Monday, October 27, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Dance Competions Noisemakers
Bernard Knox, brigade and scholar, is the title of the Lozano Augustine article published in the Journal Country dated September 16, 2010.
April literary magazine published in Luxembourg, including in its latest issue, for the month of April 2010, the story "Quarantine," signed by Agustín Lozano de la Cruz. There are now 39 issues of a magazine born in the now distant 1991, whose pages have been distinguished contributors as Regás Rosa and José Saramago. journalist Bernardo de Miguel echoes the publication of this issue in his blog.
The last presentation of "War must have" took place on January 21, 2010 at the bookstore Three Yellow Roses of Madrid. Just picked up the presentation, including interview, the web Smallsquid . New article
Augustine Lozano de la Cruz published on Transversal magazine with the title " The many faces of Dark Knight." In previous issues of the journal articles included " Eduardo Galeano: medalist word," The example of the International Brigades "and" Remembrance : the rumor persists. "
Brief on "War must have" published in Hislibris .
Utopia Radio Interview , issued on October 16, 2009 under the "Forget your baggage." The interview can be heard or downloaded here . Agustin Lozano
offers, among other matters, a reflection
about the arduous road to promote a novel in notebooks Unicorn, logbook included in the collective literary website Factory ODK .
Utopia Radio Interview , issued on October 16, 2009 under the "Forget your baggage." The interview can be heard or downloaded here . Agustin Lozano
offers, among other matters, a reflection
about the arduous road to promote a novel in notebooks Unicorn, logbook included in the collective literary website Factory ODK . 
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New Partnerships and literary prizes
"The author of" War must have "addition to being a finalist in 2007 of the XXVII edition of the novel prize Felipe Trigo, has received several literary awards, including first prize in the Young Artists competition Castilla La Mancha 2006 by story titled "Book" , and was also a finalist Story Contest Book Day 2008 organized by the School Writers and Cadena SER.
-Agustín Lozano de la Cruz participated, acting as spokesman for the Social Forum of Guadalajara, in the collective work on the M11 "Pázsalo: crowd in rebellion", published by Basic on the initiative of organizations Culture Against the War and we are not resigned, with texts Regás Rosa, Ismael Serrano, Lucia Etxebarria and Vicente Molina Foix, among others.
Review newspaper El Mundo on the presentation of this work at the Madrid Book Fair in its 2005 edition.
"Augustine is also a regular contributor to the magazine of literature and criticism" Odradek "published in Badajoz by the collective literary ODK Factory.
-Agustín Lozano de la Cruz participated, acting as spokesman for the Social Forum of Guadalajara, in the collective work on the M11 "Pázsalo: crowd in rebellion", published by Basic on the initiative of organizations Culture Against the War and we are not resigned, with texts Regás Rosa, Ismael Serrano, Lucia Etxebarria and Vicente Molina Foix, among others. Review newspaper El Mundo on the presentation of this work at the Madrid Book Fair in its 2005 edition.
"Augustine is also a regular contributor to the magazine of literature and criticism" Odradek "published in Badajoz by the collective literary ODK Factory.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Intelectron Motion Sensor
Purchase Request copies
War must have
Author: Agustín Lozano
Cross Prologue Harry Owens
Editorial: Time of Cherries
Editions ISBN: 978-84-934696-9-6
DL M-34516-2008
190 pages.
Uno-E Bank c / Julián Camarillo, 4 28037 Madrid
Client Account Code 0227
0001 88 0200564484 Concept: "War must have"
War must have
Author: Agustín Lozano
Cross Prologue Harry Owens
Editorial: Time of Cherries
Editions ISBN: 978-84-934696-9-6
DL M-34516-2008
190 pages.
requested books are sent by registered mail to the address provided by the reader, after verification of receipt of payment. This income must be made by bank transfer to the following account, an amount of 15 euros per issue (postage included):
Uno-E Bank c / Julián Camarillo, 4 28037 Madrid
Client Account Code 0227
0001 88 0200564484 Concept: "War must have"
To notify the shipping address and name specimens of the person you wish that the author devotes the book, write to agusireland@hotmail.com
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Winchester 3030 Gold Trigger
Books in the midst of war Foreword by Harry Owens
García-Ortega Paco Almena
García-Ortega Paco Almena
The chance or the whims of some literature have elf today I wanted to find before you and have had the pleasure of meeting Augustine, author of this war must have that after the first few months of public life, present here today.
The novel fell into my hands a little more than a year, a member of the reading committee Felipe Trigo award, which makes the group of four people who read at the time, we if not the first, they were among the first to read it. Tremendous responsibility, will lead you, himself a judge of literary excellence. Tremendous and painful point, if we consider that, despite the varying quality of the work, all pose a minor miracle, the miracle of a person who has dedicated work, time and life to illuminate a text, warping in words a story that has left some of his life and that you will understand, is not something that can judge: the writer puts his life in the story and that is not measurable, is and should be. Safely, without fear, without courage, no literature.
must have War has everything that has courage, has much, and this is a simple intuition of a reader-writer who has put his life in the effort, he has observed and has lived and has embarked on a war with weapons of defeat, which are the dignity. must have War is a classic, a novel learning and memory novel, demanding and passionate, committed to the struggle of a time that seems orphan struggles and yet reflected in the struggles of the past. Rebecca, the young narrator, anti-globalization activist takes us through the recent struggles and demands of what is called the people of Seattle. A civil society that rose bare arms against the system, and is heard from then outside the walls of the meetings of the G8 or the IMF, which had its major milestone in the mobilization against the war in Iraq. In their struggle, and in their pursuit of Hungarian photographer Turai, the narrator meets with John Donaldson, a hard old man who knew the exile of the English in the fields of southern France after the civil war and whose story serves to complete the circle Rebeca open, spinning and both halves of the novel narrative. How
spin these two times is the motor of the novel. To do this, I remember how interested a few years ago, between the global cry against the invasion of Iraq, Raúl del Pozo described how one of the forms of protest by demonstrators was to sound sirens while bombing ground cast body and wrote that the people of Madrid had a genetic memory of the bombing. Facts and joined with the past. What the reporter was saying was that the desire of the demonstrators this afternoon in Madrid going by memory, a memory "genetic" war of 36, and the hope that the horror is not repeated elsewhere. That is, in essence, the initial approach Augustine's novel: the opposition or, rather, the complementarity of two times that are two fights, two characters on one hand, the narrator, committed to the misnamed anti-globalization and the other, the old fighter of wars lost, leading to Rebecca for the margins of a story that is also yours, not in an abstract sense, even epic, but visceral, purely emotional and that sort of genetic memory of the journalist speaking from Madrid.
There is much history in this novel, but mostly there's a lot memory, and it is in the realm of memory where it moves the whole rigmarole of the English exiles who arrived in France still free in 1939 and suffered the harshness of refugee camps. And it moves in the field of memory that is almost that of evocation, because the fact is on what I have previously called the margins of history, and here I am referring to the story official of
obvious fact that, as the seizure of the English Republicans in France free, are a shameful stain on the history of a people who distinguished himself in the following years by a stubborn resistance struggle was the same in which prisoners risked their lives to Gurs, Argelès Sur Mer and other areas that most deserve to be called concentration. That is the terrain of the novel, and in this field the author moves quickly into the symbolic, unravel and transcending. Integrating it into the overall interpretation of the story to give it a sense of communication and strong political commitment.
When I do command in the sense that, as Umberto Eco claimed, "Never as today itself is imbued with political news, motivated by the symbolic abundantly nourished. Understanding the symbolic mechanisms through which we move means politics. Do not understand practice leads to bad policy "( illusion strategy , 1996). Naturally, Eco himself admits no simple reduction from the political to the symbolic, but sees it as another dimension. In this sense in which there must War is a political novel. Through the symbolic setting out a political thought, in part, is forged images, in a kind of narrative paintings, and it does a very literary and while very plastic. The importance acquired by the photo in the story perfectly sums up the intent of a novel that, like photography, although this could be said of all art-work with archetypes, or rather, with archetypal perceptions that have been forged in the collective memory as an image and therefore a symbol. The image becomes central to the unraveling of the novel, the image as a creator of memory over modernity, in fact the most powerful creative valid symbols for the interpretation of reality.
The linearity of Rebecca's story is broken by the encounter with Donaire, that's where the novel gives its best, where the pictures will reveal archetypes as symbolic elements able to unravel the realities and generate a speech of enormous complexity, far from the purely theoretical thought, and ultimately banal, dominant today. Augustine, like other writers of his generation does not avoid what could be called direct action in literature, advocates and has a literature of complaint, not a complaint nostalgic and sentimental, but its time, this time we have had and struggles also pending. For this, the author goes to the struggles of the past and who look in a mirror and gives narrative complexity to a story that branches on one side to the field of memory and the other towards the creation of a complex thought and consistent with the reality of a new world, so in both directions novel feeds and offers flexible interpretation keys and interchangeable between the two narrative time. These keys which represent a certain continuity, a illation between two times and two very different circumstances and with very different motivations. Two times, in short, unrepeatable in themselves, perhaps even unique, whose relationship goes beyond the mere cause and effect, and displayed yarn in the story as one of mutual illustration another in a permissible reading precisely because the degree of evocation here is the past, not a story-teller, that's another story, but no systematic narrative, oral and fluctuating, but certainly full of a truth so powerful as that would testable in current events.
Finally, a warning, in this novel are going to find complex and literary discourse that is perhaps his greatest achievement, the great achievement in short of the best literature and art with a capital, which is nothing to propose structures and speeches to encourage the creation of new modes, no new topics, such as Borges said that they were more than four or five in all literature. What makes this book great is its simple prose and his speech voluntarily voluntarily also fragmented, often visual work and a temporality of the story in fragments that overlap past and present and builds, in turn, an ideological foundation reasoning that in the depth of the story is systematic guess and based on very solid moral principles, the superficiality of certain literature seemed unjustly banished forever. Like other writers of this generation around thirty, Augustine gives a knock on the reader's consciousness, commitment cries out that the worst post-modernity, the most conservative, had wanted to artfully remove of the writer's life is but vital commitment to the limit with their literature and their lives put into play at every step.
Villanueva de la Serena, December 2008.
The novel fell into my hands a little more than a year, a member of the reading committee Felipe Trigo award, which makes the group of four people who read at the time, we if not the first, they were among the first to read it. Tremendous responsibility, will lead you, himself a judge of literary excellence. Tremendous and painful point, if we consider that, despite the varying quality of the work, all pose a minor miracle, the miracle of a person who has dedicated work, time and life to illuminate a text, warping in words a story that has left some of his life and that you will understand, is not something that can judge: the writer puts his life in the story and that is not measurable, is and should be. Safely, without fear, without courage, no literature.
must have War has everything that has courage, has much, and this is a simple intuition of a reader-writer who has put his life in the effort, he has observed and has lived and has embarked on a war with weapons of defeat, which are the dignity. must have War is a classic, a novel learning and memory novel, demanding and passionate, committed to the struggle of a time that seems orphan struggles and yet reflected in the struggles of the past. Rebecca, the young narrator, anti-globalization activist takes us through the recent struggles and demands of what is called the people of Seattle. A civil society that rose bare arms against the system, and is heard from then outside the walls of the meetings of the G8 or the IMF, which had its major milestone in the mobilization against the war in Iraq. In their struggle, and in their pursuit of Hungarian photographer Turai, the narrator meets with John Donaldson, a hard old man who knew the exile of the English in the fields of southern France after the civil war and whose story serves to complete the circle Rebeca open, spinning and both halves of the novel narrative. How
spin these two times is the motor of the novel. To do this, I remember how interested a few years ago, between the global cry against the invasion of Iraq, Raúl del Pozo described how one of the forms of protest by demonstrators was to sound sirens while bombing ground cast body and wrote that the people of Madrid had a genetic memory of the bombing. Facts and joined with the past. What the reporter was saying was that the desire of the demonstrators this afternoon in Madrid going by memory, a memory "genetic" war of 36, and the hope that the horror is not repeated elsewhere. That is, in essence, the initial approach Augustine's novel: the opposition or, rather, the complementarity of two times that are two fights, two characters on one hand, the narrator, committed to the misnamed anti-globalization and the other, the old fighter of wars lost, leading to Rebecca for the margins of a story that is also yours, not in an abstract sense, even epic, but visceral, purely emotional and that sort of genetic memory of the journalist speaking from Madrid.
There is much history in this novel, but mostly there's a lot memory, and it is in the realm of memory where it moves the whole rigmarole of the English exiles who arrived in France still free in 1939 and suffered the harshness of refugee camps. And it moves in the field of memory that is almost that of evocation, because the fact is on what I have previously called the margins of history, and here I am referring to the story official of
obvious fact that, as the seizure of the English Republicans in France free, are a shameful stain on the history of a people who distinguished himself in the following years by a stubborn resistance struggle was the same in which prisoners risked their lives to Gurs, Argelès Sur Mer and other areas that most deserve to be called concentration. That is the terrain of the novel, and in this field the author moves quickly into the symbolic, unravel and transcending. Integrating it into the overall interpretation of the story to give it a sense of communication and strong political commitment.
When I do command in the sense that, as Umberto Eco claimed, "Never as today itself is imbued with political news, motivated by the symbolic abundantly nourished. Understanding the symbolic mechanisms through which we move means politics. Do not understand practice leads to bad policy "( illusion strategy , 1996). Naturally, Eco himself admits no simple reduction from the political to the symbolic, but sees it as another dimension. In this sense in which there must War is a political novel. Through the symbolic setting out a political thought, in part, is forged images, in a kind of narrative paintings, and it does a very literary and while very plastic. The importance acquired by the photo in the story perfectly sums up the intent of a novel that, like photography, although this could be said of all art-work with archetypes, or rather, with archetypal perceptions that have been forged in the collective memory as an image and therefore a symbol. The image becomes central to the unraveling of the novel, the image as a creator of memory over modernity, in fact the most powerful creative valid symbols for the interpretation of reality.
The linearity of Rebecca's story is broken by the encounter with Donaire, that's where the novel gives its best, where the pictures will reveal archetypes as symbolic elements able to unravel the realities and generate a speech of enormous complexity, far from the purely theoretical thought, and ultimately banal, dominant today. Augustine, like other writers of his generation does not avoid what could be called direct action in literature, advocates and has a literature of complaint, not a complaint nostalgic and sentimental, but its time, this time we have had and struggles also pending. For this, the author goes to the struggles of the past and who look in a mirror and gives narrative complexity to a story that branches on one side to the field of memory and the other towards the creation of a complex thought and consistent with the reality of a new world, so in both directions novel feeds and offers flexible interpretation keys and interchangeable between the two narrative time. These keys which represent a certain continuity, a illation between two times and two very different circumstances and with very different motivations. Two times, in short, unrepeatable in themselves, perhaps even unique, whose relationship goes beyond the mere cause and effect, and displayed yarn in the story as one of mutual illustration another in a permissible reading precisely because the degree of evocation here is the past, not a story-teller, that's another story, but no systematic narrative, oral and fluctuating, but certainly full of a truth so powerful as that would testable in current events.
Finally, a warning, in this novel are going to find complex and literary discourse that is perhaps his greatest achievement, the great achievement in short of the best literature and art with a capital, which is nothing to propose structures and speeches to encourage the creation of new modes, no new topics, such as Borges said that they were more than four or five in all literature. What makes this book great is its simple prose and his speech voluntarily voluntarily also fragmented, often visual work and a temporality of the story in fragments that overlap past and present and builds, in turn, an ideological foundation reasoning that in the depth of the story is systematic guess and based on very solid moral principles, the superficiality of certain literature seemed unjustly banished forever. Like other writers of this generation around thirty, Augustine gives a knock on the reader's consciousness, commitment cries out that the worst post-modernity, the most conservative, had wanted to artfully remove of the writer's life is but vital commitment to the limit with their literature and their lives put into play at every step.
Villanueva de la Serena, December 2008.
Tylonal Pm Ingrediants
Harry Owens is Hispanic, coauthor of "Brigade: an Irishman's Fight Against Fascism" (Currach Press, 2006), the book containing the proceedings of the last surviving Irish International Brigade Bob Doyle.
The Castilian version of the prologue to the novel "War must have" can be found at the end of this post.
The Castilian version of the prologue to the novel "War must have" can be found at the end of this post.
This writer has the effect on me, that like Goytisolo, reading him provokes my own thoughts, it leads me off into subtle considerations and ideas of my own. He describers the life of today's generation of English graduates who migrate northwards, only to return later and find at home the same dead-end, minimum wage work which leads nowhere, and barely covers day to day existence.
Life in a London squat, joining the anti-globalisation struggle in Britain, and coming back to encounter the flame of a childhood fascination that links the heroine with the lives of Spain's forgotten generation, here creates a world more real than any on TV. The strange way in which the right book can find you, how contacting one of the generation of the Second Republic can develop a network of people, of experiences and events, is written in just the way that these things happen in our lives.
In my own case, the bookshop was in la calle Arenal nearly thirty years ago, and when I came home to Dublin with the book, I found one of my colleagues had been a friend of Arturo and Ilse Barea, who had written that dramatic account of life at the heart of besieged Madrid, during their postwar emigre life in London. For the special people and events in our lives, the hand of Providence can bring together men and women from across the decades, so that our friends and comrades today may be in their teens or in their nineties.
The two themes raised in this book are: firstly our need to remember and to record the past, to repeat it to ourselves if nobody else will listen, so that it doesn't simply evaporate with the disappearance of the last witnesses. Secondly, and just as urgent, what matters is that the struggle is going on, whether we take part in it or not. Some of us are the victims, the exploited, those cut off from dignity and our share in the riches of the world, while others have so much that we may dying from over-consumption, yet our governments still refuse to share power and wealth with the excluded.
I remember arriving in Madrid one night, and coming down la Castellana to see the lines of tents for the hundreds who were sleeping out to force their socialist government to honour Spain's pledge to give the 0.7% for third world development. They were not just students nor political activists, they were also the thousands of ordinary Madrilenos, who were going to work or home to cook for their families, then coming back to spend the nights in tents, a part of a national upsurge across the whole country, a campaign unique to Spain, and a marvel to us all in that year.
Bob Doyle, the last surviving Irish member of the International Brigades, writes that "Whether my comrades sacrificed their lives in vain on English soil depends on the younger generations. If they continue the struggle for a better world, then our sacrifice will not have been in vain, but an inspiration." For me, the people who are able to imagine, to create and to carry out a campaign as widespread and yet peaceful as those thousands did, remain the true inheritors of the international solidarity which was called forth by an isolated republic's resistance to military oppression seventy years ago.
It is not just about winning, it is above all about trying. Ideals are not for preaching, they are for living. This is especially so in a Spain that is finally facing the question of its own troubled history, and is once again in the front lines, between Europe and Africa, between those who are rich and those who should not be poor. My trust is not in the Great Leaders but in the unknown people, like those portrayed here so effectively, in their weaknesses as well as their warmth, and in those generous souls who could inspire us, sleeping on the Castellana at night. You are our hope, the Ones Who Have felt the spirit of the commands for action inscribed in Isaiah, chapter 58. And I Remain intrigued, and Moved Fascinated by this book's sensitively crafted descriptions of Our Hopes and frailty, of Our Defects, But Also of Life's Possibilities.
Harry Owens, Dublin, March 2008.
This writer has the same effect on me that Goytisolo, inspires reading my own thoughts, I drive on subtle considerations and ideas shared. Describes the life of the current generation of English university students are going to emigrate north, only to return later and back home encounter with the same dead Output: minimum wage that will lead nowhere and that barely covers their basic needs.
Life as a squatter in London, together with the anti-globalization struggle in Britain, and the return to meet with the flame of a childhood fascination with heroin linking the lives of a forgotten generation of English, created in these pages a more authentic than any on television. Strange quality that is the perfect book to find you, how to contact someone from the generation of the Second Republic can generate a network of people, facts and experiences, in "War must have" all this is written just the way that such things happen in our lives.
For me, the bookstore was in Arenal street for almost thirty years, and when I returned to Dublin with the perfect book, "The forging of a rebel, I discovered that one of my colleagues was friends with Ilse and Arturo Barea, author of this dramatic episode in the heart of Madrid under siege, written during his life as an immigrant in postwar London. For the facts and the most unique, the hand of Providence can bring together men and women through the decades, so our friends and comrades today can be both adolescent and nonagenarians.
The two major issues of this work are: first, we need to remember and preserve the past, remember it for ourselves if no one listens, so it does not simply evaporate with the disappearance of the last witnesses. Second, and just as urgent, it is essential that the fight continues, whether we take part in it or not. Some of us are victims, the exploited, the expulsion of the dignity and our share of the world's wealth, while others have so much that we can die from over-consumption while our governments continue to refuse to share power and wealth excluded.
remember my arrival in Madrid one night, and down the Castellana to see the shops of hundreds of people sleeping on the street to force the Socialist government to fulfill its promise to allocate 0.7% to aid third world development. It was not just students or political activists, as well as thousands of locals who went to current work or home to cook for their families and then return to spend the night in tents, part of a movement that spanned the country, a unique campaign in Spain, and a wonder to us all that year.
Bob Doyle, the last surviving Irish member of the International Brigades, writes: "To my comrades sacrificed their lives in vain on English soil depends on future generations. If they continue the struggle for a better world then our sacrifice will not have been in vain, but an inspiration. "For me, people who are able to imagine, create and develop a campaign as comprehensive and peaceful even as did those thousands of locals, are the true inheritors of international solidarity claimed a republic isolated to military oppression seventy years ago.
is not only about winning, mostly a matter of trying. The ideals are not to preach, are to be experienced. This is particularly so in a Spain that finally is addressing the issue of his own troubled history, and is once more on the front lines between Europe and Africa, among whom are rich and who should not be poor. I do not trust the great leaders but the ordinary people, portrayed here very effectively on its weaknesses as its enthusiasm, and generous souls who can inspire us, spending the night in the Castellana. You are our hope, who have felt the force of the call to action contained in Isaiah, chapter 58. And I remain intrigued, fascinated and touched by the sensitivity and craft with which this book describes our hopes and our fragility, our shortcomings, but also our life choices.
Harry Owens, Dublin March 2008.
How Tobuild Asausage Stuffer
Conversation with forgetting (a fragment)
extract one of the chapters of the novel "War has to be" that into a story under the title of "Conversation with forgetting (a fragment)", won the Youth Fair and Historical Memory 2006.
-Turai made us a lot of photos, although I doubt that you retain no. Probably were seized and destroyed by the traitors, if not even before the occupation. He gave me one that was seen smiling and proud Sol, showing the target the handful of English earth he kept in his pocket as a relic useless but invaluable for anyone who treasures it. I posed next to Sun without giving credit only to their enthusiasm, never quite convinced that the symbolic power attached to the soil. I remember I was the first of my skinny squad to cross the border, I looked back and there they were, stooping to pick up earth and filling the pockets Pyrenees. I was already on the other side and watched the scene as if I was employed as a spectator of a tragedy that instead of helping or simply flee freezes. However, this will seem contradictory if I let myself be seduced by another similar gesture, seeming more childish than the last. Sun always kept his piece of land, with the difficulties I had to keep some material there. Every so often land near his nose and inhaled the scent of Spain course we left behind, or should I say it was Spain that left us, but would be abusing the drama of the narrative, I believe that using quotations like this to get nervous and raise my objection, or at least try, because they overcome the initial talks did not take long to realize that he should not interrupt more than absolutely necessary. This gesture of Sun always reminds me of my habit of smelling the newly acquired books, you'll know what I mean, recognize the smell of printing and cellulose, again, the thumb moves the leaves while the nose picks up the scent of the letters. Before newly printed books went on sale with pages joined at the top, is called in tons, guarantee of virginity for the first reader, so to speak. Now that is lost and replaced the habit of smell to me somehow the ritual of tearing the pages one by one. But I spoke of the desire for land and portable Republic we had in tow: we could not constantly think back, there were more pressing matters to attend to as the survival, and then you can be sure that the best gift was to stay alive, despite the extreme hardships made us pass. I never agreed with the emphatic statement of postwar Ángel González old friend "who could not die continued walking." None of this, I contest that assertion while sharing their bitter irony. Only a conscious decision to continue on foot kept many people alive, do not speak or even to defeat resistance, already taken, but the bare idea of \u200b\u200bliving, not abandoned and end up dead from starvation or disease, not go crazy and take on the guards and finish with a shot in the stomach. And if we were to die in a foreign land, at least on land would be free, not slave bull hide, ready for slaughter, which had made Spain. And now I'm back to fall into the temptation to get dramatic, you know apologize.
I pointed one of my best smiles, not so much by the last sentence as your earlier comment about the smell of books and torn land of exile. Juan Donaire conceal the smell given off old age with a rare colony that could not identify, perhaps imported from England, if anything distinctive in the mix with his decrepitude and the snuff that did not stop smoking. To me that smell, often clung to my clothes with a preponderance of snuff, amounted to see him sitting in his house where it was just emerging, patient with my questions, generous in their responses, playful language and always with me.
"You do not want to bore you with a complete inventory of the hardships we are facing. A Turai We lost track when we Gurs, believing that to not ever see him again. We moved to a German camp. However, I read somewhere that he was fortunate to escape and remained in France joined the Resistance. Virtually the same story that I could say. Then returned home and became director in addition to continuing his job as a photographer. He died in the nineties. But all this already know, is not it? You're a good researcher. Would have liked to see him again, the rogue Turai.
-I came to myself with one of his movies, but it had nothing to do with my purpose, as expected. Who was the Sun who spoke before me?
-Sol. It's funny because today I do not know anyone by that name, except in women who use it as short for Soledad. Sun Your name as he disappeared, turned into ghosts. He told me his father gave him that name in rebellion against the priests, so that Sun was one of the few children of that time which was not included in any baptismal record. It was still a child when I met him, did not reach adulthood, and I suppose I was, slightly larger but equally enthusiastic and giddy, proud of my joining the Library Services of the Front. For its part, Sun took part in the war even before it began, with his two brothers participated in the assault on the hotel Colon Barcelona, \u200b\u200bknow that episode, was not well and I bet he meant, but took delight in listening to my requirements to continue speaking, part of the game. I recognized my ignorance and made the subsequent question that hung between us for a few seconds while Donaire took advantage of the break to revive his unlit pipe, a ritual that belonged to my computer like hair, one of those habits we machinic without realizing it. Well, I mean the military uprising on July 18 in Barcelona began early the next day. The rebel troops under the command of General Burrows Fernández, controlled the main squares of the city, including Catalonia, and made the Columbus headquarters hotel. Barcelona was soon recovered by the military loyal to the Republic, but the desire of the people to defeat the fascists ended in tragedy when a large group of anarchist workers in anticipation of loyal troops, entered stormed the building, with a tremendous cost in lives. Sun was among them, I think there was seriously wounded one of his brothers. No longer could or wanted to stop fighting for the revolution, first enlisted in the militia and then, reluctantly, as a regular soldier when those were disbanded. We are in the thirty-seven, when there was still hope in one of my first trips to the front with the library service.
Although his words carefully kept barely looking up from his notebook, let the writer do his job to concentrate on the gestures of Donaire. His eyes were rapt, focused far beyond the wisps of smoke, which seemed so slow dismissed by their own old lungs. Bright eyes to the beat of snuff, with a glare that were no longer but embers. But their passion was meeting in a half smile just drawn that would not leave at any time, even to taste the pipe. It was a faint hint of a smile that I could only see him during those talks, a gesture that seemed to say "I remember I was there and, above all, someone cares." 
extract one of the chapters of the novel "War has to be" that into a story under the title of "Conversation with forgetting (a fragment)", won the Youth Fair and Historical Memory 2006.
-Turai made us a lot of photos, although I doubt that you retain no. Probably were seized and destroyed by the traitors, if not even before the occupation. He gave me one that was seen smiling and proud Sol, showing the target the handful of English earth he kept in his pocket as a relic useless but invaluable for anyone who treasures it. I posed next to Sun without giving credit only to their enthusiasm, never quite convinced that the symbolic power attached to the soil. I remember I was the first of my skinny squad to cross the border, I looked back and there they were, stooping to pick up earth and filling the pockets Pyrenees. I was already on the other side and watched the scene as if I was employed as a spectator of a tragedy that instead of helping or simply flee freezes. However, this will seem contradictory if I let myself be seduced by another similar gesture, seeming more childish than the last. Sun always kept his piece of land, with the difficulties I had to keep some material there. Every so often land near his nose and inhaled the scent of Spain course we left behind, or should I say it was Spain that left us, but would be abusing the drama of the narrative, I believe that using quotations like this to get nervous and raise my objection, or at least try, because they overcome the initial talks did not take long to realize that he should not interrupt more than absolutely necessary. This gesture of Sun always reminds me of my habit of smelling the newly acquired books, you'll know what I mean, recognize the smell of printing and cellulose, again, the thumb moves the leaves while the nose picks up the scent of the letters. Before newly printed books went on sale with pages joined at the top, is called in tons, guarantee of virginity for the first reader, so to speak. Now that is lost and replaced the habit of smell to me somehow the ritual of tearing the pages one by one. But I spoke of the desire for land and portable Republic we had in tow: we could not constantly think back, there were more pressing matters to attend to as the survival, and then you can be sure that the best gift was to stay alive, despite the extreme hardships made us pass. I never agreed with the emphatic statement of postwar Ángel González old friend "who could not die continued walking." None of this, I contest that assertion while sharing their bitter irony. Only a conscious decision to continue on foot kept many people alive, do not speak or even to defeat resistance, already taken, but the bare idea of \u200b\u200bliving, not abandoned and end up dead from starvation or disease, not go crazy and take on the guards and finish with a shot in the stomach. And if we were to die in a foreign land, at least on land would be free, not slave bull hide, ready for slaughter, which had made Spain. And now I'm back to fall into the temptation to get dramatic, you know apologize. I pointed one of my best smiles, not so much by the last sentence as your earlier comment about the smell of books and torn land of exile. Juan Donaire conceal the smell given off old age with a rare colony that could not identify, perhaps imported from England, if anything distinctive in the mix with his decrepitude and the snuff that did not stop smoking. To me that smell, often clung to my clothes with a preponderance of snuff, amounted to see him sitting in his house where it was just emerging, patient with my questions, generous in their responses, playful language and always with me.
"You do not want to bore you with a complete inventory of the hardships we are facing. A Turai We lost track when we Gurs, believing that to not ever see him again. We moved to a German camp. However, I read somewhere that he was fortunate to escape and remained in France joined the Resistance. Virtually the same story that I could say. Then returned home and became director in addition to continuing his job as a photographer. He died in the nineties. But all this already know, is not it? You're a good researcher. Would have liked to see him again, the rogue Turai.
-I came to myself with one of his movies, but it had nothing to do with my purpose, as expected. Who was the Sun who spoke before me?
-Sol. It's funny because today I do not know anyone by that name, except in women who use it as short for Soledad. Sun Your name as he disappeared, turned into ghosts. He told me his father gave him that name in rebellion against the priests, so that Sun was one of the few children of that time which was not included in any baptismal record. It was still a child when I met him, did not reach adulthood, and I suppose I was, slightly larger but equally enthusiastic and giddy, proud of my joining the Library Services of the Front. For its part, Sun took part in the war even before it began, with his two brothers participated in the assault on the hotel Colon Barcelona, \u200b\u200bknow that episode, was not well and I bet he meant, but took delight in listening to my requirements to continue speaking, part of the game. I recognized my ignorance and made the subsequent question that hung between us for a few seconds while Donaire took advantage of the break to revive his unlit pipe, a ritual that belonged to my computer like hair, one of those habits we machinic without realizing it. Well, I mean the military uprising on July 18 in Barcelona began early the next day. The rebel troops under the command of General Burrows Fernández, controlled the main squares of the city, including Catalonia, and made the Columbus headquarters hotel. Barcelona was soon recovered by the military loyal to the Republic, but the desire of the people to defeat the fascists ended in tragedy when a large group of anarchist workers in anticipation of loyal troops, entered stormed the building, with a tremendous cost in lives. Sun was among them, I think there was seriously wounded one of his brothers. No longer could or wanted to stop fighting for the revolution, first enlisted in the militia and then, reluctantly, as a regular soldier when those were disbanded. We are in the thirty-seven, when there was still hope in one of my first trips to the front with the library service.
Although his words carefully kept barely looking up from his notebook, let the writer do his job to concentrate on the gestures of Donaire. His eyes were rapt, focused far beyond the wisps of smoke, which seemed so slow dismissed by their own old lungs. Bright eyes to the beat of snuff, with a glare that were no longer but embers. But their passion was meeting in a half smile just drawn that would not leave at any time, even to taste the pipe. It was a faint hint of a smile that I could only see him during those talks, a gesture that seemed to say "I remember I was there and, above all, someone cares."
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