Big events are sometimes made up of a multitude of small things. Proust said it, or could have said it. But if it wasn’t him, surely it was done by one of the hundreds of authors (almost 250 from large groups alone) who gathered today to sign their works in Barcelona and all of Catalonia on the occasion of Sant Jordi’s Day, the day of the book and the rose (without forgetting the dragon), which once again was a record. The day, resplendent with sun and sales, has passed without notable incidents so that we must refer to the also golden pollen that the wind has thrown into the faces of the walkers, to the exasperation of those with allergies, and to those annoying winged and hairy seeds of the banana trees that fell continuously like a snowfall and went straight to your throat. To relate what happens on such an extraordinary day but so difficult to objectify would require a thousand pairs of eyes and hundreds of voices. The streets have once again become a sea of books and flowers, a kaleidoscope in which the experiences of the countless walkers are atomized, acting as a happy self-moving garden, each one clinging to his rose and wielding it as a public declaration of belonging and love.
The mayor of Barcelona, Jaume Collboni, has precisely spoken about love in an unusual way, in the first act of the day, the institutional breakfast for writers that tries to give them strength, based on the already famous whispers municipal, cream chuchos, for the long day of signatures and intellectual communion with readers. After greeting the day diplomatically as a great day of Catalan culture, book day y of the patron saint of Catalonia Sant Jordi (with which everyone was happy after the overwrought reaction of a part of Junts due to the boutade by Eduardo Mendoza about separating both celebrations), the mayor has included love in the equation, as if he were confusing Sant Jordi with Valentine’s Day. It is true that the iconic image of this edition of the party has been a couple in love, him in a T-shirt and holding a rose and she, or he or it, dressed as a green dragon with a book in her lap.
Curiously moved, Collboni stressed that it is exciting to explain what is happening this day in Catalonia and that it does not happen anywhere else in the world. And what happens is that a city like Barcelona is filled with books and roses and people who walk them in an “absolutely romantic” atmosphere. Among the most heard phrases among the crowd, certainly, that great declaration of love: “Let’s see if I can find a book for you.”
Be that as it may, it is a fact that Sant Jordi and the book, beyond controversy, have once again demonstrated an eternal love for each other. This is confirmed by the satisfied faces of booksellers, editors and authors. The very long lines to obtain the signature of Joël Dicker (bounded with barriers like a concert), Ana Milan and her red Dancing it off or Mendoza himself, with a reading and surely vindictive dragon (you know, Sant Jordi who abuses animals) on his lapel. And the success is also demonstrated by facts such as the fact that the books by Pedro Almodóvar and David Uclés, undoubtedly two of the most requested signatories, were already sold out at the Finestres bookstore at 11 in the morning.
The day has once again had its protest part, as a speaker for the most diverse causes, including end-of-year trips that could be said to be an extinct activity. Among these causes, at the top, is that of the writers persecuted in different countries and to whom Barcelona gives refuge. “Literature is not only beauty but courage,” the mayor summarized together with this year’s speaker Ali Smith.
The love of the dyad has not reached at least one municipal representative: a group of librarians demonstrated against the cuts and closures in the libraries wearing masks with the face of the Councilor for Culture Xavier Marcé, who meanwhile was eating whisper oblivious to the protest. The theaters have taken the opportunity to join the party: “a book, a rose and a play” they proclaimed at the Poliorama.
One of the most exciting moments of the day is when the writers, spurred on by the mayor, rush out of breakfast to go to the booths where they will sign. The thing has something of those great moments of the cinematic epic such as the harangue of Gladiator or that of Al Pacino to his players in any given sunday (“inch by inch”). From then on, the writers embark on a real challenge to reach their signature points and run from one to the other, which allows you to meet them all day moving through the crowd. Like Julia Navarro, enthusiastic about the atmosphere. Or Espido Freire, with his Guide to places that no longer exist under the arm and probably the most beautiful and relevant dress of the day, with a body of white roses. Many stories in the ocean of them from the day. Almanzor seemed to wink at the Edhasa booth on Emma Lira’s shoulder. The Egyptian Museum booth had become the oasis of Siwa with Tito Vivas, José Miguel Parra and Maixaxa Taulé herself stamping their signatures. A reader asked an author who signed his name in Laie with a salacot to dedicate the book to her with the enigmatic phrase: “For Esther, who was bitten by a lion.”
Writers, readers, literary genres and tastes have mixed with the same promiscuity as the pigeons, parrots and starlings that spent the day amazed in the flowerbeds of Plaza de Catalunya. Once again, the signing authors have found themselves with the surprising experience of fraternizing with their readers, who asked for signatures, selfies and even advice. “Can I put a real person speaking in a novel? Will he sue me?” a woman asked a writer. Fortune has brought together people who signed a lot with others who did little: it is a trance that is lived as one can. Very hard to sit next to a twenty-year-old girl who has already written a trilogy and signs it like hotcakes. But the experience of being there is always positive: “This is my second Sant Jordi, the first made me think that I am a real writer,” Manuel Marlasca, author of You dance and I shoot.
To highlight in the midst of the morass of stimuli of the day was the resounding message that a large poster on a lollipop proclaimed: “This Sant Jordi a rose and a powder.” That’s also going to be love.