Gonzalo Barr

On June 17, 2007, I posted the first entry in this blog. I had a general idea what I wanted to do here: comment about literature that is not given enough attention in the US, such as French, Spanish-language, Italian, and Portuguese-language works. I chose those languages because I read them, nothing more.  If I read Turkish or Russian or Japanese, I would comment on works in those languages more frequently than I do.

We tend to be a little provincial in the US. I have no idea how many Americans competently speak a language other than English (I mean more than a few halting phrases learned in high school), but the number has to be very low. Last year, we published more books than ever, both in the US and the UK, yet fewer than three percent were translations of works from other languages. The often-cited figure of three percent has acquired a life of its own. People throw it out as if there were a study to support it, except the study is never mentioned. Personally, I think the real percentage is lower and, to pick a number, probably less than two.  Nobody really knows.

When I started this blog, I also decided that I would not write reviews. There are several reasons why, the most important being that I don’t like to write reviews. There are plenty of other places where you can read a book review, plenty of bloggers more talented than me, who read books then want to analyze them publicly. I read books as a writer. When I read something that catches my attention, I ask myself: How did the author do it? Why did it work? Why did it not work? Shop talk.

That does not mean that I haven’t and won’t continue to write about books and authors and movements. I have a post in draft form about a topic that interests me greatly — the generation of Latin American authors who have eschewed magic realism and ideology, who have reclaimed for themselves the right to write a story or novel about anything at all, any time period, any place in the world, the McOndo phenomenon or the Cracks, for instance. I just won’t write reviews. There is a difference, albeit a fine one.

I also told myself that there would be no politics here. We are awash in politics. You can’t get away from it, not in the media, not even at dinner. Some guests feel that the perfect segue to a comment about the Pinot Noir is a snide remark about something political. In the US, where our presidential election is well into its second year (damn stupid way to chose the candidate for a job that lasts four years) and the mainstream media devotes itself ever more feverishly to reporting everything but the issues, I confess exhaustion with the whole thing. Not here. Not even a little bit.

Do I care? Of course I do. I’m very interested in what happens here and what happens in Latin America.  A great many people in Miami have a personal stake in Latin America for obvious reasons. Our local economy is as tied to the world south of us as it is to the world north.  I’m interested in the EU, East Asia, and lately, Africa. But there are plenty of other people with more expertise than me in any of those topics, so I will leave that space to them.

Then what is this blog about? It is about writing fiction, literature, publishing, books, bookstores, and art when it catches my eye, about law, as it relates to books, and about Miami. The overriding principle is that it has to be fun, preferably interesting, hopefully informative.  There’s no other agenda.

Summer is here.  The poincianas are in full bloom and afternoons bring with them tropical rains – a darkening of the skies with thunder and lightning and a deluge that ends as quickly as it starts.

These days, I am revising my novel, working six to seven hours, six days a week.  There’s a deadline I intend to keep.  If I post a little less frequently, you will know why.

But this morning, I realized that it’s been a year and a few days since I started this blog and I wanted to revisit the reasons why I do it.  A blog that is unread is like that infamous tree in the middle of the forest, the one that falls, only no one is there to hear it crash.  Fortunately, that has not been the case here.

So to everyone who has linked to this blog, or emailed me with a story, or written a comment, or visited — a heartfelt thank you, and gracias, and merci, and grazie, and obrigado.

Photo:  Gonzalo Barr