The cycle called “The honor of the word” invites a quiet test of integrity. Does a person truly keep faith with their word? Can language itself elevate the human experience instead of diminishing it? The belief here is simple: words carry weight when used to uphold goodness, to name truth as it is, to reveal compassion, and to stand for what is right. When speech becomes hollow or perverted by deceit, the word loses its dignity. It remains a tool that can build or destroy, capable of naming beauty and horror in equal measure, and a person decides how to wield it.
The writer’s most enduring conviction is that history and memory are inseparable from the present. The past is not a separate realm but a continuous extension of now. If one seeks to understand the current moment, to appreciate what exists, or to form judgments about today’s reality, past events must be weighed against today. This is especially true in nations where rapid transformation has shaped social and political life over a few decades. To gauge progress in welfare, gender equality, and justice, a clear sense of origin acts as a trustworthy benchmark for measuring where we have come from and where we might head next.
On the claim that public education stands as the best, almost the sole, beacon for social progress, the writer notes a continued emphasis on this theme. In recent times, one lesson from the pandemic stood out: the public sphere’s value underpins a just society. Public health and education emerge as nearly universal pillars, complemented by responsible public administration. Having spent years in the United States, the writer has seen how private funding can overshadow essential services. In Madrid, there is noticeable pressure toward privatization in both healthcare and education, with public schooling becoming a minority in some communities. The essential question remains: without robust public education, who will be equipped to move forward, to pursue professions, and to contribute meaningfully to society?
When asked whether society is regressing or advancing, the response underscores a nuanced view. Progress is real, yet tendencies to pull back persist. As the present meets the past, the trajectory reveals both gains and setbacks. Contemporary youth face challenges that differ from previous generations, particularly in housing and opportunities. Movement forward and backward can occur simultaneously as circumstances shift.
The writer has cultivated a personal memory literature, a form that blends lived experience with reflective narration. There is interest in contrasting this approach with autofiction, recognizing that both forms have distinct aims and reader agreements. The writer values the balance between truth and invention, insisting that readers approach a work with a shared understanding of where reality ends and storytelling begins. The blend of fact and fiction becomes a deliberate act—an imaginative process that still respects the realities it preserves.
Regarding linguistic concerns in an era of rapid technological change, there is a concern about the simplification of language that sometimes accompanies new tools. The belief here is that the issue lies more with education than with technology itself. Technology does not compel a simpler tone; it reflects how someone chooses to express themselves. The focus is on the depth of education and the complexity of emotion one wishes to convey, rather than on blame cast toward innovation.
Evaluating the evolution of the literary world since the publication of El Robinson urbano, the writer notes significant social changes. Since the mid-1980s, readership expanded dramatically, followed by crises in 2008 and the impact of piracy. These events manifested as a measurable decline in production or reach, yet there was a rebound after the pandemic. A notable shift has been the increase in female voices on panels and in discussions. What once would have been rare is now commonplace, and this shift is considered a major cultural advancement. Quality remains a personal measure—judged by readers and by the author’s own standards, irrespective of gender.
When asked about the concept of literary action, the writer describes it as a vocation—more a craft than a spectacle. It is a profession pursued with passion, honed through years of dedication, and sustained by the income it provides. A central aspect is the public’s awareness of the work, balanced with the need to protect a private life that allows deep focus and mindful engagement with the world. Publishing a book often comes with a promise to share beyond a certain point, but the writer emphasizes keeping a quiet personal life to avoid becoming the center of attention. The aim is to maintain a healthy equilibrium between public responsibility and private integrity.
Regarding the future of culture, especially literature, through the lens of leadership roles like directing the Cervantes Institute in New York, the writer distinguishes cultural public administration as a distinct field. Past experiences in Granada and elsewhere shaped a belief that the fate of literature is closely tied to education and justice. A strong, humane education—one that values creativity and empathy—produces readers who are willing to invest time and resources in culture. A society that prioritizes social justice fosters peace of mind and supports the means to engage with literature. Conversely, when education abandons humanistic values, cultural life weakens. The conclusion is clear: authors and technology alone do not determine culture’s course; it is the level of education that ultimately steers the journey.
To offer guidance to readers, a recommendation is shared for a forthcoming work in Elvira Lindo’s latest novel, titled The Wolf’s Den. The anticipation is positive, with the book slated for release in the near future, inviting readers to explore its themes and voices.