Eye! Novel based on real events with blood, violence and the wedding of a king. I tell you: A crowd waits in the streets between decorated balconies and soldiers on horseback. The newlyweds advance in the royal carriage among thousands of people and someone, from a balcony, throws a bouquet of flowers over them. Inside there is a bomb that does not reach its target. It explodes among the crowd and leaves dead and wounded, disemboweled horses and a trail of blood that the procession must cross to continue on its way. The man who threw the bomb manages to escape and the hunt begins. Somewhere in that country, a widowed doctor and his daughter realize that they too must flee. We still do not know what they have seen or what relationship they have with the man who tried to kill the kings. They flee to the west, take secondary roads and change accommodation, avoiding questions. There are inns, stations, chance encounters, adventure. Then, a border and another country and, much further away, on the other side of the sea, a city shrouded in fog, perhaps salvation. But this is not the doctor's story. It's his daughter's. Her name is María and she has been educated to occupy a world in which she does not fit. During the escape, however, he discovers something perhaps more dangerous than a bomb or the police on his heels: that he can choose his own life. It has some Henry James heroine and some Jane Austen rebel; look, decide, disobey and, above all, keep walking. The further she goes from home, the less willing she is to return to the world that others had prepared for her. Read today, this sounds like a modern script for a hit series on Netflix. We just have to clarify one small detail. The attack occurred in Madrid in 1906. The novel that is based on it was published in 1908. The girl's name was María Aracil and the person who imagined all this was Don Pío Baroja. He titled it 'The Wandering Lady'. And here is perhaps the best news. Zenda-Edhasa brings back this woman's story this September as one of its great novelties, before the end of the so-called "Baroja Year" which for the publisher, fortunately, lasts all year. A good occasion to verify that Baroja does not need anniversaries, tributes or showcases: he needs readers. Because perhaps the problem with some classics is not that they have aged, but rather something much simpler and much more unforgivable: that we have stopped opening them, convinced that we already know what they keep inside. And sometimes it is enough to turn a page to discover that they have been waiting a century to surprise us.