The history of literature is full of phenomena that we could qualify as miraculous. One of my favorite literary miracles is that of that Polish sailor named Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski who, in English and under the pen name of Joseph Conrad, wrote some of the most vibrant, intelligent, and morally audacious novels of his time.Son of a noble Polish family, Conrad was born in 1857 in present-day Ukraine, then part of the Tsarist Russian empire. As a teenager, he already felt the call of the sea, and at sixteen, he embarked for the first time in Marseille. It was the beginning of a seafaring life that would span two decades and take him to navigate, enlisted in the British merchant fleet, all over the globe, from the Gulf of Mexico to the Far East, passing through Africa and India, first as a sailor, then as a first mate, and finally as captain.Now an English national, and nearing forty, Conrad replaced the helm, sails and oceans with pen, ink and paper, and wrote a series of novels and stories as exceptional as Lord Jim, Heart of Darkness, Nostromo, The Secret Agent, or An Outpost of Progress. Masterpiece after masterpiece. It must be said, in any case, that Conrad's miracle is partly explained by the fact that his parents, very cultured Polish nationalists, motivated him to read from a young age, especially in French and English. All the miracles of talent are based on the solid foundation of many hours of dedication, passion, and work, and the writer Conrad knew this because the sailor Conrad had learned it.A tribute "to the imperishable sea"

In 1906, when he had already gained prestige as a fiction author, Conrad published The Mirror of the Sea, a beautiful and moving maritime memoir that Veles i vents has now published in Catalan in a translation, as sound and rich as ever, by Ferran Ràfols Gesa. In this book, Conrad does not aim to make a linear and complete autobiographical reconstruction of his professional career as a merchant sailor, but rather to evoke the world, the human fauna, the adventures, the ethical and existential lessons, the knowledge and skills, the duties and demands, and the professional and community codes that made him the man he was. In the initial note, Conrad says the book is a tribute “to the imperishable sea, to ships that no longer exist and to the simple men of a time that has passed”. The tone of the passage, epic and poetic, pragmatic and moved, is what permeates the entire book.Conceived and structured as a mosaic in which the chapters follow each other more by thematic association than by narrative logic or chronological imperative, there are two great themes in El mirall de la mar: the evocation of the world of navigation before the radical transformation brought about by mechanization, and the explanation of ways of working (“the boat is not a slave, you have to make it feel comfortable at sea, it has to be the center of your thoughts”) essential to successfully carry out such an important and risky task. This, along with all sorts of anecdotes, reflections, and characters, is cemented thanks to a vision and diction that are pure Conrad. They are a vision and diction that see and tell the world in a lucid and emotional way, with all its endeavors and dangers, with all its glories and storms.

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When George Orwell (1903-1950) decides to travel to Catalonia in 1936 to fight as a militiaman in the Civil War and "kill fascists", he does not go alone. He had only been married for a few months to Eileen O'Shaughnessy, a brilliant 30-year-old woman who surpassed him in many educational aspects. While Eric Blair, the real name of the young English writer, had no more than secondary education at Eton, she had accumulated the background of having studied literature at Oxford and a postgraduate degree in psychology in London. They will have an unusual "honeymoon": while Orwell is on the Aragon front, Eileen will work in Barcelona receiving British militiamen and will be the first to realize the seriousness of the internal conflict that will lead to the May Events.

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At least during its very long first part, The Black Prince, ofIris Murdoch (Dublin, 1919-Oxford, 1999), suggests a reversal of the premise of Waiting for Godot of Samuel BeckettJust as Vladimir and Estrago spend the entire play without moving from where they are because they wait in vain for someone who never arrives, Bradley Pearson, the protagonist of Murdoch's novel, a retired tax inspector, an ambitious writer but full of quirks, complexes, and frustrations, spends more than three hundred pages wanting to escape—a teacher who has wanted to write for years, but can't leave because a chain of incidents involving friends and family prevents her. Godot No one ever arrives; here, on the other hand, everyone arrives. All of this gives the novel the feel and rhythm of a frenetic tragicomic vaudeville or a sophisticated farce, with constant comings and goings, dramatic situations handled with both seriousness and humor (domestic violence, adultery, suicide attempts or announcements, drunken binges). Murdoch is a virtuoso of profound and transcendent philosophical reflection as well as of comical and absurdist sensationalism, and she is even more virtuosic at combining them. She couldn't be more British.

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With FarewellsJulian Barnes (Leicester, 1946) does not say goodbye to literature, because he is supposed to continue reading until his death or until his eyes and brain allow it, but he does say goodbye to writing books and to his readers. When I say he's saying goodbye, I mean it literally.And he also makes this explicit in the final paragraphs, directly addressing those who are reading it: "I hope you have enjoyed our relationship over the years. I certainly have. Your presence has pleased me (when you think about it, I would be nothing without you)."

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Several novels by Zadie Smith (London, 1975), one of the most important writers in contemporary English literature, had been published in Catalan since her debut, White teethBut the vicissitudes of the publishing world (what gory novel wouldn't Smith herself write!) have condemned it to the unglamorous oblivion of secondhand bookstores, and thus the appearance ofThe fraud, her latest novel, splendidly translated by Marta Pera and published by the very young Jande publishing houseThis is great news. And we hope there will be many more to come, because Smith's novels are too good not to be part of the literary conversation among Catalan-language book readers.

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