It's a serious thing, but I get a weirdness. “1994. He published his first book in 1995: Poemario Kea behelainopean bezala. That same year, Pavlov's dog published a hybrid program. In 1995, X-ray published his book of stories and his novel Beluna jazz.Sus works can also be read in Euskaldunon Egunkaria. She is currently studying law.” And not in a program for those over 55 years old. Born in 1975, Harkaitz Cano was only 22 years old when the Caged Telephone was published in 1997 and was able to put that bibliography on the lapel. And to know who was going through the law notes. Because it's not understood otherwise.

I mean, if Rimbaud is Basque, Cano can be the leading candidate; our writer began to achieve excellence and glory in the twenties. Not everyone saw her right away. Or the irregular bibliography they confessed to. A critique of the time compared the caged telephone with the history of jazz Beluna: “Although the book is interesting, although I have read it with pleasure, I must confess that it has not met my expectation from reading the first novel.” From this fifteenth of the new millennium, it seems to me that both have aged the same: the emotion of this first reading is renewed, that is, the stories Aldatz behera at sea, Mattress or Whisky & Nolotil.

Stories and poems, but they share imagery: Heineken – with eyes completely open to plating someone who died on the eyelids – Gillette – who after Jimi Hendrix cut off her forehead and put the chopped coca on a tape to tie it in her head – Camel – to put it in the mouth of the daughter of the hortelan of the season. Those who present a kind of poetic, that of the Holy God, at least for novel writers: “You went away, believing that in the remoteness you would find the peace of mind from the flight of your writings. I wanted to forget the past for a step in the void. You have not yet learned that the future is nothing more than a shortcut to reach the past.” And in a story you can find the impression that the book leaves: “I thought of more fantasy than Alice.” As if it were not enough, from the speakers the music of Beti Mugan: cut your hair and your eyes are cast behind the mirror.

It could not, therefore, be entirely objective with this book. One of the first acquisitions with own money will be in the literary memory the pink lilac cover, tangible, with the three telephone posts of Olariaga. And that reader then, caged forever.