The family and other animals

On one of the sofas in the Finestres bookstore, a Victorian-green couch that would be a dream in the living room, sits a man wearing brogues, those Oxford-style lace-up shoes with small perforations on the toe and sides. We mention him because he will ask a key question at the end of the evening. It's Wednesday. The representatives of the Anagrama publishing house— Silvia Sesé, Isabel Obiols, Maria Teresa Slanzi —and the audience are unfolding their antennas to capture all the nuances of an inexhaustible literary motif: family. Emotional support and a plate of macaroni on the table, yes, but also reproaches and those wounds, alas, that perhaps will never heal.

Llucia Ramis brings three of her leading figures in the field to the fore: José Carlos Llop ("every family is its own world"), Ignacio Martínez de Pisón ("family crimes do not expire"), and Natalia Ginzburg (every clan articulates an intrinsic vocabulary with which it interprets the world). From there, the writer, through questions, clears the paths that lead to the heart of The Illusionists, the new novel by Marcos Giralt Torrente, where the author settles scores, so to speak, with his maternal branch of the family; that is, the lineage that comes from his grandfather, Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, a complex man who, from Madrid, wrote daily letters of passionate eroticism to his first wife, Josefina Malvido, who remained in Galicia to raise their four children. "They even met halfway to sleeping together," confesses the grandson.

Giralt Torrente delves into the shadows of his lineage during the presentation of 'The Illusionists'

Upon becoming a widower, the author of The Joys and Shadows, the totem grandfather, founded a new family, which produced seven offspring, ignoring the previous litter. Therein lies the crux of the matter: how those first four children, the illusionists, led lives on the run—Uncle Gonzalo robbed banks—even though they were cultured, charismatic, and handsome. The decline in class. That's why, during question time, the gentleman with the holey shoes throws a barb at Giralt Torrente: "Have you tried psychoanalysis?" Well, no, because it costs a fortune and because perhaps literature works better, as it asks questions rather than answers them.

When the family is in turmoil, when a couple is falling apart, friends come to the rescue (or not), those beings "with whom you don't need to be constantly explaining yourself." Bingo! I jotted this down in my notebook during a party on Monday around Marina Garcés's essay "La passió dels estranys, " a celebration of friendship, that bond for which we haven't built any institutions, according to the philosopher. Taking the stage were journalist Xavier Grasset , writer Pol Guasch , pianist Clara Peya , and singer Lídia Pujol, at an event whose proceeds go to Xamfrà, an organization that works for social inclusion through the performing arts. More than 300 people gathered in the Paral·lel 62 room, in what was once Studio 54—what a torrent of memories!—in the absence of Galaxia Gutenberg's editor, Joan Tarrida, who was otherwise occupied in Madrid. As the saying goes: when the cat's away, the mice dance.

“I ask for a little friendship and that minimum of respect that makes coexistence possible for a few hours,” Juan de Mairena, Antonio Machado's pseudonym, told his supposed students. A tribute was paid to him on Wednesday at the Guinardó–Mercè Rodoreda library. The Network of Machado Cities invited, among others, professor Manuel Aznar Soler ; Monique Alonso, founder of the poet's foundation in Cotlliure; and journalist Josep Playà Maset , who spoke about the poet's last days in Barcelona and his columns in this newspaper before leaving for exile. A journey of no return.