Of this I also want to speak

I am glad that recent times have been benign, even happy with well-deserved awards such as the XXVI Jaume Fuster prize awarded by the Association of Writers in the Catalan Language, for Dolors Miquel, an essential author without whom the ends of the 20th century and the beginnings of the 21st century of Catalan literature cannot be understood, and now she proves it to us again with one of the most impressive books, without a doubt, that will be released this year: The sleeping breast,, at Edicions 62, with a beautiful cover by Miquel Barceló.In her more than remarkable career, Dolors Miquel has written mainly poetry, but she has also provided us with excellent examples of prose and theatre. Well, El pit adormit combines these and all textual possibilities and more: it has the breathtaking force of a colossal epic poem, it makes us advance through different plots and subplots like a great Catalan novel, it enjoys the resounding expression of a monologue that unfolds in furious bursts, it is read with the most electric eagerness of the best diaries, and whoever touches this does not touch a book – as Walt Whitman said, although Emily Dickinson could have said it without any problem – but touches a human being who has consecrated their life to Beauty in capital letters because Beauty has generated deep wounds and supreme passions in them, and for this reason they have no other motive than to create, to create with letters through an often ruthless power. I will continue pulling this thread of thought: there are books that are written, yes, but then there are others that impose themselves, that impose themselves on us, and I would dare to affirm that Dolors Miquel is one of those creators who finds herself imposed upon by the torrent that floods her, and in this case the tsunami has presented itself to her, at a decisive vital moment, in the form of memories, images, scenes, stories, little battles, suggestions, reflections, connections, and associations that end up taking the form of paragraphs in a resounding victory of the fragment, the note, the jotting, the flash, the sudden insight. The style may remind us of Lluís Maicas, but the style is pure Dolors Miquel in a reformulation we had never read from her before, and we already know that she has lived many lives and has been many Dolors Miquels and also Lola Miquel, but the Dolors Miquel of today has reached a peak, a milestone, a great book. The sleeping breast, by this new Dolors Miquel, is a striking vital testimony in a medical crisis that often leads to the abyss, a delicious album of snapshots that move us, an authentic philosophical treatise, a series of strong blows, an individual and collective memory of decisive changes in Catalan poetry, a masterpiece by a total writer in a state of grace