Karina Sainz Borgo: How well you blaspheme together!


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There are two portraits of her dressed as flamenco, one on each flap of the book. Emilia, seven or eight years old, with shorn hair and a look of disgust. Rosa, maybe five, wears a mole painted on her cheek and a flower on her bow. There is something intimate and unforeseen in those photos, also in the pages of ‘Sobre nosotras. Sobre nada ‘, an autobiography written in four hands by Rosa Belmonte and Emilia Landaluce, which has just been published by La Esfera de los Libros.

Writing about their lives, about their friendship and the journalism for which neither of them studied, arose by chance, when one asked the other to write her obituary if she died.

“And why, while we die, don’t we write a book?” From there came this two-hundred-page creature in which they talk about them and everything: about the mothers of each one and point-blank sincerity as a form of affection; of education in which a hand to the disobedient and the little advantageous was the order of the day, also of the songs of Concha Piquer, the books of Dickens or the nativity scenes in which Emilia was assigned to King Baltasar and not to the Virgin mary

The two most relevant and subversive columnists in current journalism are presented as if they were the children’s version of Rocío, but the life of neither was spent in a courtyard in Seville. Emilia’s was distributed among the Los Rosales school, the cabinets in which the grandfather’s gown with golden buttons of the yoke and arrows, or when she was an older girl flirting with a marquis, gossiped. The one with Rosa in the back of the van in which her mother distributed donuts, the same woman who before she died told her to “Not have children” and who on the day of her communion scandalized the nuns with an illustrated Philips disc With a picture of a black man praying “But then we didn’t see blacks or on television. Okay, on the news, yes, “he writes.

Rosa Belmonte does not stop there, she squeezes the anecdotes well until she squeezes out of them the truth that is uncomfortable today, that time in which things were done and said because, yes, no one ever thought of making that a subject of grievance. Then Rosa gave up studying literature, enrolled in Law (she discovered that she was worth more than professional training, she says) and thanks to that she ended up in Workers’ Commissions as an intern and greeting Marcelino Camacho. “If the nuns find out.”

In these sleek times, this book is a beautiful arson act. It makes you laugh, it touches, it moves. It is written with irony, humor, elegance, sarcasm.

It should be distributed at the doors of the schools. How well the Landaluce and Belmonte blaspheme. Separately without a doubt, and together, not to mention it!

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