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Mario Vargas Llosa

Mario Vargas Llosa Books

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The Bad Girl

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Cinco esquinas

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“We do so many things together. We go to theatres, exhibitions, bookstores, we spend hours and hours discussing politics, books, films, friends. And you think I do these things for the same reason you do, because I enjoy them. But you're wrong. I do them all for it, for the tapeworm. That's how it seems to me: that my whole life is no longer for my sake but for the sake of what I carry inside me, of which I am now no more than a servant.”

“In repressing and censoring the literary genre specifically invented to give "the necessity of lying" a place in the world, the Inquisitors achieved exactly the opposite of what they wanted. Theirs was a world without novels, yes, but also a world into which fiction had spread and contaminated practically everything: history, religion, poetry, science, art, speeches, journalism, and the daily habits of people.”

“We still are victims, in Latin America, of what we could call 'the revenge of the novel.' We still have great difficulty in our countries in differentiating between fiction and reality. We are traditionally accustomed to mix them in such a way that this is, probably, one of the reasons why we are so impractical and inept in political matters, for instance. But some good came also from this novelization of our whole life. Books such as Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, Cortázar's short stories, and Roa Bastos's novels would not have been possible otherwise.”

“We would be worse than we are without the good books we have read, more conformist, not as restless, more submissive, and the critical spirit, the engine of progress, would not even exist. Like writing, reading is a protest against the insufficiencies of life. When we look in fiction for what is missing in life, we are saying, with no need to say it or even to know it, that life as it is does not satisfy our thirst for the absolute – the foundation of the human condition – and should be better. We invent fictions in order to live somehow the many lives we would like to lead when we barely have one at our disposal.”

“From the cave to the skyscraper, from the club to weapons of mass destruction, from the tautological life of the tribe to the era of globalization, the fictions of literature have multiplied human experiences, preventing us from succumbing to lethargy, self-absorption, resignation. Nothing has sown so much disquiet, so disturbed our imagination and our desires as the life of lies we add, thanks to literature, to the one we have, so we can be protagonists in the great adventures, the great passions real life will never give us. The lies of literature become truths through us, the readers transformed, infected with longings and, through the fault of fiction, permanently questioning a mediocre reality. Sorcery, when literature offers us the hope of having what we do not have, being what we are not, acceding to that impossible existence where like pagan gods we feel mortal and eternal at the same time, that introduces into our spirits non-conformity and rebellion, which are behind all the heroic deeds that have contributed to the reduction of violence in human relationships. Reducing violence, not ending it. Because ours will always be, fortunately, an unfinished story. That is why we have to continue dreaming, reading, and writing, the most effective way we have found to alleviate our mortal condition, to defeat the corrosion of time, and to transform the impossible into possibility.”

“¿Has hecho bien en volver? Te arrepentirás, Urania. Desperdiciar una semana de vacaciones, tú que nunca tenías tiempo para conocer tantas ciudades, regiones, países que te hubiera gustado ver -las cordilleras y los lagos nevados de Alaska, por ejemploretornando a la islita que juraste no volver a pisar. ¿Síntoma de decadencia? ¿Sentimentalismo otoñal? Curiosidad, nada más. Probarte que puedes caminar por las calles de esta ciudad que ya no es tuya, recorrer este país ajeno, sin que ello te provoque tristeza, nostalgia, odio, amargura, rabia.”

“The Counselor brought about that miracle, he turned the wolf into the lamb, he brought him into the fold. And because he turned wolves into lambs, because he gave people who knew only fear and hatred, hunger, crime, and pillaging reasons to change their lives, because he brought spirituality where there had been cruelty, they are sending army after army to these lands to exterminate these people. How has Brazil, how has the world been overcome with such confusion as to commit such an abominable deed? Isn't that sufficient proof that the Counselor is right, that Satan has indeed taken possession of Brazil, that the Republic is the Antichrist?”

“¿Sería así toda la Historia? ¿La que se aprendía en el colegio? ¿La escrita por los historiadores? Una fabricación más o menos idílica, racional y coherente de lo que en la realidad cruda y dura había sido una caótica y arbitraria mezcla de planes, azares, intrigas, hechos fortuitos, coincidencias, intereses múltiples, que habían ido provocando cambios, trastornos, avances y retrocesos, siempre inesperados y sorprendentes respecto a lo que fue anticipado o vivido por los protagonistas.”

“..não tem maisl ugar o escritor mandarim, aquele que, como Sartre na França ou Ortega Y Gasset e Unamuno em seu tempo ou um Octavio Paz ainda entre nós, faz as vezes de guia e mestre em todas as questões importantes e supre um vazio que, por causa da escassa participação dos demais na vida pública, ou pela falta de democracia ou prestígio mítico da literatura, só o "grande escritor" parece capaz de preencher. Numa sociedade livre aquela função de tutor que exerce o escritor- às vezes de forma proveitosa - acaba sendo inútil nas sociedades submetidas: a complexidade e a multiplicidade dos problemas o levam a dizer disparates se quiser dar palpites em tudo. Suas opiniões e posicionamentos podem ser muito lúcidos, mas não necesariamente mais do que as de qualquer outro- um cientista, um profissional, um técnico- e, seja como for, devem ser julgadas por seus próprios méritos e não por serem provenientes de alguém que escreve com talento. Essa dessacralização da pessoa do escritor não me parece uma desgraça, pelo contrário, põe as coisas no seu lugar, pois a verdade é que escrever bons romances ou belos poemas não implica que quem assim está dotado para a criação literária goza de clarividência generalizada”

“—Sus soldados abusan de nuestras mujeres —estruja su sombrero y pierde la voz el alcalde Paiva Runhuí—. Me perjudicaron a una cuñadita hace pocos meses y la semana pasada casi me perjudican a mi propia esposa. —Mis soldados no, los de la Nación —hace gestos apaciguadores el general Victoria—. Calma, calma señor alcalde. El Ejército lamenta muchísimo el percance de su cuñada y hará cuanto pueda para resarcirla. —¿Ahora le llaman percance al estupro? —se desconcierta el padre Beltrán—. Porque eso es lo que fue. —A Florcita la agarraron dos uniformados viniendo de la chacra y se la montaron en plena trocha —se come las uñas y brinca en el sitio el alcalde Teófilo Morey—. Con tan buena puntería que ahora está encinta, general.”

“Fue entonces cuando tuvo la idea de los espacios salvadores, la idea de que la civilización no era, no había sido nunca un movimiento, un estado de cosas general, un ambiente que abrazara al conjunto de la sociedad, sino diminutas ciudadelas levantadas a lo largo del tiempo y el espacio que resistían el asalto permanente de esa fuerza instintiva, violenta, obtusa, fea, destructora y bestial que dominaba el mundo y que ahora se había metido en su propio hogar.”

“En eso, estalló la balacera a sus espaldas. Una gritería ensordecedora se levantó alrededor; la gente corría entre los autos, los carros se trepaban a las veredas. Antonio oyó voces histéricas: «¡Ríndanse, carajo!». «¡Están rodeados, pendejos!» Al ver que Juan Tomás, exhausto, se paraba, se paró también a su lado y comenzó a disparar. Lo hacía a ciegas, porque caliés y guardias se escudaban detrás de los Volkswagen, atravesados como parapetos en la pista, interrumpiendo el tráfico. Vio caer a Juan Tomás de rodillas, y lo vio llevarse la pistola a la boca, pero no alcanzó a dispararse porque varios impactos lo tumbaron. A él le habían caído muchas balas ya, pero no estaba muerto. «No estoy muerto, coño, no estoy.» Había disparado todos los tiros de su cargador y, en el suelo, trataba de deslizar la mano al bolsillo para tragarse la estricnina. La maldita mano pendeja no le obedeció. No hacía falta, Antonio. Veía las estrellas brillantes de la noche que empezaba, veía la risueña cara de Tavito y se sentía joven otra vez.”

“I learned to read at the age of five, in Brother Justiniano's class at the De la Salle Academy in Cochabamba, Bolivia. It is the most important thing that has ever happened to me. Almost seventy years later I remember clearly how the magic of translating the words in books into images enriched my life, breaking the barriers of time and space and allowing me to travel with Captain Nemo twenty thousand leagues under the sea, fight with d'Artagnan, Athos, Portos, and Aramis against the intrigues threatening the Queen in the days of the secretive Richelieu, or stumble through the sewers of Paris, transformed into Jean Valjean carrying Marius's inert body on my back.”

“Whether religious or racial, anti-Semitism is always repugnant, one of the most destructive manifestations of human stupidity and evil. What is profoundly expressed in it is man's traditional mistrust of the man who is not part of his tribe, that 'other' who speaks a different language, whose skin is a different color, and who participates in mysterious rites and rituals.”