In Sleepless Nights, in line with literary strategies, Elvira Lindo complained that "it is already known that having written humor subtracts points", and that is true, yes, but for some reason it does not work for all cases. I say it because it is not that Mendoza's literary prestige has come out of his comic books, or that it has even been reinforced, but in fact that good general fame, which led him to the 2016 Cervantes Prize , rises mainly on humor , something quite unusual if we observe that there is a surprising unanimity when assessing it: a great merit of Mendoza is to have shown that popularity and criticism can coincide, that the favor of the general public does not imply the indifference of demanding readers.

On the other hand, in this immense bar called Spain we have an endearing tradition : half of the population buys the Planeta Prize (but does not read it) while the other half tears it apart (but, of course, without reading it). I fear that, perhaps because of this, fewer people than I should have done it naturally read in 2010 Catfight , and they missed what in my opinion is the third masterpiece that, today, shields the work for the future of the author. The other two are taken for granted, but that is what I cared to explain: from the first lines of the press article with which the dazzling debut of The truth about the Savolta case started there is already a good humor crouched but obvious, and of done that intimate pitorreo is already even before, in the exergue, which reproduces that moment in which Don Quijote deduces that they are close to Barcelona due to the fact that they begin to appear hanged on all sides. That Cervantes is in the first babble of his work already has something revealing (and Mendoza has been here and there explicitly Cervantine, as in the episode of the Dukes of The Last Journey of Horacio Dos ), and also that it begins as soon as that form sarcastic of portraying his hometown, which some clueless Barcelona could bother and yet hides an indisputable attachment, an eternal love easy to share.

In one of his funniest mutations, the extraterrestrial of No news of Gurb was transformed into Manuel Vázquez Montalbán, who years later, in a prologue to Savolta, hit the spot when he warned that Mendoza's supposed minor novels concealed both teaching and teaching the canonical ones, and that his extreme humor, almost astracanada , should not mislead everything that these books offer. It's true: apart from wonderful digressions about a thousand issues, in the series that began with The Mystery of the Haunted Crypt there are supernaturally good moments, and I don't mind confessing, for example, that the last lines of The Tangle of the Bag and the life moved me to tears, and that the emotion of that end may be precisely enhanced by the fact that a story culminating that seemed a simple entertainment, something inconsequential.

Last year The king receives alarmed us: it began very well and gave memorable moments, of those that have made us fanatic Mendoza , but in general it was a somewhat reluctant narration, not light but a little languid. The good news, therefore, is that the continuation, which has appeared now, returns us almost to the best Mendoza: The negotiated yin and yang is hilarious, erratic but only to the extent that it has been proposed to be, as improvised, without knowing where it goes, but with the helm well grabbed by its author. The lines on the UN, for example, should go to encyclopedias, and also Mendoza at the time of giving a rational balance on thorny issues , taking risks (says without hesitation that Franco "was never a fascist", but it is equally accurate when assessing the cruelty and backwardness of his regime), although being in his historical valuations as kind and impeccable as his entire writing has been, and even his attitude, typical of a gentleman.

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