domingo, 19 de febrero de 2023

A hard-breaking revealing truth

Hi friends!


It's been a long time since I last posted here, and I am sorry that the one to break the ice is this ranting post. Please forgive me. But also understand that writing is a great way to alleviate frustration. And most importantly, I was hoping you could learn from my mistakes and avoid them altogether. I want to save you the pain I'm in right now.


First experience: the Iliad. 

(I blame Madeline Miller)


It all started about a week ago when, excited as hell, I took one of the many books I got myself on my last trip to Argentina. While in Buenos Aires, I spent time at several bookstores and brought some wonderful treasures home. One was a beautiful hardcover edition with two books in one: the Iliad and the Odyssey.


I already had a classic edition of these two at home. It is a beautiful English edition by Canterbury Classics that I hope my kids will read someday. But as much as I like English (inconsistent as it is and all), there is no comparison to reading in Spanish, my mother tongue. 

First, I wanted to experience flashbacks to when I studied epic this novel in school many beautiful years ago. I wanted to see how well I could remember some of my favorite passages and dialogs. Second, I recently read the best-seller book "The Song of Achilles" by Madeline Miller, and I loved it. I did, but it changed how I see the characters, especially Achilles. Before reading this book, my favorite character in the Iliad was Hector. He was the true hero of Troy, a brave man who walked into a certain death to save his honor and city—a death by Achille's hand. I remember him as spoiled and arrogant, but Miller made me see him from a different angle, which made me fall in love with him and even more with Patroclus. I decided to read the Iliad with this new information and feelings and explore the results.


And that, friends, is why I let myself go and bought this good-looking Spanish edition at a fancy bookstore in Palermo, Buenos Aires.


There I was in my armchair, pumped up, ready to start reading this epic novel, the Iliad, only to find a text full of errors. Spelling errors, grammar errors, missing punctuation marks, missing letters in words, you name it. Lots of obvious errors were flooding the text. What a disappointment! At first, I thought it would be just one or two instances, as it happens sometimes. As they kept coming up, I started to mark them with stickies on the pages. But I couldn't stand it anymore, so I stopped reading. I made it to page 25, and the number of stickies on the pages was almost the same.


I went through all the stages of disappointment, grief, and anger, mostly anger. In my anger, I started questioning the publishing process, publishing companies and industry, and how books are made and sold. As an author, I have an idea of how it works. Still, and because of that, I had so many questions.


How come this book made it out? How come, in this publishing house, they printed such a piece of crap? Where the hell did they get this text from? It's not an original that has to be groomed from scratch. There are hundreds of other correct editions of this text. How could they mess it up so badly? In my anger, all I could think of was that they did it on purpose. There is no other reasonable explanation.


All those names on the credits page, what did they do? Reading it, for sure not. This book wasn't proofread once. They didn't bother with that. And I don't understand. They had the money, for the print was made with suitable quality materials, a beautiful cover design, hardcover with an excellent layout interior design. Why put all that effort into a text that no soul would read before printing? Because it is evident to me that no editor, reviewer, or literate person in that publishing company has ever read this text. What a shit show!


I have been scammed!


I would like to return to that bookstore in Buenos Aires, show them my findings, and demand they take this book off the shelves immediately. I have sent an email to this publishing house full of proof of their mistakes and lack of respect for their work. I used the email info on the book and cc-ed all the emails I could find on their website. I told them I was scammed and wanted my money back. But I am still waiting to hear from them. I don't have hope that I will.


Second experience: The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson.

(Or should I say Dickenson?)


Returning from the dark side after the fiasco with "that book" took me a while. I was slowly coming back to enjoy life reading again when my employer asked me to choose a work anniversary present for myself. I chose books. I know, right? But I already said I was almost back to being myself again. My love for books couldn't die just like that. A good experience will help me heal. Plus, love always wins, no?


One of the books I chose was The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. If you know this blog, you probably already know that she is my favorite poet of the English language, and I always wanted to have a nice edition of her poems. In university, I had a pocketbook of 60 poems by Emily Dickinson from the Mitos Poesía collection from the Mondadori publishing group (in Spanish). I loved it. It was one of my favorite books. But on a fateful day, I lent it to a friend and never saw it again. My only consolation is that I am confident she loved and appreciated it as much as I did.


It was the perfect opportunity to get it. To finally get my hands on a good quality hardcover edition of her poems that would last me for years to come. It would be a book I will always cherish as a token of appreciation and a pleasant memory of my days at Prodigy Education.


Since I needed to send links for them to get me the books, I went to Amazon, where everybody gets everything from these days. I behaved a little (or a lot) trusting and didn't do a lot of research on the books beforehand. Usually, these things work out for me. Following a few simple rules, that is. Rules that I followed this time, too.


Rule number one: Check out the rating: 4.7 out of 5, suitable. Next, the number of reviews is 1,036, which is very good. Next, check out who's selling and shipping it, amazon.ca; just what I was looking for: convenient. So, I sent out this link for the book and asked to buy the hardcover version. But for some reason, when they clicked the link, they were sent to a different book. I checked the new ratings: 4.5 out of 5 from 961 reviews. Not bad, so I said, go ahead. Another weird thing I noticed with this book(s) is that choosing from different formats like paperback, hardcover, or Kindle would display other cover images as if it was a completely different book. And not only the cover but also the information about the publisher. The reviews were the same, though. Fishy indeed! I was puzzled, but not enough to open an investigation on my part to know how this works or how that is even possible, nor did I have the time to do so.


The next day, I got the book in the mail. The excitement was considerable. I opened it immediately, and disappointment punched me in the face two seconds later. It hit me hard. I couldn't believe it. It happened to me again after just a couple of days. Why? Why is the universe trying to punish me? Is it because of the paper and the trees and me contributing to deforestation? I don't have too many paper books, and I donate them after use or give them to friends and family to guarantee they keep being used and loved.


I felt disappointed, flawed, and guilty because I should have donated this anniversary present money to a charity instead of thinking of myself. But above all, I felt angry again and frustrated. I ranted to my husband so badly and to my best friend for days I couldn't drop it. I was so mad I could not cry, even when I felt like it.


You might be wondering what did it this second time around. Well, it was something as evident as the author's name. That's right. They (the people who put together this disgrace of a book) spelled Emily's last name wrong all over it. Starting by the back cover, they spelled it Dickenson. What is even worse is that there was no consistency. They have it spelled differently on the same page. What the actual fork? Page after page, indistinctively, they spelled Dickinson or Dickenson. Even if you're not sure which way is correct (it's Dickinson, by the way), it is evident that something is wrong when you see both on the same freaking page in different lines.


I was startled, in shock. For a second, nothing made sense to me anymore. The world, as I knew it, was no more.


I did the same as before and reached out to the publisher electronically. I sent them a ticket on their website. They sure get many complaints about their products when they have an automated system to take tickets from the public. That is not a good sign.


I sent them many pictures of the book, pointing out the errors in the author's name all over the book. And I also pointed out that this book is a low-quality book that nobody has ever taken the time to read, open, or even look on the back. Revision, what is that? No need. Print it. Who cares? Well, hello.


On top of that, the interior design is the crappiest one I have ever seen. This book's interior is so ugly and nasty it's evidence of work done hastily and carelessly. This book is an overall disappointing experience. I want my money back. And this book should be taken OFF the shelves everywhere. It is a disgrace. What a shit show!


I have been scammed! And robbed! Again!


I have so many disturbing questions. Where do all these good Amazon reviews come from? Obviously, not from people who have ever laid eyes on this book. How come these people don't care about their reputation? How come more people these days don't care about taking the time to do things right? To do something they can be proud of. Everybody wants a quick fix. Everybody wants to make a quick buck. It's concerning! Where is this going to end?


I've been advised to let it go and move on, which appeals to most people and me. That's why this faulty system works. But it needs to stop. And the least I can do is report it. What else can I do? The frustration is killing me. These people are hurting the publishing industry and our trust in it. I advocate for indie authors and self-publishing, as I have done it myself. I know some are skeptical about it. But indie authors usually put a lot of time and effort into the books they create. I know I did with my books. But we're not talking about indie authors here, as these are not new works. These are wanna-be publishing companies wanting to make it in the industry without putting in the work, and they're hurting it instead. It's such a shame and such a disappointment. 


My lesson from these experiences is that, sadly, I'm throwing them all in the same bag. From now on, I will play it safe and only buy books published by renowned and trusted publishing houses. For everything else, I'll default it as garbage, except maybe for the highly recommended ones that come to me via word of mouth from someone I trust—no more trusting the reviews on Amazon. It used to work for me before, but it let me down big time. I can't understand how 900+ reviews of a book with the author's name spelled wrong on the back cover, on the contents page, and on the first page..., can produce 4.5 stars out of 5. I don't get it. I'm changing my acceptance criteria. I'm playing it safe from now on. And so should you, even though it hurts me, and my book sales.

miércoles, 16 de marzo de 2022

No habré vivido en vano

Si pudiera impedir
que un corazón se rompa
no habré vivido en vano.
Si pudiera calmar
el dolor de una vida,
o hacer más llevadera una tristeza.

o ayudar a algún débil petirrojo
a que vuelva a su nido,
no habré vivido en vano.

Emily Dickinson

miércoles, 23 de febrero de 2022

Morí por la Belleza

Morí por la Belleza, pero apenas
ahormada en la tumba.
otro murió por la Verdad, y estaba
en un lugar contiguo.

Me preguntó en voz baja: "¿De qué has muerto?".
Dije: "Por la Belleza".
"Pues yo por la Verdad. Y son lo mismo."
Añadió: "Hermanos somos".

Así, como parientes que se encuentran
de noche, conversamos.
Hasta que el musgo nos llegó a los labios
y cubrió nuestros nombres. 

Emily Dickinson

lunes, 21 de febrero de 2022

La luz no necesita a nadie

La luz no necesita a nadie, si otros
quieren llegar a verla
ahí tienen el cristal de las ventanas
muchas horas del día.

No es una concesión,
resplandece lo mismo
en el alto Himalaya para ardillas
que lo que resplandece para ti.

Emily Dickinson

miércoles, 26 de enero de 2022

El amor, madre, a la patria

...
El amor, madre, a la patria
No es el amor ridículo a la tierra,
Ni a la yerba que pisan nuestras plantas;
Es el odio invencible a quien la oprime,
Es el rencor eterno a quien la ataca;
...

Comienzo el año 2022 con este fragmento, el más conocido, del poema Abdala de José Martí. Y no lo he escogido al azar porque es un gran poema y me encanta y ya era hora de mencionarlo en el blog. No. Lo he escogido porque desde hace días, semanas, se me coló. Se me coló estando en Cuba, despidiendo el 2021. Se me coló, como a Villena, como se cuela una ráfaga por una ventana abierta.
El 31 de diciembre al atardecer, fui a despedirme del mar, y a la orilla de la playa me senté y lloré. Lloré como una adolescente a quien le acaban de romper el corazón. Como una niña que perdió su muñeca. Lloré desconsoladamente.
Fue allí, con mis pies enterrados en la arena bajo la cálida orilla del mar más hermoso, que me acordé de este poema, de este fragmento precisamente. Mientras me aferraba a mis últimos momentos junto al mar, un mar que no había visto ni tocado ni olido en mucho tiempo. Me acordé al sentir la añoranza por ese mar, por ese sol, por la arena. Sentí el amor a esas cosas, a la arena, a la tarde, a ese pedazo de tierra en el mar.
Este poema siempre me cautivó, aún lo hace. Pero ahora sus palabras han cobrado otra dimensión. Sí es el amor ridículo a la tierra, a la hierba que pisan mis plantas, a la arena que pisan mis plantas, al mar que me acompaña, al sol siempre cálido y reconfortante, al aire con olor de isla, a las piedras, a las palmas, a las construcciones. Rotas y viejas construcciones, llenas de recuerdos, llenas del pasado, llenas de mí. Sí es el amor a la tierra, ridículo o no, está por verse. Es el amor a los lugares, las calles, los parques, las casas, mi casa.

El amor a la patria, según lo define el poeta nacional en el poema, es: "el amor a este rincón de tierra" (punto de vista de la madre de Abdala) y/o "es el odio invencible a quien la oprime, el rencor eterno a quien la ataca" (punto de vista de Abdala).
Pero, para mi patria, a comienzos del año 2022 ¿quién es el opresor? ¿Quién ahora la ataca? ¿Quién es el enemigo? ¿A quién odiar? Es como querer vengar a alguien que ha muerto de cáncer, lenta y devastadoramente, mutación tras mutación. ¿A quién culpar de una muere por cáncer? Para Abdala era fácil definir a quién iba dirigido el odio, el rencor; al feroz conquistador que a la Nubia ataca. Pero para mí es difícil. No tengo bien definido un recipiente para el odio si de un cáncer se trata. Ni tengo tampoco tanto odio. Mi amor por mi patria lo defino de otra manera. Como emigrada que soy, lo define mi nostalgia del terruño. Lo definen mis buenos recuerdos. Lo define su gente. Lo define mi apoyo, mi ayuda, mis donaciones. Donaciones de chocolates y caramelos traducidos en sonrisas y alegrías. Lo definen esas sonrisas, esas alegrías, esos momentos. Momentos escasos y fugaces en que me siento como en casa, cuando el aire que respiro me resulta conocido, y las voces, los colores, los olores, el cielo, el mar... sobre todo lo define el mar. 
El mar es el epicentro del universo de toda isla, especialmente de esta isla tan aislada.