A Sober Amis

Strangely enough, Everyday Drinking – Amis’ collected books on booze – calls for a sober reader, and Lucky Jim – his famous first novel – a drinking one.

Try sipping from a very icy caipiroska when reading about Jim’s disastrous weekend at the Welch’s and you’ll know what I mean.

Flavored Indulgences

Since I started reading Amis’ book I’ve been experimenting on my drinking skills. Apart from a Sparkling Lemon Martini (gin, champagne, lemon juice, cassis) and a Watermelon Gin Punch (gin, obviously, watermelon juice, lemon, mint), I’ve tried something that would make even Sir Kingsley Amis frown: champagne and Absolut Pears.

But maybe he would frown only because flavored Absoluts came about long after he wrote the book — the first one, Absolut Peppar, was launched in 1986, and even though Amis only died in 1995, he gave up on the alcoholic books in 1984. Which was a shame.

For the record: vodka and champagne is one of those few wonderful and unexpected surprises you may come across in your life.

Everyman’s Drinking

Although my copy of Lucky Jim is lying quietly on the bedside table, Everyday Drinking arrived today at my bookstore. As I went to pick it up and read the first few pages, I smiled, uninterruptedly. The wonders of drinking lie not only in drinking itself but also in talking and thinking about drinking. All my stories have drinking characters. Actually, I think that my characters drink for 2/3 of each story. (When they’re not in the story, they must be recovering from the alcohol, I imagine).

And Amis’ style makes me laugh out loud.

The Man Who Went Jogging and Killed a Duck

There was a man at the spa. One morning he went jogging and felt so desperately hungry, that he brought back to his room a duck (!), threw it in very hot (shower) water, cut off its feathers and ate it. Later on, someone discovered the feathers and there was a great commotion. Apparently, the man (who weights over 350 lbs) told them that they had to produce the duck in order to prove the whole story. That being impossible, matters rested as they should.

And everything was told to us by this woman at the bar.

The Bonfire of the Vanities

Within seven days, I’ll be in Rome. Then Florence, Venice, Assis, Madrid! As I prepared for the trip, I came across information on Savonarola. A Dominican priest who was a leader in Florence for 5 years – from 1494 to 1498 – apparently, enough time to make a mess.

He became famous for his opposition to the Medici family and for what was called The Bonfire of the Vanities - in which a huge pile of objects considered to be occasions of sin was formed and then burnt in the Piazza della Signoria. He was not the first to perform such a act, though – a Fransciscan Italian missionary from the 14th century, Bernardine, seems to have set the trend.

They sent boys from door to door collecting items associated with moral laxity: mirrors, cosmetics, lewd pictures, pagan books, immoral sculptures, gaming tables, chess pieces, lutes and other musical instruments, fine dresses, women’s hats, and the works of immoral and ancient poets, and burnt them all in a large pile in the Piazza della Signoria of Florence. Many fine Florentine Renaissance artworks were lost in Savonarola’s notorious bonfires — including paintings by Sandro Botticelli and Michelangelo Buonarroti, which are said to have been thrown on the pyres by the artists themselves, though there are some who question this claim.

The Agony and The Ecstasy

In September, I’ll see Michelangelo’s ceiling in the Capella Sistina. No work of art has produced a longer lasting effect on me, ever since my Drawing classes some 12 years ago.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

(A Thing of Beauty, John Keats)

The Dangers of Chocolate

Every Nestle chocolate bar now features the following warning: to better enjoy your chocolate, eat moderately. Or: Chocolate should be part of a healthy, balanced diet. Or, better yet: 25g of chocolate provides you with energy for a 20-minute swim, SO, eat moderately.

It all started with the French brand Casino, I believe. And 25g of chocolate are well worth a 20-minute swim. The problem being that 25g are not quite enough…

One Art

For the one person I couldn’t lose:

One Art

Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch.  And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied.  It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Weighty Souls

Two days ago, the writer Guillermo Arriaga participated in a debate, in Sao Paulo, with Uruguayan writer Diego Bracco. Someone in the audience asked him to tell, once again, an African tribe story concerning alma ligera y alma pesada, which can be (badly) translated into light soul and heavy soul. That’s pretty much what he said (in Español, translation will come later). I love this tale.

Hay una tribu africana que considera que nosotros tenemos dos almas: un alma ligera y un alma pesada. El alma ligera es un alma que anda por ahí. Te desmayas y se salió el alma ligera. Sueñas y se salió el alma ligera. Se sale el alma ligera y te vuelves loco. El déjà vu es el alma ligera que salió, vio algo y después regresó. Cuando se sale el alma pesada se acaba todo. El alma ligera sale del cuerpo tres años antes de la muerte para guiar al alma pesada en el momento final, y va a dos lugares: al árbol guaguau o gogú, que es el primer árbol de la creación, para contemplar el horizonte y ver cómo es el camino que debe seguir, y a preguntarles a las mujeres menstruando qué hay en la frontera de la vida con la muerte. Las mujeres menstruando están situadas en esa frontera: entre sangre y dolor, sale de entre sus piernas la posibilidad de aquello que pudo ser y no fue, así que se encuentra en un momento de sabiduría. Cuando ha ido a esos dos lugares, el alma ligera emprende el camino hacia el abismo exacto donde va a caer el alma pesada. Yo creo que un escritor tiene que actuar como esa alma ligera: ir, asomarse al abismo y regresar a chismearle al alma pesada. Ir a un horizonte donde nadie ha ido, situarse ahí y ver el vértigo de la caída. Yo quisiera ser ese escritor, lo que no significa que lo sea.

Retinae continued

There were three other men in the hall, all dressed in the same suit.

- Gentlemen, please…

Dr. Pavek approached them with a smile, then pointed to a table where there were exactly three glasses filled with some extraordinarily colorful drink.

The three men, who in every way were very much alike, sat down on three upholstered chairs and, almost at the same time, raised their eyes to Dr. Pavek. He smiled back at them, then smiled at Mr. Schaw, who held another glass of the same drink and had just been back from someplace else. With a click on his minimal remote control, Dr. Pavek made the walls close behind Mr. Schaw and the five gentlemen now shared a much smaller room.

- Well – commenced the Dr, with an accent that was either Polish or English.

- Julius, I don’t know if the news about the murders have reached you… – Mr. Schaw now seemed deprived of all the joy the lab had given him earlier.

Dr. Pavek’s expression grew darker.

- I believe someone has been murdering many of my clients by removing their substitute eyes.

- Yes, that one.

- Of course I’ve heard of him.

Then he looked at his watch, a broad tech device whose display seemed to be in unstoppable movement.

- And if I’m not mistaken, he has just striked again, while you gentlemen were talking to me.

- Who’s the new victim? – asked one of the three.

- An Elisa Baltimore, 22, used to be pretty.

- Julius, this is very serious business.

- Yes, I know. But I have no idea of how I could possibly be of any help if not by giving a 1 billion name list of everyone who’s seeing through the glasses I’ve invented 20 years ago.

The three men sat still. Mr. Schaw went along.

- We were expecting you’d tell us something the murders could have in common.

- I don’t quite know much about them, I’m afraid, Richard. They came to me long ago, as new born babies or children. Which reminds me that I should be getting back to my See-All class. Don’t you think those children should learn a little about the human eye, the one they’ve had for years now, without giving it the slightest thought?

- Oh, certainly – replied one of the three – and what is this drink?

- It’s vodka and chocolate with a little of my eye soup. Oh, you don’t have to worry. If anything, it’ll make you see better.

Dr. Pavek stood up and walked to the wall, where he pressed one of three red buttons. The three gentlemen left him, each with a short bow exactly like the one before. Then he came back to the room, where Mr. Schaw awaited him with another glass of the same drink.

- Richard, I should like to tell that if you drink up to 3 of those, instead of seeing better, you’ll lose awareness of your whereabouts.

Mr. Schaw laughed heartily. Dr. Pavek smiled.

- Let’s check on these victims.