1. On Saturday night, at the MNAC, We celebrate the Night of Catalan LiteratureIt's been 75 years since three hundred brave souls locked themselves inside the Catalonia bookstore to celebrate a clandestine literary festival. Here's a historical fact, from 1951, to remind us that the Catalan language, culture, and freedom have weathered far worse times, and we've persevered. For those of us who are nostalgic by nature, the tradition of Saint Lucy's Night was already quite fitting. Just before Christmas, the most prestigious literary prizes were announced, and a couple of months later, the books went on sale. It was a very guild-like celebration, for the guild. Now it's different. Even those of us who, on Saturday, looked askance at this new festival invented by Òmnium, the Institut d'Estudis Catalans, and TV3, should tip our hats. As Xavier Antich said, never before in history has such a powerful communicative act about Catalan literature been broadcast. Our literature needs to shed its inferiority complex and embrace ambition, joy, and self-respect. If the world of books is the spearhead of our cultural industry, it was about time that was reflected in prime time. In this respect, and although everything can be improved, Saturday's event achieved its goal.
2. The gala had three golden moments, the kind that will stay with you. The applause for Pilarín Bayés and Roser Capdevila when they presented the Folch i Torres award moved us all. Thanks to their drawings, on paper or on screen, many children have been introduced to reading and have enjoyed it in Catalan. Beyond the professional achievements of two women who have worked tirelessly, this contribution alone should perhaps make them worthy of an Honorary Award for Catalan Literature. The second moment that gave me goosebumps was hearing the voice of Pau Riba, with his posthumous message delivered with elegant choreography. "When I'm gone, you won't know what an oleander is, or a jujube tree." Thus begin his insightful reflections on the power of words. "How peoples die, if words die" is a fitting warning. Riba's definitive statement still echoes in the Oval Office, a statement we should write on our bathroom mirrors so that it's the first thing we see after washing our faces: "The word is the soul of a people."
3. The third moment, also in its new format, is the announcement of the Sant Jordi Novel Prize. Wisely, it's awarded last, after the audience has already checked their watches several times. On a night with twelve awards, including some new additions like prizes for playwriting and comics, it's never easy to keep the event under two hours. And thankfully, the writers, when it comes to their acceptance speeches, are more restrained. They don't have the emotional exaggeration of people in the film industry. In their moment of glory, with the prize in their hands, each author uses their sublime minute as they see fit. Anything goes. Of course it does. Defending the language, preserving the unity of Catalan, tearing into current politicians, or cursing those of the past. Go ahead with the easy applause. But given that you've won an award for a novel you've dedicated years to thinking about, writing, and polishing, and given that thousands of potential readers are watching you from home, perhaps it would be wise to share something about the work, even if it's just a single detail—a character, a synopsis, a passage—that might entice them. If you have a unique opportunity to talk about your story and entice your literary fans, don't let it slip away. There won't be another chance like it. We'll always have time for rallies later.
4. Josep Pedrals, poet and rhapsodist with an empire waist t-shirt, ended his magnificent monologue on the book trade with the greatest truth of all those said: "If this has to be upheld, you can start reading now."
