What do you think?
Rate this book


Guido y Vincent son amigos desde niños, estudian en Cambridge (Massachusetts) y comparten sueños: Guido quiere escribir poesía y a Vincent le gustaría ganar el Premio Nobel de Física. Cuando Guido se encuentra con la extravagante Holly a la salida de un museo se enamora perdidamente de ella, pero presiente que no tendrán una relación fácil. Vincent, más abierto y alegre, conoce a Misty en el trabajo y, aunque ella es una misántropa terrible, estaría dispuesto a darlo todo por salir con ella.
A través de las relaciones de estos personajes, de sus cortejos, celos, rupturas y reconciliaciones en el Nueva York de finales de los setenta, Tantos días felices retrata a cuatro personas inteligentes y bienintencionadas que no pueden dejar de creer en el amor. Una maestra en la narración de sentimientos y relaciones afectivas, Laurie Colwin es uno de los secretos mejor guardados de la literatura norteamericana. Su prematura muerte en 1992 le privó del éxito que sin duda merecía; aun así, el número de devotos de sus peculiares comedias de costumbres no ha dejado de crecer desde entonces.
Biografía del autorLaurie Colwin (1944-1992) fue una escritora norteamericana. Nació en Manhattan y estudió en el Bard College y la Universidad de Columbia. Es autora de cuatro novelas: Shine on, Bright and Dangerous Object (1975), Tantos días felices (1978), Family Happiness (1982), Goodbye without Leaving (1990) y A Big Storm Knocked It Over (1993); tres libros de cuentos: Passion and Affect (1974), The Lone Pilgrim (1981), Another Marvelous Thing (1988); y de dos colecciones de ensayos sobre cocina –Home Cooking (1988) y More Home Cooking (1993)–, materia sobre la que escribiría en distintos medios de comunicación.
264 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 12, 1978
"Goddamn it, Holly. Doesn't any of this mean anything to you?"
"Any of what?"
"We just spent our first night together and here you are doing the goddamned puzzle."
"I do the puzzle every Sunday," said Holly. "And I was assuming that this was the first of many nights. Besides, I find all this too nerve-racking and so I like to put things into the most normal context. I don't want one of those strung-out love affairs that makes you lose weight and feel awful all the time."
There was nothing Guido could say to this. The first of many nights, she said. That phrase, in her cool, measured voice, undid him.
"You should be more like me," [Misty] said.
"I should?" said Vincent. "In what way?"
"I am the scourge of God."
Vincent sat still, listening to his heart beat. Misty was smiling again. Her smile revealed to him that his behavior was far from random. He was in love.
"I'm sorry, Guido. I was just trying to cheer you up. But Misty says some very interesting things about things."
"I don't want to hear another interesting thing said by a woman," said Guido. "They're all far too interesting."
The next morning, Misty woke to the sight of Vincent's flowers and of Vincent himself, who was lying on his side, smiling at her.
"'O night, O night divine,'" sang Vincent. "That's my Christmas voice," he added.
Misty considered him, as if she had wakened to find a fish in her bed and was pondering how it had gotten there and what to do with it.
"What time is it?" she growled.
"It's seven-thirty," said Vincent. "I am now going to make you a cup of coffee and bring it to you in bed. You won't like that at all, will you?"
"Not much," said Misty.
Misty woke abruptly and felt awful. She groped around for her glasses, couldn't find them, and sat very still, looking unfocused and bereft, as if she had awakened from a kind dream to find merciless and cruel reality waiting for her. Vincent thought he understood unhappiness, but he was not sure if this was it. He sat beside her and took her hand.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he said. "I can't bear to see you this way."
She shrugged her shoulders.
Vincent asked, "Does it help if I tell you I love you, or does it make it worse?"
She began to cry. It was the second time in two days, but its effect on Vincent was not dimmed by repetition.
"Okay," she said. "Here goes."
His heart seemed to stop. This was it, but what was it?
"It's not what you're thinking," said Misty, looking at his stricken face. "It's worse. You're stuck with me. This is your last chance to bail out, Vincent. I don't think we were made for each other. Maybe you were made for me, but I was made for Attila the Hun."
"Are you telling me that life with you will be a living hell?"
"I am giving you one last chance to go off and find some nicer girl," said Misty. "Someone who knows her way around a sailboat."
"That's a disgusting thing to say. Last week you gave me a very compelling analysis on the workings of my stunning intellect. Now I'm supposed to take my intellect off and go sailing?"
And besides that, there's the Jewish question," said Misty.
"Oh, that," said Vincent. "I don't notice either of us being religious. Besides, my Aunt Marcia is Jewish. She married Uncle Walter. She's everybody's favorite relative. What's the big deal?"
"Our backgrounds are different," said Misty.
"This is not worth discussing," said Vincent. "We've done very well up till now, and we'll continue to do well."
"I'm not like your other flames," said Misty. "I don't know anything about dog breeding."
"Yes, you do," said Vincent. "The night we were comparing eccentric relatives, you told me that your Aunt Harriet wanted to cross Welsh corgis and Doberman pinschers and get a vicious but barkless guard dog for sneak attacks. That will be quite sufficient. Throw in my Aunt Marcia and you can see that we are ideally suited."
Tears slid out of the corners of Misty's eyes. She put her arms around his neck.
"I'm just scared," she said. "That's all."
"That isn't all," said Vincent. "What are you scared of?"
"I don't know."
"What else don't you know?"
That's all," said Misty.
"I assume that means that you have given a good deal of analytical thought to your feelings about me."
"My feelings about you appear to transcend analysis."
"Wonderful," said Vincent. "What are they?"
"I just love you," she mumbled.
"Speak up, please," said Vincent.
"I said, I just love you. Isn't that banal?"
"What a relief," said Vincent, smiling.