Spanish Comics:
Historical and Cultural Perspectives. Ann Magnussen, ed. New York: Berghahn Books, 2021. 268
pp. $27.95. ISBN: 978-1-78920-997-6. https://www.berghahnbooks.com/title/MagnussenSpanish
reviewed by Héctor Fernández L’Hoeste
On the practical side, if anyone is planning a course on contemporary
Spanish comics, please look no further. This title is the ideal companion for any
class on this topic. On the other hand, one of the virtues of graphic
narratives is the amount of information they can transmit about the culture,
history, and politics of any location, making them a suitable vehicle for the
examination of any context. Anne Magnussen’s edited volume is a flawless
example of this aspect. Within the pages of this title, in a single tome, academics,
enthusiasts, and fellow readers will find pieces that cover the role of comics
from the time immediately after the Civil War, passing through Madrid’s Movida
during the transition to democracy in the late 1970s and early 1980s—following
Franco’s death in 1975—to the early decades of this century, when Spain seeks
to establish itself as a modern, European parliamentary democracy while facing
multiple challenges and growing pains. From a more theoretical perspective,
it’s appealing to find an anthology that, while discussing the plethora of
comics and graphic novels produced in Spain during the latter part of the
twentieth century and the early part of the current one, manages to connect
this production with its cultural, political, and social context in a more
organic, plausible manner, clarifying how the country’s evolution from
dictatorship to one of the main partners of the European Union dictated and
determined the rise and development of Spanish comics.
The book contains 12 chapters, first published as articles in the
peer-reviewed journal European Comic Art, which Magnussen co-edits. The
amount of vetting and evaluation these texts have endured is visible in the
clarity of its arguments and expositions, adding to the quality of the volume. Unlike
the editor, an associate professor of History at the University of Southern Denmark
in Odense—though she has enjoyed stints at US institutions of higher education—most
of the authors, whether Spanish or of some other nationality, are associated
with the US, British, or Spanish academe (Agatha Mohring, based in France, is
the only other exception).
The first chapter of the collection, by Rhiannon McGlade, a lecturer and
fellow at Cambridge, focuses on the golden age of Spanish comics for children,
which took place in the 1950s. The article analyzes the production in terms of
the interaction between publishers, the censorship authorities, and the
audience. Throughout the chapter, it becomes evident how the Franco regime
tried to influence comics production via its support of a particular construct
of Spain, to be disseminated and popularized among children. What remains particular about the Spanish
situation is the extent to which the government tried to control and discipline
the population through measures that, in the case of children, were discernible
from a very early age, given the number of orphans and fatalities resulting
from the conflict.
 |
| Chapter 4. Castelao by Siro, Mazaira, and Cubeiro |
One of McGlade’s main contentions is the extent to which some children’s
comics tried to push censorship boundaries. Since the press was under strict
control by the state, effectively complying with orders and directives associated
with the public, all material to be published had to first receive approval
from the corresponding authorities. In turn, publications partial to the
government were afforded subsidized rates for printing materials. Clearly, this
was not the case with any dissenting periodical. Nonetheless, after Franco’s
rise to power, staples like TBO or Pulgarcito were eventually allowed
to return, in time resulting in the arrival of DDT, by Bruguera, in
1951. Through the 1950s, the government implemented a series of decrees and
directives attacking secularism and any sort of content deemed to ridicule the
roles of parents and the sanctity of the family and home, enshrining respect
for authority, the love of the Fatherland, and obedience of the law, a
veritable dream recipe for any autocrat. At the same time, a very tight control
was kept on imported material, which, given its promotion of the
supernatural—superheroes and their disrupting superpowers were greatly in mind—was
judged potentially harmful to the adolescent psyche. Thus, the path toward
self-censorship began to surface openly. Near the end, McGlade discusses in
detail the cases of main characters of the period, Carpanta, Doña
Urraca, and Zipi y Zape, which displayed carefully contained
critiques of authority under government watch.
 |
| Chapter 4. Titoan by Inacio and Ivan Suarez |
The second chapter, by Gerardo Vilches, who teaches social sciences at the
European University of Madrid, discusses the development of the comics industry
during the political transition (1975–1982). Vilches focuses on explicitly
political production of the period and the efforts by the regime to limit their
impact and influence through censorship. He starts by addressing the last two
years of the so-called Ley Fraga, the guidelines promulgated by Franco’s Minister of
Information and Tourism, which allowed publishers the risk to circulate
what they wanted, only to be punished later. In effect, the law wanted to give
an appearance of modernity, but the mechanisms for repression remained intact. The
article chronicles the experiences of magazines like Por Favor, El
Papus, El Jueves, and Butifarra! in the context of the rise
in nudity in a variety of expressions of Spanish popular culture—Destape
(Unveiling), it was called by locals—and the judicial system. During the
political transition, a hostile environment prevailed in which creators were
prosecuted and, on some occasions, strips were cancelled as the result of
pressure from the government. Mockery of the Catholic faith was a habitual
pretext for the punishment of the satirical press. For instance, both Por
Favor and El Papus experienced four-month closures in 1974; El
Papus even endured three court martials. Things got so personal that El
Papus was chastised as the result of a formal complaint by Carmen Polo,
Franco’s wife. By 1978, having faced weekly visits to the court system, Por
Favor was closed and only El Papus and El Jueves remained. In
the end, with the arrival of democracy, there were more options in terms of
procuring information; readers looked elsewhere for political and social
criticism. However, the struggle for freedom of press during the transition
speaks volumes about the travails of a young democracy.
 |
| Chapter 4. Atila by Inacio and Ivan Suarez |
The third chapter also addresses the political transition, though from a
different perspective. Louie Dean Valencia-García, an assistant professor of
Digital History at Texas State, focuses on underground fanzines during Madrid’s
Movida, theorizing about the ways in which they offered outlets for the
youth’s inconformity and desire to communicate. Valencia-García mentions
fanzines like La liviandad del imperdible (The Lightness of the Safety
Pin), Kaka de Luxe, and ¡Bang! Fanzine de los tebeos españoles (Bang!
Spanish Comics Fanzine), to illustrate the impact these publications had on the
culture of the time. According to the author, 1977 figures as the peak year for
the production of new, independent fanzines amid a scene marked by personalities
like Alaska (Olvido Gara Jova, of the bands Kaka de Luxe, Los Pegamoides, and
Dinarama fame) and Pedro Almodóvar. The text includes close readings of work
found in zines from the early 1980s, such as Ediciones Moulinsart and 96
Lágrimas (96 Tears). Ediciones repurposed images from Tintin
or The Phantom to speak of the Movida. On the other hand, 76
Lágrimas combines strains of feminism and racialized language within
Madrid’s zine scene, depicting women as sexually assertive and physically
aggressive in a milieu that for decades had rebuked behavior of this nature.
 |
| Chapter 4. Castelao by Diaz Pardo |
Next, the volume begins to map a broader, more intricate version of the
nation, less in sync with the homogenizing, stultifying spirit of the
Generalissimo. The fourth chapter, by David Miranda Barreiro, a senior lecturer
in Hispanic Studies at Bangor University (Wales), is about Alfonso Daniel Manuel
Rodríguez Castelao (1886–1950), a Galician comics artist and one of the founder
of Galician nationalism from the early 20th century, and the many
ways in which he is represented in contemporary Galician comics. The mention of
Galicia, one of today’s officially recognized autonomous communities, with its
own language and culture and a potentially separate project of nation, stands
in sharp contrast with the dictates of Franco’s regime, which for decades
persecuted any Iberian culture separate from Castile’s to the point of
demonizing alternate languages and traditions. Though Castelao
 |
| Chapter 4. Castelao by Martin, Sarry, and Balboa |
worked as
caricaturist during the first three decades of the past century, the article follows
a transdisciplinary approach—comics theory, literary biography, and
adaptation—to center on his representation in comics biographies published in
the 1970s, 1980s, and 2000s. Among the works discussed are a comic by Paco
Martín, Ulises Sarry, and Xoán Balboa titled Castelao: O home (Castelao:
The Man), a tribute on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his death; Isaac Díaz
Pardo’s Castelao, from 1985; Castelao (1987), by Siro, Mazaira, and Cubeiro, the
first full-length graphic biography of the artist; and Titoán (2012), by
Inacio and Iván Suárez, winner of the Premio Castelao de Banda Deseñada,
awarded by the A Coruña Council (and part of an eight-volume series, of which
only four have already been published, including O pobre tolo [2012], Máis
alá [2013], and Atila [2015]).
 |
| Chapter 5. Paracuellos by Gimenez |
 |
| Chapter 5. Eloy by Hernandez Palacio |
Chapter five discusses trauma, memory, and comics. Juan Carlos Pérez
García, an associate professor of Public Law at the University of Málaga,
traces the representation of the Civil War and its subsequent dictatorship from
the 1970s to the 2010s. Memory and trauma, it turns out, play big roles in the
Spanish comics of the current century; in fact, this interest in memory and
trauma in comics evinces how closely the Spanish comics scene reflects trends
from the comics industry around the world. The mention of master cartoonist Carlos
Giménez’s Paracuellos (1976—), his unparalleled testimony of childhood
in the Francoist Hogares de Auxilio Social (Social Assistance Homes), is
unavoidable. Though the Civil War is nowhere, its presence can be felt
extensively all over the narrative,
 |
| Chapter 5. Un largo silencio by Gallardo |
documenting how Franco’s regime sewed
social division and embraced systematic violence to repress the population. Eloy
(1979), by Antonio Hernández Palacios, does approach the conflict directly.
Following commercial conventions, Palacios uses the figure of a young
militiaman to chronicle the war and portray a parade of celebrities, including
Major Enrique Líster, one of the great Republican military leaders; Dolores
Ibárruri, “La Pasionaria” (The Passionflower), the legendary communist
politician, famous for her slogan “¡No pasarán!” (They shall not pass) during
the Battle for Madrid; and Buenaventura Durruti, the renowned anarchist hero
buried at Montjuic in Barcelona, among his characters. Un largo silencio
(A Long Silence, 1997), by Francisco and Miguel Ángel Gallardo, father and son,
is a first-person account of the war from a critical point of view. It also
represents the quintessential mnemonic narrative associated with trauma; it
includes the imperative to tell, the notion of generational memory that aspires
to be shared, and repetition and fragmentation, thus being exemplary of
Marianne Hirsch’s “post-memory.”
 |
| Chapter 5. El arte de volar by Altarriba and Kim |
El arte de volar (The Art of Flying, 2009),
by Antonio Altarriba and Kim, is also based on the parent’s memories,
chronicling the failed ideals of the Spanish republic, and shared trauma, that
of the main character who commits suicide and the one of the son, unable to
prevent his father’s suicide.
 |
| Chapter 5. Los surcos del azar by Roca |
Next, there is Los surcos del azar (Twists
of Fate, 2013), by Paco Roca, in which the story of
 |
| Chapter 5. Paseo de los canadienses by Guijarro |
La Nueve (Number
Nine), the division composed of exiled Spanish soldiers that participated in
the liberation of Paris in 1944, serves as a device to explore the trauma of
Republican defeat in the Civil War. Finally, there is
Paseo de los
canadienses (Promenade of the Canadians, 2015), by Carlos Guijarro, which
tells the story of the old Malaga-Almería Road, where between three to five
thousand people perished under the attack of Nationalist ships and Italian
planes while fleeing Málaga’s siege by the Francoist forces, a story that was
virtually erased by the triumphalist revisionism of the dictator’s adherents.
 |
| Chapter 6. El Cid by Hernandez Palacios |
Interest in the past is not limited to trauma, as explained in chapter
six, by Iain MacInnes, a senior lecturer in Scottish history at the University
of the Highlands and Islands, who discusses representation in historical comics
of the 1970s and 2010s. Like the two previous authors, MacInnes combines
textual analysis with a great deal of societal context, offering readers a
well-rounded outline of the objects of his research. His main interest, proper
of a specialist in the 14th and 15th centuries, is the Reconquista
(Reconquest), the process culminating in 1492 by which Castilians managed
to recover the territories invaded by the Moors. This was especially relevant in
the 1970s because, after the Civil War, Franco aligned his actions with
Castilian success, hoping to legitimate his own Reconquista
 |
| Chapter 6. 1212 - Las Navas de Tolosa by Cano de la Iglesia |
from the
hands of the Second Spanish Republic. The two graphic novels at hand are
El
Cid (1971–1983), by Antonio Hernández Palacios, and
1212: Las Navas de
Tolosa (2016), by Jesús Cano de la Iglesia. In both accounts, Spanish
forces are portrayed as heroic. In the first, other Christian forces, like the
French, are otherized, condoning a nuanced understanding of the greater role of
the neighboring nation within Spanish history. In addition, both narratives
frame their actions within the more ample context of the crusades. As would be
expected, the main other in both accounts is the Muslim population, though Cano
de la Iglesia takes things a tad further by emphasizing the non-homogeneous
nature of the Muslim troops, some of which appear zealously religious. He
distinguishes cautiously between Arab forces and
a group of black African slave
troops, playing on stereotypes. To some extent, Cano de la Iglesia echoes the
modern context of a refugee crisis in Europe after the Arab springs and the
Syrian crisis, providing a more comprehensive depiction of the impact of war on
the Muslim population. Representation of the French troops isn’t as empathetic,
though; in both stories, they’re frequently problematic and fail to follow
orders, giving in to violence and acts of atrocity, like at the massacre at
Barbastro. Also, their brand of Christianity borders on fanaticism, though in a
manner reminiscent of pre-secular tensions. Lastly, the prevailing impression
is that, while Cano de la Iglesia seems more kindhearted, Palacios embraces a
portrayal of a Spain still in development, less prone to nationalist
inclinations, in which Christians and Muslims battle according to convenience
and personal interests, well along the lines of El Cid, who, as a soldier of
fortune, occasionally served as ally of the Moors. In the end, both narratives
figure out ways to avoid explicit nationalism, given political implications
during their times.
 |
| Chapter 7. Arrugas Roca |
Chapter seven marks a break in the narrative of the volume, since, from
this point on, the focus is on
contemporary comics and, most specifically, the work of cartoonist Paco Roca,
of Wrinkles (Arrugas, in the Spanish original, 2016) fame.
Cleverly, Magnussen has chosen an interview of Roca by UCLA grad student Esther
Claudio, who centers her work on post-Francoist
Spanish historical memory in graphic novels. The interview figures as a
sensible opener to the second half of the book. In it, Roca is candid about his
relationship with the graphic novel, acknowledging how the format has forced
him to implement and embrace new narrative tools, and the fact that some of his
most recent production—like Los surcos del azar—though reminiscent of
Art Spiegelman’s Maus in its methodology, is actually a far cry from the
US cartoonist’s oeuvre. In fact, Roca underscores how in Los surcos the
facts and evidence are framed in fiction, emulating historical testimony. He goes on to point out the irony that the
members of the Nueve, the main characters of Los surcos, fought with one
object in mind—to free Spain from fascism—and this was precisely what they were
not able to accomplish. Roca even elucidates that, though seemingly inspired by
Valencian painter Joaquín Sorolla—Claudio is dead right pointing out the
likeness—his palette is more influenced by nineteenth-century Romantic painters
like Scottish artist David Roberts, who traveled to Spain and Tangiers.
Alluding to Wrinkles, he also explains how, in retrospective, he wishes
he had focused more on people providing care, since they tend to grow in the
face of adversity. The interview is remarkably adept at setting a new tone and
rhythm in the volume in comparison with previous articles, more concerned with
assessing the politics of the cultural production of the post-Civil War and
transition period. Thus, it serves as a smooth transition toward the remaining
portion of the volume. Claudio does a competent job interviewing Roca and
extracting some key tidbits on his work and plans for the future, as well as explicating
the theoretical relation between Roca’s production and issues related to
memory.
In the following
chapter, Sarah D. Harris, a Bennington professor, discusses the use of
metaphors and memory in La casa (2015), Roca’s more recent work. The
graphic novel explores the importance of the self-built vacation home, as
common fixture of many Spanish families in the 1970s and 1980s, as a space of
memory. As Roca points out, the experience also hints at the prevalence of the
Diogenes syndrome among his father’s generation; thus, many second homes became
the preferred spots for old school projects, family memorabilia, and discarded
gifts, eventually embodying a museum of mementoes. As Harris explains, after
the passing of the father, the house—and the land it rests upon—becomes a
semi-autobiographical bridge between the memories of two generations, past and
present co-existing. The trees, for example, become metaphors for family. The
space for the barbecue ratifies the presence of the deceased parent. The
dumpster is packed with heirlooms and objects of the past. And, as usual, food
under the father’s beloved but rickety pergola triggers remembrance. Harris is utterly
proficient at showing how Roca dwells on the mnemonic implications of a second
home and, along the way, processes mourning for a father who passed away
shortly before La casa was concluded.
In the next
chapter, Benjamin Fraser, from the University of Arizona, looks at La casa
from another perspective: that of architecture. Fraser suggests the notion of
an architectural elegy as a mechanism to process grief in Roca’s novel.
Initially, he focuses on structural elements of visual narrative, discussing
how the layout invites readers to take in the images as a whole, rather than
sequentially. In this way, page layout reinforces architectural specificity,
drawing parallels between visual and material structures. In the second half of
the chapter, Frasier centers on grief, depicting recollection as something that
is spatially bound, with the past superimposing itself over the present. A new pérgola
toscana, built to honor the father’s wishes and memory, becomes the
embodiment of how the siblings come together to repair their strained
relationships, all impacted by the manner in which they related to their progenitor.
By the end, the chapter reveals that, in Roca’s case, unlike in the graphic
novel, the second home wasn’t sold, and the cartoonist even used it to spend
two summers working on the graphic novel in question.
Agatha Mohring,
from the University of Angers (France), analyzes several Spanish comics and
uses them to describe their representation of illness as pathography, thus
pertaining to the nascent field of graphic medicine. At the same time, she
argues, these strips illustrate the strong connection between Spanish comics
and the international comics scene. The comics are María y yo (Maria and
I, 2007), in which Miguel Gallardo describes his daughter’s autism, just like
Mexico’s BEF in Habla María: Una novela gráfica sobre el autismo (Maria
Speaks: A Graphic Novel on Autism, 2018); Arrugas (Wrinkles), the famed
graphic novel by Roca, which deals with the various ailments afflicting the
residents of a retirement home; and Una posibilidad entre mil (One Shot
in a Thousand, 2009), by
 |
| Chapter 10. Una posibilidad entre mil by Duran and Giner Bou |
Cristina Durán and Miguel Ángel Giner Bou, which
shares the experience of cerebral palsy and Vojta methods, highlighting the
resulting despondency and isolation. Mohring identifies all three accounts as
didactic pathographies, since according to Anne Hunsaker Hawkins they combine
medical information with personal involvement and knowledge, helping readers to
get acquainted with the signs and symptoms of ailments or conditions. In all of
them, the language of the travel narrative is employed as a metaphor for
illness, evincing the graphic novel’s potential to delve into the intimacy of
the afflicted and offer insights into autism, cerebral palsy, and Alzheimer’s.
The eleventh
chapter marks an idiosyncratic turn, given it focuses on the work of Aleix
Saló, the wildly successful Catalonian cartoonist who lit a fire with his Hijos
de los 80: La generación burbuja (Fills dels 80: La generació
bombolla, in his native Catalan, 2009; Children of the 80s: The Bubble
Generation, in English), a volume that discusses how a generation that
expected to benefit from Spain’s economic buoyancy following the arrival of
democracy ended at the mercy of the modern European welfare state. Saló’s work
is in sharp contrast with Roca’s; he may review recent events, but his accounts
are more on the pedagogic side, translating into common language the mechanisms
and
 |
| Chapter 11. Espanistan by Salo |
policies that conjured Spain’s predicaments in the late 20th and
early 21st century. The authors, Javier Muñoz-Basols and Marina
Massaguer Comes, from Oxford and the Open University of Catalonia,
respectively, do a very able job analyzing Saló’s deceptively simple graphic
(his characters tend to be amorphous, occasionally resembling minions) and
written style (he combines economic terminology with pop culture slang). In
addition, they look into Saló’s adept use of book trailers on YouTube, pointing
at an evolution in the marketing of comics. In a way, Saló’s work is a comics
performance, since he found a career and a way out of unemployment as an
architect by examining graphically the 
conditions that led to his professional
evolution. His style of work combines humor with education and information,
given his account of the economic and political events leading to Spain’s crisis.
Saló has followed Hijos with Españistán:
Este país se va a la mierda (Spainistan: This Country Goes to Crap,
2011), which chronicles the economic downturn after the real-estate bubble. Most
recently, he has published illustrated essays like Simiocracia: Crónica de
la gran resaca económica (Apecracy: Chronicle of the Great Economic
Hangover, 2012) and Europesadilla: Alguien se ha comido a la clase media
(Euronightmare: Somebody Devoured the Middle Class, 2013), which are also
studied in the chapter.
 |
| Chapter 11. Fills dels 80 (by Salo) |
Overall,
Magnussen’s volume does a superb job bringing together a select group of
scholars to discuss and examine the contemporary Spanish comics scene. As a
whole, the volume is an extension of the argument by Lázaro-Reboll, in the
sense that it serves as an additional tool for the legitimation of the study of
Spanish comics studies as a professional activity. After all, we are talking of
an industry that, on a yearly basis, aside from bountiful joy and tons of
amusement, produces millions of Euros. In the span of seven years, from 2013 to
2019, the numbers of comics released by the Spanish publishing industry increased
a third, a phenomenal growth by any standard.[2]
Anyone reading this book will understand well why Spanish comics are thriving.
Their effervescence and vibrancy denote an area of the national cultural
industry that shows no signs of faltering or hesitancy. Not even with the
pandemic, as I suspect the intimate nature of the prolonged predicament forced
upon everyone during this last year will work well as authorial ground for new,
imaginative yarns not only from Spain, but throughout the entire world. As both
Pérez García and Mohring emphasize, Spanish comics nourish themselves from the
international scene, and the world in turn reciprocates, learning precious
lessons from the experience of the Iberian peninsula.
References
Altarriba, Antonio and Kim. El
arte de volar. Alicante: DePonent, 2009.
BEF. Habla María: Una
novela gráfica sobre el autismo. México: Editorial Océano de México, 2018.
Cano de la Iglesia, Jesús. 1212:
Las Navas de Tolosa. Rasquera: Ponent Mon, 2016.
Díaz Pardo, Isaac. Castelao.
A Coruña: Ediciós do Castro, 1985.
Durán, Cristina and Miguel
Ángel Giner Bou. Una posibilidad: Edición Integral. Bilbao: Astiberri,
2017.
Eco, Umberto. Apocalittici
e integrati. Milan: Bompiani, 1964.
Gallardo, Francisco and Miguel
Ángel Gallardo. Un largo silencio. Alicante: DePonent, 1997.
Gallardo, María and Miguel. María
y yo. Bilbao: Astiberri, 2007.
Gasca, Luis. Tebeo y
cultura de masas. Madrid: Prensa Española, 1966.
Giménez, Carlos. Todo
Paracuellos. Barcelona: DeBolsillo, 2007.
Gubern, Román. El lenguaje
de los cómics. Barcelona; Ediciones Península, 1972.
Guijarro, Carlos. Paseo de
los canadienses. Alicante: DePonent, 2015.
Hernández Palacios, Antonio. Eloy.
Vitoria: Ikusager, 1979.
—————. El Cid Integral.
Rasquera: Ponent Mon, 2015.
Inacio and Iván Suárez. Atila.
Santiago de Compostela: Demo Editorial, 2015.
—————. Máis Alá.
Santiago de Compostela: Demo Editorial, 2013.
—————. Titoán.
Santiago de Compostela: Demo Editorial, 2012.
—————. O pobre tolo.
Santiago de Compostela: Demo Editorial, 2012.
Lara, Antonio. El
apasionante mundo del tebeo. Madrid: Cuadernos para el Diálogo, 1968.
Magnussen, Anne, ed. Spanish
Comics: Historical and Cultural Perspectives. New York: Berghahn Books,
2021.
Martín, Paco, Ulises S.
Sarry, and Xoán Balboa, “Castelao: O Home,” Axóuxere supplement of La
Región (11 January 1975).
Martín Martínez, Antonio. “Apuntes
para una historia de los tebeos IV: El tebeo, cultura de masas (1946–1963),” Revista
de la Educación, 197 (1968): 125–141.
—————. “Apuntes para una
historia de los tebeos III: Tiempos heroicos del tebeo español (1936–1946), Revista
de la Educación, 196 (1968): 61–74.
—————. “Apuntes para una
historia de los tebeos II: La civilización de la imagen (1917–1936),” Revista
de la Educación, 195 (1968): 7–21.
—————. “Apuntes para una
historia de los tebeos I: Los periódicos para la infancia (1833–1917).” Revista
de la Educación, 194 (1967): 98–106.
Moix, Terenci. Los
‘comics’: Arte para el consumo y formas ‘pop.’ Barcelona: Llibres de
Sinera, 1968.
Roca, Paco. La casa.
Bilbao: Astiberri, 2015.
—————. Los surcos del azar. Bilbao: Astiberri,
2013.
—————. Arrugas. Bilbao: Astiberri, 2007.
Saló, Aleix. Hijos de los
80: La generación burbuja. Barcelona: Penguin Random House, 2014.
—————. Europesadilla:
Alguien se ha comido a la clase media. Barcelona: Random House Mondadori,
2013.
—————. Simiocracia:
Crónica de la gran resaca económica. Barcelona: Random House Mondadori.
2012.
—————. Españistán: Este
país se va a la mierda. Barcelona: Editorial de Tebeos, 2011.
Siro, Mazaira, and Cubeiro. Castelao.
A Coruña: Nova Galicia, 1987.
Héctor
Fernández L’Hoeste is professor in the Department of World Languages and
Cultures at Georgia State University in Atlanta, GA. A version of this review will appear in print in IJOCA 23:1.
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