The presentations are very sad events. We got into the routine. The presentation is a practical thing for the media, because it is possible to fill the cultural space with a few transcripts and a large photo with relative ease. But it is extremely painful for the writer, and nothing serious for the reader; neither for the book reader nor for the newspaper reader. To expose the writer in the arcades of the Plaza de la Constitución or in the KM, with the book in his hand in the works of promotion, because it is necessary to promote, but not too obvious, and to pretend forever, to say that it is a very good book, a few words, in the first that Xabier Olarra launched the ‘aupam book’... that is all routine. The journalists won’t ask questions because they have to go to another press conference in half an hour... In the end, it’s a completely anti-literary event, a book presentation. Just free publicity.” And let’s suppose that the writer who goes from Vitoria-Gasteiz to San Sebastián precisely to make

a book presentation has remembered these words of Koldo Izagirre and, shortly after, in the recent past of Altsasu, has seen the road sign Paris 857 and has felt the desire to move from San Sebastián to Paris (or hibernate if not, because of the red weather – and the fact – of the last days and weeks; this year this desire is being felt intensely). The writer is tired of seeing the new book in the side seat: how many headaches, how much backwards, how many doubts, how many corrections, how many insecurities... With a gloomy and painful twist, he remembers the words of Izagirre: “I have the impression that the editorials have been co-created and have not invented new ones in the last fifteen,

twenty years.” The writer, who unwittingly abandons his way to Paris and goes to Donostiarakoa, remembers Kirmen Uribe: “The book is born, but in those first steps, you have to help it walk”; and the next one comes to mind Carlos Linazasoro, with a reflection that was once issued from the same presentation table: “I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I’m the best person to talk about my book.” Already

in San Sebastian, entering the parking lot of the Boulevard, the writer is trying to convince himself: he wants to bet with each book, but also with presentation issues. And as soon as he gets out of the car, he remembers the writer Salinger, the missing Salinger, the mysterious Salinger, who did not do any interviews or presentations. And Izagirre again, whispering in his ear: “Maybe it’s too late, but given how some people are doing, I’d rather go back and get away from that promotional career. I don't want to be mediatic people. My exhaustion is one of the reasons why I don't do the presentations. Another reason, the opposite of extravagance. A third, erosion of the display system. Publishers need to invent something new to promote the book. I’ve also done it in protest, not presenting the book.” On the way to the Plaza de

la Constitución, the writer is reminded of several friends who accompany the book – friends of the book – journalists, booksellers, librarians – how many hidden efforts, how many decent catalogues thanks to them, how many clubs – and who toast to them while asking for a bottle of txakoli in the first bar he met. He also ordered a potato omelette with a red pepper. When you're done, you'll decide, go, don't go.