What Richard Gere missed at the Guadalajara fair

GuadalajaraIn the Barcelona pavilion, the authors are a changing map. The Barcelona City Council offers most participants four nights' accommodation, in addition to flights. Like most young, childless writers, I've decided to extend my stay, and every afternoon I stroll towards the FIL (International Book Fair), like our parents, I suppose, used to go to the cinema, to see what's playing. At first, I tried to approach it from every angle, to avoid being unfair or biased, but the FIL, as a fair, is an insurmountable behemoth, and an essentially anti-literary spectacle. A vast expanse of stalls with books encased in plastic, impossible to browse. Five or six times I wander around trying to buy a book, and this sight of the plastic-wrapped books always dampens my enthusiasm. I finally give up when I find myself, somewhat disoriented, in front of the stand of a Mexican artificial intelligence company for publishing called "Tirando lo Blanch" (Pulling the Blanch). Its slogan is...We see it differently"I think so. In comparison, the Barcelona pavilion is welcoming, and it's right at the entrance. I end up heading there exclusively."

As the authors come and go, aside from the organization, one of the few constants is Rafael. He greets you when you enter the private room in Barcelona, ​​fully dressed despite the heat, seven days a week in that poorly ventilated corner where the technical office works, and he always offers you a drink, and I say thank you, because in Mexico everyone says thank you in Catalan. His smile doesn't hide the sweat. He is one of the marks of privilege in which we visiting writers float in that city. One of the taxi drivers, when we ask him if the city is safe, will look at us and say, giving us a kind of ethnic scan: "Oh, of course, "Touching tourists is not allowed here."

Another privilege gnaws at us: that of having been chosen from among others who deserved it just as much, perhaps even more. Be that as it may, a sense of exceptionality compels us to attend the events, to see one another, to broaden our horizons, to take an interest in everything, to support each other as if we were friends we aren't yet. The Mexicans have never stopped attending, peeking in and showing interest in the events at the Barcelona pavilion, asking questions with an infectious enthusiasm. The contrast, the class-conscious atmosphere of the Guadalajara International Book Fair (FIL), means that some conversations at the events feel out of place: complaints about Barcelona's livability sometimes sound out of context, it's difficult to talk about precariousness or a city that pushes you out. The concern for language, on the other hand, remains as strong as ever, and our classics continue to enchant and engage. Everywhere you look, the very definition of who we are and what we do is being renegotiated: in the authors' lounge you're treated like a VIP guest, but the afternoon Richard Gere comes, the conference rooms become inaccessible: they're blocked by a crowd of Guadalajarans feverish with fervor to see the former Hollywood star, and about Roberto Bolaño, where Eduard Olesti It explains things that, Richard, you would have liked to have already guessed. As we break through the security cordon, I think we're going to see each other with a devotion that has something of a trench warfare about it, a devotion we wouldn't have if we belonged to a stronger, more hegemonic culture. We take advantage of the gift, we shelter under the umbrella of the FIL (Guadalajara International Book Fair), we look out for each other and recommend places to eat, walk, dance. We discover ourselves as authors and we discover ourselves as human beings away from home, with a sudden and almost violent depth, because nothing teaches you about people like travel. The city, the country, always keeps us scattered. Guadalajara is a continuous center.

Little gems from the FIL

Now it's our turn to write it: I think the writing about the FIL won't differ much from the writing about Catalonia. Every optimistic gesture, every form of jubilation or celebration is under suspicion. I fear we're approaching a kind of stylistic exercise, variations on the same theme. I imagine we'll all be listing anecdotes, cataloging little gems that emerged from the FIL; ideas, interactions, insights, like someone apologizing. I've already listed some myself. Did you know that Verdaguer sold out right after the tribute? A success of the event or a failure of planning? I don't know if it's those things, Guadalajara. We'll have to keep writing. I read Carlota Gurt saying that it has been a team buildingAnd it's both incredibly early and symptomatic. That we writers have to resort to business language to talk about a first and only shared experience. Because writers never do this. It's so ridiculous it's worth repeating. In the business world, they understand the value of getting to know each other better than in the literary world; they're more cultured. I remember Ingrid Guardiola, waiting for an Uber, telling me she envied poets for having an activity that united them, that prevented them from being meaningless to one another. At readings these days, I've envied that poems have the measure of human encounter. One team buildingYes. A single, partial, fragmentary, irresolvable one. team building.

And perhaps the problem, then, is this: writers never do that. And now that we have, we have a culture of auditing. I think about it and it infuriates me. I don't want to traffic in the jewels of Guadalajara, I don't want to plunder it. It has done so much for me! One of the nights at the Guadalajara International Book Fair (I remember exactly which one, while we were listening to which concert), a very good writer told me: I'm glad to have met you; it wouldn't have happened in Barcelona. Never mind, I'll keep it to myself. I'll fold my material like a bad civil servant blaming his absence at breakfast time, I'll keep it a little longer, to see what we can do with it: sorry, or fortunately, I don't have enough characters for a proper audit. Guadalajara is not an article.