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August 9th, 2019

[libro] Cuentos inconclusos

Título: Cuentos inconclusos de Númenor y la Tierra Media
Título original: Unfinished tales of Númenor and Middle-earth
Autor: J.R.R. Tolkien
Traducción: Rubén Masera
ISBN: 9788445004326
Editorial Planeta (booket)
592 páginas

Mi comentario sobre Cuentos inconclusos soy yo flipando porque el señor Tolkien: estudió, fue a la guerra, fue profesor en al uni, se casó, tuvo hijos, dio clases y conferencias, tenía amigos y conocidos, exámenes que corregir y tutorías que dar,… Y pese a todo eso, a lo largo del tiempo fue capaz de crear todo un mundo con sus lenguas, culturas, geografía e historia. Todo ello elaborado y descrito HASTA EL MÁS MÍNIMO DETALLE. El trabajo de escritura y reescritura me parece descomunal y no menos admirable es el de su hijo Christopher, que lo leyó todo y recopiló en forma de libro para que de algún modo este trabajo de su padre viera la luz.

Cuentos inconclusos es una colección de relatos, algunos inéditos en su totalidad, otros son versiones de historias conocidas de antes, como la de Túrin Turambar. Me ha gustado casi todo pero especialmente las partes tercera (lo relativo a la Guerra del Anillo) y la cuarta sobre los Istari, las palantiri y los druédain. Lo que menos he disfrutado han sido la línea de Elros y las extensas descripciones de batallas y accidentes geográficos. Suele hablarse de El Silmarillion como tocho pesado de leer pero en mi opinión Cuentos Inconclusos es una lectura más difícil, en parte por lo inacabado de algunos textos pero también por las numerosas notas, que retrasa bastante el ritmo de lectura al tener que ir continuamente al final del relato para leerlas. Hay que tenerle muchas ganas y desde luego no lo recomiendo sin haber leído antes sus otras obras: El Hobbit, ESDLA y, en especial, El Silmarillion.

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She's a bulldog. And Grissom always saw that in her. And he always knew that subconsciously the only person who'd be able to give him a second look is someone who's not willing to take the first look for granted.

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... Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange fascination. She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come. Perhaps she had used up all her tears for Lady and Bran. It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told herself. The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad.

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I travelled across the world, from the ruins of New York to the fusion mills of China. Right across the radiation pits of Europe. And everywhere I went, I saw people just like you, living as slaves. But if Martha Jones became a legend, then that's wrong because my name isn't important. There's someone else. The man who sent me out there, the man who told me to walk the Earth. And his name is the Doctor. He has saved your lives so many times and you never even knew he was there. He never stops, he never stays, he never asks to be thanked. But I've seen him, I know him, I love him. And I know what he can do.

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Every day is gonna make us wanna rip our fingernails out if we have to keep living like this. I can't go to a restaurant and pretend to be human when all I wanna do is eat the table next to me.

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The woman turned and went slowly into the house. As she passed the doors she turned and looked back. Grave and thoughtful was her glance, as she looked on the king with cool pity in her eyes. Very fair was her face, and her long hair was like a river of gold. Slender and tall she was in her white robe girt with silver; but strong she seemed and stern as steel, a daughter of kings.

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