A Bad End

by Fernando Royuela

"The burlesque echoes the greatest Spanish classics, from Quevedo to Camilo José Cela."—M. García Posada, El País A Bad End is the story of Goyito, a dwarf at the end of his life, who tells us, in a bitter and sarcastic way, the miserable reality of his lonely childhood, his macabre experiences as a circus clown, and his liaisons dangereuses in Madrid's underworld. Mischief, desire, death, ambition, revenge—the life of a rascal told in exuberant, exhilarating language. Winner of the Premio Ojo Crítico. Fernando Royuela is a Spanish lawyer and fiction writer who lives in Madrid, Spain.

Genres: Spain

374 pages, Kindle Edition

First published September 1, 2001

Reviews

[Caroline · Rating 5 out of 5]

Disclosure: I read this as a review copy from Edelweiss.

Highly recommended. One of the best of my reading year so far.

The narrator, a dwarf, sleeps at night in a convent homeless shelter, under the auspices of the man who runs a string of beggars and other scams and spy rings. Here he informs Ceferino Cambrón, a newcomer to the shelter, that he must pony up a share of his begging takings every day to the leader for protection of his racket.

And who might that be?” he asked disdainfully. “One-Eyed Slim,” I replied, “he’s the man who organizes this carry-on. If you don’t pay up, he’ll give you trouble.” Both their gazes met at that point and sniffed challenge in the air: Cambrón’s was metallic, as if it were straight out of an iron foundry, and Slim’s was fleshier, hence softer, but nothing happened apart from that electric charge from their eyes as they met in the pestilent atmosphere of the dining room. Ceferino went on chewing, not saying a word,, with me at his side waiting like an idiot for his response. “What a shit life,” the ex-jailbird exclaimed when he’d gobbled down what was on his plate. “Some seek a master they can serve without thinking, and others seek out freedom so they can think and not serve.” Those words made my brain ripple in sympathy; they made me see how the human species, although it’s a total lost cause, can entertain a thread of greatness that transcends mere daily survival—a hopeless longing to find a place where justice exists and is even practiced, a fallow desire to treat one’s peer according to the mottoes of equality and fraternity that, as if by some subtle magic, had been watered down into simple self-interest.

This is one of the few moments in the novel where the narrator sees any beauty or hope in life, and is also the summation of its theme. Spain lived under the thumb of a dictator until Franco died and many were content to serve. When they finally chose democracy and the chance to experience freedom, Royuela argues, instead of ‘thinking' they opted for the path of global capitalist consumerism. A bad end. The dwarf insists, throughout, that it is all fate. Note that the dwarf is very decidedly the narrator, not the author.

A Bad End is an extraordinarily rich novel that satisfies in every way. Except perhaps if you like happy endings. Royuela draws on literary and artistic history to complement his examination of Spain’s political history in the 20th century. He chooses to do so through the character of an outcast, who is treated with the cruelty and disdain that the Francoists had for the opposition and for democracy itself. In turn, the dwarf fights back with the weapons he has at his disposal: lies and deceit. They lead to several bad ends.

First, the political background. The fiction of the novel is set in the context of very real events and names from Spanish history. I would recommend preparing with a quick trip to the encyclopedia or a survey book for Spanish history from about 1930 to 1990, although a deeper background back to the Napoleonic invasion and Carlist politics would be helpful. You don’t need a lot, but the names of Prima de Rivera, the founder (or co-founder) of the Falangist movement and son of a Prime Minister, and Luis Carrero Blanco, an admiral, long time Francoist insider and finally Prime Minister assassinated in a car bomb in 1970, are invoked several times in key transition points. The deaths of Carrero Blanco and Franco, in particular, mark major transitions in the narrator’s life as well, when he breaks free from two cruel masters in succession. I also highly recommend pre- or co-reading Anatomy of a Moment by Javier Cercas, which is about the lead-up and transition to democracy, with a focus on the failed coup of 1981.

Also, be prepared to launch collateral reads based on the narrator Goyito’s favorite authors. Early on, the only respite from his horror-filled existence comes from two books that show him beauty is possible, but accompanied with anguish. They are works by poets Gustavo Adolfo Becquer and Federico Garcia Lorca. Becquer is virtually unknown in English and hard to find, but a thorough romantic worth searching out; in Spain he is considered one of the greatest poets. Goyito is also very fond of the poet Blas de Otero. The painter Francis Bacon plays a role as well, his nightmarish canvases are an appropriate vision of the world Goyito experiences.

Now, the novel itself. It is thoroughly Spanish in every way. Starting with the picaresque tradition as exemplified by Lazarillo de Tormes, we watch the young Goyito almost abandoned by his abused mother (a prostitute), and soon sold to a travelling circus to muck out the animal cages. Here we see the first of the series of worthless masters that Lazarillo similarly encountered, as well as the first of the political players: an escaped Republican soldier hiding out from the victorious Francoist thugs that wear police uniforms throughout.

The circus provides an endless supply of subplots and short stories, with echoes of Cervantes and, I’m sure, many other authors I don’t recognize. I’m fairly certain there are a lot of debts to the Quevedo and the golden age of Spanish theater, for example; I think I remember a reference to Life is a Dream. I also think there are debts to Grass. I’ve only read a paragraph or two of The Tin Drum, but they happen to describe Oskar’s habit of looking out at people from hiding spots; the young Goyito does the same. I’ve just happened on The Dwarf by Par Lagerkvist as well, which I intend to take up as collateral reading.

The parallel development of political, social and cultural environment continues as Goyito finally escapes the circus through a moral and emotional overreaction that results in a great betrayal; fate, in his eyes. It gets him to Madrid, to watch the death throes of the Franco years. Again abuse, again an immoral master, again deeper lessons in cynicism and claims for fate. But does he protest too much? This novel is very much about free will, the effects of environment, and finally the leftovers, which may have to be chalked up to fate in the end. There is one man choosing to go to the death for his principles, and that is the one person Goyito cannot be cynical about.

Politics is not the answer. Goyito sees Communism from the inside as Madrid’s resuscitating party members prepare for the exiled Communist leader Carillo’s return to post-Franco Spain, and he sees only internal politics, hypocrisy, and delusion.

Finally, we learn how Goyito escaped serving and became a master himself. It has to do with food, which is ironic considering how much hunger and scrounging for food are the subject matter of the first two thirds of the book. This works both literally and figuratively, as these characters definitely could use something to fill their souls as well as their bellies. There is a fundamental earthiness throughout the book. Royuela describes the beatings, the shit, the dung, the spoiled food that is all that’s available, the dirt, the animal smells, the rags, the sores and diseases, the body parts, until you are living in the same sensory universe that the underclass in Spain experienced under Franco. It can be hard to take for a while, but it is necessary to understand the source of the pain and hatred that motivate Goyito’s actions.

And there is plenty for the fan of postmodernism to enjoy, including the framework of the whole thing. I won’t say more; no spoilers.

The eternal themes of Spanish literature—suffering, poverty, the Church, the elite, fate—are here on every page. They are treated with humor but also sharp-edged contempt and a certainty that it is all hopeless. Yet in the battle between his intellectual decision to treat it all with a certain disdain after deciding he won’t be emotionally involved in this disaster any longer, and the passion that drives him to thrust our faces in the mire and agony (not an overstatement) that is the lot of the poor in Spain, as well as the laughable endgame of modern consumerism, Royuela ends up betraying to us that he cares very much about where his country has ended up, and where it goes from here.

As you can tell, I’m a big fan of this novel. I think it is extraordinary. Highly recommended.

[Alberto · Rating 5 out of 5]

Una grandísima novela que cuenta con una buena historia y un lenguaje sobresaliente, exquisito. En la línea tremendista del Cela más cafre. Se nos da un paseo por la España rural de Franco y se acaba en la transición pasando por un episodio en la vida del protagonista en el que se embarca en un circo. Pero vamos lo más destacado es el estilo del autor, en la línea del Juan Manuel de Prada o Umbral más inspirado. Para sibaritas del lenguaje español.

[bookblast official · Rating 5 out of 5]

A Bad End is a vivid, gritty, challenging read; and not for the fainthearted.

Reviewed on The BookBlast® Diary 2016

[v. · Rating 4 out of 5]

qué movida la transición democrática

[Pedro · Rating 3 out of 5]

Un neologismo que podría aplicarse con certera precisión a La Mala Muerte es el que se trata de una novela revival. Tal vez sea así. Fernando Royuela nos cuenta la vida de un enano, un ser deforme y lo hace aplicando la esencia de las grandes obras del siglo de oro. La Mala Muerte es una suerte de El buscón, del Lazarillo de Tormes que, en lugar de desarrollarse en el siglo XVI es actual, o casi, porque Goyito, su personaje principal nace en los años 60.
Los tiempos son distintos. Por ello, La Mala Muerte cuenta con el mismo tono satírico que las obras mencionadas, pero a su vez hace uso de una mala leche considerable, quizá el principal atractivo de la novela. Sin embargo, a fuerza de repetirse en lo que vendrían a ser los capítulos en que se desglosa la vida de Goyito acaba resultando un tanto reiterativo.
No voy a hacer mención a lo barroco del lenguaje empleado.
De lo que sí me apetece hablar es del chirrío que supone emplear la esencia de obras con 400 años en plena actualidad con el mero hecho de hacerlas contemporáneas que con el lavado de cara que supone insertarlas en nuestro tiempo y meterle dosis de mala leche.
Y es que me ha parecido bastante aburrida.

[Leticia Pilger · Rating 2 out of 5]

Sabe aquele protagonista que sofre pra caramba, passa por tudo que é problema, mas não dá pra sentir pena porque ele é um ESCROTO, esse é o caso. Mas assim é legal ver a história dele sempre com reviravolta coisa e tal sabe, é curioso descobrir como um anão de circo fica rico.