Blog del Instituto Cervantes de Dublín

Virtual Interview with Manuel Vicent and Ángel Harguindey, Instituto Cervantes Dublin Library, 7th April 2011. Translated by Emer Cassidy

Laura Martín
Good afternoon Mr. Vicent. Which book or author turned you into a reader and why? Which book or author turned you into a writer?

Manuel Vicent
For me, comics where what first turned me on to reading. After that, adventure books by Salgari and Jules Verne.  Later on, with Azorín and Baroja, I was hooked. But the authors who made me a writer, if I can say such a thing, were Albert Camus and André Gide.

David Carrión
Mr. Vicent, do you remember the first story you were ever told, and the first you yourself told?

Manuel Vicent
The first story was one of the tales in Heart, by Edmundo de Amicis. Another book which had a big impact on me was one given to me by my school teacher on the day of my first holy communion: “Lo que puede más que el hombre”. Those stories of an engineer, who regales a man from the country with the latest technological advances, had a big effect on me.

The first story I made up… On a footpath, with a crowd of children around me, around 8 or 9 years old, I invented a story about a crime, and that’s as much as I can remember. A gruesome, passionate crime.

LMartín
Good afternoon, Mr. Harguindey. The same question as before: which book or author turned you into a reader and/or a writer?

Ángel Harguindey
I have only written one book of conversations with Azcona and Manuel Vicent, and there wasn’t one single book which made me a reader, but rather, several, from the “Just William” series to Jules Verne, and Stevenson.

DCarrión
Mr. Harguindey, why would you recommend M. Vicent’s books to readers who are not native Spanish-speakers? In particular, his most recent novel, “Aguirre, el magnífico”?

Ángel Harguindey
Because it is a wonderful fusion between reality and imagination. In my opinion, the interest in Vicent’s most recent novels lies in that they are excellent chronicles of our time and our country.

Especially Aguirre, el magnífico, given its subject matter as a fictionalised biography of Javier Aguirre, it also stands alone as a wonderful and much-documented chronicle of the latter half of the 20th century in Spain

DCarrión
“Aguirre el magnífico” is pure theatre of the grotesque, or esperpento, and its protagonist like a character straight out of Valle-Inclán’s court of miracles. How could we explain that to a foreigner?

Manuel Vicent
Esperpento is a literary genre created by Valle-Inclán, which isn’t so much a caricature as a literary distortion which aims to portray the essence of the character in that distortion. For a foreigner, that distortion… I’m not sure if they could fully understand it.

DCarrión
We mentioned Valle-Inclán, however, I was under the impression, Mr. Vicent, that you were more akin to the sobriety of Baroja. Is that right?

Manuel Vicent
Although I lean towards a baroque style, I find I am moving away from it. As the years go by, I tend to write in a more concise way, placing all the importance on the verb, and not the adjective, and that’s Baroja.

LMartín
Is it possible to understand the history of the 20th century in Spain just that little bit better after reading “Aguirre, el mágnífico”, or will the foreign reader end up more confused than before they had started?

Manuel Vicent
It’s possible they could end up more confused, but that also means that they have understood it, because the history of the 20th century in Spain is an utter labyrinth.

LMartín
Mr. Vicent, in “Aguirre, el magnífico” you recount how the duke introduced you to the king as his biographer. Is that how the idea came to you to write this book? What sparked the idea?

Manuel Vicent
He was just being witty. But as time passed, and the years went by, that notion became the stimulus to write this Iberian triptych. It isn’t intended to be his biography so much as an Iberian portrait, a sort of triptych, where this character carries the central role.

DCarrión
Mr. Vicent, who would you like to be your biographer? Perhaps Mr. Harguindey would like to volunteer, or will you write your own autobiography? Or, perhaps it is already in print, with a little portion in each of your novels?

Manuel Vicent
I have written quite a lot in a genre which, these days, is known as autofiction, even though it has been around since literature first came into existence. The idea isn’t to write a biography as such, it’s more the retelling of personal experiences. And the reason to share them with the reader is that they are experiences which express worlds, feelings and dreams common to us all.

LMartín
Mr. Vicent, how do you feel about the screen adaptations of your books: Tranvía a la Malvarrosa and Son de mar? Are there more to come?

Manuel Vicent
I have no idea whether there’ll be any more, but I’m happy with them in any case. I haven’t been involved in the making of either film.

LMartín
Do you think “Aguirre, el magnífico” would be good subject matter for a film by Berlanga and Azcona?

Manuel Vicent
I think it’s more Visconti territory.

DCarrión
Two Irish authors feature in your book “Póquer de ases”, I presume they are two of your favourites: Samuel Beckett and James Joyce.

Manuel Vicent
Yes, one of them because he stretched the boundaries of literature. If I were to name three authors who stretched the limits of literature, nullifying the old style of bourgeois novel, one would be Joyce, who analysed the average man’s sub-conscious, spilling his thoughts, dreams and desires through the streets of Dublin over the course of a day, and that, when you look at it, is translating the world of Freud over to fiction. The other two I’d name are Kafka and Proust.

Beckett, who in some respects was a scholar of Joyce, expressed the humour in chaos and the absurd, as our last defence against chaos itself and death.

DCarrión
Mr. Vicent, quoting Samuel Beckett you have said “Life is a chaos between two silences”. Do you think literature can bring order and sense to chaos?

Manuel Vicent
No, I think literature adds more chaos to the general chaos. But high literature makes that chaos easier to dance to.

LMartín
Mr. Vicent, in “Viajes, fábulas y otras travesías” you take us on a journey across Europe in 1985. Speaking about Ireland you say “I began to love this country the following day [after my arrival] at 9 o’clock in the morning”. Why? What has become of that love 25 years on?

Manuel Vicent
Without a doubt it was discovering the characters on Grafton Street.

It felt like I had seen all those people before in films set in the west: those red-heads that  take shots at outlaws… and Maureen O’Hara making a turnip tart.

DCarrión
You mentioned recently in the Juan March Foundation that as we get older, the only thing we remember is our childhood. I have happy memories, but I wouldn’t go back “to that place” if you paid me. Would you?

Manuel Vicent
It’s not necessarily about going back, but as we lose our memory, the brain’s hard-drive takes over, the cogs still clogged up with the slime that is our childhood.

LMartín
Mr. Vicent: tell me if I am quoting this correctly: Literature is memory rotted down with imagination over time.

Manuel Vicent
I think that’s exactly right.

LMartín
Beauty masks destruction. Beauty and corruption go hand in hand. Which one wins in the end?

Manuel Vicent
Well, I think it’s a question of dialectics. The synthesis will always win. A moment of beauty is worth a lifetime and we should make the most of it.

DCarrión
Mr. Vicent, where is your abode at the moment? Closer to Villa Alegría (Happy Town) or Ecce Homo on the corner of Virgen de los Dolores (Our Lady of Sorrows)?

Manuel Vicent
I’ve made a mammoth effort to leave behind Ecce Homo on the corner of Virgen de los Dolores and return to Villa Alegría. I’d say it’s closer to Villa Alegría.

DCarrión
Mr. Vicent, your most recent book has come out in print and in digital format at the same time. How are you finding the experience? I imagine the majority of sales are still from print. Do you buy electronic books? Thank you very much.

Manuel Vicent
No, not ever. And I’m not sure how the digital sales are going.

Helen Cunningham
Good afternoon Mr. Vicent,
It’s not possible to visit Spain without coming across the Duchess of Alba in the gossip magazines and on various TV shows. Now you have written a book in which Jesus Aguirre, the duchess’s second husband, is the protagonist. Is the duchess happy with the book?

Manuel Vicent
It appears not, but what I can say is that from my point of view as the author of the book, the part with Jesús Aguirre as the Duke of Alba is the book’s least interesting and most insipid side.

Jo
Manuel Vicent, welcome to Ireland. Which Irish writers do you like? Thank you.

Manuel Vicent
The answer is very nearly topical: Joyce and Beckett essentially. There are more writers here per square metre than anywhere else in the world. Obviously beer is a highly literary product.

Joe
Manuel, in your short story “El caballo amante”, the protagonist writes verses of poetry whilst listening to the cries of passion of his wife and her lover in the downstairs bedroom. What do you do to stimulate your imagination whilst writing?

Manuel Vicent
It depends on what I want to write and on my mood, but what really gets me writing is having a storyline which prompts me to waste time.

Eduardo José
Dear Mr. Vicent, I have just seen your film “Son de mar”. I really like the actress. Do you think I could have a role in your next film, obviously, alongside that actress? Thank you. Thank you very much.

Manuel Vicent
I’ll suggest it to Leonor, as long as you are tall, slim and have green eyes.

Patricia
Hello. I like cookery books. Why have you written about food? Thank you.

Manuel Vicent
Because in a way eating is like a mystical deed, from a literary perspective. And because there has always been great literary tradition around what we eat.

Pawel
Hello Vicent, what is the life of a writer like? Is it very lonely? Thank you.

Manuel Vicent
Loneliness is the writer’s landscape from within which the writer observes the outside world.

Colm
Ángel, what are your criteria for deciding what to publish? Do you like Dublin? Thank you.

Ángel Harguindey
From all the possible topics, I usually choose the ones that interest me the most, personally. If I have just one criterion, it’s to always write in favour of the subject or the person. At this stage of the game, if something doesn’t interest me I have the privilege of not having to write about it.

I find Dublin a very welcoming city, with very friendly people, and civilised dimensions. For those of us coming from a city of speculators such as Madrid, it’s very attractive.

Colm
Manuel, why have your books not been translated into English?

Manuel Vicent
Ask the editors. I don’t know, honestly.

Anna Bajor-Ciciliati
Good afternoon!

I have five questions for Mr. Manuel Vicent:
1. Where does journalism end and literature begin? Which of the pairs of opposing ideas: objectivity-subjectivity, fact-fiction, or transience-universality do you see as the most important in marking the dividing line?

2.. Is there room for fiction in journalism? Or is being faithful to the facts an absolute obligation for a journalist?

3. Do you identify yourself with the idea of “literary journalism”?

4. Are there higher authorities in the world of journalism to whom you look up to? If so, who? As for your literary inspirations – who do you consider the most important?

5. Are we currently experiencing a “crisis” in journalism?

Thank you very much,

Manuel Vicent
1- Literature begins when a writer, or a journalist, takes three seconds to choose between one adjective or another.

2- There is a faithfulness to the facts which, with time, and as memory fades, becomes  fiction.

3- I think journalism is the literary genre of the latter half of the 20th century, and including up to the present moment.

4- In journalism, the only higher authority I have are the facts, the stance of reflecting reality with little in the way of adjectives and lots of verbs. My literary maestros would be Camus, Stevenson, Scott Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Tomas Mann. In article writing, the genre in which I work the most, Josep Plá and Julio Camba.

5- As regards analogue, or print, journalism, probably. But as regards journalism as an attitude, in reflecting the facts as they come about and reflecting them to the reader as a chronicle, that will never go out of fashion because it’s embedded in our dreams.

Thank you all for participating in this interview

Related links:

• Video: Manuel Vicent at Instituto Cervantes Dublin
• Podcast of the conference between Manual Vicent and Ángel Harguindey in the Juan March Foundation in Madrid (10th March, 2011): listen to the conference, download the MP3
• Podcast of the Manuel Vicent conference “Una travesía literaria” (A literary crossing) held in the Juan March Foundation (8th March, 2011): listen to the conference, download the MP3
• Virtual interview: Manuel Vicent and readers of El País, (2nd March, 2011)
• Articles by Manuel Vicent in EL PAÍS
• Ángel Harguindey on the Complutense University of Madrid’s online forum: Foro Complutense

Manuel Vicent will also be our author of the month throughout the month of April.

Comenzamos una nueva serie de encuentros digitales en la bitácora de la biblioteca del Instituto Cervantes de Dublín.

Podéis enviar vuestras preguntas, en forma de comentario a la página del encuentro digital, desde hoy, día 28 de marzo hasta el día 7 de abril. Manuel Vicent y Ángel Harguindey responderán a ellas el mismo día 7 de abril, de 4:30 a 5:30 hora de Dublín.

Posteriormente, a las 6:00, Manuel Vicent y Ángel Harguindey mantendrán una conversación sobre periodismo y literatura en nuestro Café Literario.

Bibliotecarios: ¡animad a vuestros lectores a participar!

Profesores: ¡animad a vuestros estudiantes!

Muchas gracias a Manuel Vicent y a Ángel Harguindey por su disponibilidad y amabilidad. Muchas gracias a todos vosotros por participar.

Aquí os dejamos algunos materiales para preparar la “entrevista”:

Podcast del diálogo celebrado en la Fundación Juan March de Madrid entre Manuel Vicent y Ángel Harguindey (10 de marzo de 2011): escuchar la conferencia, descargar MP3

Podcast de la conferencia de Manuel Vicent “Una travesía literaria” celebrada en la Fundación Juan March de Madrid (8 de marzo de 2011): escuchar la conferencia, descargar MP3

Encuentro digital de Manuel Vicent con los lectores de El País el 2 de marzo de 2011.

Textos de Manuel Vicent en EL PAÍS

Ángel Harguindey en el Foro Complutense

Manuel Vicent es además nuestro autor del mes en abril. En Lecturalia encontraréis su biografía y reseña de todas sus obras.

Las preguntas serán moderadas antes de su publicación. Solo podrán ser publicadas aquellas que, durante la hora de duración del encuentro, Manuel Vicent y Ángel Harguindey alcancen a responder.

Para cualquier duda, estamos a vuestra disposición en bibdub(at)cervantes.es, @icdublin o Facebook.

¡Os esperamos!

We are launching a new series of virtual interviews through the library’s blog here at Instituto Cervantes Dublin, whereby the audience asks the questions.

You can send in your questions, starting from today, Monday 28th March, until Thursday 7th April. Manuel Vicent and Ángel Harguindey will answer them on the 7th April, from 4:30pm to 5:30pm local Dublin time.

Following this, at 6pm Manuel Vicent and Ángel Harguindey will discuss journalism and literature in our Café Literario.

Teachers: encourage your students to take part!

Librarians: invite your readers to get involved!

Sincere thanks to Manuel Vicent and Ángel Harguindey for their generosity and good humour. And thank you to all of you for taking part.

Here is some material so that you can prepare your “interview”!

Podcast of the conference between Manual Vicent and Ángel Harguindey in the Juan March Foundation in Madrid (10th March, 2011): listen to the conference, download the MP3

Podcast of the Manuel Vicent conference “Una travesía literaria” (A literary crossing) held in the Juan March Foundation (8th March, 2011): listen to the conference, download the MP3

Virtual interview: Manuel Vicent and readers of El País, (2nd March, 2011)

Articles by Manuel Vicent in EL PAÍS

Ángel Harguindey on the Complutense University of Madrid’s online forum: Foro Complutense

Manuel Vicent will also be our author of the month throughout the month of April.

Questions will be moderated before being posted online. Only those questions to which Manuel Vicent and Ángel Harguindey are able to respond during the hour-long discussion will be uploaded.

If you have any queries, we’re only too happy to help at bibdub(at)cervantes.es, @icdublin and Facebook

We’ll meet you there!

Interview with Luis García Montero held on 24rd March, 2011 at the Dámaso Alonso Library of the Instituto Cervantes in Dublin on the occasion of his participation in the round table discussion “More than poetry” with Almudena Grandes.

Luis García Montero (Granada, 1958) is Professor of Spanish Literature. Among his poetry collections we can highlight Y ahora ya eres dueño del Puente de Brooklyn (1980), Tristia (a collaboration with Álvaro Salvador, 1982), El jardín extranjero (1983), Diario cómplice (1987), Las flores del frío (1991), Habitaciones separadas (1994), Completamente viernes (1998), La intimidad de la serpiente (2003), Vista cansada (2008) and Un invierno propio (2011). The poems he wrote in his youth were collected in Además (1994). His poems have been extensively anthologised, and he has received numerous awards. He is also the author of essays, fiction and newspaper articles.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Luis, is this your first time in Dublin?

Luis García Montero: —It’s my first time. I was really looking forward to it, because apart from being an important European capital, it’s also a very literary city.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Granada is also a literary city. And if there’s anyone that knows Granada well, it’s you. What would you recommend? What should we not miss when we go to Granada?

Luis García Montero: —Granada is a city with a lot of life, it’s a small city with a population of 350,000, it has a university with 70,000 students. I would recommend, of course, the must-see tourist sites. We never get tired of speaking about the Alhambra, it’s simply a wonder. The Royal Chapel, where the Catholic Monarchs are buried, is the other Granada, not the Islamic one, the Christian Granada, with a very important collection of paintings. But what I would advise is to take in the city’s atmosphere, especially at night. There are lots of cultural events, lots of bookshops and lots of bars. And at night, culture and life merge into one in the bars, because the students go out, have a few drinks, have some amazing and very cheap tapas in the bars and then, at every table, there’s a discussion about culture, about art, about literature, about politics, about everything. It’s something I associate strongly with my education and my youth.

Granada was García Lorca’s city, of course. When I started out writing, to me, Lorca was that poet who had been executed in the Civil War and when he was killed the modern city of the 1920s and ’30s was wiped out. For me, growing up, getting an education, studying at university meant trying to discover that city that had disappeared with García Lorca’s death. And there was a lot of that city in the bars and in the conversations, waiting to be served at the bar, and at the tables where people lived and drank, discussing politics and literature at the same time.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Who do you remember fondly?

Luis García Montero: —Lots of people. I had a good relationship with my parents and a family life which was something of a paradox, because my personal and political beliefs were very different from my family’s traditional ideas, but, even so, we always got on in a very caring and kind way.

And from the point of view of literature, I’ve been lucky in that some maestros have come down from their pedestals, where they were in my mind, like mythical figures, and through their generosity they’ve become friends of mine. The first was Rafael Alberti, a friend of Lorca’s, a poet in exile, and a republican poet. And I had a very close friendship with him while I was doing my doctoral thesis. And after that, other writers who have been important to me have been Francisco Ayala, Ángel González, and Jaime Gil de Biedma. I remember each of them particularly fondly.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Cincuentena is a book for which you have selected 50 poems, to coincide with your birthday. Was that difficult? How did you choose them?

Luis García Montero: —It was very difficult. I like to think about literature as a reader. As a reader I still try to please the adolescent in me, who was blown away by the book in his hands and who devoted himself to writing because he had huge admiration for what he had read by García Lorca, Neruda, Machado, Cernuda, by so many poets. But, as a writer it’s very hard, because when I read my own work I don’t look at it through the same admiring eyes which enable me to enjoy literature. My eyes see things to be corrected, I’ve made a mistake with this, or I could have written that in a different way…

If you manage to hold on to a critical conscience, it’s just as important to hold on to the sense of wonder you had as a teenager. Reading your own work isn’t an enjoyable experience, because you end up discovering more mistakes, or different possibilities, than parts you like. And in this anthology, Cincuentena, I chose the 50 poems not which I like the most, but which worry me the least, they leave me feeling calmer when I read them, my corrector’s eyes scold me less than with others. And that’s what I did when I reached my 50th birthday, I put together a collection of 50 poems.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Does the passing of time frighten us?

Luis García Montero: —I think it does. The passing of time is something which is inevitable to the human condition, because it’s not just that time passes for us, but rather, we’re aware of its passing. Other creatures that follow their instincts, aren’t aware of it. And I mention instincts because I think we’re living in a time in which too much emphasis is placed on having an instinctive relationship with time. We surround ourselves with euphemisms, we want to hide the fact that we’re destined to grow older, that we’re destined to die. It’s as if contemporary life encourages euphemisms, to help us forget about old age, illness, and death. And I think an important role of literature is to provide a space for memory, and for the idea that life isn’t all inane joy and superficial exaltation of youth.

Writing is listening to your elders, something which happens less and less these days, writing is having an awareness of the other reality, which isn’t wrapped up in fancy paper, which has to do with pain, with loss, and from that point of view, one of the fundamental themes in literature is the passing of time.

Carmen Sanjulián: —“Aunque tú no lo sepas” is a poem which really made headway.

Luis García Montero: —You know what parent-children relationships are like. As soon as kids get a bit older, they’re desperate to get rid of their parents. That’s just the way it is, we’ve all done it. I published “Aunque tú no lo sepas” in the bookHabitaciones separadas. Enrique Urquijo, the singer, was interested in the poem and he asked Quique González, a singer-songwriter I admire a lot, to do a version of the poem. He did it, and the poem became a song, later it became the title of a film and appeared in a film, later on it also appeared quoted in some other books.

It’s been very lucky, but what I’m most pleased about is that one day, my daughter, who admires Quique González, was looking up his website with some friends of hers, and she saw the story of “Aunque tú no lo sepas” and how Enrique Urquijo had asked Quique to write the song. She came to me with a very serious face and said: “Dad, did that song by Quique González come from one of your poems?” And I said to her, “Well, yes dear, what the website says is true.” And since then she looks at me differently. She has that little bit more respect for me now.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Luis, what makes you happy?

Luis García Montero: —I think in the middle of winter and the recession and in a world full of insecurities and cut-backs, happiness is too formal a word. But I don’t give up on joy, because the ability to enjoy life, to not give in and wallow in pain but search out the good things in life, I think that’s the only watchword we can accept with a little decency.

There are areas of warmth in life. I like friendship, I like literature, and sometimes the two go together because some of my best friends are writers and I admire what they write. But, of course, there are other friends with whom I like to watch a match, go out for a few drinks, have a beer. In an Irish pub in Madrid, O’Connor’s, we have two weekly meet-ups, and something very serious would have to happen for me not to go, because I like being in a good mood, and being happy with my friends. And love, of course, I think literature, friendship and love are my sources of happiness.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Words are part of our daily lives. Do we have favourite words?

Luis García Montero: —Well, yes, we have favourite words and we have to take special care of them because sometimes our favourite words are changed and turned into something strange.

Actually, I could talk to you about words which fascinate me because of how they sound, like “damajuana” (demijohn) which to me is wonderful, I also think “ojalá” (let’s hope so!) is wonderful. But recently, when I’ve been asked that, I always say my favourite word is “despertador” (alarm clock), and I’ll explain why: because the word “amanecer” (dawn) has been manipulated a lot, it’s one of those words that, if you’re not careful, it escapes and ends up in a hymn. They are far too solemn words, by meaning “the world is beginning”, “life will change”, “the future will arrive”. On the other hand, the word “despertador” seems less solemn to me and more humane.

I really enjoy staying up late, but I also like seeing the light of day. Keeping your head above water is hard work. After a long night you have to wake up, get up early and go to work, and that’s keeping your head above water. For me, that idea is closer to the word “despertador” than “amanecer”. You arrive home and set the alarm so that the next day you’ll be able to get up, open your eyes and keep making your way in the world.

Recommended links

• [Video] Interview with Luis García Montero at the Instituto Cervantes in Dublin by Carmen Sanjulián.
• Luis García Montero’s official website.
• Luis García Montero’s poems in A media voz.
• Luis García Montero’s blog in the newspaper Público.

< List of interviews

Almudena Grandes: Un escritor deja de ser un principiante dubitativo en su tercera novela

Entrevista con Almudena Grandes realizada el 24 de marzo de 2011 en la Biblioteca Dámaso Alonso del Instituto Cervantes de Dublíncon motivo de su participación en la mesa redonda “Más que poesía” junto a Luis García Montero.

Almudena Grandes (Madrid, 1960) estudió Geografía e Historia en la Universidad Complutense. Se dio a conocer como novelista con Las edades de Lulú(1989). Sus novelas Te llamaré Viernes (1991), Malena es un nombre de tango (1994), Atlas de geografía humana (1998), Los aires difíciles (2002), Castillos de cartón (2004) y El corazón helado (2007), junto con sus volúmenes de cuentos, la han convertido en uno de los nombres más importantes de la literatura española contemporánea. Con Inés y la alegría (2010) inauguró la serie Episodios de una guerra interminable, cuya segunda entrega es El lector de Julio Verne (2012). Varias de sus obras han sido llevadas al cine, y han merecido multitud de premios.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Almudena, ¿cómo eras de niña?

Almudena Grandes: —Era muy gorda. Tanto que yo creo que mediatizaba bastante mi forma de ser. Era una niña gorda que leía mucho. Yo creo que los grandes lectores infantiles, los niños que son muy lectores, a menudo son gordos, cojos, o llevan gafas o hierros en los dientes, porque la literatura es «vida de más», y lo que te permite es vivir vidas mejores que la que tienes. A mí me gustaba mucho leer. Me gustaba mucho el chocolate, y me sigue gustando mucho, aunque ya no lo como, y era bastante estudiosa. Era una niña normal.

Carmen Sanjulián: —De todos los lugares que has visitado, ¿existe «un lugar en el mundo» como decía la película?

Almudena Grandes: —A mí, la parte del mundo que más me gusta es Latinoamérica. Mira que está muy lejos, y que cuando estoy escribiendo no me gusta viajar, porque me separa mucho de mis libros… Pero hay lugares para mí irresistibles: Buenos Aires es una ciudad irresistible, México o Colombia son países irresistibles, Nicaragua… Sin embargo, un lugar en el mundo… Quizás para mí son los más cercanos, porque yo vivo en Madrid y no me gustaría vivir en otro lugar. En verano me voy a un pueblo pequeñito de Cádiz, que se llama Rota, que es una especie de «paraíso anual» y tampoco lo cambiaría por ningún otro. Tengo muchas raíces, y no me gustaría vivir en otros sitios distintos de donde vivo.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Lulú, Malena o Inés, ¿con quién nos quedamos?

Almudena Grandes: —Ahora mismo, desde luego con Inés, porque es la última. Siempre nos quedamos con el último libro.Las edades de Lulú para mí siempre será un libro muy importante, porque fue el libro que me permitió vivir como yo quería vivir, el libro que me permitió convertirme en escritora. Malena también es muy importante, porque fue mi tercera novela. Yo creo que un escritor deja de ser un principiante dubitativo en la tercera. De alguna manera, la tercera es la que consagra, y yo le debo a Malena la tranquilidad. Tengo una relación muy buena con las tres.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Un corazón helado, ¿tiene remedio?

Almudena Grandes: —En eso estamos: El corazón helado. Yo le puse ese título porque los españoles siempre repetimos los versos de Machado: «una de las dos Españas ha de helarte el corazón», y la idea era escribir un libro para explicar qué era lo que había pasado. Yo creo que sí, yo creo que tiene que tener solución. Yo creo que España tiene que normalizar antes o después su relación con su pasado.

Carmen Sanjulián: —¿Todo tiene perdón o hay cosas imperdonables?

Almudena Grandes: —Creo que hay cosas imperdonables. No todo tiene perdón, pero creo que todo puede ser comprendido. Hay cosas imperdonables, pero creo que cuando miramos hacia los sucesos terribles de la guerra y de la posguerra, afortunadamente estamos demasiado lejos como para tener una avidez justiciera. Se trata más bien de entender lo que pasó, de poner a cada uno en su sitio y de sentar, digamos, las bases de un futuro diferente, en la medida en la que reconocemos el pasado del que venimos. En ese sentido, no soy partidaria de las revanchas histéricas, ni de las posiciones radicales.

En España, hay mucha gente que critica ahora la transición. Yo no la critico, porque creo que aquel proceso fue lo mejor que una generación, que creía honradamente que tenía que hacer eso, pudo hacer. La cuestión es que ahora deberían dejarnos hacer lo que nosotros honradamente creemos que tenemos que hacer, pero no se trata de atacar frontalmente al pasado.

Carmen Sanjulián: —¿Un sueño?

Almudena Grandes: —Por supuesto ser feliz, que la gente que me rodea sea feliz y, aunque parezca mentira, dentro de unos años, ser abuela. Me encantaría ser abuela. Mis hijos mayores no lo entienden, pero yo me veo muy bien de abuela.

Enlaces recomendados

• [Vídeo] Entrevista realizada a Almudena Grandes en el Instituto Cervantes de Dublín por Carmen Sanjulián.
• Página oficial de Almudena Grandes.
• Almudena Grandes en Tusquets Editores.
• Reseña de El lector de Julio Verne en El Cultural.

< Listado de Entrevistas

Almudena Grandes: A writer stops being a nervous novice around the third novel

Interview with Almudena Grandes held on 24th March 2011 at the Dámaso Alonso Library of the Instituto Cervantes in Dublin on the occasion of her participation in the round table discussion “More than poetry” with Luis García Montero.

Almudena Grandes (Madrid, 1960) studied Geography and History at the Universidad Complutense. She became known as a novelist with Las edades de Lulú(1989). Her novels Te llamaré Viernes (1991), Malena es un nombre de tango (1994), Atlas de geografía humana (1998) Los aires difíciles (2002), Castillos de cartón (2004) and El corazón helado (2007), along with her short stories, have made her one of the biggest names in contemporary Spanish literature. WithInés y la alegría (2010) she began the series Episodios de una guerra interminable, of which the second novel in the series is El lector de Julio Verne (2012). Several of her works have been made into films, and have won many awards.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Almudena, what were you like as a child?

Almudena Grandes: —I was very chubby and so much so that I think it affected the way I acted. I was a chubby little girl who read a lot. I think the children that are bookworms, that read a lot, are often chubby, have a limp, wear glasses, have braces on their teeth… because literature is like having another life and it allows you to live a life better than your own. So I really liked reading, I really liked chocolate, and I still do, although I don’t eat it anymore, and I was a good student and, well, I was like any normal girl.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Of all the places you’ve visited, do you have “one place in the world”, like in the film…?

Almudena Grandes: —I’d have to say my favourite part of the world is Latin America. Even though it’s very far away and when I’m writing I don’t like to travel because it separates me a lot from my books, but there are places I just can’t resist: Buenos Aires is an irresistible city, Mexico or Colombia are irresistible countries, Nicaragua… However, one place in the world… Maybe for me, one place in the world would be closer to home, because I live in Madrid and I wouldn’t like to live anywhere else. In summer, I go to this little village in Cádiz, called Rota, which is sort of like an “annual paradise” and I wouldn’t change it for anywhere else either. I’ve laid down roots and I wouldn’t like to live anywhere else other than where I do now.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Lulú, Malena or Inés, who would you pick?

Almudena Grandes: —At the moment, it would be Inés, of course, because she’s the latest. You always pick the most recent book. Las edades de Lulú will always be a very important book to me because it was the novel that enabled me to live in the way in which I wanted to live. The book that enabled me to become a writer. Malena is also very important because it was my third novel. I think a writer stops being a nervous novice around the third one. In some way, the third is the one that establishes you and I owe that peace of mind to Malena. I have a good relationship with all three.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Is there any cure for a frozen heart?

Almudena Grandes: —That’s what we’re trying to find out: El corazón helado (The frozen heart). I gave it that title because we Spaniards are always repeating Machado’s verses: “One of those two Spains will freeze your heart”, and the idea was to write a book explaining what had happened. I think there is, I think there is a cure. I think sooner or later Spain has to come to terms with its relationship with the past.

Carmen Sanjulián: —Can everything be forgiven, or are there things which are unforgivable?

Almudena Grandes: —I think there are things which are unforgivable. Not everything can be forgiven, but I think everything can be understood. There are things which are unforgivable, but when we look at the terrible things that happened during the war and the post-war years, we’re lucky in that too much time has passed for us to be on a quest for revenge. It’s more about understanding what happened, getting people to sit down and agree on the bases for a different future, in a way which acknowledges the past and where we’ve come from. In that sense, I’m not a fan of hysterical revenge, or radical stances.

In Spain a lot of people are criticising the transition, I don’t criticise it because I think that process was the best that a generation, who thought they had to do something honourable, could do. The issue is that now we should be left to do the honourable thing in the way that we think is right, but it’s not a question of attacking the past head on.

Carmen Sanjulián: —A dream?

Almudena Grandes: —A dream would be to be happy, of course, that those around me are happy and to be a grandmother in the not too distant future. I’d love to be a grandmother in a few years’ time. My grown up children don’t understand that, but I think I would be a great grandmother.

Recomended links

• [Video] Interview with Almudena Grandes at the Instituto Cervantes in Dublin by Carmen Sanjulián.
• Almudena Grandes’ official website.
• Almudena Grandes in Tusquets Publishing House.
• Review of El lector de Julio Verne in El Cultural.

< List of interviews

Almudena Grandes. Foto: Iván Giménez

Almudena Grandes y a Luis García Montero en el Instituto Cervantes de Dublín. En esta ocasión, poesía y prosa se dan la mano. Un gran poeta y una gran narradora compartirán mesa para hablarnos sobre su mundo creativo.

Hoy jueves, 24 de marzo, a las 6:00, en el Café Literario.

Sus libros están a tu disposición en nuestra biblioteca.

Almudena Grandes and Luis García Montero at the Instituto Cervantes in Dublin. This time, poetry meets prose. A great poet and a great narrator will sit together to talk about their literary worlds

Today, Thursday, 24th March, 6:00 pm. Café Literario

All their books are available in our library.

Presentación de libro / Book launch,

22/03/2011 (18:00 h) Instituto Cervantes
Lincoln House. Lincoln Place
Dublín 2

Celébralo con leer.es:

Si enseñas español, aquí tienes unos cuantos materiales a tu disposición.

• La greguería y la imagen en la poesía española de los años 20. Felipe Zayas.
• “Tyger”. Interpretar un poema multimedia. Juan Antonio Cardete.
• Dos poemas sobre besos, Catulo y Salvat Papasseit. La comparación de textos. Modesto Calderón.
• Taller de haikus. Felipe Zayas.

Ver material

Y tuitea tu haiku sin olvidar la doble etiqueta: #diadelapoesia #haiku

21 M is World Poetry Day. Come celebrate with Leer.es:

Are you teaching Spanish?

Download resources

Tweet your haiku and don’t forget the hashtags: #diadelapoesia #haiku #worldpoetryday

Hoy somos protagonistas del boletín cultural de Cervantes TV.

En el video podéis ver un pequeño resumen de la mesa redonda en la que intervinieron Luis Alberto de Cuenca, Alicia Mariño y Jorge Edwards.

También hay imágenes del concurso de recitado de poesía de nuestros alumnos.

Estos actos fueron organizados con motivo de la celebración del Día Mundial del Libro el pasado 3 de marzo.

We play a starring role today’s arts programme on Cervantes TV.

On the video you can watch a summary of the roundtable discussion featuring Luis Alberto de Cuenca, Alicia Mariño and Jorge Edwards, as well as some of the images from our students’ poetry recital competition.

Both events were organised as part of the World Book Day celebrations on the 3rd March.

Almudena Grandes. Foto: Iván Giménez

Prepárate para recibir a Almudena Grandes y a Luis García Montero. En esta ocasión, poesía y prosa se dan la mano. Un gran poeta y una gran narradora compartirán mesa para hablarnos sobre su mundo creativo.

Sus libros están a tu disposición en nuestra biblioteca.

Are you ready to receive Almudena Grandes and Luis García Montero? This time, poetry meets prose. A great poet and a great narrator will sit together to talk about their literary worlds

All their books are available in our library.

Interview with Alicia Mariño held on 3rd March 2011 at the Dámaso Alonso Library of the Instituto Cervantes in Dublin on the occasion of her participation in the round table discussion “Many worlds” with Luis Alberto de Cuenca and Jorge Edwards.

Alicia Mariño holds a Ph.D. in French Language and Literature and a Law degree. Her doctoral thesis was on the role and significance of Fantastic literature in Villiers de l’Isle-Adam. She has since researched the Fantastic genre in the work of different authors. The results have been published as articles in various specialist journals and a book, published by Cátedra in the collection “Clásicos Universales” series, on Romance of a Mummy, by Théophile Gautier. Recently, her work has focused on comparative literature, studying the genesis and evolution of some European legends. She has also done research in the field of women’s literature.

Pilar Garrido: —Alicia, what did your interest in Fantastic literature stem from?

Alicia Mariño: —I’m not sure where it came from. I imagine I must have daydreamed a lot as a child but, more than anything else, I was a real bookworm. When I finished my degree at the Universidad Autónoma in Madrid, I put the same question to my thesis supervisor, Javier del Prado, who was the one to suggest that I do my doctoral thesis on Fantastic literature. He told me, many years after having read my thesis, that the only person from among his students who could have worked on Fantastic literature was me. The truth is that this subject always fascinated me, maybe I already had some spark, or interest, lying dormant, which I hadn’t yet discovered. I’ll never know.

Pilar Garrido: —Could you define Fantastic literature for us in a few words?

Alicia Mariño: —Hmm, that’s a difficult task. It looks as if the great theorists on the subject have finally come to an agreement. But, let’s say, if we look at a story, there’s always a strange or supernatural element which invades daily life, in such a way that the character (this all takes place within the story) can’t understand what’s happening, can’t find a rational explanation.

It’s important that the rational laws that govern both the reality of the reader and the reality of the character in the story are insufficient to explain this strange or supernatural phenomenon, which has to be narrated in a credible way. And from then on, from this doubt, from this incomprehension, the character starts to be gripped by fear, existential vertigo, anxiety, and all sorts of feelings, none of them pleasant, because of the insecurity that’s created by not knowing what’s happening.

Generally, in Fantastic literature, in its strictest sense, the story ends without an explanation. But, the most important thing is that it’s a story in which the narrative technique manages to make the implausible plausible. The perfect Fantastic stories are those which manage to move within the boundaries of what’s possible and what’s impossible, and most importantly, which don’t have a rational explanation. Sometimes, at the end of the story, but not always, there is an explanation of the event: it’s a dream, madness, cruelty.

That’s why Fantastic literature flourished as soon as rationalism was established as the prevailing philosophy. Earlier, in the Middle Ages for example, there are lots of mentions of Fantastic literature but, actually, they are only elements of the Fantastic. Because at that time when people believed in miracles and in a world in which anything was possible, Fantastic literature simply couldn’t exist since there was no clash between the rational and the irrational. In other words, strange or supernatural phenomena are not subject to an explanation, the laws of Reason.

That’s the difference between the Fantastic and fairy tales, for example. In a fairy tale, the characters are inside a story and a world in which anything is possible, in which miracles abound and which isn’t ruled by the laws of reason, so there is simply no need for any rational explanation of unusual phenomena. Therefore, there’s no distress or anxiety either resulting from a misunderstanding of something incredible that appears as plausible. We could even say that in the fairy tale, where everything is possible, nothing seems unlikely. In the Fantastic tale it’s the complete opposite.

Pilar Garrido: —Is this a genre which has a lot of followers?

Alicia Mariño: —Yes, quite a lot. It’s just that it has always been viewed as being slightly on the fringe. But I think that, in the last thirty years, there’s been quite a boom in people interested in the genre and, of course, it has some excellent authors.

Pilar Garrido: —Could you name a few?

Alicia Mariño: —I could name lots… I think I have to mention Edgar Allan Poe, and Hoffman before that, and all those who followed in their footsteps… But most of all, here in Dublin, the only person we need talk about today is Stoker, the author of one of the best novels, not just within the genre, but of all time: Dracula. It could be defined as the last great gothic novel or at least, one of the first “well-established” Fantastic novels. It’s extraordinary.

Pilar Garrido: —Do you think that in times of crisis, like we have now, people are more inclined to read Fantastic novels to escape their problems, or routine?

Alicia Mariño: —I think they are. Particularly if you take into account all this mania for vampirism, even if it is sort of teenybopper vampirism, but still, this new wave of films and novels, even for teenagers, makes me think that maybe times of crisis, and difficult times, lead us to this type of literature. Maybe because we’re all looking for more escapism, and even to exorcise fear, insecurity. In any case, the Fantastic is always liberating.

Pilar Garrido: —Do you think there are cultures or countries which have produced more of this type of literature?

Alicia Mariño: —Without a doubt. The great masters of the genre all come from the Anglo Saxon world.

Pilar Garrido: —Is there any particular reason for that?

Alicia Mariño: —I’m afraid I can’t say, because I’ve researched it, I’ve tried to study why Spain produces less Fantastic literature than other countries, but I don’t know why. Psychiatrists who have studied the topic from a psychoanalytical point of view can’t explain it either. There is much talk about the importance of landscapes, the mist, the forests, the world of legends, in moulding the Fantastic imagination, in the Celtic world, and back home in Galicia but really, the Anglo Saxons started it all. Then it spread to France and took off, and then the trend arrived in Spain. We also have great Fantastic writers, but not in the same numbers as in the Anglo Saxon world.

Pilar Garrido: —And finishing up, Alicia, you mentioned before that your surname, Mariño, has links with a legend as well. Could you explain that to us briefly?

Alicia Mariño: —Surely, in honour of Torrente Ballester who told it to me in the halls of residence, when I was studying in Salamanca, and I went up to him to ask him to sign my book. “Alicia Mariño”, he said, “wow! Don’t you know the legend about your name?”

He told me that the name “Mariño” comes from a gentleman who was strolling by the water’s edge when he fell in love with a mermaid, and went to live with her at the bottom of the sea. They had lots of children but, as the years went by, he wished he could educate his sons in the art of war. He asked the mermaid for permission to take them back on land and she granted it, on condition that from then on he would give her one person from each generation. And it is said that to this day, a blue-eyed Mariño, from each generation, loses his life at sea.

Later on, I discovered that Torrente Ballester must have been obsessed with that name because his first novel is calledJavier Mariño. I have a cousin with the same name, but the novel isn’t linked to him in any way.

Torrente Ballester also wrote a novella called El cuento de sirena, in which he recounts the legend in the first two pages and from there, he goes on to develop a 20th century legend, about a man whose surname is Mariño. The perfect crime takes place, but in the end, this Mariño is the last of a generation, he’s blue-eyed, he has an accident, and ends up in the sea. I really recommend Torrente’s novella El cuento de sirena.

Recomended linnks

• [Video] Interview with Alicia Mariño at the Instituto Cervantes in Dublin by Pilar Garrido.
• [PDF] “Entre lo posible y lo imposible: El relato Fantástico”. Essay by Alicia Mariño.
• [Video] “Ubicación del género fantástico”. Lecture by Alicia Mariño at the UIMP.
• Sobre el género de terror. Alicia Mariño in El Diario Montañes.

< List of interviews

Entrevista con Alicia Mariño realizada el 3 de marzo de 2011 en la Biblioteca Dámaso Alonso del Instituto Cervantes de Dublín con motivo de su participación en la mesa redonda “Muchos mundos” junto a Luis Alberto de Cuenca y Jorge Edwards.

Alicia Mariño es doctora en Filología Francesa y licenciada en Derecho. Realizó su tesis doctoral sobre la función y el significado de la literatura fantástica en Villiers de l’Isle-Adam. Ha trabajado desde entonces sobre el género fantástico en distintos autores. Fruto de esos trabajos han sido diferentes artículos publicados en revistas especializadas y un libro, editado por Cátedra en su colección Clásicos Universales, sobre La novela de la momia, de Théophile Gautier. Recientemente, ha orientado su labor hacia la literatura comparada, estudiando la génesis y evolución de ciertas leyendas europeas. También ha realizado estudios en el campo de la literatura femenina.

Pilar Garrido: —Alicia, ¿de dónde viene tu interés por la literatura fantástica?

Alicia Mariño: —No sabría decirte. Imagino que debí de ser una niña muy soñadora y, sobre todo, fui una niña muy lectora. Terminé mi carrera en la Universidad Complutense de Madrid, y esta misma pregunta se la hice, años más tarde, a Javier del Prado, director de mi tesis doctoral, quien me propuso el tema sobre literatura fantástica. No lo sé, Javier, que fue mi maestro, me respondió mucho tiempo después de haber defendido mi tesis doctoral, que del grupo de alumnos que trabajaba con él yo era la única que pensó que podía trabajar sobre lo fantástico. La verdad es que el tema me fascinó siempre, quizás porque había algún germen oculto, o algún interés, desconocido para mí; no lo sabré nunca.

Pilar Garrido: —¿Podrías definirnos la literatura fantástica en unas poquitas palabras?

Alicia Mariño: —Bueno, es una tarea algo complicada. Parece que, finalmente, los grandes teóricos de la materia se han puesto de acuerdo. Digamos, así muy rápidamente, que para que un relato sea considerado fantástico debe ocurrir en él que un elemento sobrenatural o extraño invada la vida cotidiana, de manera que el personaje, siempre desde el interior del relato, no puede entender lo que ocurre, no encuentra explicación racional a lo que sucede.

Es importante que las leyes racionales que rigen tanto la realidad del lector, como la realidad del personaje de la historia contada sean insuficientes para explicar ese fenómeno extraño o sobrenatural, narrado de forma verosímil. Y a partir de ahí, de esa duda, de esa incomprensión, se genera en el personaje el miedo, el vértigo existencial, la angustia, y toda una serie de sentimientos, no demasiado gratos, provocados por la inseguridad que provoca lo incomprensible.

A veces, al final del relato, aunque no siempre, se encuentra una explicación del acontecimiento, del que dan razón el sueño, la locura, la crueldad. En literatura fantástica stricto sensu, el acontecimiento queda siempre sin explicación racional. Y sobre todo, lo esencial también es que una depurada técnica narrativa realista consiga hacer verosímil lo inverosímil. Ese es el relato fantástico perfecto, el que consigue moverse ahí, en el límite entre lo posible y lo imposible, sin que exista explicación racional alguna.

Por eso, la literatura fantástica se desarrolla a partir del momento en que impera el racionalismo como filosofía ya establecida. Antes, por ejemplo en la Edad Media, se habla muchas veces de que existe literatura fantástica, y en realidad lo que hay son solo elementos fantásticos. Porque en aquel mundo en el que existe y se acepta el milagro, y en el que se cree que todo es posible, no puede haber literatura fantástica, pues no hay choque entre lo racional y lo irracional. Es decir, que los fenómenos sobrenaturales o extraños no están sometidos a la explicación, a la ley de la razón.

Esa es la diferencia, por ejemplo, entre lo fantástico y el cuento de hadas. En el cuento de hadas, los personajes están sumergidos en un relato y en un mundo en el que todo es posible, en el que impera el milagro y que no se rige, en absoluto, por leyes racionales; de ahí que la necesidad de explicación racional de un fenómeno extraño no exista y, por lo tanto, tampoco la inquietud ni la angustia que genera la incomprensión de algo inverosímil que aparece como verosímil. Incluso podríamos decir que en el cuento de hadas, en el que todo es posible, nada parece inverosímil. En el relato fantástico ocurre todo lo contrario.

Pilar Garrido: —¿Es un género con muchos seguidores?

Alicia Mariño: —Tiene bastantes, lo que pasa es que siempre ha aparecido como algo marginal. Pero yo creo que de treinta años a esta parte ha surgido mucha gente interesada por el género, y por supuesto tiene autores maestros.

Pilar Garrido: —¿Podrías citar algunos?

Alicia Mariño: —Podría citar muchísimos. Creo que si no se cita a Edgar Allan Poe, a Hoffmann anteriormente, y a todos sus seguidores… Pero sobre todo, estando aquí, en Dublín, pienso que al único que hay que citar hoy es a Stoker, el autor de una de las mejores novelas, no solamente de género, sino de la literatura universal: Drácula. Se la puede definir como la última gran novela gótica, o bien como una de las primeras novelas fantásticas, extraordinaria.

Pilar Garrido: —¿Crees que en tiempo de crisis, como hoy en día, la gente tiende a leer más este tipo de novelas fantásticas para evadirse de los problemas o de la vida diaria?

Alicia Mariño: —Yo creo que sí. Todo esto que ha surgido en torno al vampirismo, aunque ya es un vampirismo un pocolight, toda esa nueva oleada de películas y de novelas, incluso para adolescentes, me lleva a pensar que quizá los tiempos de crisis y los tiempos complicados lleven a este tipo de literatura. Quizás porque uno se evade mucho más, e incluso exorciza el miedo, la inseguridad. Lo fantástico siempre es liberador.

Pilar Garrido: —¿Crees que hay culturas o países que han producido más este tipo de literatura?

Alicia Mariño: —Sin lugar a dudas, los grandes maestros del género pertenecen al mundo anglosajón.

Pilar Garrido: —¿Y por alguna razón en especial?

Alicia Mariño: —Pues no sé decirte, porque he intentado estudiar por qué en España se da menos literatura fantástica que en otros países, pero lo ignoro. Algunos psiquiatras que han estudiado el tema desde el punto de vista psicoanalítico tampoco lo explican. Se habla mucho de la importancia del paisaje, de la bruma, de los bosques, del mundo de la leyenda para configurar ese imaginario fantástico, del mundo celta, tan de aquí y también de nuestra Galicia. Pero realmente, de los anglosajones parte todo lo fantástico en literatura. Desde ahí influyen muchísimo en Francia, y luego sí que llega la tendencia a España, donde también tenemos escritores fantásticos buenos, pero no en esa gran cantidad como en el mundo anglosajón.

Pilar Garrido: —Para terminar, Alicia, antes me comentabas que tu apellido, Mariño, tenía también relación con alguna leyenda. ¿Podrías explicárnoslo brevemente?

Alicia Mariño: —Sí, así rendimos homenaje a Torrente Ballester, que me la contó en el colegio mayor, cuando yo estudiaba en Salamanca y me acerqué a él para que me dedicara un libro. «Alicia Mariño», dijo, «¡uy! ¿Y no conoces la leyenda de tu nombre?»

Él me contó que el nombre «Mariño» pertenecía a un caballero que, paseando por la orilla del mar, se enamoró de una sirena y se fue a vivir con ella al fondo del mar. Juntos tuvieron muchos hijos, pero, pasado el tiempo, el caballero empezó a echar de menos la posibilidad de educar a sus hijos varones en las artes de la guerra. Pidió permiso a la sirena para llevárselos a tierra y educarlos en esas artes; ella se lo dio con la condición de que, de cada generación, le entregara uno. Y dicen que, desde entonces, de cada una de las generaciones, muere un Mariño de ojos azules en el mar.

Más tarde, averigüé que a Torrente Ballester debió de obsesionarle este nombre porque su primera novela se llamaJavier Mariño. Yo tengo un primo que se llama así, pero no tiene nada que ver con la novela.

Torrente Ballester también escribió un librito pequeño que se llama El cuento de sirena, donde narra, en las dos primeras páginas, esta leyenda. Y a partir de ahí, él crea una ficción ambientada en el siglo XX; es la historia de un hombre que se apellida Mariño: ocurre el crimen perfecto, pero al final, ese Mariño es el último de una generación, además tiene ojos azules y acaba, por un accidente, en el mar. La verdad es que recomiendo esa novelita de Torrente, El cuento de sirena.

Enlaces Recomendados

• [Vídeo] Entrevista realizada a Alicia Mariño en el Instituto Cervantes de Dublín por Pilar Garrido.
• [PDF] “Entre lo posible y lo imposible: El relato fantástico”. Ensayo de Alicia Mariño.
• [Vídeo] “Ubicación del género fantástico”. Conferencia de Alicia Mariño en la UIMP.
• Alicia Mariño habla sobre el género de terror en el Diario Montañés.

< Listado de entrevistas

Luis Alberto de Cuenca (Madrid, 1950) es profesor de investigación en el Instituto de Filología del CSIC.

Posee una importante obra como poeta, ensayista y traductor. Su libro de poesía La caja de plata (1985) obtuvo el Premio de la Crítica. Esta obra está incluida en Los mundos y los días: poesía 1970-2002, que recoge toda su producción poética desde Elsinore hasta Sin miedo ni esperanza.

La tercera edición de Los mundos y los días, completamente revisada y corregida, fue publicada en 2007 por Visor.

Su poemario La vida en llamas (2006) fue galardonado con el Premio Nacional de Traducción por su versión del Cantar de Valtario.

Ha sido director de la Biblioteca Nacional de España y secretario de estado de cultura del gobierno español.

En 2006 obtuvo el Premio de Literatura de la Comunidad de Madrid.

Ha editado y traducido los Cuentos de hadas de Charles Perrault, ilustrados por Lucien Laforge.

Entre las antologías de su obra destaca Hola, mi amor, yo soy el lobo (2009).

El 6 de enero de 2011 ingresó como académico de número en la Real Academia de la Historia con un discurso titulado “Historia y poesía”

Su obra ha sido traducida al francés, alemán, italiano, inglés y búlgaro.

Luis Alberto de Cuenca asistirá como jurado el próximo día 2 de marzo a nuestro concurso de recitado de poesía. El día tres, junto a Jorge Edwards y Alicia Mariño, participará en la mesa redonda Muchos mundos.

Luis Alberto de Cuenca (Madrid, 1950) is a research fellow at the Institute of Languages and Literature of the Spanish National Research Council (CSIC).

He has produced a significant body of work as a poet, essayist and translator. His book of poetry La caja de plata (1985) was winner of the Critics Award for Spanish Poetry (awarded annually by the Spanish Association of Literary Critics).

It was also included within the collection Los mundos y los días: poesía 1970-2002 which features his entire catalogue of poetry from Elsinore to Sin miedo ni esperanza.

The third edition of Los mundos y los días, fully revised and corrected, was published in 2007 by Visor.

His poetry collection La vida en llamas (2006) was awarded the National Translation Award for his version of Cantar de Valtario.

He has been director of the National Library of Spain and was appointed Secretary of State for Culture for the Spanish government.

In 2006, he was awarded the Literature Award by the Community of Madrid.

He had edited and translated Charles Perrault’s fairy tales, illustrated by Lucien Laforge.

One of the most note-worthy anthologies of his work is Hola, mi amor, yo soy el lobo (2009).
He was officially welcomed into the Royal Academy of History, in Madrid, as a permanent member, with a speech titled “History and literature”.

His works have been translated into French, German, Italian, English, and Bulgarian.

Luis Alberto de Cuenca will attend our poetry recital competition this coming 2nd March as a member of the judging panel. The following day, the 3rd March, he will participate in the round-table discussion “Many Worlds” together with Jorge Edwards and Alicia Mariño.

The hero of retreat by Arminta Wallace. Irish Times

In the 30 years since Spain’s failed coup d’etat of 1981 the event has been buried by lies, half-lies and legends, says Javier Cercas, which is why his latest book seeks ‘order in chaos’

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The Savage Detectives, by Roberto Bolaño, (translated by Natasha Wimmer), Picador, 591 pp, £8.99, ISBN: 978-0330509527

2666, by Roberto Bolaño, (translated by Natasha Wimmer), Picador, 912 pp, £8.99, ISBN: 978-0330447430

Amulet, by Roberto Bolaño, (translated by Natasha Wimmer Picador, 184 pp, £7.99, ISBN: 978-0330510493

If novels could write, they would write Bolaño novels.

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