“Before [1898], without a doubt, it was quixotic country, which thought of itself differently from what it really was,” Baroja wrote in 1927. “Before, in the period of adventures, Spain was led by Don Quixote. From now on, it would be directed by Sancho Panza.” (Via learned.english.dog, source?)
Why’s the Spanish translation not called “Celsius 233”? Because its perceived market consists not of book-devouring hermits who care about the relationship between title and text, but of exhibitionists in search of accessories symbolising of culture and modernity? Why worry about book-burning when no one reads the damn things anyway?
Following discussions with Tom, and in solidarity with a certain Liverpudlian pub-crawl entrepreneur, currently in hiding, here’s version 1. Like I say, I’ll do a proper results page somewhen. Any abuse will be dealt with by my learned friends Hieronymus Bosch & Epigones.
Hypothesis: Spanish is easier than German, economics 101 appears easier than politics, and so the political problem of Germany’s role in Europe has, curiously, become a story about some blocks of flats in Valencia. And, since most of the English-language press can’t read Spanish either, they end up looking for solutions in the mantras of some cuddly American economist.
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