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Quote by Margit Frenk

“Nuevo silencio a lo largo del libro. En el ínterin, don Quijote de la Mancha, sin abandonar este nombre, adopta el de “Caballero de la Triste Figura” (I, 19, pp. 205-206) que le ha puesto Sancho Panza y que, en la segunda parte, cambiará por el de “Caballero de los Leones” (II, 17, p. 768), para caer, cerca del final, en el grotesco “pastor Quijótiz”

Quote by Margit Frenk

Book:Cuatro ensayos sobre el Quijote (Lengua Y Estudios Literarios)
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Cuatro ensayos sobre el Quijote (Lengua Y Estudios Literarios)

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Margit Frenk

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“Con la misma libertad con la que el protagonista se ha autobautizado como don Quijote, se bautiza al final como Alonso Quijano el Bueno. En su lecho de muerte continúa imitando precisamente a los antiguos caballeros andantes, a los que ahora dice detestar. Porque en esto, como en ponerse el apodo de “Caballero de los Leones”, sigue ahora —son sus palabras— “la antigua usanza de los andantes caballeros, que se mudaban los nombres cuando querían o cuando les venía a cuento” (II, 17, p. 768). Cervantes ha querido que su personaje decida, como tantas otras cosas, con qué nombre desea morir.”

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“Cervantes, creo yo, quiso dejar abiertas ambas posibilidades: sembró aquí y allá indicios que apuntan ya a la locura irremediable de don Quijote, ya a su cordura final. Y aquí cabe recordar un pasaje del Persiles: a la hora de la muerte, “por la mayor parte, o se dizen grandes sentencias, o se hazen grandes disparates”.[5] A la hora de su muerte don Quijote parece moverse entre esos dos extremos. La muerte reitera en él su naturaleza de loco-cuerdo, de cuerdo-loco. La cosa es, en efecto, más compleja de lo que suele pensarse.”

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“I remembered during puberty, through the anorexic mists of intermittent menstrual cycles, that man, my father, lifting Shirley's nightdress over her head and asking her in his mocking way to choose what colour condom she wanted. 'Red or yellow?' Which did she choose? I can't remember. Perhaps she alternated. Perhaps there were other colours. It didn't happen once. It happened again and again. I had no power to stop it. That man, my father, had some control over me. I was drugged by the black silence in that big house, the vile whiff of aftershave, the crushing torment of inevitability. My father fucked Shirley using red or yellow condoms and it was those condoms that brought it all to an end. It was my last realization of the day; any more would have been too much to contemplate. That time when my mother had found used condoms in bedroom, he had admitted, after a pointless burst my father's of denial, that he had been going to prostitutes. That was no doubt true but I can't imagine clients take used condoms away with them; prostitutes would surely get rid of the things. No. My father kept those used condoms as a prize. He was fucking his fourteen-year-old-daughter. He was proud of it. Rebecca welled up with tears. Poor thing, she kept saying. Poor thing.”

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