The Nobel laureate relaxes with Gaudí

It is the first time that the photo of authors illustrating the cover of La Vanguardia on Sant Jordi’s Day features a Nobel Prize in Literature. And, logically, she is reserved a place of honor, right on the first sofas that the Alma hotel has arranged on its rooftop. Han Kang arrives on time. She looks happy. She is visibly grateful to be with barely thirty people, instead of the 700 who the day before crowded the CCCB waiting to see her appear. She is a sensitive thinker. Crowds overwhelm her. But here, the views of the Sagrada Família in the background, with the cross already crowning the Jesus tower, seem to have a calming effect. This and the presence of Xavi Ayén, the man who whispered to the Nobels and who, since he interviewed her a few days ago in London, seems to be her confidant.

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“I was inside the Sagrada Família but I didn’t know this skyline, it’s impressive,” Han Kang comments to him. “And is that also Gaudí?” she says, pointing to the hidden side of La Pedrera. “Yes, yes. Wherever you look, Gaudí’s architecture emerges in this privileged enclave,” Ayén confirms.

She is the great novelty of the photo set, but it is inevitable that a certain déjà vu is felt regarding the arrangement of the authors. It is the same as last year. With the basilica crowned, it was obligatory to repeat this perspective to celebrate Gaudí Year. “Although Rosalía seems to have stolen it from the architect,” someone jokes in the huddles before the camera shot.

Carlos Zanón and Fernando Aramburu sit on the stools in the background and recall that they were in the same situation four years ago, when the authors’ photo was taken on the rooftop overlooking the sea. They swear that, just like today, they were asked to swap places for a better distribution of the chromatic spot. Zanón has come in black again. He is not the only one, to the exasperation of the chief photography editor, Xavier Cervera, who is in need of color. David Uclés is not his man either, but he tries to make the most of his pants by asking him to cross his legs. The author of La ciudad de las luces muertas obeys. No, better leave it as it was.

Luckily, Regina Rodríguez Cubas has come as a cowgirl. And Maria Stepánova wears an indigo blue leather jacket, Russian style, or Emma Lira, the Edhasa Prize winner, adds a note of well-saturated orange. “You called me to ask me to wear bright colors, but I see that not everyone has done so,” she says, glancing around.

Eduardo Mendoza, who is an old hand, arrives when everyone has been toasting in the indecisive sun for a while and everything is ready for the click. He sits down and rebelliously picks up his book upside down. “It’s just that it’s been many years doing the same thing,” he excuses himself. Pol Guasch agrees that they will have to reinvent themselves, but for now he happily takes the champagne glass for the final toast version. Màrius Serra, a man of theater willing to do anything, has not only dressed in electric blue but, from one end, assumes the role of host, bottle in hand. On the other side, Eva Baltasar lives oblivious to the noise. Reclining under the dripping shower, she takes the opportunity to sunbathe.

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The Nobel laureate bids farewell with Asian humility, leaving behind the Gaudí views. And seeing her pass, Francesc Torralba comments that her book Anatomía de la esperanza – the one that both President Salvador Illa and the leader of Vox in Catalonia, Ignacio Garriga, have coincided in recommending – is going to be translated precisely into Korean.

“I am studying the lyrics of the songs of Lux – adds the philosopher and theologian – and I must say that they are substantial.” Rosalía once again creeps into conversations. In the background, still on the sofa, Mendoza and Rodríguez Sirvent remain, exchanging their books.

The young woman is reluctant to give him hers, Crispetes de matinada. “You won’t read it,” she tells him. “Of course I will read it,” replies the Prince of Asturias Award winner before handing her a copy of his latest diversion, La intriga del funeral inconveniente.

“He told me not to write anything, that there is nothing more uncomfortable than thinking of a dedication you didn’t expect, but, of course, Eduardo is the first author who made me laugh out loud. I remember laughing with him in my kitchen and I wanted to write it down,” Regina confesses. In the elevator that leads directly to the party, the young woman reads the dedication Mendoza wrote for her. She praises his sense of humor, “but of course, he says it without knowing me.”

The rest also say goodbye. And Aramburu and Zanón make a date… “until four years from now.”

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