Books strip away his insecurities. They teach him to laugh at his own life.
Cada año, cuando el calor de finales de mayo cae sobre el Retiro, Madrid recuerda que la literatura no es un lujo sino una necesidad colectiva. La octogésima quinta edición de la Feria del Libro abrió sus puertas con 366 casetas, la visita de la reina Letizia y miles de lectores que eligieron un día caluroso para buscar el libro que podría cambiarles la vida. Organizada en torno al humor y la irreverencia como formas de comprender el mundo, la feria se extiende hasta el 14 de junio como un espacio donde extraños se convierten en cómplices y los deseos literarios, a veces, se cumplen.
- El calor no disuadió a nadie: desde primera hora de la mañana, los lectores llenaron los pasillos entre casetas buscando sombra, recomendaciones y ese ejemplar que llevan semanas persiguiendo.
- La visita de la reina Letizia desató aplausos espontáneos y fotografías improvisadas, pero la emoción más intensa fue la de Concha, setenta y dos años, que esperó toda una vida para que la reina le tomara la mano.
- La coincidencia con la visita del papa León XIV generó incertidumbre logística, aunque la directora Eva Orúe fue tajante: la programación no sufrirá ninguna alteración.
- Durante diecisiete días, autores como Jonathan Coe, David Safier, Bob Pop e Ignatius Farray explorarán el humor y la sátira como herramientas para entender —y soportar— el mundo.
- La feria crece más allá del libro físico: podcasts en directo, actuaciones y encuentros espontáneos convierten el parque en un ecosistema literario vivo que desborda el formato tradicional.
El viernes por la mañana, antes de que el calor del Retiro se volviera insoportable, miles de lectores ya se agolpaban entre las 366 casetas de la Feria del Libro de Madrid. Manuel, sesenta y siete años, no ha faltado a una sola inauguración: los libros, dice, le llevan a otro lugar y le devuelven una versión mejor de sí mismo. Le enseñan a reírse de su propia vida. Esa idea vertebra la edición de este año, organizada en torno al humor y la irreverencia como maneras de ver el mundo.
La reina Letizia llegó acompañada del ministro de Cultura y la alcaldesa de Madrid, como marca la tradición, y recorrió las casetas entre aplausos y fotografías espontáneas. Concha, setenta y dos años y jubilada, llevaba años esperando ese momento. Cuando Letizia le tomó la mano y le preguntó cómo estaba, casi se desvaneció de emoción. Si pudiera recomendarle un libro a la reina, dijo, sería «La educación del monstruo», de Elvira Mínguez.
Más allá del protocolo, la energía real de la feria estaba en las conversaciones entre casetas. Sara, veinticuatro años y escritora en ciernes, buscaba con determinación dos títulos: «Comerás flores», de Lucía Solla, y «Maite», de Fernando Aramburu. Su amigo Javier la observaba y ya imaginaba el día en que ella sería quien firmara libros aquí. «Hay algo especial en estos días», dijo. «Los libreros y los lectores crean una energía que no existe en ningún otro sitio».
La programación de los próximos diecisiete días reúne a Rodrigo Cortés, Ignatius Farray, Eva Hache, Bob Pop y Pantomima Full junto a nombres internacionales como Jonathan Coe y David Safier. También habrá podcasts en directo, homenajes a Les Luthiers, Kurt Vonnegut, Jorge Ibargüengoitia y John Kennedy Toole, y el Premio de Fidelidad para Pep Carrió, diseñador e ilustrador que lleva desde 2007 dando forma visual a la feria. La coincidencia con la visita del papa León XIV no alterará nada, según confirmó la directora Eva Orúe.
Patricia viene cada año con sus hijos y compra a cada uno un libro. Concha quiere que alguien le regale «Los versos de mi amiga», de Esperanza Ortega. La feria tiene esa capacidad: hacer que los deseos, incluso los más pequeños, parezcan posibles.
The heat hadn't dampened anything. By mid-morning on Friday, the Retiro Park was already crowded with readers who'd come for the opening of Madrid's Book Fair, the eighty-fifth edition, which will run through June 14th. They clustered in the narrow strips of shade between the 366 booths—one more than last year—waiting to see what this year's books might offer. Queen Letizia arrived as tradition dictated, escorted by the culture minister and Madrid's mayor, drawing cheers and applause and the kind of spontaneous photographs that happen when a crowd suddenly remembers itself.
But the real energy wasn't in the royal visit. It was in the conversations happening at every booth, in the recommendations being traded like currency, in the simple fact that people had shown up on a hot day because they wanted to be here. Manuel, sixty-seven, has never missed an opening. He sat down and explained what keeps him coming back: books take him somewhere else, and when he finishes one, he feels like a better version of himself. They strip away his insecurities. They teach him to laugh at his own life. This year, the fair has organized itself around that idea—around humor as a way of seeing the world. Rodrigo Cortés, Ignatius Farray, Eva Hache, Bob Pop, and Pantomima Full will be taking the stage over the next seventeen days, along with international names like Jonathan Coe and David Safier. The roster stretches long: Kevin Johansen, Camila Sosa, Eva Soriano, Giuseppe Caputo, Beatriz Serrano, Joaquín Reyes, Leila Guerriero, Jon Bilbao, Rodrigo Fresán. The organizing principle is clear—gather the writers and artists who have learned to use irony and satire as tools for understanding the world.
Sara, twenty-four, is working on her own novel and hunting for copies of two books: Lucía Solla's "Comerás flores," which has haunted her for weeks, and Fernando Aramburu's "Maite," which people have been raving about. She stood at the Nórdica booth—the publisher just turned twenty—with a kind of luminous intensity. Her friend Javier, who's known her forever, watched her and imagined a future where she'd be the one signing books here. "There's something special about these days," he said. "The booksellers and readers create this energy you can't find anywhere else." They'll be back this weekend. The fair isn't just a place to buy. It's a place to breathe, to feel the weight of literature in the air, to stand next to strangers and talk about what you've read.
The fair's timing coincides with Pope Leo XIV's visit to Madrid, a logistical challenge that organizers say won't affect the programming. Eva Orúe, the fair's director, made that clear during the announcement two weeks earlier: nothing has changed, nothing will be disrupted. Patricia, who comes every year with her children and buys each of them a book, isn't worried. She loves poetry, loves Esperanza Ortega's work, and is hoping someone reads these words and gifts her "Los versos de mi amiga." The fair has a way of making such wishes feel possible.
The programming reflects the year's theme. Over seventeen days, there will be conversations about irreverence, about how to tell a joke, about friendship and illustration and writing as a form of justice. Podcasts like "Ni tan bien" and "Pena y Pánico" will broadcast from the park. The fair is expanding what it means to experience literature—beyond the traditional author reading, into sound and performance and the kind of spontaneous human connection that happens when thousands of people gather in one place because they love books.
Concha, seventy-two and retired, had waited years for a chance to greet the queen. When Letizia touched her hand and asked how she was doing, Concha nearly collapsed with emotion. If she could recommend one book to the queen, she said, it would be Elvira Mínguez's "La educación del monstruo." The fair also honors its own history this year, paying tribute to Les Luthiers, Kurt Vonnegut, Jorge Ibargüengoitia, Nicanor Parra, and Rafael Azcona, and giving special attention to John Kennedy Toole's "A Confederacy of Dunces," the novel that became a contemporary classic of satire. Pep Carrió, the designer and illustrator who has shaped the fair's visual identity since 2007, receives the Loyalty Prize. The ceremony happens this afternoon. By then, thousands more readers will have passed through the gates, looking for the book that might change how they see themselves.
Citações Notáveis
Literature makes me happy. There's something in it that takes me to other worlds. And always, when I finish, I feel like a better person.— Manuel, 67, a regular fairgoer
There's something special about these days. The booksellers and readers create an energy you can't find anywhere else.— Javier, describing the fair's atmosphere
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does a book fair still matter in 2026? Isn't everything digital now?
The fair isn't about the medium. It's about the gathering. You can buy a book online, but you can't stand in the shade with a stranger and hear them describe what a novel did to them. You can't watch someone's face light up when they find the book they've been searching for.
But the heat—it was genuinely hot that day. Why would people come out in that weather?
Because the heat doesn't matter when you're looking for something that feeds you. Manuel said it plainly: literature makes him feel like a better person. That's not a casual thing. That's worth sweating for.
The queen's visit seems almost ceremonial. Does it actually draw people?
It does, but not in the way you might think. It's not about celebrity. It's about the moment when someone like Concha, who's waited years, gets to touch the queen's hand and suddenly feel seen. Those moments matter. They make the fair feel like it belongs to everyone.
What about Sara, the young writer? Is she representative of something?
She represents the fair's real function. It's not just a marketplace. It's a place where someone working on their own novel can stand next to published authors and feel like they're part of the same conversation. That proximity matters.
The programming seems heavy on humor. Is that a response to something?
Maybe. Humor is a way of surviving difficult things. It's lucidity. The fair is saying: this year, we're gathering people who understand that laughter and truth are connected. That's not frivolous. That's essential.