Spanish views from a small town

Yesterday was Earth Day, and today is World Book Day. Most bookstores today give a small discount on physical purchases, though books still remain expensive, especially in comparison to most salaries.  I have always been a reader. I convinced my parents to buy me a few books when I was a child, but they were always more interested in that I read instructive books, such as my school textbooks. They were suspicious of novel-reading, like most Spaniards of their age, brought up to beware the printed word. Then, a friend of my father's, who had a couple of girls a few years older than me, would lend me his girls' Nancy Drews or Little House books from time to time. When I was about seven or eight, another co-worker of my father's, when he heard I liked to read, gave me boxes of books that had belonged to his children, adults already in the 1970's. Many of them were textbooks, especially high school and some college books. Another good amount were children's and young ad...

I've been re-reading Agatha Christie's Come, Tell Me How You Live . It must be about twenty years since I've last read it, or any other of her books. It's been so long, that they are in for another bout of reading. I brought a few of them with me when we moved here almost thirty years ago, but I read many more than the ones I brought. At some point, I may have to buy some more online. Come, Tell Me How You Live is one of the very few non-fiction pieces she wrote. I have the Pocket Books 1977 edition, yellowed, a bit brittle, but in fairly fine condition. I don't remember when or where I bought it, or even why, since at that time in my adolescence I was very much into her detective fiction, and not at all crazy about breaking with it. I do remember, however, how much I laughed at some of the scenes, and that memory of laughter came back as I started to re-read it.  Apparently, it's been out-of-print for a few years, until about five years ago, when a new edition...

The other day, I read the sad news in The Guardian that Judith Kerr had died at the age of ninety-five. Another piece of my childhood has gone.  I came into contact with her through When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. I know she is better known (at least in Britain) for other children's books, such as The Tiger Who Came to Tea , and the Mog series, but to me she will always bring memories of Anna, thinking about Hitler playing with her Pink Rabbit. She wrote two other semi-autobiographical books describing her adolescence and young adulthood, but the first is the best. Of late, the best thing she collaborated on (in my opinion) was the Christmas commercial for Sainsbury's in 2015. It features Mog, and Judith even has a cameo in it. You can see it here . I still laugh, and cry, every time I watch it. But back when I read Pink Rabbit , Anna resonated with me. In short, it's about a well-to-do Jewish family living in Berlin. The father is a well-known critic and writer who ...

I don't usually read book reviews because likes are very subjective. What I like someone else might hate, and vice versa. Rave reviews on book covers don't influence me; reading the plot summary usually does. Even then, sometimes the idea in the plot sounds interesting, but the writer hashes it completely. One such book that comes to mind is The Last Mohican . I tried to read it ages ago, but I concur with Mark Twain's opinion of Cooper's poor writing skills. The movie with Daniel Day Lewis, however, was wonderful. If only Cooper had had half the writing skills of some modern day screenwriters! Yet, despite not paying attention to reviews, I am now going to review a book that left me very cold in its perception of modern day Spain. When The Da Vinci Code came out, everyone was talking about what a great book it was. I succumbed and bought it, and liked it pretty much. Angels and Demons , however, wasn't as convincing. After that I didn't read any more of Dan ...

I love books. I love to read. I have many, many books. I have a small house. One would think I put things away neatly, in order to save space. In dreams. I have felt like re-reading Travels with Charley , by John Steinbeck , lately . I know where I saw it last and what the cover looks like. I bought it second-hand from a bookseller on the internet some years ago. So I go to our room and search in the boxes in the corner where I know I put it. I can't find it. I could have moved it elsewhere since then and have no memory of it. I look around our room. Carefully. Because there are areas of the floor covered in stacks or simple piles of books. I don't have enough bookcases and the cardboard boxes I put the books in end up being used as scratching posts and eventually fall apart.   Ho wever, I can't find it. I did find some int eresting books th at I haven't rea d in years by Helen Mac Innes. They can tide me o ver. But I seem to have lost Trave ls with Charley . And, ...