Last week I attended the Frankfurt Book Fair for the first time. After years of hearing about other people’s experiences of the world’s biggest gathering of publishing professionals, it was a great pleasure finally to go there myself. I arrived in Frankfurt on an early morning flight from London
I started learning German at school at the age of thirteen, and chose to study it at A-level because it seemed like most other people were taking French, and I wanted to do something different. Our A-level syllabus included a lot of German literature, and from that point I was hooked. Set texts by B
Look at the clock. Watch the big hand move until it reaches the twelve. Squeal because it’s time to go. Run to the family minivan and climb inside. Dodge your brothers’ punches. Ignore them saying fag, gay, queer boy, sailor boy, little fairy, big fairy, pillow biter, pretty boy, pansy, poof, na
At the time of his death in Barcelona in July 2003, from liver failure, Roberto Bolaño had not seen a word of his work translated into English, though his stature in the Spanish-reading world was pretty much assured. The first English translation of his work – by Chris Andrews, of By Night in Chi
The Colombian film director, Sergio Cabrera, is in Barcelona for a retrospective of his work. It’s a hard time for him: his father, famous actor Fausto Cabrera, has just died; his marriage is in crisis; and his home country has rejected peace agreements that might have ended more than fifty years
I drifted to a dark bar, there is always somebody waiting there. You think it’s easier for the dead ones, the barman asked and dealt the cards. I drank the gin, I poured the tonic into the bathtub healing the things that yesterday were dropping from my hands. Even the scissors; they didn’t want
