domingo, 26 de febrero de 2012

EMBELLISHING AND FINISHING A STORY


It was very early in the morning, before than the usual time for the retired Martin. After a whole life rousing from his sleep at 6 to commute, he had opted for relaxing in bed until the sun had risen and shone. But that day was he overcome with an uncommon and bizarre feeling. After dressing up, he took his book and began to read by the bedroom window. A nightingale was defining its musical words outside, in the beautiful romantic garden, mainly all over the great old sequoia, which Martin´s great grandfather had brought from California and had transplanted in
this ground, according to the family memories. Suddenly, a silence. So deep was the silence that Martin was affected. Standing up, he gazed at the window. Under the tree, as a part of the nature, there was a boy, not older than ten, wearing humble clothes, scanning a book, completely absorbed in his lines. Was the vision so out of the context for Martin that he rubbed his eyes. For a long time, he stared at the boy, voraciously reading his book and deeply engrossed in it, as if that corner of the garden belonged to him. Then Martin crept carefully down the stairs, opened the glass door onto the garden, and again padding softly along the garden, he approached the tree. Coming near the ground, he whispered: It looks as if it is a wonderful book, isn´t it? For the
first time, the boy, raising his head from the pages, shyly and delightfully murmured: ¨It is the book of my life¨.

- ¨The book of your life? How can a young boy have written the book of his life?¨ inquired Martin.
- I have not written it. At least I have not written it yet but I will very soon.

Martin was so intrigued by the boy´s answer and his book that only looking at Martin´s face did the boy realize that he had to give him some explanation. Then the boy began to talk. The book was a family book, a diary that every member of his family generation after generation since his great-great-grandparents had written before dying. Martin was amazed by the boy´s story. Apart from knowing his ancestors, who were they, what happened to them, their behaviors, feelings and fears, he was going to be able to understand better his present and his future. He would do the same for his children and so on till the chain would break if someone dies without descendant or till the end of time…

lunes, 20 de febrero de 2012

¨A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS¨ BY ROBERT BOLT.-


In our last class I reminded one book we read in our fifth course at the EOI which can give you a lot of historical information of the Tudor Dynasty, especially with regard Henry VIII reign,
Elisabeth´s I father. The book is called ¨A man for all seasons¨ by Robert Bolt and also the movie with the same title which was translated into Spanish as ¨Un hombre para la eternidad¨.

The book is a play and its main character is Thomas Moore, Lord Chancellor of England and catholic, who enters into political and moral conflict with King Henry VIII when he refuses to
support the King´s decision to divorce his wife Catherine of Aragon. Thomas Moore is an example of eloquence and personal freedom in an authoritarian regimen such as Henry VII reign.

I really recommend it to you!

domingo, 12 de febrero de 2012

CONTINUATION OF DAVID COPPERFIELD

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, simultaneously.
In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was declared by the nurse, and by some sage women in the neighbourhood who had taken a lively interest in me several months before there was any possibility of our becoming personally acquainted, first, that I was destined to be unlucky in life; and secondly, that I was privileged to see ghosts and spirits; both these gifts inevitably attaching, as they believed, to all unlucky infants of either gender, born towards the small hours on a Friday night.

No sooner had I grown up at the age of three years old than I began reading voraciously. Such was the interest of my reading that all my memories of childhood are related to the characters of the picaresque novels that I still remember one by one. While other children used to play outdoors, I was absorbed in my books. Never have I boasted about this innate skill which will give me so many satisfactions in the future. However, my teenager years turned out to be harder than my childhood since I had to support a large family and suffice it to say that books were forced into a background.

Looking backwards I do not regret any decision taken in my long life in spite of some events which caused me so much pain. Very soon I understood that we are a miracle of the nature and therefore we should accept one´s life come what may…