Almudena Solana - The Curriculum Vitae of Aurora Ortiz

Aceasta carte are pentru mine o istorie aparte, o istorie ce parca se adauga la povestea personajului principal, Aurora Ortiz. A fost un ,,coup de foudre" intre mine si numele atat de atipic pentru o carte - ,,The Curriculum Vitae of Aurora Ortiz" - petrecut pe aeroport, in asteptarea unui avion. Perspectiva celor 17 ore de zbor m-a facut sa caut tovarasia acestei lecturi, care s-a dovedit ulterior a fi o adevarata revelatie, confirmand faptul ca marile descoperiri
pot fi facute de multe ori din pura intamplare.

Aurora Ortiz este un personaj atipic pentru o carte. Nu are nimic ,,glamorous", nu are aventura in sange, nu traieste povesti de dragoste ca-n filme, nu cauta lucruri extraordinare. Dimpotriva, este persoana cu cea mai banala existenta pe care cineva si-o poate inchipui. Insa, in monotonia propriei existente, Aurora reuseste sa isi contureze un drum, sa gaseasca mici bucurii, sa-si poarte atat darurile cat si nefericirile cu o teribila seninatate. O seninatate a omului care stie ca viata e facuta din maruntisuri, din lucruri pe care majoritatea nici macar nu se obosesc sa le bage in seama.

That was another theory she had inherited from her grandmother: when you are down in dumps, you should blow away some foam while looking up at the ceiling; and on top of that(according to Ignacia), you should keep your head up while you watch to see where the foam falls, as if deep down you wished that, as it descended, a bit of soap would get in your eyes and the itching would give you a better excuse to cry...

If words were forks, they wouldn't be able to punch a hole in the moon in this evening sky, it could never be deflated, because it was hard as a porcelain plate. Nonetheless, Aurora and Roberto, in complete accord even without seeing each other, allowed it to shatter, as if a piece of china had been dropped from a great height to the ground. The moon, filled with memories, was smashed to pieces like a damaged plate, and the tiny sparkling lights in the sky were no other than the end and the beginning of everything. Life in movement.

My mother succeeded many times through her sheer persistence; I inherited her tenacity, but not her results. She even managed to get me to keep from saying everything that went through my mind, got me to restrain my words, but in these past weeks I haven't even managed to make the cut and be called to an interview. Not even if I had sent you 80 letters. My mother restrained my words, but nobody could restrain my thoughts (...)
But what did I let myself chop my life into little bits, so that you could read them like the ruthlessly honest chapters of a bewildered woman's story?

She wasn't bothered; as the rain filtered down through the eucalyptus, it seemed to her like a nutritious sap, or like one of nature’s practical jokes, as if someone were clapping his hands under a gigantic tap above her head. Someday she would figure out the reason for all this applause...

Her tears were gone, but the traces of her weeping remained. She left, and all the women's eyes followed her. They didn't ask her anything, but they gave her something like a hug, without straying from their posts. More and more of the prostitutes appeared as she made her way along the curving paths: motionless, stable, nearby. And full of curves, themselves. Aurora would never again meet finer examples of respect and anonymous companionship than those offered by the whores in Casa del Campo.

Aurora had always been a dynamic woman, a fine specimen, a very cheery specimen; afflicted with bad luck, but disinclined to let it get her down; an acrobat tumbling through life, a tightrope walker laughing at danger, a natural-born athlete, if only she could get paid for exercising with milk cartons and pimiento jars, one of those fighters who might lose a match but who never are defeated; a bundle of doubt wearing slippers indoors and boots on the street; a genuine traveler, though Madrid was the farthest she had ever gone; an enthusiastic, persistent woman who loved good conversation... She hadn't dictated any of this to Fany, because she didn't even know it about herself...

Music is the closest thing there is to thought. Why are people so afraid of thinking? Why don't they ever leave enough time to reflect? There's nothing wrong with tranquility; nor emptiness, vertigo or even unhappiness. I think that these things are the first steps that preceed the birth of a new thought. This is why I like to read, as you know, that's the path that I've found easiest to follow
She always loved thoughts and thinking, with or without chalk

I wish I could drink but not forget
I wish I could be happy and start it all again
I wish I were the sea, but all I have is foam
I wish I could go on, but all I have is foam
I can't make it without you, won't you give me a hand
All I have is doubt

I wish I were the sea, but all I have is foam

How's things....She heard it in the distance, though she was also looking him in the face. No, things weren't OK. After spending an hour exposed to the iciness and hopelessness of his colleague in the office next door, Guillermo's sad eyes, gazing at her, made her feel something she never had wished...

I'm not sure...Sometimes I'm happy even though I'm sad, and sometimes I'm sad even though I'm laughing out loud and telling jokes with a beer in my hand. Happiness depends on the effort put into being happy rather than something else

The umbrella was barely enough to jeep their first kiss from being drowned in rain. That was why Aurora worshipped the water that falls from the sky. That was why she never used umbrellas again

If it weren't for the condensation on the window pane, which of course can trick your eyes sometimes, you would have sworn that an aurora borealis had suddenly left a trail reflected in the river...And it flew away, towards the north, at full speed