divendres, 3 de maig del 2024

Quanta, quanta guerra..., de Mercè Rodoreda (1980)


Adrià Guinart té quinze anys quan fuig de casa per anar a la guerra. Però la guerra l’escup. Sense arribar a fer el soldat, el seu camí per pobles i selves, de la riba del mar a la vora d’un riu, és sembrat de gent estranya. Córrer món en el desordre de la guerra: tal és la condició d’Adrià Guinart, potser el personatge més tendre que va crear Rodoreda.

"També m’hauria agradat fer una novel·la descrivint ben detalladament màquines de guerra com va fer Kafka amb la màquina infernal del seu conte “La colònia penitenciària”. Però m’hauria estat tan difícil que no l’hauria vista acabada ningú. Encallada per sempre.

Bé, he fet aquest pròleg per tal de situar una mica el lector. He posat algunes cartes enlaire. No totes. En El manuscrit trobat a Saragossa, Saragossa no hi sortia. En Quanta, quanta guerra…, de batalla, allò que se’n diu una batalla, no n’hi ha cap.

Encara que no vingui a tomb voldria retre homenatge a tres grans figures que m’han ajudat en la meva feina. Són Jacint Verdaguer, Joaquim Ruyra i Josep Carner. Homes de gran categoria, de molta classe, que van picar pedra a la pedrera de l’idioma i van descobrir-hi vetes d’or. Per aquesta herència els vull significar tot el meu respecte i tot el meu agraïment."

dimecres, 1 de maig del 2024

Paul Auster – a life in quotes


The author of The New York Trilogy, Leviathan and 4 3 2 1 has died at the age of 77. Here are some of the most memorable quotes from interviews he gave throughout his life


On writing

 

I’ve always written by hand. Mostly with a fountain pen, but sometimes with a pencil – especially for corrections. If I could write directly on a typewriter or a computer, I would do it. But keyboards have always intimidated me. I’ve never been able to think clearly with my fingers in that position. A pen is a much more primitive instrument. You feel that the words are coming out of your body and then you dig the words into the page. Writing has always had that tactile quality for me. It’s a physical experience.

 

Only a person who really felt compelled to do it would shut himself up in a room every day … When I think about the alternatives – how beautiful life can be, how interesting – I think it’s a crazy way to live your life.

 

The excitement, the struggle, is emboldening and vivifying. I just feel more alive writing.

 

You can never achieve what you hope to achieve. You can come close sometimes and others may appreciate your work, but you, the author, will always feel you’ve failed. You know you’ve done your best, but your best isn’t good enough. Maybe that’s why you keep writing. So you can fail a little better the next time.

 

Generally, I don’t want to do things. I feel lazy and unmotivated. It’s only when an idea grabs hold of me and I can’t get rid of it, when I try not to think about it and yet it’s ambushing me all the time … That’s how it begins. A book, at the same time, also has to do with what I call a buzz in the head. It’s a certain kind of music that I start hearing. It’s the music of the language, but it’s also the music of the story. I have to live with that music for a while before I can put any words on the page. I think that’s because I have to get my body as much as my mind accustomed to the music of writing that particular book. It really is a mysterious feeling.