Sally Fitzgerald escribe sobre la fe de Flannery O’Connor:

This faith was her intellectual and spiritual taproot, and it deepened and spread outward in her with the years. Her real love for Christianity and for the Church as its guardian is inescapable in her letters, and so is her impatience with fatuity and obtuseness among Catholics. On the letter subject she is not so much astringent as withering. In her letters to an intelligent Jesuit friend, she would demolish the Catholic press and some Catholic education with a blast and, at the same time, ask a dispensation to read two author listed on the late, unlamented Index of proscribed works. She maintained throughout her life that the Church is no way impaired her true freedom, either in the practice of her art or in her personal life. She gladly honored the prerogatives claimed by the church, holding that what the church gave her far outweighed any demands it made in return. To the novelist John Hawkes, Flannery wrote, “There are some of us who have to pay for our faith every step of the way and who have to work out dramatically what it would be like without it and if being without it should ultimately be possible or not.” There is in her letters not a hint of deviation from her orthodox position, even in her mind. She says in so many word to one correspondent hat she has simply never doubted, or for a moment wanted to leave the fold.

Hace poco más de un año registré en el blog una anécdota narrada por la misma Flannery O’Connor a propósito del carácter de su fe:

Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater said when she was a child and received the host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the most portable person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, Well, if it’s a symbol, to hell with it.

That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.

O, por utilizar las palabras de Toomey:

O es realmente la carne y la sangre, o bien no lo es.

 

No establezco, caballeros, ninguna simetría

pedazo-de-animal

No te lo vas a creer, pero bajo el fuego, Pedazo de Animal es una de las mejores personas del mundo. Sólo necesita a alguien que esté tirándole granadas el resto de sus días.

Dijo Ébano (¡ju!). Y:

Habría sido una buena mujer —dijo el Desequilibrado— si hubiera tenío a  alguien cerca que le disparara cada minuto de su vida.

Ajajá, dijo el Desequilibrado —y escribió Flannery O’Connor— en Un hombre bueno es difícil de encontrar.

(Cuentos completos de Flannery O’Connor en Amazon y en la Casa del Libro. También puedes comprar La chaqueta metálica en Amazon.)

The Habit of Being: Letters of Flannery O’Connor

georgia-flannery-oconnor

Es obvio que en algún momento tendré que comprar este libro:

I was once, five or six years ago, taken by some friends to have dinner with Mary McCarthy and her husband, Mr. Broadwater. (She just wrote that book, “A Charmed Life.”) She departed the Church at the age of 15 and is a Big Intellectual. We went at eight and at one, I hadn’t opened my mouth once, there being nothing for me in such company to say. . . . Having me there was like having a dog present who had been trained to say a few words but overcome with inadequacy had forgotten them.

Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater said when she was a child and received the host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the most portable person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, Well, if it’s a symbol, to hell with it.

That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.

Copiado de. En cuanto al sentido del texto, hay muchas formas de decirlo.

¿No fue Dostoyevski? Entonces O’Connor en boca del Desequilibrado.

—Jesús es el único qu’ha resucitao a los muertos —continuó el Desequilibrado—, y no tendría qu’haberlo hecho. Rompió el equilibrio de to. Si Él hacía lo que decía, entonces solo te queda dejarlo to y seguirlo, y si no lo hacía, entonces solo te queda disfrutar de los pocos minutos que tienes de la mejor manera posible, matando a alguien o quemándole la casa o haciéndole alguna otra maldad. No hay placer, sino maldad —dijo, y su voz casi se había transformado en un gruñido.

Flannery O’Connor, Un hombre bueno es difícil de encontrar.

(Puedes comprarlo en Amazon y en la Casa del Libro.)

Vanidad de vanidades, todo vanidad

Escribe Flannery O’Connor:

Over the years their attitude [la de los pavos reales] toward me has not grown more generous. If I appear with food, they condescend, when no other way can be found, to eat it from my hand; if I appear without food, I am just another object. If I refer to them as “my” peafowl, the pro­noun is legal, nothing more. I am the menial, at the beck and squawk of any feathered worthy who wants service. When I first uncrated these birds, in my frenzy I said, “I want so many of them that every time I go out the door I’ll run into one.” Now every time I go out the door, four or five run into me—and give me only the faintest recognition. Nine years have passed since my first peafowl arrived. I have forty beaks to feed. Necessity is the mother of several other things besides invention.

Y:

The usual reaction is silence, at least for a time. The cock opens his tail by shaking himself violently until it is gradually lifted in an arch around him. Then, before anyone has had a chance to see it, he swings around so that his back faces the spectator. This has been taken by some to be insult and by others whimsey. I suggest it means only that the peacock is equally well satisfied with either view of himself.

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