What kind of example do you want to leave behind when you die?
Cada año, una generación entera se detiene ante un umbral: el de la universidad. En Madrid, más de 42.000 estudiantes iniciaron en junio de 2026 la Prueba de Acceso a la Universidad con un examen de Lengua Castellana y Literatura que, lejos de limitarse a medir competencias técnicas, convocó preguntas sobre el legado, el valor del trabajo creativo, la transformación de los medios y la naturaleza del tiempo. Los textos elegidos —de Javier Gomá, Lola Pons, Yolanda Castaño y Omar Fonollosa— convirtieron la prueba en algo más que un filtro académico: en un espejo donde los jóvenes pudieron verse a sí mismos y al mundo que heredan.
- Más de 42.000 estudiantes madrileños se enfrentaron simultáneamente al examen que determina su acceso a la universidad, con la Complutense acogiendo al mayor grupo: 13.424 alumnos en un solo día.
- Los textos seleccionados no eran neutros: planteaban dilemas sobre la memoria que dejamos al morir, la devaluación del trabajo poético y la paciencia como única llave para ciertos nudos imposibles.
- La convivencia de autores contemporáneos —Gomá, Pons, Castaño, Fonollosa— con clásicos como Clarín, Rubén Darío y Juan Ramón Jiménez exigió a los estudiantes moverse entre siglos y registros en cuestión de horas.
- La semana continúa con idiomas extranjeros, Historia de España y materias optativas, manteniendo en tensión a decenas de miles de familias hasta el viernes de recuperaciones.
Una mañana de junio, más de 42.000 estudiantes madrileños cruzaron las puertas de seis universidades para afrontar la PAU. Solo la Complutense recibió a 13.424; la Autónoma, a 10.341; Carlos III, Alcalá, Rey Juan Carlos y la Politécnica completaron el mapa de una prueba que, año tras año, ordena el acceso a la educación superior en España.
El primer día correspondió a Lengua Castellana y Literatura, y los responsables del examen eligieron textos que iban mucho más allá de la corrección gramatical. Los estudiantes de ciencias encontraron dos opciones: un artículo de Javier Gomá —publicado en El Mundo el otoño anterior— que partía de los sonetos de Shakespeare para preguntar qué clase de ejemplo queremos dejar tras nuestra muerte; o un fragmento de El español es un mundo, de Lola Pons, que trazaba la evolución del periodismo desde el papel hasta las redes sociales y recordaba que el periódico había sido escuela de escritores como García Márquez o Delibes. Junto a estos textos, un pasaje de La Regenta de Clarín invitaba a identificar los rasgos del realismo literario.
Para quienes cursaban humanidades o ciencias sociales, el examen reservaba otras voces. Yolanda Castaño, en un extracto de Economía y poesía, señalaba una contradicción incómoda: la sociedad acepta sin rubor que los poetas trabajen sin cobrar, algo que jamás toleraría para sí misma. Su texto cuestionaba por qué los poetas se habían convertido en los únicos creadores a quienes se les niega legitimidad comercial. Omar Fonollosa, por su parte, meditaba sobre el tiempo no como medida del reloj, sino como acumulación de espera paciente: la paciencia como linterna en el laberinto. El examen completaba este bloque con un fragmento del Azul de Rubén Darío y textos sobre el novecentismo y Juan Ramón Jiménez.
La semana seguirá su curso: idiomas extranjeros e Historia de España el martes, materias optativas el miércoles y el jueves, y exámenes de recuperación el viernes. Para estos 42.000 jóvenes, las palabras de Gomá, Pons, Castaño y Fonollosa no fueron solo material de examen: fueron las preguntas con las que la sociedad les pidió demostrar que estaban listos para pensar.
On a June morning in Madrid, more than 42,000 students walked into examination halls across the region's six universities to sit for the Prueba de Acceso a la Universidad—the PAU, Spain's university entrance exam. The first day belonged to Spanish Language and Literature, a test that would shape which students gained admission and where. The Complutense University alone hosted 13,424 of them; the Autónoma took 10,341; Carlos III, 6,348; Alcalá, 5,595; Rey Juan Carlos, 4,510; and the Politécnica, 1,829. The scale of it was immense and ordinary at once—the annual ritual that has sorted Spanish students for decades.
The exam writers had chosen four authors to anchor the day's reading comprehension sections. For students in the Sciences track, the choice was between a piece by Javier Gomá, published in El Mundo the previous October, or an excerpt from Lola Pons's book El español es un mundo. Gomá's text drew on Shakespeare's sonnets to explore a question that sits at the heart of how we live: what legacy do we leave behind when we die? He pressed students to think about the kind of example they wanted to set, the life they hoped would be remembered as dignified and beautiful, something worth preserving in the memory of those who came after. It was philosophy dressed as journalism—the kind of writing that asks readers to examine themselves.
Pons took a different route. Her excerpt traced the evolution of journalism from the printed page through television to social media, treating newspapers as something woven into the fabric of daily life now. She reminded readers that the newspaper had been a writing school for giants: Roberto Arlt, García Márquez, Miguel Delibes. The text asked students to think about how media had transformed, how the boundary between journalism and life had blurred. Alongside these pieces, the exam included a passage from Clarín's La Regenta, asking students to identify the hallmarks of literary realism, and material on contemporary Spanish American literature.
For students in other tracks—those studying humanities, social sciences, or other specializations—the exam offered different texts. Yolanda Castaño's contribution came from her book Economía y poesía, and it tackled something specific and sharp: the contradiction between how people value poetry and how they value labor. Many people, Castaño observed, believe poets shouldn't expect payment for their work, yet they would never dream of working without compensation themselves. There was a poverty of understanding, she argued, about what it meant to be a professional poet—a gap that didn't exist for painters or sculptors. She questioned when poets had become the only creators society felt comfortable dismissing on commercial grounds.
Omar Fonollosa, whose article had appeared in El Heraldo de Aragón in October, offered a meditation on time itself. Not time as measured by clock hands, but time as the accumulation of patient waiting, of solutions that emerge only through endurance. To know how to wait, to trust in waiting, was the key that unlocked impossible knots. Patience was the firefly that led you out of the labyrinth. The exam paired this with a fragment from Rubén Darío's Azul, asking students to recognize the features of modernism, and then moved into the novecentismo and the Generation of 1914, with Juan Ramón Jiménez.
The schedule stretched across the week. Tuesday would bring Foreign Languages and Spanish History. Wednesday and Thursday would test optional and specialized subjects. Friday was reserved for makeup exams and cases where students had faced scheduling conflicts. The machinery of assessment was in motion, and for these 42,000 students, the words of Gomá, Pons, Castaño, and Fonollosa would become the texts through which they proved their readiness for university. The questions were not just about comprehension—they were about understanding how we live, how we communicate, how we value what we create, and how time shapes us. That was what the first day of Madrid's 2026 entrance exam asked its students to think about.
Citações Notáveis
What kind of example do you want to be remembered for—a life dignified and beautiful, worth preserving in memory?— Javier Gomá, from his exam text
Poets have become the only creators society feels comfortable dismissing on commercial grounds, yet we would never accept that logic for our own work.— Yolanda Castaño, from Economía y poesía
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does it matter which authors get chosen for a university entrance exam?
Because these texts become the lens through which tens of thousands of students are measured. The choice of Gomá over someone else, or Pons over another voice, shapes what the exam board has decided is worth thinking about at the moment you're deciding your future.
What were the students actually being asked to do with these texts?
To read closely and think. Gomá asks you to examine what kind of life you want to be remembered for. Pons asks you to trace how journalism has changed. Castaño asks you to notice a contradiction in how society values poetry. These aren't neutral exercises—they're invitations to see something.
The Castaño piece seems pointed. Is she criticizing something specific?
Yes. She's pointing out that poets are the only artists we feel comfortable asking to work for free or for less. It's a professional question dressed as a philosophical one. A student reading that has to grapple with fairness and value.
And Fonollosa's piece about time—that seems almost poetic itself.
It is. He's arguing that time isn't what the clock tells you. It's what patience teaches you. It's a text about endurance and trust. For a student sitting in an exam room, that's a strange and generous thing to encounter.
Why spread the texts across different student tracks?
Because not all students follow the same path. Sciences students get one set of texts, humanities students get another. The exam board is saying: here's what we think matters for you to read, given where you're headed.
What happens if a student doesn't understand one of these pieces?
They can choose the other option. But either way, they're encountering serious writing about serious things—legacy, labor, time, media. There's no way around depth.