A gem is anything of extraordinary value. And this value can come from memory, from the trajectory, or from the authorship of a unique piece. Laura Cendrós' library is full of object books. Many had belonged to his father, the businessman, patron, cultural promoter and publisher Joan Baptista Cendrós. They have been arriving little by little at the flat where she has lived for 32 years and in the hall of which, in a display case, there are miniature cars, caganers and snuff bottles, among other collections. In the studio, the material he compiled for the exhibition that the Palau Robert dedicated to his father, the biography made by Genís Sinca – El cavaller Floïd –, and a bookcase from the family home, sold in 2006. There, he dedicated his Saturday downtime to the four daughters: they watched Laurel and Hardy or Tom and Jerry movies on a projector that he had brought from the United States, and he let them enter the library – a sanctuary – and rummage through books children's books that he had in a closet.
Between lithographs of Ubu aux Baléares, in the corridor there are shelves of bound books. For example, the volumes of carols that his father sent and the responses he received. Or those books that she binds for Josep Cambras because they are special and have brought him something important; underneath they retain, of course, the cover, the back cover and the spine. There is Faulkner's Mentre agonizo, Truman Capote or The reason for everything dedicated (by the way, Quim Monzó doesn't like the binding of books at all). There is also a framed stamp with the yellow ribbon given to him by Carles Puigdemont, and above, the complete work of Josep Pla. In the living room, a little bit of everything. Cendrós pretty much knows where everything is, with exceptions: he had been looking for a first edition of Rayuela that he had for years. He found her the other day. And he lost it again.
Almost every book has its story and the author's letter; in the form of a dedication (Triadú's, loaded with sarcasm, "but with my father they loved each other very much"), in the form of a letter (the editor of Aymá i Proa corresponded with Henry Miller, on blue letter paper aerial; they never got to see each other), in the form of an original (in the case of Pablo Neruda's Geografía, in green ink), or even as instructions: Espriu put on each page of a notebook where he wanted them to go the poems of a reissue of Les cançons d'Ariadna. "It had that letter where you have to take a photo with your mobile phone and enlarge it to be able to read it", very small, all capital letters. In fact, he took advantage of the recipe books of a brother who worked at Assistència Sanitària to write in them.
From his father, Cendrós also has books from the collection of bibliophiles and Dau al Set, Amor de Cirlot with a collage made by himself, another unique piece. And next to the television, on the shelves where there are her husband's books – many of them Porsche –, some that Miquel Plana (and now the son, Elies) make with an old printing press: Edgar Allan Poe or La vaca cega in English. Next to it is a portrait of Cendrós' granddaughter, nee Siena, reading. And below, art books: Miquel Barceló, Plensa-Macbeth-Verdi, Plensa-Estellés, the Miró d'Altaió, the magazine Cave Canis and the great book of the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya. Behind the sofa, under the orange loins of Proa, a lot of poetry, Carner, Foix - a low number from a short edition of Sol i de dol -, the Divine Comedy.
In the bedroom, the Óssa Menor collection, and books by Vinyoli by the bed, and by Margarit, and by Casasses. Read mostly before bed and on weekends, never on Kindle. "But I also look at Instagram, let's not fool ourselves." Novels cost him; he likes epistolaries and biographies more, poetry above all. He buys the books from Montse Úbeda, in Ona de Gran de Gràcia. They give him some and he gives some. For birthdays, to his son Igor, often because he has asked for a lot: a dedicated copy of Solitut from 1946, another of Ferrater, La rosa als llavís by Salvat-Papasseit with wooden covers. When they gave it to Cendrós-father-grandfather, he said: “He was the only person who had two, of this edition; now I will be the only person who will have three”.
