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Read Señora De Rojo Sobre Fondo Gris (2003)

Señora de rojo sobre fondo gris (2003)

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3.88 of 5 Votes: 2
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ISBN
842333323X (ISBN13: 9788423333233)
Language
English
Publisher
destino ediciones

Señora De Rojo Sobre Fondo Gris (2003) - Plot & Excerpts

Woman in Red on a Gray Background is an Elegy written by Miguel Delibes (1920-2010) to his deceased wife. Published in 1991, she had died seventeen years before at the relatively young age of 48. Delibes has donned the fictional personality of a painter to write what remains a highly and easily recognized autobiographical account. If he starts his Elegy admitting that alcohol is the obvious but unbeatable means to come out of oneself, the thin fictional veil to which he resorts must have also been required to write about something that lay so painfully and dearly deep in him: the death of his lifelong love and muse.His writing is however addressed to his daughter, who, for political reasons, is in prison together with her husband. These are the complex and black and white times under the Dictatorship of Francisco Franco. This is the grey background of her portrait.Delibes was from Valladolid, the city held as the main trunk of the Spanish language in its purest form. A couple of years after the Civil War broke out he joined the Navy on the side of the Rebels (Franco’s side). He was eighteen. Later on he took a Law degree and became a journalist. At the age of twenty-six he married Angeles de Castro (fictionalized as Ana). During the fifties Delibes started to have problems with the Censors under the Dictatorship for the way he accounted the War. During the sixties both the country and the life of the writer began to enlighten somewhat, and he traveled abroad and received greater literary recognition. In 1973 he entered the Royal Academy of Language under the protection of Dámaso Alonso, its President and a writer from the Literary 1927 Generation Group ( Generación del 27). Delibes’s aversion to the political regime is felt continuously as he fears torture being inflicted to her daughter and son-in-law but only becomes explicit when he records the general hope that “that man” would die soon.The writing weaves together very closely three main threads: the loving observations of the woman in the red dress with the political situation that kept their daughter behind bars, as well as the nature of creativity in an artist. The pieces in the three threads are dropped gradually and the full picture emerges as the brushstrokes are laid on the canvas. First of all we get to know Ana, his wife. She comes across as a joyous and delicate woman who knows her mind, retains her original way of looking at things and has a refined intuition that she shows mostly in the warm way with which she deals with others. She knows her bearings and does not let herself be perturbed by unimportant things. So, when she begins to notice how her arm swells and that she sometimes loses her balance or sensitivity in one of her cheeks, she calmly begins to dread that something is looming. As the symptoms become steadily and horribly more clear and the brain tumor is finally diagnosed, she keeps her optimism and her “déjate vivir” (or “let your self be lived”) well alive.Meanwhile her daughter is in prison. She and her husband were locked up for their association to the Proceso 1001, as the detentions and trial of the leaders of the then illegal Workers Union respectively in 1972 and 1973 were known. Eventually they were let go.But those were the years in which another death was expected by many, a liberating death, and the husband finds himself in the macabre situation of having to wonder and witness who would die first. Unfortunately, she did. Both deaths would give birth to unknown existences: a country which could start viciously fighting and killing itself again, and a personal and sterile emptiness. And it is his being faced with the gray prison walls, with the aseptic hospital walls, and with the white blank canvas that makes the painter realize that it was her joy and luminosity that was acting as his muse and that he was just a medium for her. He falls into serious doubts about the possibility that the sources of creativity could encounter also their own end.For not even the painted portrait of her, wearing the vivid crimson on the ash background was his own work but that of another painter, a friend of theirs. Instead, what emerges is the literary portrait, not by the fictitious painter, but by the writer Miguel Delibes.And in this portrait she retains her radiance and her still youthful image as she was to live from her death on, in the mind of her life- companion, the artist, and in his book for us to meet her. And Delibes achieves the clarity of his depiction with the austere and stern writing that we can expect to come out of the Meseta or the Castilian plateau: short sentences, direct style, and sparsity of adjectives. Red over gray. That simple.

What do You think about Señora De Rojo Sobre Fondo Gris (2003)?

I-a lipsit, totusi, ceva pentru a fi perfecta.“Voiau sa-l inece pe Hristos in canal?” 14“Auzul ei era neobisnuit. Adesea, a doua zi dupa ce vedeam un film, aparea in atelier fredonand tema muzicala. Intr-un rand, am incercat s-o imping mai departe si, iesind de la cinema, am rugat-o sa repete tema de fond: <>” 15-16“Iubea cartile, dar cartea aleasa spontan. Intelegea ca viciul sau harul de a citi depindeau de prima carte.Cel care ajungea sa fie interesat de o carte devenea, inevitabil, sclavul lecturii.” 17“... ea ii cauta pricina pana il enerva, fiindca, spunea ea, cand era iritat isi arata geniul” 19“Lumea vrea sa-l dispretuiasca, dar nu poate; e prea important.” 20“Toti oamenii de exceptie sunt plini de contradictii.” 21“In primele luni de casnicie ori de cate ori ne certam isi lega un fir de ata la degetul mic ca sa nu uite ca eram certati. Apoi uita de el; ajunsese sa uite chiar si motivul pentru care si-l legase. Era tare uituca.” 35“... trebuie sa porti bucuria in suflet pentru a te desfata vazand-o.” 64“... ma identificam intr-atata cu el (tabloul), incat uitam cat era ceasul, unde ma aflam, ba chiar si cine eram. In vreun rand, mi s-a intamplat sa nu-mi dau seama ca existam, pana se insera si nu mai puteam distinge culorile. In astfel de cazuri, se producea un fel de trezire, clipeam incredul, coboram din nori. Ramaneam o clipa nemiscat. Aprindeam apoi lumina, ma frecam la ochi si ma desfatam privindu-mi opera. O vedeam parca pentru prima oara, ca si cand ar fi fost a altuia, de parca s-ar afla intr-o expoziie in care tocmai am intrat. Nici n-aveam idee cum ma descurcasem cu dificultatile pe care acum le vedeam rezolvate in tablou. Ma uimea propria-mi maiestrie. Ma simteam atat de strain, ca obisnuiam sa spun despre aceste opere ca fusesera pictate de ingeri, ca mana mea nu slujise decat ca unealta. (...) Noaptea, cand (Ana) ma vedea aparand ca un somnambul, ma intreba: <>” 72“Pentru ea, florile erau intruchiparea spontaneitatii, a libertatii, a tot ce poate fi contrar organizarii. Si tot ce presupunea o constrangere a libertatii lor printr-o aranjare geometrica insemna, in ochii ei, o denaturare. Parerile ei, pe care nu si le ascundea, ii scandalizau pe estetii de la oras, dar nimeni nu le nesocotea. Patania cu Cesar Varelli o dovedeste. Cesar a venit de la Paris, consternat de moartea ei, si nu i-a trecut prin minte sa-si arate mai graitor durerea decat punand pe mormant o coroana de garoafe rosii. Insa, intorcandu-se la Madrid, a inceput sa se simta stingherit. Cunostea aversiunea mamei tale de a disciplina florile, de a face aranjamente cu ele si, desi a tot incercat sa-si scoata ideea din cap, a ajuns sa nu mai suporte parerea de rau si, in cele din urma a facut cale intoarsa ca sa dreaga lucrurile, insa se intunecase si a gasit cimitirul inchis. Atunci, in ciuda corpolentei, a sarit gardul, a cautat mormantul si si-a indreptat greseala: a smuls garoafele din coroana si le-a imprastiat pe lespede. Ploaia aceea de garoafe rosii nu l-a entuziasmat, dar, cel putin, distrusese simetria, rupsese schema. <>, mi-a spus. Si sunt sigur ca Ana a fost impacata.” 82“Insa de cele mai multe ori, taceam. Ne era de ajuns sa ne privim si sa stim ca existam unul pentru altul. (...) Cand ea a plecat, am vazut toate astea si mai limpede: dupa-amiezile acelea fara cuvinte, privirile acelea fara vreun proiect, fara sa mai asteptam mare lucru de la viata, era pur si simplu fericirea.” 90 “Femeile ca Ana n-au dreptul sa imbatraneasca.” 120
—Andreea

Delibes era increible. Quedará para siempre la vergüenza en este país de mediocres de no haber sabido proponer a este escritor para el premio Nobel de una manera válida. Quizá por ser un hombre sencillo, que hablaba de lo que conocía. Quizá por no hablar de putas tristes o de batallones de putas visitadoras. Quizá por tan sólo hablar de lo que conocía y disfrutaba. De caza, de pinares, de gente con sentimientos de verdad. De crear personajes en los que muchas veces puedes reconocer a personas cercanas, y en algunos casos, incluso identificarte a ti mismo en ellos.En mi opinión, y he leído muchos otros escritores españoles, sólo él es capaz de utilizar la palabra perfecta para cada descripción, sólo él puede contar la pérdida de su mujer a los 50 años de una manera tan sencilla, sin capítulos, del tirón, párrafo tras párrafo.Sólo Delibes es capaz de convertir una novela (cuyo final ya está anticipado desde las primeras páginas) en un camino por el cual va describiendo a su mujer, admirándola, echándola de menos. Delibes no busca la pena en el lector, ni el hablar de la muerte. Busca quedar en paz por escrito con su mujer por todo lo que nunca le dijo, aunque ella ya supiera. Y que compartamos con él la suerte que tuvo de tener junto a sí una mujer de rojo sobre fondo gris.Me ha parecido genial. Es un libro que pienso releer en el futuro, porque todos los que compartimos la vida con una persona así nos sentimos igual que él pero no sabríamos contarlo mejor.Miguel Delibes dice en una entrevista al Norte de Castilla cuando publicó la novela: "Desde qué sé yo cuándo venía incubando la idea de rendir un homenaje literario a mi mujer, a Ángeles. Pero lo iba dejando por miedo a no atinar. Porque lo que tenía claro es que mi homenaje no podía ser un desahogo sentimental, una elegía evocando a la esposa perdida, sino una novela, y a ser posible una buena novela. Y en esto el tiempo, el distanciamiento del tiempo tenía, sin duda, mucho que ver. Y cuando ya me decidí, la primera escritura fue muy penosa. Porque, a pesar de los más de quince años transcurridos, la emoción afloraba y entorpecía la pluma. Luego, la disciplina y el oficio fueron ganando la partida y logré ponerme en mi sitio de novelista, exclusivamente de novelista".
—Jorge Pérez de rueda

La verdad es que está magnificamente escrito, no esperaba menos de Miguel Delibes, pero la historia...bueno, se me ha hecho corta y un poco aburrida, en el sentido de que apenas tenía contenido, no sé, en ese sentido esperaba algo más novelesco, con más trama. A pesar de ello, me ha gustado mucho leerlo, especialmente porque estoy en un momento de mi vida en el que me sentí identificada con algunas de las reflexiones del protagonista.Es difícil decir si lo recomiendo. Supongo que depende de a quién.
—Arantxa Baños

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