Eduardo Mendoza 2025 Princess of Asturias Award for Literature

Your Majesties,
Princess of Asturias,
Your Highnesses,
Excellencies,
Members of the Jury,
Family, Friends,
Ladies and Gentlemen,

This award has not only been a surprise, an honour, a joy, but also an incentive for me, because, if I avoid looking in the mirror, I still consider myself a promising young Spanish writer.

The last thing one loses is not hope, but vanity.

However, I know that this award –which I do not actually deserve– has not been granted to me, but rather to my work; and a body of work is the result of many factors.

I was fortunate to have been born and raised surrounded by books and people who read aloud to me, provided me with a vast library, and encouraged and guided me.

At school, I received a strict, dreary and oppressive education. They tenaciously instilled in me the virtues of hard work, thrift and decorum, thanks to which I turned out to be lazy, a spendthrift and a bit of a rascal: three things that are bad in and of themselves, but good for writing novels.

I grew up in Barcelona, a medium-sized city, warm and sunny, quiet, industrious and conservative, the birthplace of divine children and endearing grandparents. It is also a port city, one of vice and riff-raff. Shifting back and forth between these two cities and delving into libraries and newspaper archives, I discovered that Barcelona also had an interesting past, both turbulent and criminal, which I made use of to write my novels. Cities, like novels, belong to everyone and to no one.

The rest I owe to my friends, my teachers, the people who love me, some of whom are here today: my wife, my children, my family, my editors, my agents… so many that I would need three or four hours, not three or four minutes, to name them all.

Whatever remains is my own merit.

Why be modest?

Someone once called me a provider of happiness. It’s the best compliment I’ve ever received, and I wish it were true, even if only in homeopathic doses. But if I have made my readers happy in any way whatsoever, they have more than paid me back with their loyalty, complicity and affection.

I am neither an optimist nor a pessimist, because I’m no good at predicting the future, but I don’t like the world as I see it, perhaps because I’ve been fortunate enough to live through a long, exceptional period of relative peace, stability and well-being. At my age, I’d rather enjoy what there is than complain about what is missing; but I am afraid that won’t be possible.

Besides that, the years have made me value respect above all things. And if they’ve taught me anything, it’s that everything is relative. Or maybe not.

I’m running out of time.

Precisely a year ago, on this very stage, my friend Joan Manuel Serrat ended his speech with a beautiful song. As you would surely prefer me not to do the same, I can only express, once again, my most heartfelt gratitude.