After my distant childhood among books || Review [Eng/Esp]

Friends of this community, I am sure that all of you have loved reading since childhood. I, at least, had the opportunity to be surrounded by books from the moment I first saw the light, and I have never been able to part with them since. When I close my eyes and travel back in time, I see that wooden shelf next to my childhood bed, and among the colors worn by use, there are three volumes that rise up as pillars for me. Now I have the joy of having been able to buy new editions, and in this way, my daughter has begun to walk the same path I did.
Those were not simple books, they are not simple books; they are portals or silent companions that planted in me the seed of who I am today.

The first, the one I handled the most and of which I have had several editions, is "Once Upon a Time" by Herminio Almendros. It was precisely there that I learned language could be music. Almendros, that Cuban pedagogue I learned about much later, had the gift of cadence. His versions of "Little Chick Pito" or "The Little Golden Hen" were not read, they were sung.
That book went beyond chants; it was my first confrontation with human complexity disguised as simplicity. In "Half a Chick," I learned the value of the incomplete and tenacity, and in "The Steadfast Tin Soldier," I trembled before impossible love and the fragility of destiny. Everything is told with such calm, his prose is so relaxed and serene that the fear in the stories becomes respect. It was almost my first grammar for emotions.


The second pillar arrived a little later, when I had already mastered reading. It was "Flower of Legends" by Alejandro Casona, with a monumental ambition. If Almendros had given me popular folklore, Casona opened the doors to the great universal literary tradition for me. There I could meet an exiled Cid, dignified and stubborn, whose sorrow seemed more real to me than any fight at my school. I could also cry with the tragedy of Tristan and Isolde, that condemned love.
The Germanic legends of Lohengrin, the Swan Knight, transported me to misty forests, but the story that marked me was "The Death of the Child Muni," that Hindu legend I still cannot forget, and then there were Hector and Achilles fighting beneath the walls of Troy. Casona summarized, yes, but with such mastery that the epic essence remained intact. More than a children's book, it is a book for a child to begin becoming an adult.

The third book was a door to the exotic, to a different collective soul: "Russian Fairy Tales" by Alexander Afanasyev. Here is the voice of an entire people, a voice that is rough, melancholic, and full of magic. Baba Yaga in her hut on chicken legs is not just any witch; she always seemed to me a force of nature, as capricious as she is dangerous.



Within these pages are confined Tsar Saltan, Tsarevich Ivan, the Gray Wolf... They are tales with a different texture, longer, more intricate, that manage to hypnotize. The moral is not always clear, and sometimes the rogue triumphs, but they always manage to immerse me in a mythical Russia of eternal winters and brief summers. It was the book that taught me that other sensibilities exist, other mythologies, and that the world was vast and diverse and that every culture weaves its own magic carpets to survive the darkness.

Today, looking back, I see how these three books formed a perfect triangle in my imagination. Together they were my first personal canon, for they not only gave me stories, they gave me an ear for prose and a taste for myths. They also taught me that one could travel without leaving the bed and, above all, they gave me the enduring gift which is the certainty that within the pages of a book resides the most real magic of all.
Until the next book!

✨ 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈! ✨
𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒕, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒂 𝑪𝒖𝒃𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒐’𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒓.
𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 100% 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏-𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 (𝒏𝒐 𝑨𝑰).
𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝑳𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒊.
𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕? 𝑼𝒑𝒗𝒐𝒕𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚! 💛

VERSIÓN EN ESPAÑOL

Tras mi lejana niñez entre libros || Reseña

Amigos de esta comunidad, estoy segura de que todos ustedes han amado la lectura desde niños. Yo, al menos, tuve la oportunidad de estar acompañada de libros desde que vi la luz, y ya jamás pude desprenderme de ellos. Al cerrar los ojos y retroceder en el tiempo, veo ese estante de madera junto a mi cama de niña, y entre los colores desgastados por el uso, hay tres ejemplares que se alzan como pilares para mí. Ahora tengo la dicha de haber podido comprar nuevas ediciones, y de esa forma mi hija ha comenzado a andar por mis mismos pasos.
Aquéllos no eran simples libros, no son simples libros; son portales o compañeros silenciosos que sembraron en mí la semilla de lo que hoy soy.

El primero, el que más manoseé, y del cual he tenido varias ediciones, es "Había una vez", de Herminio Almendros. Precisamente allí aprendí que el lenguaje podía ser música. Almendros, ese pedagogo cubano del que supe mucho después, tenía el don de la cadencia. Sus versiones de "Pollito Pito" o "La Gallinita Dorada" no se leían, se cantaban.
Ese libro fue más allá de los cánticos; fue mi primera confrontación con la complejidad humana disfrazada de simpleza. En "Medio Pollito", aprendí el valor de lo incompleto y la tenacidad, y en "El soldadito de plomo" temblé ante el amor imposible y la fragilidad del destino. Todo está contado con tanta calma, su prosa es tan relajada y serena que el miedo en las historias se convierte en respeto. Fue casi mi primera gramática de las emociones.


El segundo pilar llegó un poco después, cuando ya dominaba la lectura. Llegó "Flor de Leyendas" de Alejandro Casona, con una ambición monumental. Si Almendros me había dado el folclore popular, Casona me abrió las puertas de la gran tradición literaria universal. Allí pude conocer a un Cid desterrado, digno y terco, cuya pena me pareció más real que cualquier pelea en mi escuela. Igual pude llorar con la tragedia de Tristán e Isolda, ese amor condenado.
Las leyendas germánicas de Lohengrin, el caballero del cisne, me transportaron a bosques brumosos, pero el relato que me marcó fue "La muerte del niño Muni", esa leyenda hindú que aún no puedo olvidar, y luego estaban Héctor y Aquiles luchando bajo los muros de Troya. Casona resumía, sí, pero con tal maestría que la esencia épica quedaba intacta. Más que un libro infantil, es un libro para que un niño comience a ser adulto.

El tercer libro fue una puerta hacia lo exótico, hacia un alma colectiva diferente: los "Cuentos Populares Rusos", de Aleksandr Afanásiev. Aquí está la voz de un pueblo entero, una voz áspera, melancólica y llena de magia. La Baba Yaga en su cabaña sobre patas de gallina no es una bruja cualquiera; me pareció siempre una fuerza de la naturaleza tan caprichosa como peligrosa.



Dentro de estas páginas están encerrados el Zar Saltán, el Zarévich Iván, el Lobo Gris... Son cuentos con una textura diferente, más largos, más enrevesados, que logran hipnotizar. La moral no siempre está clara y a veces triunfa el pícaro, pero siempre logran sumergirme en una Rusia mítica, de inviernos eternos y veranos breves. Fue el libro que me enseñó que existen otras sensibilidades, otras mitologías, y que el mundo era inabarcable y diverso, y que cada cultura teje sus propias alfombras mágicas para sobrevivir a la oscuridad.

Hoy, al mirar atrás, veo cómo estos tres libros formaron un triángulo perfecto en mi imaginación. Juntos fueron mi primer canon personal, pues no solo me dieron historias, me dieron el oído para la prosa y el gusto por los mitos. Me enseñaron además que se podía viajar sin moverse de la cama y, sobre todo, me dieron el regalo perdurable que es la certeza de que dentro de las páginas de un libro habita la magia más real de todas.
¡Hasta el próximo libro!

✨ ¡𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒓! ✨
𝑺𝒊 𝒂ú𝒏 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒔: 𝒔𝒐𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒓ó𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂 𝒚 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂, 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒓𝒆, 𝒎𝒖𝒋𝒆𝒓 𝒚 𝒔𝒐ñ𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓ó 𝒆𝒏 𝑯𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒖𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒗𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒓.
𝑬𝒍 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒐 𝒚 𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒎á𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒊 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒓í𝒂, 100% 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒔 (𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝑰𝑨).
𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆ñ𝒂𝒅𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝑳𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒊.
¿𝑻𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒕ó 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒑𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒄𝒊ó𝒏? 𝑽𝒐𝒕𝒂, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒂𝒚𝒖𝒅𝒂𝒓 𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒔. 💛
!discovery
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What a beautiful post! Reading it has filled me with such peace and nostalgia. Although I admit I haven't had the chance to read any of those three titles (perhaps due to geographical or generational differences), you've left me with a strong desire to seek out the book of Russian fairy tales; the way you describe that mythical, somewhat darker and more complex atmosphere has completely captivated me.
It's moving to think of those books as "pillars" and "portals." Thank you for sharing this intimate journey through your childhood library!
I think many generational differences are more geographical, though the stories within them are universal.
I’ve had them at home since I was born—I’ve seen several editions of each, and the ones I’m showing you now are already my daughter’s...
But reading them and holding them in my hands is like watching our childhood in a movie.
Thank you, as always, for reading me 🤗🌻