The day I met Franco at the Book Fair


Franco is alive. And that Millán Astray's "Muera la inteligencia" dies. Yesterday it appeared at the Book Fair, pending what the Supreme Court decides on its exhumation. It is seen that the man was bored in Cuelgamuros. He is so caricatured, so far from the seriousness that should surround the tragic confrontation between Spaniards, that the solemnity of his transfer will also be thick comedy foam. We were walking through the booths of the Retiro, among the fashion authors, when he suddenly appeared. Just a murmur among the crowd, to verify that the common cares very little what is done with the resurrected. We did not check if Almudena Grandes signed copies of his novel, although some brochure announced it. It would have been a great encounter. The red lady, of profitable writing, and the blue corpse, scriptwriter of "Race" although it signed it with the pseudonym of Jaime de Andrade. Franco presented his own novel, "The Dance of the Fallen" (Temas de Hoy), which tells the story of his escape from the Valley of the Fallen before the government bulldozer arrived. There are other examples about his figure and what was the Civil War. Hurry up to buy some of them before the Government penalizes those who do not tell the official account, as if there were no historians with an arsenal of data that contradict it. Stanley Payne says: "In Spain you can not be a category intellectual without talking bad about Spain." For those who now rule, the story is interpreted in the Official State Gazette. Among the shelves, the reissue of "Diary of an Argentine doctor in the war of Spain (Espasa), the vicissitudes of Hector Colmegna, who enrolled as a volunteer in the Navarre Brigades under Franco. A copy for the bonfire. Or "The blue division: from 1941 to the present" (The Sphere of Books), those who made the mat to combat communism, among them Berlanga. They were not fronts, as they say now to everything that moves outside the censor frame, but young people who sought the hormonal warrior ardor, like Rimbaud without his curse. Andrés Trapiello reissues and completes «The weapons and the letters», the only one that has documented in a huge way that not all the republican writers were good writers, nor all the bad nationals, that is with those who crush us since the Transition gave birth a lion. And there, at the top of Culture, was Franco, such that one of those extras who dress as SpongeBob. "Good morning," he said, and went.

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