Reseña: "Good omens", de Neil Gaiman y Terry pratchett

Según Las Buenas y Acertadas profecías de Agnes la Chalada Bruja (el único libro fiable de profecías, escrito en 1655, antes de que ella explotara), el fin del mundo tendrá lugar el sábado. El próximo sábado, para ser exactos. Justo antes de la hora de la cena. Los ejércitos del Bien y del Mal se están agrupando, la Atlánti da está resurgiendo, llueven sapos y los ánimos están algo alterados así que... todo parece ajustarte al Plan Divino. De no ser por un ángel quisquilloso y un demonio buscavidas que han vivido a costa de los mortales desde el comienzo de los tiempos y que no están dispuestos a aceptar tan fácilmente eso del “Fin de la civilización tal y como la conocemos” . Y... ¡vaya por Dios! ¡Parece que alguien ha hecho desaparecer al Anticristo!“

Obra maestra

Título: Good omens

Saga: No (snif)

Autores: Neil Gaiman y Terry Pratchett

Páginas: 398

Año de publicación: 2006

Editorial: Harper Torch 

Oh, por el amor de Monesvol.

Había leído obras de estos dos escritores, que han vertido durante décadas sus historias, plasmadas con una imaginacón desbordante, y los he disfrutado en varios formatos. Cuando me enteré que Gaiman y Pratchett habían escrito una obra en conjunto, sabía que el resultado iba a ser genial. Lo que no sabía era cómo iban a entremezclar sus habilidades, ya que bien sabido es que la mezcla de dos cosas excelentes no tiene por qué resultar algo excelente.

"You've got to admit it's a bit of a pantomime, though," said Crawly. "I mean, pointing out the Tree and saying 'Don't Touch' in big letters. Not very subtle, is it? I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain or a long way off? Makes you wonder what He's really planning."

Y, entonces, por obra y gracia de un amigo, llega a mis manos la versión original, en inglés.

But you couldn't tell that to demons like Hastur and Ligur. Fourteenth-century minds, the lot of them. Spending years picking away at one soul. Admittedly it was craftsmanship, but you had to think differently these days. Not big, but wide. With five billion people in the world you couldn't pick the buggers off one by one any more; you had to spread your effort. But demons like Ligur and Hastur wouldn't understand. They'd never have thought up Welsh-language television, for example. Or value-added tax. Or Manchester.

Es una maravilla.

No sólo por la historia, que a cada "minicapítulo", dentro de capítulos que se dividen por días (o "en un principio"),  nos presenta una parte de este peculiar mundo, sino por los personajes.

"But after we win life will be better!" croaked the angel

"But it won't be as interesting. Look, you know I'm right. You'd be as happy with a harp as I'd be with a pitchfork."

"You know we don't play harps."

"And we don't use pitchforks. I was being rhetorical."

They stared at one another.

Aziraphale spread his elegantly manicured hands.

"My people are more than happy for it to happen, you know. It's what it's all about, you see. The great final test. Flaming swords, the Four Horsemen, seas of blood, the whole tedious business." He shrugged.

"And then Game Over, Insert Coin?" said Crowley.

"Sometimes I find your methods of expression a little difficult to follow."

(Es muy difícil elegir algunas pocas frases, porque el texto es genial, rebosante de oraciones hilarantes, con una lógica sólida y, a la vez, rarísima. Es de esa clase de libro que te hace querer leerlo una y otra vez, y nunca cansa.)

Se mueven y actúan de forma lógica, entendible, dentro de sus personalidades y entorno. Hay una gran variedad, y en cada uno de ellos se nota una combinación de los dos autores. Desde ex-monjas satánicas que pertenecían a la orden del parloteo, hasta cazadores de brujas que sobreviven a base de latas de leche condensada y poco más, pasando por médiums que hacen la lista del supermercado mientras actúan (hasta que no actúan más), y un ejército de seres, de toda clase de origen, que pueblan estas páginas.

"Right. Right. So all you've got to do is thwart. Because if I know anything," said Crowley urgently, "it's that the birth is just the start. It's the upbringing that's important. It's the Influences. Otherwise the child will never learn to use its powers." He hesitated. "At least, not necessarily as intended."

"Certainly our side won't mind me thwarting you," said Aziraphale thoughtfully. "They won't mind that at all."

"Right. It'd be a real feather in your wing." Crowley gave the angel an encouraging smile.

"What will happen to the child if it doesn't get a Satanic upbringing, though?" said Aziraphale.

"Probably nothing. It'll never know."

"But genetics-"

"Don't tell me from genetics. What've they got to do with it?" said Crowley. "Look at Satan. Created as an angel, grows up to be the Great Adversary. Hey, if you're going to go on about genetics, you might as well say the kid will grow up to be an angel. After all, his father was really big in Heaven in the old days. Saying he'll grow up to be a demon just because his dad became one is like saying a mouse with its tail cut off will give birth to tailless mice. No. Upbringing is everything. Take it from me."

"And without unopposed Satanic influences-"

"Well, at worst Hell will have to start all over again. And the Earth gets at least another eleven years. That's got to be worth something, hasn't it?"

Y la historia, oh la historia.

Un evento tan grandioso como el nacimiento del anticristo no es algo que me atraiga, pero la forma en que lo escriben Gaiman y Pratchett lo hacen lo más atractivo del mundo. Con elementos tales como un demonio y un ángel que ya pasaron de ser enemigos a algo parecido a una amistad, la versión moderna de los cuatro jinetes del apocalipsis (en especial Guerra y Hambre), la descendiente de una bruja y la gran galería de personajes (oh, cómo me reí con los telemarketers cuando llamaron a un número equivocado) se presentan en una historia a la que la palabra hilarante le queda chico, imaginativa no le hace justicia, y atrapante ni siquiera le llega a los talones.

Then something very strange had happened to her. Left alone in the rambling building, working from one of the few undamaged rooms, arguing with men with cigarette stubs behind their ears and plaster dust on their trousers and the kind of pocket calculator that comes up with a different answer if the sums involved are in used notes, she discovered something she never knew existed.

She'd discovered, under layers of silliness and eagerness to please, Mary Hodges. 

She found it quite easy to interpret builders' estimates and do VAT calculations. She'd got some books from the library, and found finance to be both interesting and uncomplicated. She'd stopped reading the kind of women's magazine that talks about romance and knitting and started reading the kind of women's magazine that talks about orgasms, but apart from making a mental note to have one if ever the occasion presented itself she dismissed them as only romance and knitting in a new form. So she'd started reading the kind of magazine that talked about mergers. 

(...)

She read about New Women. She hadn't ever realized that she'd been an Old Woman, but after some thought she decided that titles like that were all one with the romance and the knitting and the orgasms, and the really important thing to be was yourself, just as hard as you could. She'd always been inclined to dress in black and white. All she needed to do was raise the hemlines, raise the heels, and leave off the wimple.

¿De qué va la historia? De que es hora del Apocalipsis, pero las monjas satánicas de la Orden de la Cháchara colocan al Anticristo con la familia que no era. Crowley, un demonio muy cómodo con la buena vida en la Tierra, y Arzipae, un ángel que adora su librería de libros antiguos, llegan a un acuerdo: enviarán un representante para que eduque a Warlock, el joven anticristo, y que él decida al final.

Y llega el esperado día, y...

Warlock no sabe qué se espera de él.

Then he'd tried believing in the Universe, which seemed sound enough until he'd innocently started reading new books with words like Chaos and Time and Quantum in the titles. He'd found that even the people whose job of work was, so to speak, the Universe, didn't really believe in it and were actually quite proud of not knowing what it really was or even if it could theoretically exist.

To Newt's straightforward mind this was intolerable

De golpe y porrazo, el cielo y el Infierno descubren que ese niño no es el Anticristo, y los unos y los otro, sin saber qué hacer, buscan respuestas. Porque, de todos modos, el Apocalipsis va a suceder, y nadie sabe qué fue del Anticristo,o lo que podría hacer si fue educado como si sólo fuese un niño normal.

Al inicio del libro, los autores comentan que algunas personas atesoran este libro, al punto de guardarlo en recipientes de madera tallada. Y, después de leerlo, puedo decir que tal cosa está más que justificada. Este libro es uno de los mejores que encontrarás jamás.

Nota final: 10/10