RB: Huidobro bores me a little. He’s excessively happy-go-lucky, too much like a descending skydiver belting songs from the Tyrol. Skydivers who descend while engulfed in flames are better, or those who fall flat, like the ones whose parachutes never open.
MM: Does Octavio Paz continue to be the enemy?
RB: For me, certainly not. I don’t know what the poets who wrote like clones of his during that era, while I was living in Mexico, must think. It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about Mexican poetry. I reread José Juan Tablada and Ramón López Velarde; I can even recite “Sor Juana” divided in three, but I know nothing of what those who, like me, are nearing fifty years old write.
MM: Wouldn’t you give that role to Carlos Fuentes today?
RB: It’s been a long while since I’ve read anything by Carlos Fuentes.
MM: What do you make of the fact that Arturo Pérez-Reverte is the most widely read author in the Spanish language?
RB: Pérez-Reverte or Isabel Allende. It strikes me the same. Feuillet was the most widely read French author of his time.
MM: And of the fact that Arturo Pérez-Reverte has been admitted to the Royal Spanish Academy?
RB: The Royal Spanish Academy is a cave full of privileged craniums. Juan Marsé is not a member, Juan Goytisolo is not a member, Eduardo Mendoza and Javier Marías are not members, Olvido García Valdes is not a member. I don’t remember if Álvaro Pombo is a member (if he is, it’s likely due to a misunderstanding), but Pérez-Reverte is a member. Besides, Coelho is a member of the Brazilian Academy of Letters.
One of Europe’s best-selling authors, Arturo Pérez-Reverte (b. 1951) is a Spanish novelist and former war correspondent. He is known for “Alatriste,” a collection of novels based on the life and times of a seventeenth century Spanish soldier. The first four books in the series are available in English.
Octave Feuillet (1821–1890) was a French novelist and dramatist.
Juan Marsé (b. 1933) is an award-winning Spanish novelist, journalist, and screenwriter. His translated works include Lizard Tails, 2004, and Shanghai Nights, 2007.
Novelist, poet, and essayist, Juan Goytisolo (b. 1931) is one of the foremost modern Spanish authors.
One of contemporary Spain’s most important writers, Eduardo Mendoza (b. 1943) has enjoyed mainstream success since the publication of his first novel The Truth About the Savolta Case, 1992.
Spanish poet, essayist, translator, and professor Olvido García Valdés (b. 1950) is one of the preeminent figures in Spanish intellectual life.
Spanish poet and novelist Álvaro Pombo (b. 1939) was awarded the 2006 Premio Planeta for his novel La fortuna de Matilda Turpin. His novels The Hero of the Big House, 1988, and The Resemblance, 1989, are available in English.
Chilean novelist, Diamela Eltit (b. 1949) is a former cultural attaché at the Chilean embassy in Mexico. Several of her novels are available in English, including Custody of the Eyes, 2005.
MM: Do you regret having criticized the menu served by Diamela Eltit?
RB: I never criticized her menu. If anything, I would have criticized her sense of humor, that of a vegetarian, or better still, her sense of humor on a diet.
MM: Does it hurt that she considers you a bad person since the story of that spoiled dinner came out?
RB: No, poor thing. Diamela doesn’t hurt me. Other things hurt me.
MM: Have you shed one tear about the widespread criticism you’ve drawn from your enemies?
RB: Lots and lots. Every time I read that someone has spoken badly of me I begin to cry, I drag myself across the floor, I scratch myself, I stop writing indefinitely, I lose my appetite, I smoke less, I engage in sport, I go for walks on the edge of the sea, which by the way is less than 30 meters from my house, and I ask the seagulls, whose ancestors ate the fish who ate Ulysses: Why me? Why? I’ve done you no harm.
MM: With regard to your work, whose opinion do you value most?
RB: My books are read by Carolina [wife], then [Jorge] Herralde [editor of Anagrama], and then I endeavor to forget them forever.
MM: What things did you buy with the prize money from the Rómulo Gallegos award?
RB: Not much, a suitcase as far as I can remember.
MM: During the time when you lived on literary competitions, was there a prize you couldn’t claim?
RB: None. Spanish city halls, in this respect, are decent and beyond reproach.
MM: Were you a good waiter, or a better costume jewelry vendor?
RB: I have best redeemed myself as the night watchman of a campsite near Barcelona. Nobody ever stole while I was there. I stopped some fights that could have ended badly, and I prevented a lynching — although on second thought, I should have lynched or strangled the guy myself.
MM: Have you experienced fierce hunger, bone-chilling cold, breathtaking heat?
RB: As Vittorio Gassman says in a film, “Modestly, yes.”
An Italian film and stage actor, Vittorio Gassman (1922–2000) appeared in dozens of movies and theatrical productions.
MM: Have you stolen a book you later didn’t like?
RB: Never. The good thing about stealing books — unlike safes — is that one can carefully examine their contents before perpetrating the crime.
MM: Have you ever walked in the middle of the desert?
RB: Yes, and one of those times on the arm of my grandmother. The elderly woman was tireless, and I didn’t think we would make it.
MM: Have you seen colorful fish underwater?
RB: Of course. Without going further than Acapulco, in 1974 or 1975.
MM: Have you ever burned your skin with a cigarette?
RB: Never voluntarily.
MM: Have you ever carved the name of your beloved in the trunk of a tree?
RB: I have committed greater abuses, but let’s draw the veil at that.
MM: Have you seen the most beautiful woman in the world?
RB: Yes, sometime around 1984 when I worked at a store. The store was empty and in came a Hindu woman. She looked like a princess and well could have been one. She bought some hanging costume jewelry from me. I was at the point of fainting. She had copper skin, long red hair, and the rest of her was perfect. A timeless beauty. When I had to charge her, I felt embarrassed. As if saying she understood and not to worry, she smiled at me. Then she disappeared and I have never again seen anyone like her. Sometimes I get the impression that she was the goddess Kali, the patron saint of thieves and goldsmiths, except Kali was also the goddess of murderers, and this Hindu woman was not only the most beautiful woman on earth, but she seemed also to be a good person — very sweet and considerate.