Sing Ireland, Javier Reverte

Sentence: “Para mí constituye un placer supremo viajar solo y en coche”.

Title: Sing Ireland. A journey through the Emerald Isle.

Author: Javier Reverte.

Editorial: Plaza y Janes.

Sentence: “Para mí constituye un placer supremo viajar solo y en coche”.

Critical Vap: Javier Reverte had a debt with Ireland. Ten years ago, in 2004, He traveled from the Emerald Isle with the intention of writing a book. But sometimes books, do not let themselves write. Reverte has even sought an alibi. «I spent too much time in pubs and I would get a drunken book», I used to say with a look that belied his words and belied that Ireland remained, for more travel writer read in Spain, an outstanding debt.
Reverte knew I had to go back to try to settle it. And he did, finally, in summer 2012, eight years after his previous visit. There he matured «Sing Ireland», a book that oozes literature and admiration, undisguised, a country able to sing their writers and honor like no other: singing and drinking.
waiting, course, it was worth it. Why not, to Reverte he has not gone drunks book pretextaba, but a text of roads - "for me is a supreme pleasure to travel alone and drive"- who venture into literature and troubled history of Ireland through, especially, its people and their songs. And its pubs, also, that to be true to himself and, perhaps, to chase away the bugbear of that alibi that he knew inconsistent, Reverte has frequented this new awareness stay on the island. giving us, passing, Priceless conversations like the one you have with a Kerry pub owner who asks if the "Wild Colonial Boy" from "The Quiet Man" is sung at the venue every night. "Where are you from?», asks the guy. "From Spain". «And does he sing there every day« Que viva España »?, the bartender responds angrily. And there emerges the best Reverte, the traveler who has traveled the world behind "a mythical impulse". "I finished the beer and left," he writes.. It was raining again. I put a CD in the car and searched the song: It bothers me to be kicked by myths ».
Sing Ireland, and say, It is a book that welcomes you effortlessly, nor vain erudition, in the past the island and the immemorial present his literary glories: Joyce, Yeats, Behan, Shaws, Wilde and many others. Reverte, instead of opening the encyclopedia, the singing and reminiscing homenajea, on every step, his poems. His book smells like rain, a wooden bar counter and wet grass, to that green that is "the sacred color of Ireland", and tastes creamy pint of beer (Kilkenny, If you can choose) mussels and Molley Malone. That overflowing with everything Irish tune leads the author to confess, In case there was any doubt, if you would like to reincarnate born in Ireland. Although you may not like golfing or river fishing.

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