I don’t know if former minister Alberto Garzón is as fond of series as his former friend (and former vice president) Pablo Iglesias. If he hasn’t seen it, I recommend the second season of Feud (HBO), dedicated to Truman Capote and his swans, those ladies of New York high society who formed his entourage in the sixties and swore eternal enmity to him when they saw themselves portrayed in the editorial preview of Prayers answered, the unfinished chronicle of the vices and miseries of the upper bourgeoisie of the United States. Surely, one of the cruelest, most brutal and entertaining libels in the history of universal literature. It cost its author ostracism for exposing the filth of her friends, and we suspect that he did not regret it: it was a good price.
Capote betrayed everything and everyone for his glory and his books. With him there is no distinction between the artist and his work, because all of his work is due to the perfidy of its author: without his devious character, his cynicism and his way of faking friendships to infiltrate the lives he I wanted to narrate, there would be no In cold blood, Music for chameleons o Prayers answered, and the world would be worse. This is said very well Feud, directed by Gus Van Sant and divinely performed by a cast of actresses in their prime. That is why I recommend it to all readers, but with a special mention for Alberto Garzón and his fellow travelers of what he calls, in the statement released this week, “the political space for which I have worked so hard.”
It would be unfair to compare Garzón’s prose with that of Capote. I also don’t think Ryan Murphy is going to produce a season of Feud counting the rise and fall of Podemos. If he did, he would have to start with that moment in which Garzón accepts the job offer from a consulting firm that represents everything for which they conspired to assault the heavens, and then rejects it, victim of the fury of the righteous. From the pact of the bottles to the offices of Acento, a soap opera of betrayed friendships and love affairs, and of ideals stamped on the carpets of the ministries. The story has merit, without a doubt, but it lacks glamor and literature. We will stay with Capote’s betrayals, and let everyone see themselves reflected in them as they want.