“We are who we are not, and life is fast and sad.”
So is life a lie? Is a novel a lie? Or both, lies?
I won’t lie. I picked up this book in Mexico. The main character Enrique was born in Veracruz, Mexico. I’ve never been to Veracruz. The family moves back to Barcelona. I’ve been to Barcelona. It’s nice. He has two older brothers. One becomes a travel writer; the other an artist. Enrique does not want to follow their paths.
Secretly he loves everything Mexican. He even tries to Mexicanize the neighbors. He plays Mexican music, drinks tequila and tells stories to the neighbor’s daughter. The neighbor, who has a big moustache like Zapata, asked him if he read Pedro Paramo by Juan Rulfo? No. Why? It’s all about the dead and ghosts. Hmmm.
He is infatuated about Mexico. I cannot lie, so am I.
Enrique travels. Everywhere he goes, it seems to end badly. First Africa, then India. He loses an arm in India. Enrique gets married in Hawaii but even that ends badly. In fact, just about everything in the book... Well, why give away the plot?
So why on earth did I keep reading this book? It sounds dismal but oddly, it never was dismal. In fact, one could say the black humour kept me turning the pages. His life. His novel. His story.
At one point, the story line reminded me of a Graham Greene novel. You know, set in some Caribbean island with seedy characters, a beautiful woman who sings, a mysterious death and a detective. At one point, a driver says, “sounds like a Graham Greene novel.” Who? remarks Enrique. Hmmm, not the most well read person. In fact, Enrique refused to read books because of his brother. He wanted his own life. But what sort of life?
This is my first Vila-Matas book. His style, his twists and angles, his literary games made this a very enjoyable entertainment. Graham Greene novels were often listed as entertainments. Not too deep but deep enough. Wistful, playful, and light (considering death is one of the most common themes in the book). The book plays around the fears of growing old, while poking fun at establishments. And all those literary references!
There is a visit with Mexican writer Sergio Pittol. “So after thirty years I have finally made it back to Veracruz,” Enrique points out, adding that “I am from Veracruz!” “No, you are from Barcelona,” Sergio tersely states the facts. He was a baby when he left Veracruz.
After reading Treasure Island, he asks for a similar kind of book. How about The Odyssey. Is it good? Well, let’s say it’s the original Treasure Island. Hmmm. You get the drift.
Instead of high brow, we are low brow. Damn, it works. A very good entertainment, one might say. No lies! verdad.