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220 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1926
He was pale and unshaven as usual. He grinned at those below and gave an occasional shabby and sardonic wave of farewell.
His pockets were stuffed with sweet pastry. He carried jewels, relics of the church and precious stones that had once belonged to well-disposed and generous aristocratic women.
Confusedly she shifted from foot to foot. From the moment she had entered the room she felt sick: indeed she felt so unwell she feared she might faint. There was a vaguely foul smell about the place she didn’t recognize, something like the interior of a chemist’s shop, a sharp cold smell which invaded her senses and disturbed her stomach.
She was like an animal that lives in the eternal present, an unfed dog who doesn’t quite know what ails it and yet keeps wandering back to its empty bowl, sniffs at the rim, and, seeing it is empty, retreats dejected to its kennel, casting the occasional look back.
“Se levantaba a las cuatro y media de la mañana y nunca se acostaba antes de haber terminado las faenas del día. No se mostraba insolente con su ama, nunca ponía mala cara.�La relación entre amos y criada es exactamente la misma que se describe en la novela de Delibes. Para los señores, los criados son propiedades de las que pueden disponer para todo, insisto en lo de para todo, y en la forma y momento que deseen, circunstancia de la que se enorgullecen y hasta les sirve de motivo de burla en las veladas que celebraban con sus amistades. Lo entienden así en el convencimiento de que:
“� son otra clase de personas. No son como nosotros. Su estómago es diferente, y también su alma. Son criadas, quieren seguir siéndolo, y así nos exigen que las consideremos�Piensan que nacieron para ello, que sin las órdenes y el trabajo que se les ofrece no sabrían que hacer. Pensamientos que se confirman en la persona de la santa inocente Anna: “El tiempo libre, infinito (un domingo de cada dos, de 4 a 7), le producía un sentimientos de insensatez�. En su desvarío llega a creer que forma parte de la familia (de la que está muy necesitada pues la miseria y necesidades de la suya hacía imposible una relación sana y estrecha), se identifica con ellos, se alegra de sus logros de los que se enorgullece delante de otras criadas.
“Se alegraba de la compra de una nueva cuchara de madera. Llamaba al colador «nuestro colador», al sacacorchos «nuestro sacacorchos», y siempre resultaba más bonito que el de los vecinos.�La novela, la última que escribió el escritor, se lee con suma facilidad, su estilo es sencillo, irónico, y su argumento es intachable, pero no he disfrutado en la medida que su historia podría augurar. Según he podido leer, no está la novela entre lo mejor de sus producción, aunque es de lectura obligatoria en su país y tenida como un clásico de su literatura. Espero que ustedes consigan disfrutarla más.
"'I don't like humanity, because I have never seen it, because I don't know it. The concept of humanity is perfectly hollow. And take note, councillor: every confidence-trickster is a humanitarian. Those who are greedy, those who would not spare a crust for their own brothers, those who are the worst of scoundrels, they all have a humanitarian ideal. They hang people and murder them, still they are humanitarians. They desecrate their homes, they kick their wives out, they neglect their parents and their children, and what are they? Humanitarians. There's no more comfortable position. It obliges you to nothing. No individual has yet come to me announcing, I am humanity. Humanity requires no food, no clothes, it maintains a decent distance somewhere in the background with a halo round its brow. There is Peter and there is Paul. They are only people. Humanity does not exist.'" (84-85)Having read Skylark (1924) not so long ago, and having been quite blown away by it, I decided to read Anna Édes (1926) next. It's a more overtly political novel, set right after the Bolsheviks lost power in Hungary and moving through the Romanian occupation. The first half of the book or so was entirely compelling and right up to the standards of Skylark. Then, it began to dwindle, moved toward a great shock (which wasn't entirely satisfying), and ended on another unexpected note—with a rather strange metafictional reference to the author. All in all, very much worth reading, if not quite as good as Skylark (which, to be fair, was a rare kind of perfection).