Nov. 13th, 2007 10:26 am
Lo que dice que dijeron
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muckefuckSo, two-and-a-half weeks of reading García Márquez' memoirs and I'm just past the quarter-way mark. I'm just FLYING through that thing! *sigh* No wonder I have so many unread books on my shelves.
On the plus side, I can't remember the last thing I read that had me laughing out loud so often. Sometimes, it's in spite of the context. When I first read the line "No sé cómo has podido ser escritor con tan mala memoria." ("I don't know how you've been able to be a writer with such a bad memory."), I cracked up. Then when I reread the part right before and realised that this is one of his uncles critcising Gabo for not recalling the name of a man who slighted his father so he can find him and kill him, it had a completely different impact.
Today on the el, I was reading his description of one of his mother's jealous tantrums. Gabo listens to his parents play a duet then asks his father why he's crying. He tells him that he's recalling the first time he and his wife played that song together. In response, she screams: "¡No fue conmigo, jesuita! Tú sabes muy bien con quién lo tocaste y estás llorando por ella." ("It wasn't with me, you Jesuit! You know full well who you played it with and you're crying for her!") Excellent--a new insult to deploy the next time I think![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu's trying to mislead me!
Oh, and this last bit is for fellow catalanoparlantgoodboi. One of Gabo's mentors when he was just starting out was the "viejo maestro" Ramon Vinyes, a Catalan exile in Barranquilla during the 40s. Our author recalls fondly his one and only tête-a-tête with "Don Ramón" shortly before the latter returned to Spain. It starts like this:
On the plus side, I can't remember the last thing I read that had me laughing out loud so often. Sometimes, it's in spite of the context. When I first read the line "No sé cómo has podido ser escritor con tan mala memoria." ("I don't know how you've been able to be a writer with such a bad memory."), I cracked up. Then when I reread the part right before and realised that this is one of his uncles critcising Gabo for not recalling the name of a man who slighted his father so he can find him and kill him, it had a completely different impact.
Today on the el, I was reading his description of one of his mother's jealous tantrums. Gabo listens to his parents play a duet then asks his father why he's crying. He tells him that he's recalling the first time he and his wife played that song together. In response, she screams: "¡No fue conmigo, jesuita! Tú sabes muy bien con quién lo tocaste y estás llorando por ella." ("It wasn't with me, you Jesuit! You know full well who you played it with and you're crying for her!") Excellent--a new insult to deploy the next time I think
monshu's trying to mislead me!Oh, and this last bit is for fellow catalanoparlant
goodboi. One of Gabo's mentors when he was just starting out was the "viejo maestro" Ramon Vinyes, a Catalan exile in Barranquilla during the 40s. Our author recalls fondly his one and only tête-a-tête with "Don Ramón" shortly before the latter returned to Spain. It starts like this:--Salud, genio--me saludó como siempre. Pero algo en mi cara lo alarmó--: ¿Está enfermo?
--Creo que no, señor--le dije inquieto--. ¿Por qué?
--Le noto demacrado--dijo él--, pero no me haga caso, por estos días todos andamos fotuts del cul.
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