Head them off at the pass!

I bought some books on Sunday. This is not, in itself, such an unusual thing. I usually have a book on the go. The difference was that I bought ten in one fell swoop.

Nowadays I can read almost any Spanish book without too much trouble. I've chosen to read more Spanish than English for two main reasons. The first is to improve my Spanish and the second is to bone up on the home culture. It does mean that I have no idea who is hip and cool amongst contemporary British writers but as I don't know the name of the Home Secretary, or the modern way to say hip and cool, you can take it that I've given up on keeping up to date with Britain. One biggish problem is that I often forget the names of the authors I've read. For some reason names like Eva García Sáenz de Urturi just don't stick in the same way as, say, Jessie Greengrass.

Anyway I am reading a book called Women of the Post War Period (Mujeres de la posguerra) by a woman called Inmaculada de la Fuente. I am finding it hard going. It's giving information about the post Civil War period in Spain by reference to the works of some famous women Spanish writers like Carmen Laforet, Ana María Matute, Carmen Martín Gaite and Josefina Aldecoa. I've actually read something by three of those four authors but the continuous references to characters in their books, as a way of highlighting life in post war Spain, is becoming just a little wearing.

So, back to the book buying. In 1826 Pinoso finally became large enough to be self governing and separated from the neighbouring town of Monóvar. The event which celebrates that is called Villazgo. It's a big event in Pinoso which centres on local food, local traditions and local culture. This year's event took place last Sunday. Amongst the delights there were stalls from local associations and groups, from the local villages and from some businesses.

One of the stalls was selling old books including piles of notebook sized and notebook thick cowboy stories. The covers featured garish cartoon drawings. Inside the cheap, newsprint type paper was yellowed with age. Two euros for ten "books" seemed like a bit of a bargain. I had this vague recollection, from a radio programme that I'd heard that, back in the 1950s, 60s and 70s there was an industry in producing huge numbers of cheap, accessible books with weekly editions. I also remembered that the censors kept an eye on them to ensure that they passed on the "appropriate" messages for instance about a woman's role in obeying and keeping her man happy. I think they were also an incidental tool in a vague campaign to confront the country's shocking illiteracy rate. A definite addition to my cultural education.

This morning I chose one at random to read. El buitre de Denver (The Denver Vulture) by Silver Kane, printed in 1969 and with an original price of 9 pesetas. Apparently Kane was the pen name for Francisco González Ledesma who wrote over 1,000 novels in his lifetime. Over my breakfast cup of tea, before the household chores dragged me away, I'd read just 40 pages. Even then Kenton was already dead, shot in the back by his erstwhile partner and the gunslinger Mallory had gone a calling on Kenton's beautiful and curvaceous widow, Alice.

Definitely a bit less taxing than those postwar women.