Provider of happiness for readers

I've read all of Mendoza's books, some as many as four times, for professional reasons and, above all, for pleasure. But I'd be hard-pressed to select the best passages from his bibliography, which includes some twenty novels. Perhaps because there are so many. Even so, I have a particular soft spot for those in which he satirizes power. For example, the passage in The City of Marvels in which Mayor Rius i Taulet is attributed with a peculiar vocational drive: "Only two things make me feel like a mayor (...) spending without restraint and being a scoundrel." Or the one in The Adventure of the Ladies' Toilet in which a Barcelona councilor from the turn of the century reflects: "We've just put away the skis and now we have to get the yacht ready. Luckily, while we're scratching our balls, the stock market keeps rising."

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Faced with such praise, the question automatically arises: Why does the institutional powers never tire of awarding the Barcelona author? The City Council awarded him the Ciutat de Barcelona Prize in 1987. The Generalitat (Catalan government) awarded him its National Culture Prize in 2013. The Ministry of Culture awarded him the Cervantes Prize in 2016. And the Princess of Asturias Foundation awarded him the eponymous prize in the Literature category yesterday, which, incidentally, marks 50 years since Mendoza debuted in 1975 with The Truth About the Savolta Case …

Mendoza's magic lies in turning his passion for writing into enjoyment for the reader.

The answer to this question could be summarized in one of the ideas captured in the argument of the Princess of Asturias Award jury: "For bringing happiness to readers." I can attest to that. In November 2023, when La Vanguardia revealed that Mendoza was about to break a three-year silence and publish a new title— Three Enigmas for the Organization (2024)—this newspaper's website was flooded with comments. For once, they didn't ooze bile or channel the jabs, barbs, and other Cainite expressions that darken the social networks, but, on the contrary, they showed expressions of satisfaction and gratitude from readers toward an author who has provided them with elevated solace, provided them with a great time, and even helped them in times of depression or adversity.

The next question is also self-evident: how is that achieved? Here the answer is somewhat more complex. We could begin by saying that Mendoza, a voracious reader, is a blend of numerous literary traditions: from the Spanish Golden Age to more or less experimental authors like Donald Barthelme, through Cervantes and Shakespeare, to those of the 1890s led by Pío Baroja and Ramón del Valle-Inclán, or to others from the Anglo-Saxon sphere like Charles Dickens and Samuel Beckett. Mendoza has drawn lessons and registers from all of them, which he then knew how to combine with streetwise expressions, picked up here and there, weaving a rich prose that seduces the most cultured without discriminating against those who are less so. And vice versa.

A consequence of this diversity of reader interests is his polyphonic prose, where stylistic fragments from diverse sources are brought together and blended, which Mendoza knows how to sew together with the skill necessary to make the seams invisible. A truly unique gift and undoubtedly a lever for success, which in his case tends to also, and simultaneously, be with the public and critics. Another rare achievement.

All of this is seasoned with a great deal of humor. Just yesterday, Mendoza had the opportunity to openly assert his predilection for humor, which some identify with his so-called "minor" novels—those about the crazy detective Ceferino, for example—but which, to a greater or lesser extent, has permeated all of his titles, and is evident, for example, in The City of Marvels .

New proof of his fondness for fusion (of speech, tones and registers), this humor is often mixed with apt reflections on the human condition, which can make the reader who in the previous paragraph was smiling or laughing at a joke frown, and so on, in a sleepless back and forth.

At the press conference he gave yesterday, hoarse and babbling, Mendoza returned the jury's praise – "a provider of happiness for readers" – saying that he had "dedicated my life to writing, which is what I like most, and to being lazy, and now I'm being awarded for it, when I was a provider of happiness for myself."

That's Mendoza's magic: turning his passion for writing into a joy for the reader.