Javier Marías stood in the FNAC cinema section on Callao, carefully scanning movie titles when he was first noticed. It was many years ago. In that corner, revealed and unmasked, he appeared as a figure out of time—cool, precise, unaware of the world’s speed or even of his own allure. It felt like a hidden light could switch on at any moment, revealing a legend from one’s own imagination.
Marías wore a hat and an oversized jacket that hung well past his hands. A sense of nerves descended in the observer, who wondered if anyone else had seen what they were witnessing: the Most Important Writer. This moment crowned a remarkable week, marked by the recent discoveries of Javier Cercas, Gonzalo Suárez, and David Trueba as they stepped out from a restaurant on Calle de los Caños del Peral near Ópera.
The observer’s eyes sparkled with astonishment, and they found themselves peering at headlines under the pretense of distraction. The writer glanced occasionally, and when the novelist moved forward, the observer followed, trying to track the books he selected and then replaced on the shelves. The observer’s partner grew uneasy, sensing a drift into erratic behavior. “What’s wrong with you?” came the question. A soft hush followed, and with a slight nod, the observer guided the writer toward the section labeled: The Most Elegant Novelist.
About half an hour passed before the writer chose a few volumes and paid. The observer slipped behind the impersonal Author and whispered to Marta to hurry down the escalator after him. If it were up to the observer, the chase would have continued from Preciados to Sol, perhaps to Calle Mayor, and onward to the doorway of his home on Plaza de la Villa. But the partner’s voice cut through the impulse: “Don’t do it, you fool, go. Don’t let him disappear into the crowd.” And so the moment concluded with a restrained release.
That FNAC encounter became a symbol of sound, style, and the adventurous spirit of expression. The works on display—All Souls, Tomorrow in the Battle Think of Me, Heart Either White or Black—stood as echoes of time returning to the surface.
A few months later, the writer appeared again and again as a living character within a novel. There were many paths to becoming Javier Marías. In one such story, a neighbor invites him to a party, and a guest asks him to cut a ham. The blade must be removed because it would ruin the piece. The tale would later surface when Marías recounted a dinner including Alfred Jules Ayer, the philosopher associated with logical positivism and author of Language, Truth and Logic.
During the 1966 World Cup in England, the writer’s father was seventy-three and accompanied him to the opening match between England and Uruguay at Wembley. The game ended 0-0 amid controversial refereeing by István Zsolt. Ayer returned to the stadium for the quarterfinal against Argentina. The elder, badly ill, made his son promise to take the field if England reached the final. Three hours before the final, the father passed away, yet the promise endured. In the stands, the body was seen in a wheelchair, while England captured the championship in extra time. The burial followed a day later. Beyond this, the novel itself faded from memory, though it left a lasting impression: a deep admiration for a writer once set aside, perhaps to be revisited through later novels that awaited discovery.