One reading leads you to another reading, and that reading leads you to the third, and that third, and so on. In that chain I have come myself, to the collection of Mundu txikia narratives by Alberto Barandiaran, which I had long been waiting for at the Bidenabarkoa. I recently read Akaso, by Juan Garzia Garmendia – more specifically, the story Bele Jolaseta, in which, for reasons of sex, a small revenge is taken on the friars of the school – I read Barandiaran’s journalism: Irungo La Salle, 1970s, student abuse. But Berria's article had the reverse, a fictional equivalent, Martxel, Barandiaran's only passage in fiction.

From the very beginning it is striking: “I, the experience with Adriana – and then it came out to me – and with Sebastian (...) with one of the leaders of the Seminar.” And how well it reflects not only the terrible experience, but, as the other would say, the communicative paralysis of the Basques. But it's not the only one. Take Ekaitz, the child who rejects the Basque language, because the affective language is Spanish, so real. He takes Elvira to see what the wars of the past are present in the present, which suddenly brings us to the memory of the family Sagardia Goñi, who in 1936 threw his wife and his six children into a cave. Or Kotte, on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the legalization of the Ikurrina, which speaks of the revolution that did not come – “he has chosen comfort: he has chosen his defeat, he has not changed the world, he is already” – which calls into question the ways by which he walked – “He is still in. I had not accepted the reduction in penalties. He, then yes.”– And well thought of now, not a few of the narratives will be the ones read in the newspapers. But those in the book are not at all journalistic: the experiences, the desires, the differences of an immigrant girl; a grandson unable to understand what his old grandmother sang to him; the concerns of a father in the absence of a mother. All, supposedly small stories. But the protagonist of the story, Kotte, the chance of life, the journalist, says: “I could make a big photo with a small photo.” Also in this case, through many small photographs, we will be shown a wider world that would not be too far from what we call our world.

One reading leads you to another reading, and that reading leads you to another, and at the end all the readings are unique and the same. That may constitute this small world of ours.