Here we see a Victorian couple upon a tandem bicycle. These nineteenth‑century contraptions were designed for two or more riders. Both were expected to pedal in unison, though the one seated at the front—promptly styled the “captain”—was entrusted not only with steering the machine but also with directing household finances and, by extension, what was eaten, when sleep was taken, and at what hour the day was to begin. The rider behind—known as the stoker—supplied power to the pedals. In other words, the one who truly set the contraption in motion, despite its ostensible purpose of shared effort.

A couple of days ago, while browsing the digital edition of the Financial Times, I read that on November 16th a dinosaur is going up for auction. The event will take place at the Château de Dampierre-en-Yvelines, in the Île‑de‑France region, between four and six in the afternoon—right in the middle of afternoon tea. Curiously, its value is estimated between four and six million dollars.

Each year, around October 12, debates resurface across Latin America over the day’s legitimacy. In Spain it is both National Day and Día de la Hispanidad; in countries such as Mexico and Argentina it is marked as Día de la Raza, often with a focus that rejects Spanish roots and exalts Indigenous heritage. In the United States it is Columbus Day. Criticism of the evangelization of the Americas grew after World War II, when newly independent former colonies began to rewrite their histories.

Today, October 15, marks the International Day of Rural Women. Those who devote attention to this often vulnerable group should also consider the images chosen to speak for them. In our time, a message rarely gains traction unless it comes with a winsome figure, a touch of naiveté, something informal and easy to like, or a striking black‑and‑white photograph—or, at best, a graceful image in color. Without such devices, few will look twice.

I have the impression that most people who used to read regularly and are now in their fifties or sixties once had a symbolic affair with Ernest Hemingway. In 1980s Cuba, profitability was never a serious consideration. Publishing houses flooded the streets with thousands of volumes sold for next to nothing—often cheaper than a plain cheese pizza. Even so, the books gathered dust in the shops. Among them, Hemingway’s complete works could be found without effort.