One day I will arrive in Sagres, by Nélida Piñón

As always literature to the rescue of History. Nothing would be of learning about our past without the necessary screening of literature. Because historical fiction goes beyond the chronicles that underpin the events and their dates for devout believers in the officiality. Nelida Pinon offers us an unusual glimpse of the Portugal that is today, half a past legacy and half an inexhaustible current of the Pacific that extends inland, until it hits the breakwater on the other side of the peninsula more imbued by the Mediterranean.

A novel with that melancholic fado taste that evokes and longs, as Sabina would say, for glories that just happened, increasing that nostalgia for what could have been. A plot that becomes a common thread of the Portuguese idiosyncrasy, from north to south, in this precise sense, from the most Galician north to that south that points to America, to Brazil where Sagres occupies the last piece of Portuguese homeland until those yesteryears. confines lost at sea.

Born in the XNUMXth century in a village in northern Portugal, the son of a prostitute accused of witchcraft and an unknown father, the young Mateus grew up with his grandfather Vicente, but when he died, he began a journey south , in search of utopia, but also after the vocation of greatness of a poor country animated by the desire for freedom.

One day I will arrive in Sagres In short, it tells the story of Portugal, of a civilization in perpetual motion through the life of an apparently insignificant individual, a reckless peasant, but perhaps one who is so at a time when what is most lacking is recklessness.

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