{"id":281046,"date":"2010-12-09T16:00:00","date_gmt":"2010-12-09T16:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.wdev.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent-dev\/2010\/12\/09\/elvira-navarro-grantas-best-of-young-spanish-language-novelists\/"},"modified":"2018-04-16T16:28:23","modified_gmt":"2018-04-16T16:28:23","slug":"elvira-navarro-grantas-best-of-young-spanish-language-novelists","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/2010\/12\/09\/elvira-navarro-grantas-best-of-young-spanish-language-novelists\/","title":{"rendered":"Elvira Navarro [Granta's Best of Young Spanish-Language Novelists]"},"content":{"rendered":"

As we mentioned a couple Fridays ago,<\/a> we’re going to spend the next 8 days highlighting all of the authors selected for<\/em> Granta’s _“Best of Young Spanish-Language Novelists” special issue. All past and future posts related to this issue can be found by clicking here.<\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Today post is an interview by Emily Davis of Spanish author Elvira Navarro, whose “Gerardo’s Letters” was translated by Natasha Wimmer for this special issue.<\/em><\/p>\n

Born in Huelva, Spain in 1978, Elvira Navarro has published two novels: La ciudad en invierno<\/em> (Caballo de Troya, 2007) and La ciudad feliz<\/em> (Mondadori, 2009). La ciudad feliz<\/em> won the Ja\u00e9n Prize for best novel and the Tormenta prize for best new author. She currently teaches writing workshops in Madrid and has an ongoing project called \u2018Madrid es periferia\u2019 (Madrid is Periphery) in which she explores the various undefined and marginal spaces of Madrid. Those writings can be found online here.<\/a> Today we get to hear from the author about the draw of these kinds of spaces, how they relate to her writing, and what inspires her.<\/p>\n

Emily Davis: How did you become a writer? Where did the initial desire come from?<\/b><\/p>\n

Elvira Navarro: I don\u2019t believe that a book can be written from any other place than from the need to express something of yourself that demands the construction of a narrative territory in order to betray oneself as little as possible. It is there where the desire to be a writer resides, and what lights the way to becoming one. When that impulse is transferred to the work it becomes authenticity, a virtue that for me is absolutely necessary, to the point where I abandon books that are well written if I do not find them authentic, that is to say, necessary for those who write them. If a book is dispensable for the author, it will be even more so for the reader.<\/p>\n

ED: Where do you get the inspiration for your novels?<\/b><\/p>\n

EV: From my life, from the dirty corners, and from what I have said in answering the previous question.<\/p>\n

ED: What writers have influenced you?<\/b><\/p>\n

EV: Among recent Spanish narrative, Bel\u00e9n Gopegui is, along with Juan Mars\u00e9, the writer who has influenced me the most. I have discovered that certain parts of my writing are close to Cristina Fern\u00e1ndez Cubas, but that is a discovery that I made a posteriori. I am pretty devoted to Enrique Vila-Matas and Javier Tomeo. If you had asked me what writer I would have liked to be, I would have chosen Dostoyevsky. And Marguerite Duras seems to me an example of a radical writer and writing: she is always on the verge of being ridiculous, but it ends up being brilliant. I would also cite Ana Blandiana, Julio Cort\u00e1zar, David Foster Wallace and Coetzee.<\/p>\n

ED: Do you believe that it is possible to speak of a national Spanish literature?<\/b><\/p>\n

EV: Spain, just like any other country, has a tradition (although here it would be better to speak of many traditions), even if in a globalized world it is making less and less sense to attach a [literary] tradition to a geographic or linguistic border.<\/p>\n

ED: In addition to your novels you are working on a project called \u2018Madrid es periferia\u2019 which is an exploration of the less visible areas of the capital. What is it that attracts you to peripheral spaces in general, and in particular with regards to writing?<\/b><\/p>\n

EV: It occurs to me something that the painter Antonio L\u00f3pez said in an interview, that what inspired him was not the center, but rather the outskirts. When I see a picture of, for example, Paris\u2019s Rive Gauche, Manhattan, or Madrid\u2019s Gran V\u00eda, I can\u2019t help but see a postcard. These are places that are profusely talked about, that embody our current myths, that is to say, they support the narratives that identify us. In that measure, they are overinterpreted, and their legend is set in the realm of History, not of mystery. Overinterpretation can be fruitful for many writers, after all literature does nothing but tell the same story over and over again. However, I can\u2019t put myself into this type of setting; their signifying weight is too heavy for me, and I prefer to go to places that are undefined, with an open plan, peripheral. Sometimes I get the impression that my writing is synonymous with flane\u00fbr, and that the storylines that I cast are an excuse for justifying that my characters travel across certain spaces that tend to go from one urban periphery to another where the city dissolves. I am exaggerating, yes, but not much. Honestly, I don\u2019t know what it is that brings me to explore inhospitable territories; that said, I guess it has to do with the unknown and with possibility and, with relation to the latter, at times I believe that the periphery, that decomposition of the habitable, represents us better, since we are failed city dwellers. Also I think that putting my characters to prowl through godforsaken places or in places that people don\u2019t go is a way of making that territory habitable, converting it into a polis.<\/p>\n

And finally, here is the opening to what appears in the Granta issue as \u201cGerardo\u2019s Letters,\u201d translated by Natasha Wimmer and a part of Navarro\u2019s novel in progress. From the first sentence it is clear that we are dealing with the kind of in-between, uninhabitable space that Navarro describes above, and this setting becomes the frame for what turns out to be an emotionally tumultuous portrait of the relationship between the narrator and Gerardo.<\/p>\n

\n

Two roads, separated by half a mile of wasteland, flank the hostel, and I suggest that we cross over to see whether we can find some patch of countryside, but Gerardo says it\u2019s late, we\u2019d better explore the fields.We walk straight ahead until it\u2019s completely dark, and we return guided by the lights of the hostel and the cars. We can\u2019t even see our sneakers, and looking down produces a kind of dread, as if we were about to plunge into the void or step on a nest of scorpions. When we reach the basketball courts I instruct Gerardo to hold my ankles while I do sit-ups. The ground is cold and it\u2019s hard to bend; having Gerardo crouching in front of me, with his head brushing against my knees, begins to seem unpleasant, and I stop at what seems a reasonable limit for a beginner. I feel absurd and it occurs to me that this is the nature of couplehood: the abjection of observing and participating in the other person\u2019s obsessions. Like my sit-ups at ten at night on the dark basketball court of a hostel a mile from Talavera. Maybe there\u2019s something positive about this that I\u2019ve lost sight of, or maybe this foolishness applies only to defunct couples, like me and Gerardo, who claim that everybody else in the world takes such things for granted. \u2018You\u2019re crazy,\u2019 he tells me when I try to explain what I mean, and then I feel this craziness of mine as a searing loneliness, even real madness. When I\u2019m with him I lose my sense of judgement, and since Gerardo is the keeper of reason, I suddenly fear that without him I won\u2019t be able to function in the world.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

We get to the dining room just as they\u2019re about to put the trays away. It\u2019s not even eleven; we ask an old woman in a net cap why they\u2019re closing so early. The old woman says that if we wanted to eat late we should\u2019ve stayed at a hotel. The menu: shrivelled peas with something that looks like York ham but turns out to be chopped cold cuts, and breaded cutlets in perfect ovals whose greasy coating hides some kind of processed chicken. All I eat are the peas. The chopped meat and the processed chicken are the same pale pink colour. \u2018The cutlets are raw,\u2019 says Gerardo. At a big table the girl from last night is talking to three boys of about the same age, who must be the other high-school students. They\u2019ve finished eating, and they\u2019re smoking, flicking their ash on the tray; then they put out their cigarettes in what\u2019s left of the peas. The girl doesn\u2019t look at us.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2018I\u2019m going to shower,\u2019 I tell Gerardo as we enter the room. I takemy robe, toiletry bag and flip-flops out of my duffel bag, and whenI\u2019m about to open the door Gerardo says:<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2018You can get undressed here. I won\u2019t touch you.\u2019<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

I undress with my back to him. I\u2019m conscious of his efforts to communicate his lust; it registers as a disagreeable weight on the back of my neck that makes me get tangled up in my trousers and fall down. I stand up and leave wearing my robe over my bra and T-shirt. Fortunately the hot water works and I stand under the shower head, which spits out water in fits and starts, until my fingers are wrinkled and the bathroom mirror is steamy. I don\u2019t want to go back to the room; I pace back and forth, opening the doors of the shower stalls, where those little black bugs that seem to inhabit every dank place collect. I make a racket with the doors and stir up the bugs; a whole swarm ends up flying around the mirror, which is dripping with water. My feet are cold and I decide to get in the shower again, but the sides of the stalls are covered with insects now and I don\u2019t have the strength to shoo them away. I go back to the room. Gerardo is lying in bed masturbating, with his pants around his ankles. He doesn\u2019t look at me. I gather up my clothes as fast as I can and, trailing the cord of the hairdryer, I leave the room before he comes.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

I return to the bathroom; the insects have retreated to the nooks and crannies of the showers and are now undetectable. I\u2019m afraid there won\u2019t be any outlets; if there aren\u2019t, I can go to the TV room and dry my hair there. I imagine the four high-school students sprawled on the vinyl sofas, watching a celebrity survival show.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

Asking the high-school students for permission to make a noise with my hairdryer while they watch their show doesn\u2019t seem very appealing; and yet I\u2019m determined not to go back to the room, even if Gerardo thinks the creepy gnome of a hostel manager has chopped me into bits and stuffed me in the pool-bar freezer. This is a good moment for us to break up once and for all: at six in the morning, while he\u2019s asleep, I\u2019ll go up for my duffel bag and call a taxi. A break-up plan like this might be out of the question for another couple without involving the police and having the hostel searched for the vanished loved one; but Gerardo and I have become accustomed to bad behaviour and extravagant gestures. If I decide to spend the day hanging upside down from a tree, he\u2019ll leave me there, though he might tell me twenty times that I\u2019m a nut. This is another one of the things that, until a year ago, made leaving him unthinkable, because I hate normal life, and in some sense and despite the awfulness, with Gerardo I seem to be safe from a certain kind of normality. With him, through the process of taking everything to the limit \u2013 rage, contemplation, disgust \u2013 I attain a kind of exasperated life and I\u2019m convinced that this exasperation must violently propel me somewhere.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

You can read this complete short story—and 21 more—in the new issue of Granta<\/em>, which you can receive for free<\/em> by subscribing now.<\/a><\/p>\n

\n<\/a>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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