Saturday, December 4

Order of the Phoenix | THE COUNTRY Mexico



Children who became readers for pleasure know this, and readers of all ages who cultivate the healthy pleasure of rejecting stupidity and confusion know it: in trying to tell the truth and reveal false truths, Harry Potter gets tattooed on his skin. with stiletto and blood until the slogan “I must not tell lies” burns in his soul. It turns out that a commissary of the Order of the Phoenix arrives at Hogwarts, a bureaucratic witch named Dolores Umbridge, who declares loudly that anyone who dares contradicts not only the Grouper, but the Ministry itself and some of that. nefarious whiff is perceived in the environment.

Indeed, mr. Marx Arriaga did not say verbatim what they say he said, but rather that the magic class is more demanding than it seems: you had to read his presentation of very heavy prose to confirm that – although he did not say what they say he said – he does support it. as an epidermal belief and has not been able to defend, only deny, not only its critical stance towards capitalist consumerism, but also its defense of outdated indoctrination grids that seek – à la Dolores Umbridge – to standardize criteria in bloom, to rewind the gymnastic table of oligatory memorization and professing a rebirth that “bloody handwriting enters,” both in Harry Potter’s hand and in the innocent minds of free-text readers who already smell like pamphlet.

Someone accused me of classism by calling Marx (Arriaga) an improvised librarian, without knowing that my best friends for decades have been career and trade librarians not only because they are a constant user and beneficiary, but also because any individual who suddenly arrives to direct A library – his failed management already proven – confirms that he is not only an improvised and upstart, but a jerk in the ways and rudeness with which he took the direction of the Vasconcelos Library in Mexico City as if it were the Winter Palace in a very old Soviet movie.

Indeed, I have read him and the other Marx (although I am more of Groucho’s prose and screen) and I wanted to evoke Karl’s daughter as a translator of the first English edition of Madame Bovary as an example that in the London house of the old bearded man it was also read for pleasure and that at the dining room table – where food was scarce – the tests coexisted without conflict of The capital with the half-libertine adventures that Gustave Flaubert dreamed of for the pure pleasure of paragraphs.

In the same spirit, I suppose that Marx (Arriaga) will be willing to inform and debate the lines and tonalities with which he season his work at the forefront of the edition of free textbooks and confirm or break down the ideological spirit with which he advocates for reading as a device or forcibly collective or choral spell where reading is only reduced to establishing a commitment between author and reader, where commitment is defined as the old formula of good vibes or good vibes of Silvio in Girón Beach O The International between the steam of red trains: that is, to clarify if the whole thing is about commitment in the fight, fervor of resistance, biceps in agrarian propaganda … and therefore, effectively against reading in a latrine, the pleasure of paragraphs long that soften up the easy chair.

Let it be known that I do not know if I was dismissed from a job for having raised the ink against the militancy of a public official and I am not responsible for the uproar that caused so much stupidity and confusion in the ways in which the Commissioner believed to prop up the Order of the Phoenix and of course, the gnomes and the giants, the unicorns and the dragons know, I am not responsible for a poorly explained or inexplicable job decision that has hurt or involved the bosses, high magicians and / or alchemists of the hierarchy. Better yet, I’ve never had Potter’s scar on my forehead and I don’t want a magic wand; If anything, I am the obese bearded hermit named Hagrid who knows how to step on the calluses of not a few dwarfs, fly on a broom that cleans hexes and reads at the foot of a campfire the glassy gaze of a hound that silently already knows by heart the story where, in the end, all this will pass like a passing nightmare and we all (children at last) wander in the carriages of a train that goes through the pages with the rails of typography and pure magic.

Jorge F. Hernandez

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