Leyendo Inferno de Dan Brown y leyendo Effetto Risorse

Estoy leyendo Inferno, la novela de Dan Brown y me impactó que esta vez en vez de escribir sobre Leonardo y la Magdalena, sobre los masones americanos -como en The Lost Symbol– Brown examina el problema de la superpoblación humana en crecimiento exponencial.

Claro, su enfoque best seller es muy parecido al de The Lost Symbol, hay un superhombre muy rico que quiere ayudar a la humanidad, es un decir lo de ayudar, matando a la mitad con una peste.

Y hay una supermujer con CI 200++ que por pura casualidad ayuda a Langdon, el muchachito supermán,  a escapar de una asesina también supermujer, y perseguidos por muchos supermanes, digo supermen.

Esto de los supermen es porque los americanos se creen que son todos supermán, así se identifican con su supermán interior, viste.

Bueno, ya digo que la estoy leyendo y la dejé cuando quieren entrar en la Ciudad Vieja de Florencia.

A todo esto, en Italia y en el blog del Profesor Bardi, en Italiano, Effetto Risorse -o sea, algo como Efecto Recursos, le cambió el nombre hace poco, un artículo largo, en cuatro partes, analiza precisamente este problema.

En mi opinión todo español debe conocer el italiano, idioma fácil y bellísimo, se entiende todo con un poco de buena voluntad y muy poco estudio.

Les voy a explicar del italiano una cosa importante, en sabiendo bien esto se progresa.  Y es que el plural del Italiano, a diferencia del Español, Francés e Inglés no termina en -s.

Masculino            Femenino

Singular       ragazzo                 ragazza

Plural          ragazzi                   ragazze

O sea Chico – Chica, y el plural, Chicos – Chicas

Con esta tabla fácil tienen bien adelantado el Italiano, se construye siempre así.

L’UNICITA’ DELLA SPECIE UMANA NE DETERMINA IL FATO? Parte 1 – Premessa.

(¿La unicidad de la especie humana no determina el destino?

L’UNICITA’ DELLA SPECIE UMANA NE DETERMINA IL FATO? Parte 2 – Il passato.

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L’UNICITA’ DELLA SPECIE UMANA NE DETERMINA IL FATO? Parte 3 – Il presente.

Esta tercera parte tiene bastantes interesantes gráficas, de entre ellas acá una, que la he mejorado aumentando el contraste, estaba francamente turbia.

World Pop-Fuel Use_r2

Como ven la población del planeta ocurre un aumento tremendo desde la Segunda Guerra Mundial, el eje de las x son los años antes y después de Cristo.

Y no, no proteste Ud porque explique algo tan obvio y elemental, la mayor parte de las personas no saben leer gráficas simples, porque no se lo han explicado nunca.

Esta gráfica, sin la línea roja de consumo de combustible, solamente la línea azul de crecimiento de la población, se la muestra «el Malo» de la novela de Dan Brown Inferno a la directora de la WHO/OMS, que como solución le dice que la señora de Gates está pagando muchos condones a los negros del África

Esta tercera entrega del trabajo tiene otras muchas gráficas interesantes.

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L’UNICITA’ DELLA SPECIE UMANA NE DETERMINA IL FATO? Parte 4 – Spes, ultima Dea.

Spes, la última diosa. Spes, o sea, la Esperanza.

Aunque el artículo es bastante amargo y desesperanzado, diría yo.

Bueno, regreso a leer mi novela, a ver si Langdon tiene una solución al problema de la superpoblación o le agua la fiesta al Malo y todo sigue como está … ¿Le quedan dudas?

☼ 28-4-2014  Sigo leyendo Inferno -y haciendo otras cosas

¡He descubierto un truco hábil y rastrero de Dan Brown !

Achabo con el escritor de Bestsellers.

Como Uds saben, si son lectores de Brown, y si leen las críticas que se le hace ( a ver si agrego algunas al final, creo que las tengo por ahí…) este americano es muy criticado, y especialmente por los europeos y franceses, y todavía más por los envidiosos ingleses -que lo leen con lupa, mapa, regla y brújula en la mano- que no fallan en encontrar errores muy gordos, como que sale de una estación de Metro en París, y enfrente queda, algo que en realidad está muy lejos y en otra dirección, cosas en ese plan.

Le encuentro un error, que está claro lo ha hecho a propósito.

Porque si yo sé que esto NO es así, está clavado que lo sabe él, y mejor que yo.

Y si lo sabe, y lo pone, es porque lo pone a propósito

Dice en el Capítulo 39, p. 512 de mi edición, a propósito de la mascarilla mortuoria de Dante (hay una intriga con ella, pero no viene a cuento ahora):

The practice was particularly widespread in commemorating eminent persons and men of genius—Dante, Shakespeare, Voltaire, Tasso, Keats—they all had death masks made.”  Capítulo 39, p 512

Perdoná y disculpa, ché Brown, pero a Shakespeare no le hicieron mascarilla mortuoria, ni la guardan en el British Museum ni nada.

¿Y porqué lo puso, entonces?

A propósito, para enganchar al crítico pedante y anglosajón y que se desgañite denunciando las carencias culturales e ignorancias de este vulgar americano.

Dan Brown hace lo de aquel político, que decía:

–«Que hablen de nosotros, aunque sea bien.»

* En Waterstones ya estaba rebajada, a mitad de precio

Inferno_r

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☼ La terminé de leer !  SPOILER ALERT, como se dice ahora

Resultó que el tal Inferno era un virus o vector viral, pero no una plaga mortífera como daba a entender la novela todo el tiempo.

El benefactor de la humanidad que lo había liberado ya hacía días lo diseñó para que esterilizara a la tercera parte de la gente. Al azar, Brown se cree que esto de diseñar un virus es como hacer un app.

Les he dibujado, queridos lectores, un grafismo que hará sus delicias -todo es poco para vuecencias !

Inferno_r_b

Ahí tienen resumido lo principal de la novela

La misteriosa mujer que va con el supeman y que es superwoman ella, como todas las yankis, pero que es calva

El drone que persigue a Langdon

Langdon corriendo, siempre corriendo este hombre, y ya contaminado como todo el mundo pero no lo sabe

Y el virus Inferno representado por esa tijera, que le va a cortar la reproducción a la gente

Y sangre, mucha sangre.

CONCLUSION.

De todas las novelas de Dan Brown esta es la única que estudia un problema real y probablemente la peor de todas.

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☼ Acá unas sátiras sobre Dan Brown que les pueden gustar,

Dan Brown’s Inferno: a tall writer offers his historic review

Can Steven Poole decode the arcane puzzle of the bestselling author Dan Brown’s latest novel in just 48 hours?

The tall writer Steven Poole opened the wooden door of the strong house and peered at the small figure on the stone doorstep.

It was a boy. Cradled in his palms the boy nervously proffered a startling object. It was the new book by the famous novelist Dan Brown.

The tall writer took the precious artefact from the nervous boy’s hands and thanked him. The miniature human scuttled off. An idling engine revved into life. The writer glanced down the street, then retreated into the residential building. He knew he had better get to work. Looking at his Tag Heuer Swiss watch, he calculated that he had only 48 hours to decode the arcane puzzle of the bestselling author’s latest novel.

Peeling away the plump layers of protective wrapping, the writer opened the big book and out fell an obscure document. It was a nondisclosure agreement in threatening legalese. The long-awaited novel was strictly embargoed. Nervously, the freelance writer looked out of the glass window. He saw a bright glint on a distant rooftop. Was that a reflection from the sniper scope of a patient beautiful female assassin dressed in black leather, waiting to shoot him if he let slip any details of the important book too soon?

As the tall writer turned the paper pages with a hungry rapidity, he easily visualized the celebrated symbologist and fancier of English tailoring Robert Langdon running around a series of famous tourist attractions in Florence, Venice and Istanbul. The unflappable hero was accompanied by a pretty blond doctor. They evaded hostile pursuers while trying to uncover the scary threat posed by a renowned biologist with a Dante fixation.

Later that cloudy afternoon, the determined writer sought out a branch of Starbucks, so called because according to a coded engraving by Piranesi that no one knew about but which would have baffled art historians for centuries if anyone had, the natural home of space hero Buck Rogers was among those sidereal forms described by the last word in every Canto of the famous poet Dante‘s renowned poem, The Divine Comedy.

Stars.

He felt he was getting closer to solving the dark riddle. The engrossed writer continued to read the fat book at the laminated table. He had removed the telltale dustjacket but still had to conceal the board covers since they were decorated with a celebrated engraving by Gustav Doré and also shouted the name of the famous author Dan Brown in white lettering. No one must see him in possession of this valuable object.

In the long book, dramatic things happened in beautiful places. The fact-packed text revealed more tantalising tidbits about secret passageways and old paintings. There were obscure symbols, shiny gadgets, altered masterpieces, and purloined artefacts. There was a powerful secret organization, and proper science about population growth and tiny viruses. Sometimes, during a convenient lull in the action, the famous Harvard professor Robert Langdon would remember in real time the entire text of a lecture he had once given about Dante.

That evening the tall writer found himself at a party, where a glamorous woman asked him what he had been doing all day. He fixed her feline face with his hazel eyes. Was this a stern test from the sinister people watching him unseen from the murky shadows? There was no way he could admit he had even smelled the forthcoming novel by the famous author Dan Brown. «Nothing!» the writer shouted hoarsely. «And don’t touch my Harris Tweed!»

The attractive woman looked at him with a strange glint in her green eyes. «But you aren’t wearing any Harris Tweed.» Then, with an inviting smile, she gave him a mysterious drink. Then another. At some point blackness descended.

The befuddled writer awoke the next day to find himself in a strange underground cavern, at the centre of which lay a blood-red pool of liquid the colour of red blood. Then he heard a terrifying disembodied whisper. In the blood-red underground strange cavern, the whisper bellowed: «CHTHONIC

Then the hungover writer woke up, because the previous paragraph had only been a dream. But something in it had seemed familiar. Slowly, he picked up the Italian-themed novel, and turned back to the first page. There, with a shock, he saw it printed: the word «chthonic». And he realized that if the global plot of the page-turning writer Dan Brown was to encourage his fans to read Dante and use words like «chthonic», there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to stop him.

The tall writer began to analyze the blockbusting novel using his close knowledge of conceptology, the famous discipline about thoughts. He saw instantly that the stout book was brilliantly engineered. Its vivid paragraphs were short. Its establishing shots were cinematic. It repeated adjectives and explanatory phrases from one paragraph to the next, perhaps to jog the dulled short-term memory of the tired long-haul flier. It made art and poetry seem glamorous, and mixed them with luxury tourism and scenic chases. It spoke with the seductive urgency of a good-looking someone telling you a brainy secret.

At last, that night, the satisfied writer finished the exciting book. He gazed enigmatically into the middle distance. Then, using only his fleshy brain and a metal laptop, he began to compose his historic review.

 

☼ Yep – this is totally bitten from a better piece in the T-graf.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/10049454/Dont-make-fun-of-renowned-Dan-Brown.html

Don’t make fun of renowned Dan Brown

The snobs and critics will have a field day with the US author’s latest work – but I’m not joining in. By Michael Deacon

Renowned author Dan Brown woke up in his luxurious four-poster bed in his expensive $10 million house – and immediately he felt angry. Most people would have thought that the 48-year-old man had no reason to be angry. After all, the famous writer had a new book coming out. But that was the problem. A new book meant an inevitable attack on the rich novelist by the wealthy wordsmith’s fiercest foes. The critics.

Renowned author Dan Brown hated the critics. Ever since he had become one of the world’s top renowned authors they had made fun of him. They had mocked bestselling book The Da Vinci Code, successful novel Digital Fortress, popular tome Deception Point, money-spinning volume Angels & Demons and chart-topping work of narrative fiction The Lost Symbol.

The critics said his writing was clumsy, ungrammatical, repetitive and repetitive. They said it was full of unnecessary tautology. They said his prose was swamped in a sea of mixed metaphors. For some reason they found something funny in sentences such as “His eyes went white, like a shark about to attack.” They even say my books are packed with banal and superfluous description, thought the 5ft 9in man. He particularly hated it when they said his imagery was nonsensical. It made his insect eyes flash like a rocket.

Renowned author Dan Brown got out of his luxurious four-poster bed in his expensive $10 million house and paced the bedroom, using the feet located at the ends of his two legs to propel him forwards. He knew he shouldn’t care what a few jealous critics thought. His new book Inferno was coming out on Tuesday, and the 480-page hardback published by Doubleday with a recommended US retail price of $29.95 was sure to be a hit. Wasn’t it?

I’ll call my agent, pondered the prosperous scribe. He reached for the telephone using one of his two hands. “Hello, this is renowned author Dan Brown,” spoke renowned author Dan Brown. “I want to talk to literary agent John Unconvincingname.”

“Mr Unconvincingname, it’s renowned author Dan Brown,” told the voice at the other end of the line. Instantly the voice at the other end of the line was replaced by a different voice at the other end of the line. “Hello, it’s literary agent John Unconvincingname,” informed the new voice at the other end of the line.

“Hello agent John, it’s client Dan,” commented the pecunious scribbler. “I’m worried about new book Inferno. I think critics are going to say it’s badly written.”

The voice at the other end of the line gave a sigh, like a mighty oak toppling into a great river, or something else that didn’t sound like a sigh if you gave it a moment’s thought. “Who cares what the stupid critics say?” advised the literary agent. “They’re just snobs. You have millions of fans.”

That’s true, mused the accomplished composer of thrillers that combined religion, high culture and conspiracy theories. His books were read by everyone from renowned politician President Obama to renowned musician Britney Spears. It was said that a copy of The Da Vinci Code had even found its way into the hands of renowned monarch the Queen. He was grateful for his good fortune, and gave thanks every night in his prayers to renowned deity God.

“Think of all the money you’ve made,” recommended the literary agent. That was true too. The thriving ink-slinger’s wealth had allowed him to indulge his passion for great art. Among his proudest purchases were a specially commissioned landscape by acclaimed painter Vincent van Gogh and a signed first edition by revered scriptwriter William Shakespeare.

Renowned author Dan Brown smiled, the ends of his mouth curving upwards in a physical expression of pleasure. He felt much better. If your books brought innocent delight to millions of readers, what did it matter whether you knew the difference between a transitive and an intransitive verb?

“Thanks, John,” he thanked. Then he put down the telephone and perambulated on foot to the desk behind which he habitually sat on a chair to write his famous books on an Apple iMac MD093B/A computer. New book Inferno, the latest in his celebrated series about fictional Harvard professor Robert Langdon, was inspired by top Italian poet Dante. It wouldn’t be the last in the lucrative sequence, either. He had all the sequels mapped out. The Mozart Acrostic. The Michelangelo Wordsearch. The Newton Sudoku.

The 190lb adult male human being nodded his head to indicate satisfaction and returned to his bedroom by walking there. Still asleep in the luxurious four-poster bed of the expensive $10 million house was beautiful wife Mrs Brown. Renowned author Dan Brown gazed admiringly at the pulchritudinous brunette’s blonde tresses, flowing from her head like a stream but made from hair instead of water and without any fish in. She was as majestic as the finest sculpture by Caravaggio or the most coveted portrait by Rodin. I like the attractive woman, thought the successful man.

Perhaps one day, inspired by beautiful wife Mrs Brown, he would move into romantic poetry, like market-leading British rhymester John Keats. That would be good, opined the talented person, and got back into the luxurious four-poster bed. He felt as happy as a man who has something to be happy about and is suitably happy about it.

☼ When I had the misfortune to read the Da Vinci Code, I was amazed that anything so sloppy and lazy could be such a success.

As a resident of Paris, I regularly winced/laughed out loud at the fact that the writer couldn’t even be arsed to Google a street map of the city.

You don’t go from the Place Vendôme past the Opera to get to the Louvre, that’s completely the wrong direction. Then when you travel from the Place de l’Etoile to the Gare St. Lazare, you don’t pass through a dreary industrial quarter – the 17th is more like bloody Kensington. When you go into the Gare St. Lazare, it hasn’t changed into the Gare du Nord by the time you come out again. And while an American may well accept a taxi driver taking him from the Gare du Nord to the 16th via the Bois de Boulogne, the Parisian in the taxi with him would very probably point out that the taxi driver was taking a hugely long way round and robbing them. Especially if they were in a hurry.

Oh and Dan Brown, Mitterrand wasn’t obsessed by all things Egyptian and he didn’t fill Paris with pyramids. Just the one. In the courtyard of the Louvre – if you have any idea where that is.

☼ ¿ Ven lo que les decía yo?  Esos errores sobre París los puso a propósito.

Middle classes excited about not reading Dan Brown’s Inferno

MIDDLE class people are itching to have not read the new Dan Brown book.

Fans of distancing themselves from populist things have been unable to sleep at the thrilling prospect of never buying Inferno.

36-year-old Guardian enthusiast Emma Bradford said: “I loved not reading The Da Vinci Code, that was a rip-roaring boost to my intellectual self-esteem.

“The best bit was being able to feel better than something without guilt, because Dan Brown is not inherently working class like meat pies or being stocky.

“He’s just a hack writer for people who read for pleasure and I am definitely not one of those people.

“I just hope the main female character in Inferno is a juvenile stereotype of a buxom academic and that the clumsy, poorly-constructed plot takes wildly implausible liberties with history.

“Also it will be great if there is a one-eyed dwarf assassin called Ludovicio who speaks in grammatically incorrect Latin and most of the idiotic UK population thinks that is good.”

Senior graphic designer Julian Cook said: “Hopefully Inferno has a really lurid, horrible cover with flames and big embossed writing, because I will have great disdain for that when I see others reading it on the tube.

“Of course the hard part with Dan Brown is getting enough information so that you can mock his books but without people thinking you might actually have read them.”

☼ At the risk of being pedantic…
It is each canticle which ends with the word stars not each canto.
Sorry… I’ll get my coat

+ stevenpoole The tall writer solemnly thanked the polite commenter for his helpful correction.

Inferno by Dan Brown – Observer Review

Infernal prose flows again from the bat-thronged belfry of Dan Brown’s demented brain, writes Peter Conrad

 

I used to think that Dan Brown was merely bad. Now, after reading the latest version of the apocalyptic thriller he rewrites every few years, I suspect he might be mad as well. Inferno begins with the hero suffering from «head trauma», and Brown’s head – a boggy hideout for the craziest superstitions of the so-called Dark Ages – seems to be similarly traumatised. He views creation as a cryptogram, and babbles about murderous albino priests, self-gelded ogres and a female devil who dresses in black leather and bestraddles a motorbike; he is fiendishly elated by the prospect of the world’s imminent demise. Hogwarts Academy, compared with Brown’s brain, is a clean, well-lighted, supremely lucid place.

Like a nutty magus, Brown smirks as his plots fast-forward human history to the last days, when we will all be raptured into annihilation by bombs, vials of antimatter particles or a lethal pandemic. «I am the Shade,» the bioterrorist who menaces our species balefully croaks in Inferno. «I am your salvation,» he adds, although that salvation involves mass extermination. Brown reviles religion and treats earthly powers as a pious imposture. The trouble is that he aims to replace both sacred dogma and secular law with his own conspiratorial farrago.

The Da Vinci Code unveiled a heresy that was intended to capsize Christianity, Angels & Demons aimed a nuke at the Vatican, and The Lost Symbol revealed the government in Washington to be a coven of Freemasons practising sinister rites. Having disposed of God and denounced the rabid religiosity that has overtaken the United States, in Inferno Brown punishes the pullulation of our self-destructive species by threatening to unleash a plague: in his neo-medieval imagination a new strain of the Black Death is a surer way to control our numbers than rubbering up before sex.

As before, Armageddon is averted by the academic interpreter of symbols Robert Langdon. Previous novels sent Langdon on chases through Paris, Rome and Washington; now the same itinerary of shoot-outs punctuated by on-the-run iconographic lectures takes him across Florence, up to Venice, then to Istanbul. This itinerary soon exhausts all the available means of ground transportation, which justifies one of Brown’s product placements – a smarmy ad for NetJets, an American company that specialises in «the luxuries of private air travel» and supplies CEOs with flying minicabs. Alternatively, characters cruise between locations in «a 237-foot luxury yacht… with a price tag of over 300 million US dollars» (Brown’s writing may be ham-fisted but he knows how to tot up the zeroes).

Barmy as it is, I’m relieved to report that Inferno is also dreadful, abounding in malapropisms and solecisms, leaden restatements of the obvious and naive disinformation about the reality outside the bat-thronged belfry that is Brown’s head. Words flatline, especially when he’s trying to impress us with his cosmopolitan savoir-faire. Venice, we’re told, is «one of the most spectacular and unique cities in the world». In a novel concerned with Renaissance art, I cherish Brown’s notion that painters mix colours on a «palate» rather than a «palette»: fancy a taste of azurite or ultramarine washed down by a swig of the Bombay Sapphire, Highland Park single malt or Gaja Nebbiolo that, in another flurry of commercial endorsements, the characters drink?

The clothes of these people are branded – Langdon changes out of Harris tweed into a Brioni suit, which in Brown’s aspirational terminology is more «upscale» or «high-end» – but otherwise they’re afloat in the ozone of a groundless imagination. Langdon professes the nonexistent discipline of «symbology» at Harvard, where Brown believes there are lectures on Saturday nights; the heroine is English but she addresses another female character, who is not the Queen, as «Ma’am».

The man who hallucinated this nonsense would be a harmless crank if he didn’t have such a loyal, lucrative following. Like a demagogue, Brown panders to the mass mind with its craving for myths and monsters, and he preys on its credulity by claiming that the pseudo-science and muddled art history in his novels are «real». As if to prove the point, he adds actual people – his publisher (who has the precious NetJets corporate card) and a Florentine museum official – to his otherwise phantasmagoric cast; the mixture is not fiction but an intellectual fraud. Art at its best is a lie that tells the truth. At its worst, as in Brown’s infernal Inferno, it’s a lie that expunges the truth and replaces reality with its own demented murk and noxious malarkey.

 

☼ Oh dear, does this mean that Peter Conrad does not like the book? Or is it over his head? Peter sounds a bit confused. He says Dan Brown’s Inferno is ‘demented murk and noxious malarkey’, which suggests he does not much like fiction, least of all phantasmagorical thrillers. He ought to avoid the Odyssey therefore, the Epic of Gilgamesh too, and while he is at it he ought to give the Bible a miss. Stick to the unrealities of Oxford, sir, where they will continue to look after you and your coddled mind.

 

☼ Get off the fence, Conrad, let us know how you really feel. I actually want to read it more after reading this hysterical review.

 

☼ The next thing you know, Peter Conrad will be rubbishing Dante. Before he does, I had better leap in with a defence of the Florentine. True, he gets lost in the Dark Wood where he meets Virgil (who else?) who has been sent to help him by Dante’s dead lover Beatrice and her friend the Virgin Mary (talk about high-end). And at Easter, no less. Why not midweek, a Wednesday, when the rest of us are all at work and can ignore the whole thing? But no, it has to be Easter, and the Virgin Mary, and Virgil, all in the Dark Wood (heh heh), with is associations with the resurrection and Viagra. And where is Dante taking his readers? To Hell. Really? To Hell? Hey, why not Oxford? Nope, it has to be Hell. Oxford comes later after you have climbed up Satan’s hairy belly and become an Australian at Christ Church. Well, anyway, in Hell there are all these funny people, twisted and perverted and suffering all sorts of S&M torments, and doing peculiar things, like eating each other’s brains. At the Gate of Hell three monstrous beasts, and at the very core of Hell frozen in the ice (what does Dante know about science?) Satan himself, with three heads. There you go, that’s Dante, who panders to the mass mind with its craving for myths and monsters, and who preys on its credulity by claiming that the pseudo-science of numerology (remember 3 and 9 and 11 and 33?) and his fanciful geography and theology are real? But hey, the guy has redeeming features. In fact he is nearly as good a writer as Dan Brown. They both have that eye for a powerful visual image (you always think Dante is looking ahead to his next film deal, right?), driving narrative (terza rima, Dan calls it), outlandish plots and epic scale. And the girls, don’t forget the girls. Sophie Neveu, Sienna Miller, Beatrice, the Virgin Mary, and that one with the spiked hair on the BMW motorbike! You have got to give it to old Dante, he is learning the tricks and catching up fast. So dear readers do not let Peter Conrad put you off Dante; he is very nearly as good as Dan Brown, and Dan Brown is nearly as good as J K Rowling and the King James Bible. But best of all is Peter Conrad (anybody read any of his books? Any good?).

++ @randomdischarge – You might try getting to grips with paragraphing before criticising others.

☼ Peter Conrad is an envious old cow. I read Inferno and was highly entertained by its escapist high jinks. The fact that conrad goes on about some minor mistakes like palate and palette is measly and pathetic, sneering, Boo..

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 ADIOS SINAPIA, QUE TE QUEDAS SIN GENTE

1-7-2014.  Un patético editorial de El País/Madrid: Cae la población de Sinapia ella solita, sin necesidad de darle virus. No vale la pena escribir un artículo dedicado, pero puede caber acá.  Léanlo primero, estos quejándose de los males que ellos mismos causan.

EDITORIAL

Señales de alarma

España pierde población por segundo año consecutivo a causa del retorno de emigrantes

España perdió población en 2013, como ya había ocurrido el año anterior: pasó de 46,7 millones de personas a 46,5. La mayor parte de esa pérdida fue debida a la existencia de un balance migratorio negativo por el regreso de emigrantes a su país de origen: el año pasado se fueron 547.890 personas, de las cuales solo 79.306 eran españoles. La cifra de extranjeros residentes en España se redujo hasta 4.676.022 personas (-7,8%) debido al efecto combinado del retorno y la adquisición de nacionalidad española. El panorama de dificultades que ha implicado la crisis económica aparece como la principal razón tanto del regreso como de la salida de españoles en busca de mejores horizontes.

Aunque a corto plazo la reducción de la población con mayores dificultades para encontrar trabajo pueda reducir la presión sobre los servicios sociales, las cifras dibujan un escenario alarmante. El comportamiento demográfico tiende al envejecimiento y no está en condiciones de garantizar la tasa de reposición; de hecho, con una tasa de fecundidad de 1,32 hijos por mujer en 2012, hace ya tiempo que el equilibrio de población depende de la llegada de extranjeros.

La salida de inmigrantes tiene un doble efecto negativo: por un lado, disminuye la población en edad de trabajar, que es la que debe sostener el sistema de pensiones. Por otro, reduce el número de mujeres en edad de procrear, lo que incide de forma negativa sobre una tasa de natalidad que se encuentra ya —hay que insistir— en niveles mínimos, y sobre la que se ciernen otros nubarrones. La mayor parte de los españoles que emigran son jóvenes; entre los que se quedan, el elevado índice de desempleo y la precariedad actúan como elemento disuasorio a la hora de plantearse tener hijos. Si se considera además que las mujeres del baby boom tienen más de 40 años —están saliendo de la edad fértil— es evidente que, a no ser que se apliquen políticas que contrarresten estas tendencias, la sociedad acentuará su problema demográfico a muy corto plazo.

Es también inquietante la rapidez con que cambian los ciclos. En apenas cinco años —entre 2000 y 2005— España ganó, gracias a la inmigración, casi cuatro millones de habitantes (pasó de 40,5 a 44,1). Solo en 2004 aumentó en casi 900.000. Con la misma rapidez puede producirse el fenómeno contrario. Y aunque las perspectivas de crecimiento económico permiten alentar un cierto optimismo, es difícil pensar que se va a producir un aumento rápido de la oferta de empleo como para frenar el éxodo y estimular la natalidad.

El problema es complejo y debe afrontarse con políticas activas destinadas a frenar el adelgazamiento de la base de la pirámide poblacional. Para ello hay que combinar medidas de fomento de la natalidad con políticas migratorias inteligentes y a largo plazo; sin perder de vista que el mejor antídoto para invertir las proyecciones demográficas negativas es conseguir una recuperación económica sólida y duradera.

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☼ Repasemos algunas de sus falacias.

Jamás han sido tantos en Sinapia, 46,5 millones (yo he visto otra cifra, 47,7 millones, pero ya sabemos que las estadísticas en Sinapia tienen poco de real) así que hablar de caídas de la población, cuando eran 19 millones en 1900 y tengo comentado en varias oportunidades del crecimiento demencial de la población de sinapios, insostenible, es por lo menos de poco entendimiento.

«La salida de inmigrantes tiene un doble efecto negativo: por un lado, disminuye la población en edad de trabajar», con un paro de 25%, y es 36% en Canarias y Andalucía es decir que sobran uno de cada tres personas -¿o ahora millones de personas pueden vivir sin trabajar? – es repugnante que se quejen de que faltan más candidatos al paro, lo único que crece en Sinapia.

«reduce el número de mujeres en edad de procrear» eso Gallardón lo ha solucionado, haciendo parir subnormales a las que se queden acá ¡un Down es un sinapaio, carajo! y con la cantidad de cuidados que necesitan, una gran fuente de trabajos

Oye es una idea: para crear empleo que vayan las madres con el nene a la asistenta social  -mi hijo es mongólico ! Me teneis que dar ayudas

— ¿Pero se volvió mongólico de repente?

— Siempre fue, pero como se pasaba mirando TV no molestaba

«a no ser que se apliquen políticas que contrarresten estas tendencias, la sociedad acentuará su problema demográfico a muy corto plazo.»

No hay ningún problema demográfico, lo que hay es que la sociedad reacciona ante el colapso del país y no quiere largar más bocas imposibles de alimentar además de las otras y más caras necesidades.

Y por último tras la gorda mentira habitual en la empresa que le vende los editoriales al diario -aunque las perspectivas de crecimiento económico- ven Uds, no hay Crecimiento Económico, hay perspectivas, o sea que se ven en la distancia así como brotes verdes de  «recuperación económica sólida y duradera»  cosa imposible y que no puede pasar.

☼ CONCLUSIÓN.  Sin necesidad de que le den del virus Inferno, la población de Sinapia cae, y en muchos millones no en las cifras falsas del gobierno.

Lo cual no es malo, la sociedad se tiene que adaptar a un cambio profundo pero los sinapios, horros de entendimiento y bastante zánganos -50% de paro juvenil habla de una juventud muy deficiente- de soluciones no entienden.

,,

Por Armando

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