Next to Saint George

After hearing Carles Rabassa's undeniable speech at the Catalan Literature Night, I bought his Prometeu de mil maneres (Univers Llibres) out of solidarity and curiosity. I found a solid, sharp, dense novel that directly hits the universal chord of the contrast between who we are and the character that, as Martí i Pol would say, we put on like a sweater or a tie when we go out on the street. All from Palma and from a linguistic, political, and cultural position that reviews, without concessions, like the speech, the state of affairs in this “society of tiredness,” as Han calls it.

Another kind of tiredness, that of disillusionment, centers Els erms (Anagrama) by Carlota Gurt, another author who is a pleasure to read in books, articles, and interviews, because she opens up with such brilliant generosity that she urgently calls to you.

And if you are tired of tiredness, Anatomia de l’esperança (Destino) by Francesc Torralba awaits you, a celebration written with a clear head that distinguishes the author, the capacity to live enthusiastically in the pursuit of a goal.

In another corner of the ARA recommender (an essential tool that will surely help you find your—or their—ideal book among the books for this Sant Jordi 2026) there are a couple of hits. The first is El joc del silenci, by Gil Pratsobrerroca (La Campana), one of those screenwriter thrillers where, just when you think you know how it will end, the plot takes an unexpected turn and you can't put it down. And the second is the long-awaited continuation of Rita Racons' life, Crispetes de matinada (La Campana), the novel by Regina Rodríguez Sirvent that faces (and succeeds, like Lamine Yamal against his markers) the challenge of living up to the major success of Les calces al sol. A great Sant Jordi awaits us.