Of the pleasure of reading… and so much more

Some years ago I discovered that to the onanistic pleasure of the reading, could be added by the same price an act that was promoting the perniciously pleasant effects of the first one, with the added stimulant of having to be realized necessarily in company; it´s about speaking about books and readings.

A few years later I discovered that this pleasure could reach a superlative still major degree, I want to think that even sinful, when your speaker was your bookseller of head-board; He was which among the marasmus of innovations was recommending to you this book that seemed to be written expressly for you, which was speaking to you about books for coming and that your you were tasting in advance, which with four dispersed notes taken to the flight knew for what you were looking, which could recommend to you, with an erudite touch for that in any case your you were grateful eternally, this exact and preferable edition; This bookseller with whom you can pass chatting the whole evening, preferably rainy, though you go out of the bookshop with the empty hands, and nevertheless a bit more wise; he is this bookseller to whom you go anxious with the hope to plunder him in I resign of a discovery that you have realized and he does not know.

Unfortunately this figure of the small bookseller is endangered to the detriment of the personnel of the big supermarkets of the book whom or you go direct with the exact information of for what you look or forget to find it, and certainly to them it does not happen you to give conversation, much less to receive it, because it is not stipulated in his collective agreement.

For all that it seems to me simply outrageous the situation of Íñigo, Amelia and Carlos, three booksellers of the bookshop of Madrid Fuentetaja, who have had the crazy occurrence of dusting words as strike, solidarity, which somebody will think imported from the Polish, and dignity, which many people will not even know nor to spell.

And all this for trying to refuse desperate to the experience of seeing into what one can turn a historical bookshop, redoubt of progressive and alive culture, when it falls into the hands of personages who see in this one slides it cosmetic to its real estate business, and suffer, materialized in unworthy salaries, the contempt of his valuable daily work facing the public.

I believe that or we react already or we will not have right to complain the day in which the culture has turned into a simple support for a code of bars.

Only a last observation, bookseller is that one that sells books, not necessarily that one that possesses a bookshop.