Quite some time ago I fell for an Argentinian named Mafalda. A precocious six year old surviving the 60s in politically charged Latin America. Her personage and posse a counterpart to the Peanuts gang and their youthful perspective on life in the United States during a similar era.
The comic was published in various editions of small landscape books on the order of a digestible 100 pages. Starting with book 0 and ending at 10 (though I just read that the sequencing depends on the country of publication), I’ve been collecting them along various travels.
My first encounter with one of these books was most likely in Madrid, at either the Librería San Ginés (around the corner from the capitol’s most famous chocolate and churros joint), or most likely the strand of booksellers lining the pedestrian path Calle Claudio Moyano connecting La Reina Sofia, where Picasso’s Guernica is housed, to El Retiro, Madrid’s version of Central Park.
Since that initial rendezvous, I’ve serendipitously come across editions 0, 2, 3, 4, 6, and 7. All in countries where, not surprisingly, Spanish is the official and dominant language.
Until yesterday.
A local cafe that specializes in affordable (by today’s prices) coffee drinks, delicious baked goods, and weekly evening jazz jam sessions by local students, additionally boasts a well-curated collection of used books. One large section adorning the wall to the right of the entrance - floor to ceiling containing cookbooks, non-fiction topics, classic literature, and religious works. A second bookshelf stationed across from the checkout station with two rows dedicated to further fiction and children’s interest. And a third small bookcase ensconced in a back room offering a selection of hardback books.
While waiting for a rooibos tea to heat up I decided to kill a moment and run my fingers along the spines of books opposite the barista bar. Wealth management, Wimpy Kid diaries, Jane Austen, and … three Mafaldas!
If you were there you’d have witnessed a silly scene with a grown man excited by three little comic strip books, unknown to the majority of Americans, this guy reacting in surprise with a glance left and right and a face of “Can you believe they have her here!”. And in Spanish, no less. All in pristine condition (one of my volumes has no front cover, and a couple of others are holding onto dear life by the seams of their binders). What are the chances!?
Anyhow … after composing myself to a more mature state … I investigated which of those volumes I already had in my possession. I found I had two of the three … but Number 9 I still needed!
So I picked her up and checked her out for a morning of tea and comic relief.
That’s my Mafalda story. Thanks for reading and welcome to Photoletter 34!
-Paul
