Born in Uruguay in 1940, Eduardo Galeano began writing newspaper articles as a teenager. Though his dream was to become a soccer player, by the age of 20 he became Editor-in-Chief of LaMarcha. A few years later, he took the top post at Montevideo’s daily newspaper Epocha. At 31, Galeano wrote his most famous book, “The Open Veins of Latin America: Five Centuries of the Pillage of a Continent.”
After the 1973 military coup in Uruguay, Galeano was imprisoned and forced to leave the country. He settled in Argentina where he founded and edited a cultural magazine, Crisis. After the 1976 military coup there, Galeano’s name was added to the lists of those condemned by the death squads. He moved to Spain where he began his classic work “Memory of Fire,” a three-volume narrative of the history of America, North and South. He eventually returned home to his native Uruguay where he now lives. His latest book is called “Voices of Time: A Life in Stories.” Eduado Galeano joins us today in our firehouse studio.
You can find the interview here
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
The Eagle's Throne by Carlos Fuentes
Carlos Fuentes has looked into the future of Mexico and seen a maelstrom of secrets that pulls in the entire political elite. Then, as if this apocalyptic vision weren't dark enough, he's found there can be no escape, no end to intrigue, plotting or murder for the crass and conniving bunch of Machiavellians reaching for the prized spot: "The Eagle's Throne."
Here, then, is a novel of pure (at its worst) politics, Fuentes readily agreed in a recent interview, but despite the steady march in his writing toward hard-hitting political realism he denies that he's calling for reform in Mexico or anywhere else. "I'm writing fiction, with all the freedom on the world," he said. "I'm not preaching to anybody, saying do this or do that. People can draw conclusions, moral or political, from reading the novel, but it is not my purpose to put on a Hyde Park speech." Instead, he wants the reader to sit back and enjoy the crazy roller-coaster ride that the Mexican presidency has in store for all those who get on and expect to survive.
The Eagle's Throne is the summit of power in Mexico. It's January 2020, Washington is angry with Mexico for demanding the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Colombia and for backing the high oil prices set by the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries, and so with the flip of a switch, off goes the telecommunications network of its southern neighbor. The president of Mexico, Lorenzo Terán, three years into his reign, has suddenly sent Mexico down a path of resistance to the dictates of the United States.
Fuentes, the ever-sharper social critic, arrives naturally at the "The Eagle's Throne" to claim that politics is no less than the "public expression of private passions," as two of his sleep-your-way- to-power female politicos separately intone. And things private get quickly heated in this novel, once the power is off, as one of these kingmakers, María Rosario Galván, offers not only her connections but her desirable body as the ultimate prize to the young bureaucrat Nicolás Valdivia if he successfully makes the climb to the presidency with her help. But lies and secrets are the money of her trade, and she has no intention of seeing on the throne anyone other than her longtime friend and ex- lover, Bernal Herrera, the interior secretary, with whom she has had a child with Down's syndrome who is conveniently stored in a state institution.
From "The Crystal Frontier" (1997), which revealed the dark underside of life along the U.S.-Mexico border, to "Contra Bush" (2004), searing essays on the current U.S. administration, and another tome of essays about his views, "This I Believe" (2005), Fuentes has been landing his pen ever harder. His many other novels, including "The Old Gringo," "The Death of Artemio Cruz" and "The Years With Laura Díaz," have never shied from the base factor that guides all strivings: politics.
You can find the full review here
Here, then, is a novel of pure (at its worst) politics, Fuentes readily agreed in a recent interview, but despite the steady march in his writing toward hard-hitting political realism he denies that he's calling for reform in Mexico or anywhere else. "I'm writing fiction, with all the freedom on the world," he said. "I'm not preaching to anybody, saying do this or do that. People can draw conclusions, moral or political, from reading the novel, but it is not my purpose to put on a Hyde Park speech." Instead, he wants the reader to sit back and enjoy the crazy roller-coaster ride that the Mexican presidency has in store for all those who get on and expect to survive.
The Eagle's Throne is the summit of power in Mexico. It's January 2020, Washington is angry with Mexico for demanding the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Colombia and for backing the high oil prices set by the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries, and so with the flip of a switch, off goes the telecommunications network of its southern neighbor. The president of Mexico, Lorenzo Terán, three years into his reign, has suddenly sent Mexico down a path of resistance to the dictates of the United States.
Fuentes, the ever-sharper social critic, arrives naturally at the "The Eagle's Throne" to claim that politics is no less than the "public expression of private passions," as two of his sleep-your-way- to-power female politicos separately intone. And things private get quickly heated in this novel, once the power is off, as one of these kingmakers, María Rosario Galván, offers not only her connections but her desirable body as the ultimate prize to the young bureaucrat Nicolás Valdivia if he successfully makes the climb to the presidency with her help. But lies and secrets are the money of her trade, and she has no intention of seeing on the throne anyone other than her longtime friend and ex- lover, Bernal Herrera, the interior secretary, with whom she has had a child with Down's syndrome who is conveniently stored in a state institution.
From "The Crystal Frontier" (1997), which revealed the dark underside of life along the U.S.-Mexico border, to "Contra Bush" (2004), searing essays on the current U.S. administration, and another tome of essays about his views, "This I Believe" (2005), Fuentes has been landing his pen ever harder. His many other novels, including "The Old Gringo," "The Death of Artemio Cruz" and "The Years With Laura Díaz," have never shied from the base factor that guides all strivings: politics.
You can find the full review here
Malinche by Laura Esquivel
In the early 1990s, Laura Esquivel set the tone for a highly respected career with her first book, "Like Water for Chocolate," a supernatural tale that displayed Esquivel's knowledge and familiarity with her native Mexico and established her comfort level with magical realism. Her new book, "Malinche," doesn't stray from either of those expressions.
A historical novel that details the tragic relationship between Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes and his translator Mallinalli, "Malinche" (a name by which Mallinalli was also known) is a lyrical interpretation of the timeline that follows the destruction of Montezuma's 16th-century empire by Cortes.
You can find the review here
A historical novel that details the tragic relationship between Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes and his translator Mallinalli, "Malinche" (a name by which Mallinalli was also known) is a lyrical interpretation of the timeline that follows the destruction of Montezuma's 16th-century empire by Cortes.
You can find the review here
Seeing by Jose Saramago
To read José Saramago is to explore the frontiers of human nature. In his novels we encounter unthinkable evil and unspeakable goodness, baffling incompetence and stunning persistence, deep despair and unbounded hope. In ''Seeing," his heartwarming and heartbreaking new novel, Saramago revives his technique of tossing an allegorical dilemma at a group of people, then sifting through the chaos for the best nuggets of being.
In his 11th work of fiction, the 83-year-old Portuguese Nobel laureate guides us again to the city where, in his 1995 novel ''Blindness," every citizen went blind but one. ''Blindness" describes an ineffectual government-ordered quarantine and a city that falls into a bloody, animalistic melee. Its seeing heroine, referred to only as ''the doctor's wife," guides six companions to safety with courage.
The story in ''Seeing" is not as horrifying as its predecessor's. Its crisis is political. During the capital city's elections, four years after the blindness epidemic, 83 percent of the ballots cast are blank. The government, flabbergasted and embarrassed, places the city under siege and relocates, sure that chaos will ensue and teach the ''subversives" a lesson. But the freed masses live on in peace, despite the government's rhetorical and physical efforts to incite turmoil. When officials receive a letter revealing a long-kept secret of the doctor's wife and suggesting that she might be behind the blank-vote movement, they seize on her as a suspect and send in a police superintendent to investigate. Their relentless certainty of her guilt ignites yet another underground movement to prove her innocence.
You can find the review here
In his 11th work of fiction, the 83-year-old Portuguese Nobel laureate guides us again to the city where, in his 1995 novel ''Blindness," every citizen went blind but one. ''Blindness" describes an ineffectual government-ordered quarantine and a city that falls into a bloody, animalistic melee. Its seeing heroine, referred to only as ''the doctor's wife," guides six companions to safety with courage.
The story in ''Seeing" is not as horrifying as its predecessor's. Its crisis is political. During the capital city's elections, four years after the blindness epidemic, 83 percent of the ballots cast are blank. The government, flabbergasted and embarrassed, places the city under siege and relocates, sure that chaos will ensue and teach the ''subversives" a lesson. But the freed masses live on in peace, despite the government's rhetorical and physical efforts to incite turmoil. When officials receive a letter revealing a long-kept secret of the doctor's wife and suggesting that she might be behind the blank-vote movement, they seize on her as a suspect and send in a police superintendent to investigate. Their relentless certainty of her guilt ignites yet another underground movement to prove her innocence.
You can find the review here
Seeing by Jose Saramago
Sometimes a novel comes along that is terrifying only because the reader can't decide why he should be scared. Jose Saramago's latest political allegory Seeing is just such a tale.
The Portuguese Nobel Prize laureate has again produced a singular work of dark humour and near absurdity, one raising disturbing questions about the nature of democracy and the relationship between the government and the governed.
Taking place four years after the events in his novel Blindness, Saramago's Seeing opens on a rainy election day in the unnamed capital of an unnamed country.
The voting turns out badly for the incumbent party. Although it wins the elections, more than 70 per cent of the ballots cast are blank. After a second round of elections produces more than 80 per cent blanks, the government declares a state of emergency.
You can find the review here
The Portuguese Nobel Prize laureate has again produced a singular work of dark humour and near absurdity, one raising disturbing questions about the nature of democracy and the relationship between the government and the governed.
Taking place four years after the events in his novel Blindness, Saramago's Seeing opens on a rainy election day in the unnamed capital of an unnamed country.
The voting turns out badly for the incumbent party. Although it wins the elections, more than 70 per cent of the ballots cast are blank. After a second round of elections produces more than 80 per cent blanks, the government declares a state of emergency.
You can find the review here
Seeing by Jose Saramago
Seeing is typical of Saramago’s recent fiction. The setting is deliberately vague (there are occasional hints that he has Portugal in mind), and not even the characters have distinct names. As in Blindness, The Double, The Cave and All the Names, Saramago has shunned realism to create a parable for our times.
In form, also, Seeing bears the novelist’s characteristic imprint: paragraphs running uninterrupted for pages, rambling and loosely punctuated sentences brimming with sub-clauses and digressions, no indicators of speech. It is a style that takes some getting used to, and that may defeat readers not willing to let themselves be carried away by the prose’s elliptical, almost oral rhythm. Saramago’s fiction cannot be easy to render into English, yet Margaret Jull Costa (awarded the Weidenfeld Translation Prize for her version of All the Names) has once again done a remarkable job of making a verbose and convoluted text clear, precise and readable.
This moral fable, however, suffers by comparison to its predecessor. Whereas Blindness was compelling in its exploration of individual characters, and of the compassion and solidarity that can emerge from the depths of despair, Seeing feels like an over-long and ponderous attempt to ridicule the political system we deposit such faith in. Saramago’s novels have always been tinged by his political inclinations (he remains a card-carrying member of the Communist party), but his provocative swipe at electoral democracy does not quite take flight as a story. His characters are barely sketched in. It is hard to care much about them.
Saramago’s politicians are inept, paranoid or power-hungry caricatures for whom the preservation of status quo has become an end in itself: "Appoint a commission of inquiry at once, minister, To reach what conclusions, prime minister, Just set it to work, we’ll sort that out later."
His honest everymen, on the other hand, are heroic in their rectitude, and in their myriad acts of resistance to illegitimate authority. But, unlike the protagonists of Blindness, those of Seeing lack that essential ingredient of successful drama - moral ambiguity.
Saramago’s latest commentary about man in a state of nature may be worthy as political rhetoric, but it is decidedly disappointing as fiction.
You can find the review here
In form, also, Seeing bears the novelist’s characteristic imprint: paragraphs running uninterrupted for pages, rambling and loosely punctuated sentences brimming with sub-clauses and digressions, no indicators of speech. It is a style that takes some getting used to, and that may defeat readers not willing to let themselves be carried away by the prose’s elliptical, almost oral rhythm. Saramago’s fiction cannot be easy to render into English, yet Margaret Jull Costa (awarded the Weidenfeld Translation Prize for her version of All the Names) has once again done a remarkable job of making a verbose and convoluted text clear, precise and readable.
This moral fable, however, suffers by comparison to its predecessor. Whereas Blindness was compelling in its exploration of individual characters, and of the compassion and solidarity that can emerge from the depths of despair, Seeing feels like an over-long and ponderous attempt to ridicule the political system we deposit such faith in. Saramago’s novels have always been tinged by his political inclinations (he remains a card-carrying member of the Communist party), but his provocative swipe at electoral democracy does not quite take flight as a story. His characters are barely sketched in. It is hard to care much about them.
Saramago’s politicians are inept, paranoid or power-hungry caricatures for whom the preservation of status quo has become an end in itself: "Appoint a commission of inquiry at once, minister, To reach what conclusions, prime minister, Just set it to work, we’ll sort that out later."
His honest everymen, on the other hand, are heroic in their rectitude, and in their myriad acts of resistance to illegitimate authority. But, unlike the protagonists of Blindness, those of Seeing lack that essential ingredient of successful drama - moral ambiguity.
Saramago’s latest commentary about man in a state of nature may be worthy as political rhetoric, but it is decidedly disappointing as fiction.
You can find the review here
Thursday, May 18, 2006
La Malinche by Laura Esquivel
The cover for Malinche
describes the historical novel as a tale about the "tragic and passionate love affair" of Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes and his translator. The story is a lyrical interpretation of the timeline that follows the destruction of Montezuma’s 16th-century Mexicas empire by Cortes. Mallinalli, also called Malinche in the book, was sold into slavery as a child and later became Cortes’ interpreter.
But the term love affair should be accepted lightly.
Yes, Cortes and Mallinalli share an intimate relationship that leads to the birth of a child and lends itself to vibrantly written scenes by Esquivel. Their first encounter, a mere exchange between their eyes with no words, is depicted with vivid passion.
But to call their relationship - which frequently included Cortes being just as forceful with Mallinalli as he was in war - one of love is extreme. Still, the relationship between Cortes and Mallinalli, a woman who has often been deemed a traitor in Mexican history, is a good launching pad for a novel.
The problem, however, comes when Esquivel tries to pack too much information into just a few pages. The novel gets clouded with Esquivel’s heavy use of magical realism and her need to explain every innermost thought of her characters. This leads to superfluous paragraphs that take characters into back story and memories. The result is a sometimes disjointed narrative.
But all these things may seem like gravy to Esquivel’s loyal fans, because overall she sticks to her pattern of richly imagined detail. Readers who like her style will devour every word. Those who do not may get lost.
Esquivel does do a nice job of showing a sympathetic side to Mallinalli that may reveal that she was an innocent trapped in Cortes’ power-hungry world instead of a traitor. Esquivel’s development of Mallinalli’s character is strong.
With Malinche, Esquivel remains true to her magical realism ways. So, loyalists will be delighted; others should move on.
You can find the review here
describes the historical novel as a tale about the "tragic and passionate love affair" of Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes and his translator. The story is a lyrical interpretation of the timeline that follows the destruction of Montezuma’s 16th-century Mexicas empire by Cortes. Mallinalli, also called Malinche in the book, was sold into slavery as a child and later became Cortes’ interpreter.But the term love affair should be accepted lightly.
Yes, Cortes and Mallinalli share an intimate relationship that leads to the birth of a child and lends itself to vibrantly written scenes by Esquivel. Their first encounter, a mere exchange between their eyes with no words, is depicted with vivid passion.
But to call their relationship - which frequently included Cortes being just as forceful with Mallinalli as he was in war - one of love is extreme. Still, the relationship between Cortes and Mallinalli, a woman who has often been deemed a traitor in Mexican history, is a good launching pad for a novel.
The problem, however, comes when Esquivel tries to pack too much information into just a few pages. The novel gets clouded with Esquivel’s heavy use of magical realism and her need to explain every innermost thought of her characters. This leads to superfluous paragraphs that take characters into back story and memories. The result is a sometimes disjointed narrative.
But all these things may seem like gravy to Esquivel’s loyal fans, because overall she sticks to her pattern of richly imagined detail. Readers who like her style will devour every word. Those who do not may get lost.
Esquivel does do a nice job of showing a sympathetic side to Mallinalli that may reveal that she was an innocent trapped in Cortes’ power-hungry world instead of a traitor. Esquivel’s development of Mallinalli’s character is strong.
With Malinche
, Esquivel remains true to her magical realism ways. So, loyalists will be delighted; others should move on.You can find the review here
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
The Tango Singer by Tomas Eloy Martinez
"The Tango Singer" is not for everyone. It's not entertainment in the accepted sense. It is, rather, a perplexing intellectual puzzle that demands a considerable backlog of knowledge and a mind that's willing to work overtime. It also helps to have a burning and respectful love of Buenos Aires -- its geography, population and history.
The author, Tomás Eloy Martínez, was born in Argentina but fled the country during the years of military rule. He teaches now in the United States, but much of his work has been in the form of devotions and meditations on his native city -- an effort to recapture a past that often has been disgraceful or slippery or both. His earlier books, "The Perón Novel" and the terrific "Santa Evita," conformed to this plan, and so does "The Tango Singer."
The narrator here is an impecunious graduate student from New York City, Bruno Cadogan, who's been working on "Jorge Luis Borges' essays on the origins of the tango." Cadogan feels that he's mired in trivia, "just filling page after futile page." Besides, he's never even been to Argentina, but he doesn't worry too much about that aspect of things. He's read so many books and seen so many films about the country that he has a strong (if imaginative) idea of it in his head. Another academic, far more learned than he, tells him about a legendary tango singer -- a mysterious artist who's never recorded a note and never announces his appearances in nightclubs -- Julio Martel, better even than the godlike singer Carlos Gardel, "to whom all voices belonged."
You can find the review here
" is not for everyone. It's not entertainment in the accepted sense. It is, rather, a perplexing intellectual puzzle that demands a considerable backlog of knowledge and a mind that's willing to work overtime. It also helps to have a burning and respectful love of Buenos Aires -- its geography, population and history.The author, Tomás Eloy Martínez, was born in Argentina but fled the country during the years of military rule. He teaches now in the United States, but much of his work has been in the form of devotions and meditations on his native city -- an effort to recapture a past that often has been disgraceful or slippery or both. His earlier books, "The Perón Novel
" and the terrific "Santa Evita," conformed to this plan, and so does "The Tango Singer."The narrator here is an impecunious graduate student from New York City, Bruno Cadogan, who's been working on "Jorge Luis Borges' essays on the origins of the tango." Cadogan feels that he's mired in trivia, "just filling page after futile page." Besides, he's never even been to Argentina, but he doesn't worry too much about that aspect of things. He's read so many books and seen so many films about the country that he has a strong (if imaginative) idea of it in his head. Another academic, far more learned than he, tells him about a legendary tango singer -- a mysterious artist who's never recorded a note and never announces his appearances in nightclubs -- Julio Martel, better even than the godlike singer Carlos Gardel
, "to whom all voices belonged."You can find the review here
A brief biography of Portuguese poet Mário de Sá-Carneiro
Mário de Sá-Carneiro was born in May 19, 1890 in Lisbon. In 1911 enters the Law school of Coimbra and, in the following year, he moves to the University of Paris to proceed with his Law studies, which he didn't conclude. In 1912 he publishes the play "Amizade"(Friendship) and the short stories volume "Princípio" (Principle). At this time, he starts to correspond with Fernando Pessoa. In this correspondence we can see reflected the aggravation of its emotional problems and his ideas of death and suicide. In 1914 along with the publication of "Dispersão" (Dispersion) and "A Confissão de Lúcio" (The confession of Lúcio), Sá-Carneiro intensifies his correspondence with Fernando Pessoa, to whom he sends its poems and drafts, disclosing increasing signals of pessimism and desperation.
In 1915, as part of the modernist group in Portugal, he participates in the publication of the magazine "Orpheu". In the second volume of this magazine he publishes the futurist poem "Manucure" that, along with the poem "Ode Triunfal" by Alvaro De Campos (one of the alternate identities of the poet Fernando Pessoa) caused impact and controversy in the literary community. In the same year he returns to Paris, where he lives in constant depression crises, aggravated by his financial difficulties.
In 1916, in a letter to Fernando Pessoa, he announces his intention to commit suicide, thar effectively occurs in 26 April, in a room of the Nice Hotel, in Paris.
The work of Mário de Sá-Carneiro is intimately related with his personal experience, it discloses all its maladjustment to the world and the constant search for itself which lead to self-destruction.
was born in May 19, 1890 in Lisbon. In 1911 enters the Law school of Coimbra and, in the following year, he moves to the University of Paris to proceed with his Law studies, which he didn't conclude. In 1912 he publishes the play "Amizade"(Friendship) and the short stories volume "Princípio" (Principle). At this time, he starts to correspond with Fernando Pessoa. In this correspondence we can see reflected the aggravation of its emotional problems and his ideas of death and suicide. In 1914 along with the publication of "Dispersão" (Dispersion) and "A Confissão de Lúcio" (The confession of Lúcio), Sá-Carneiro intensifies his correspondence with Fernando Pessoa, to whom he sends its poems and drafts, disclosing increasing signals of pessimism and desperation. In 1915, as part of the modernist group in Portugal, he participates in the publication of the magazine "Orpheu". In the second volume of this magazine he publishes the futurist poem "Manucure" that, along with the poem "Ode Triunfal" by Alvaro De Campos (one of the alternate identities of the poet Fernando Pessoa
) caused impact and controversy in the literary community. In the same year he returns to Paris, where he lives in constant depression crises, aggravated by his financial difficulties. In 1916, in a letter to Fernando Pessoa, he announces his intention to commit suicide, thar effectively occurs in 26 April, in a room of the Nice Hotel, in Paris.
The work of Mário de Sá-Carneiro
is intimately related with his personal experience, it discloses all its maladjustment to the world and the constant search for itself which lead to self-destruction.
Travesuras de la nina mala by Mario Vargas Llosa
Released a few weeks ago in Peru Travesuras de la niña mala the new novel by Mario Vargas Llosa, Peruvian critics have been unanimous this book is a ambitious novel that proposes diverse perspectives on love, a state next to sanctity that allows extravagance.
Travesuras de la niña mala narrates the misadventures of Ricardo Somocurcio - Frenchified interpreter and translator from Lima - to seduce the unattainable niña mala, that thru its continuous trips, adventures and distractions, usurps lives and names of different literary characters, forcing Ricardo Somocurcio to suffer metamorphoses closer to the ones of Ovid than the one of Kafka.
Travesuras de la niña mala narrates the misadventures of Ricardo Somocurcio - Frenchified interpreter and translator from Lima - to seduce the unattainable niña mala, that thru its continuous trips, adventures and distractions, usurps lives and names of different literary characters, forcing Ricardo Somocurcio to suffer metamorphoses closer to the ones of Ovid than the one of Kafka.
Semana Negra de Gijón Prizes
Spanish writers Lorenzo Silva, José Ovejero and José Ángel Mañas and Cuban Leonardo Padura are the four finalists for the International Dashiell Hammett Prize for Novel, that will be announced next July 14th in the XIX the edition of the Semana Negra de Gijón.
The prize for the best crime novel published in Spanish in 2005, where selected Las Vidas Ajenas (Other People's Lives) by José Ovejero; Las neblinas del ayer (The fogs of yesterday) by Leonardo Padura; El caso Karen (The Karen Case) by José Ángel Mañas, and La reina sin espejo (The Queen Without Mirror) by Lorenzo Silva.
For the International Rodolfo Walsh Prize for non-fiction for the best work of criminal subject written in Spanish in 2005, the finalists are the Argentinean Juan Gasparini with La fuga del Brujo (The Flight of the Wizard) and Ignacio Martínez de Pisón's Enterrar a los muertos (To Bury the Dead)
The Memorial Prize Silverio Cañada for best the first black novel written in Spanish where selected Tiempo de Alacranes (Time of the Scorpions) by Mexican Bernardine Fernandez; El manuscrito de Dios (The Manuscript of God) by Juan Biedma; Las neblinas de Almagro by Mexican Eduardo Monteverde and El tiempo escondido (The Hidden Time) by the Spanish Joaquín M. Barrero.
Semana Negra Official Website
The prize for the best crime novel published in Spanish in 2005, where selected Las Vidas Ajenas (Other People's Lives) by José Ovejero; Las neblinas del ayer (The fogs of yesterday) by Leonardo Padura; El caso Karen (The Karen Case) by José Ángel Mañas, and La reina sin espejo (The Queen Without Mirror) by Lorenzo Silva.
For the International Rodolfo Walsh Prize for non-fiction for the best work of criminal subject written in Spanish in 2005, the finalists are the Argentinean Juan Gasparini with La fuga del Brujo (The Flight of the Wizard) and Ignacio Martínez de Pisón's Enterrar a los muertos (To Bury the Dead)
The Memorial Prize Silverio Cañada for best the first black novel written in Spanish where selected Tiempo de Alacranes (Time of the Scorpions) by Mexican Bernardine Fernandez; El manuscrito de Dios (The Manuscript of God) by Juan Biedma; Las neblinas de Almagro by Mexican Eduardo Monteverde and El tiempo escondido (The Hidden Time) by the Spanish Joaquín M. Barrero.
Semana Negra Official Website
Pedro Almodovar set to win Prince of Asturias of the Arts Prize
Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar is favorite to win this year's Prince of Asturias of the Arts Prize. The finalists are composer Andrew Lloyd Webber, the violinist Anne Sophie Mutter and architect Tadao Ando.
Among the winners of the last editions are Santiago Calatrava, Sebastião Salgado, Vittorio Gassmann, Woody Allen, Paco of Lucía, Miquel Barceló and in the dancers Mayan Plisetskaya and Tamara Rojo.
Among the winners of the last editions are Santiago Calatrava, Sebastião Salgado, Vittorio Gassmann, Woody Allen, Paco of Lucía, Miquel Barceló and in the dancers Mayan Plisetskaya and Tamara Rojo.
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