i don't know if we'll ever be able to see a film about an artist or read a book about his or her life without it making us wonder if our admiration for the work of such a creature hasn't been a big mistake.too true, of course — so perhaps we should be especially thankful a biography or documentary film about javier marías has heretofore not been made. the great spanish writer, in addition to his exceptional body of fictional offerings (and like so many non-american authors), has also accumulated a significant output of essays, newspaper columns, and other feature articles. between eternities collects some two decades worth of such writings.
any feeling of pity arises, at least in my case, from the contrary idea: far from carrying a child around inside us (which would, it must be said, be a terrible nuisance), what we think we see in our photos or in our oldest memories is that the adult we are was already contained in the child that we were, and wasn't very difficult to spot either. often, in order to get a sense of someone with whom, sooner or later, i'm going to have dealings, i try to imagine what they would have been like as a child and how we would have got on, whether we would have been good friends or have hated each other's guts. one comes to realize that if anyone contains anyone, it's the child who contains the future adult and not the other way round; and when one looks at old photos, it's hard not to think, in a way, of the burden this implies. not that there's any place for self-pity here either: throughout all of history children have always been adults in the making, and the reason childhood has been seen as important is because of the way it shapes and influences what will come later, which is what matters. nowadays, on the other hand, people give importance to childhood itself, as if humanity's sole crazy aim was to shape and create eternal, perennial children. not a good idea. but that is how it is.