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Icy Terrains

2019-11-25

When we enter a writer’s work, we discern two worlds, which often seem to be overlapping and interwoven: on one hand is the writer’s gaze, her ability to perceive the nuances of the world and of life, and what has traditionally been called her “worldview”; on the other hand is her capacity to express what she perceives in the best way possible. When both worlds intertwine, much like when the warp is weaved with the weft, a fabric is created, a work of art that we call literature.

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Kafka never wrote me a love letter

2019-10-15

The last time I had news of Franz Kafka was in Alice Herz-Sommer’s biography. Among her cherished childhood memories, she recalls with great fondness the man who would visit them, a bouquet of flowers in hand. The “eternal child” the book refers to was a sweet and happy young man who enjoyed playing with the smallest children. Knowing that the hand that wrote such harrowing books belonged to a man who was suffering, I want to shelter my own image of the Czech writer under the warm cloak of the pianist’s memories.

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Pictographs

2019-02-18

Last September, while I was waiting next to the coffee machine, a seven-year-old boy, blond and in a flood of tears, came near. All a-fury, he stamped about and threw himself to the floor. Despite eliciting more compassion than surprise from those around him, Estitxu, his teacher, didn’t bat an eyelid.

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Our Thing

2018-11-11 0 Comments

In memoriam

It’s very difficult to write in the past tense about someone who was not only a teacher but a very dear friend, especially after starting to write about him in the present tense…

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The Silent House

2018-10-10 0 Comments

“The first case of the day is for you two.”

It’s wasn’t just the first case of that day, it was my first case ever, since that same week I was moved from reception to the criminal investigation unit; not because I had any special talent but because it was the first week of August and the apathy that permeated every corner of the office during the year was hidden by the idleness of summer vacation. Juan also hoped that nothing serious would happen and that he could easily push to September any case-related tasks.

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The Wave

2018-06-29 0 Comments

“Our gaze is submarine”

A few years ago, a boy who wa an avid surfer told me that he knew how deep a wave was by the light; the light that led to the water’s surface, the way towards the mouthful of air. This is a child’s beautiful and moving vision of the depths of our cold and often unforgiving waters.

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Acceptance Speech

2017-12-01 0 Comments

Over the summer our kitchen vibrated with the exceptional voice of Nina Simone. That exceptional woman who said that freedom was living without fear. When she spoke those words, it was with the certainty of someone who did not live in that space. The source of her fear lived at her side, in her home—it was the man who had surely promised her his love and devotion.

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