target and end up in lands devoid of anything of profit, where they found every imaginable disaster, and ultimately, the one final destiny that we all share. Yes, you will search, but you will not find your destination, simply because it is not within your reach.
Still, another explanation for your outrageous project does occur to me. Is it not something personal? Are you not airing out your problems, your own personal miseries, turning what should be a simple literary exercise into a justification or exploration of your personal woes? It wouldnât surprise me at all, given your natural inclination to self-vindication. Youâve always been too indulgent with yourself. Iâve been telling you that since you were old enough to understand what the words meant. Whatâs more, if you didnât wallow so much in what you were, instead of exploring what you could be, I am sure that your place in the literary world would take a qualitative leap that would surprise critics and the public alike. Instead, you are settling for being a good writer in the midst of other good writers, but still so distant from the literary greats.
I donât know at what point this letter will find you. Youâve probably already finished your work, and my prognosis will prove wrong, something that would thrill me to no end; however, in the worst scenario, it will prove true. If that is the case, Ihope to have helped you as much as I did when you landed in Barcelona with your second manuscriptâor was it the third? Iâm losing my memory in old ageâfor us to revise together. Let me know as soon as possible; donât follow the example of this forgetful, absentminded old fool.
Letâs put our literary affairs aside to move on to more mundane matters. I wanted to tell you that four months ago I was appointed vice president of the Antiquariansâ Association of Barcelona. They had been trying to get me to accept the post for years, and I had refused time and again. As you know, Iâve never been fond of having my picture up on the wall or holding pompous (and worthless) titles. But lately the state of the association has taken a turn for the worse, especially regarding its capacity for adaptation to modern times. The market canât absorb the offering that we old dealers have as well as that of the wave of new antiquarians who have recently set up shop in the area. So many shops have opened down there lately that La Palla is starting to look like a Turkish bazaar. These shops have every indication of being fronts for another activity that Iâd rather not mention, but I have no choice. Rumor has it that they launder money from illegal activities, and itâs better not to conjecture further about it, so as to keep from discovering too much unpleasantness.
The shops are so well-manicured on the outside but poorly tended on the inside that I cannot believe they belong to new colleagues recently introduced into the antiques world in which, as youâre well aware, we all know each other. Therefore, and as a provisional measure, I agreed to take the open post on the associationâs board of directors, with the intention of finding out as much as possible about the people and investors behind the new shops. Old man Puigventós insisted that I was just right for the job, owing to my âexperience, skill, and contactsâ; the last being far more valuable than the former two, no doubt. He may be right, but Iâm less than thrilled.
For now, my investigations havenât revealed anything. Iâm sure you remember Captain Fornells, that conceited old card I used to run around with in my student days, and who now works in the Raval Precinct. Well, Fornells hasnât managed to make any inroads either, despite his many contacts. And if he canât do it, weâll have to appeal to higher powers because it seems obvious that this is more than just a neighborhood gang. Fornells discussed the
Still, another explanation for your outrageous project does occur to me. Is it not something personal? Are you not airing out your problems, your own personal miseries, turning what should be a simple literary exercise into a justification or exploration of your personal woes? It wouldnât surprise me at all, given your natural inclination to self-vindication. Youâve always been too indulgent with yourself. Iâve been telling you that since you were old enough to understand what the words meant. Whatâs more, if you didnât wallow so much in what you were, instead of exploring what you could be, I am sure that your place in the literary world would take a qualitative leap that would surprise critics and the public alike. Instead, you are settling for being a good writer in the midst of other good writers, but still so distant from the literary greats.
I donât know at what point this letter will find you. Youâve probably already finished your work, and my prognosis will prove wrong, something that would thrill me to no end; however, in the worst scenario, it will prove true. If that is the case, Ihope to have helped you as much as I did when you landed in Barcelona with your second manuscriptâor was it the third? Iâm losing my memory in old ageâfor us to revise together. Let me know as soon as possible; donât follow the example of this forgetful, absentminded old fool.
Letâs put our literary affairs aside to move on to more mundane matters. I wanted to tell you that four months ago I was appointed vice president of the Antiquariansâ Association of Barcelona. They had been trying to get me to accept the post for years, and I had refused time and again. As you know, Iâve never been fond of having my picture up on the wall or holding pompous (and worthless) titles. But lately the state of the association has taken a turn for the worse, especially regarding its capacity for adaptation to modern times. The market canât absorb the offering that we old dealers have as well as that of the wave of new antiquarians who have recently set up shop in the area. So many shops have opened down there lately that La Palla is starting to look like a Turkish bazaar. These shops have every indication of being fronts for another activity that Iâd rather not mention, but I have no choice. Rumor has it that they launder money from illegal activities, and itâs better not to conjecture further about it, so as to keep from discovering too much unpleasantness.
The shops are so well-manicured on the outside but poorly tended on the inside that I cannot believe they belong to new colleagues recently introduced into the antiques world in which, as youâre well aware, we all know each other. Therefore, and as a provisional measure, I agreed to take the open post on the associationâs board of directors, with the intention of finding out as much as possible about the people and investors behind the new shops. Old man Puigventós insisted that I was just right for the job, owing to my âexperience, skill, and contactsâ; the last being far more valuable than the former two, no doubt. He may be right, but Iâm less than thrilled.
For now, my investigations havenât revealed anything. Iâm sure you remember Captain Fornells, that conceited old card I used to run around with in my student days, and who now works in the Raval Precinct. Well, Fornells hasnât managed to make any inroads either, despite his many contacts. And if he canât do it, weâll have to appeal to higher powers because it seems obvious that this is more than just a neighborhood gang. Fornells discussed the
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