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WORK TITLE: Dark Echoes of the Past
WORK NOTES:
PSEUDONYM(S):
BIRTHDATE: 7/15/1956
WEBSITE:
CITY:
STATE:
COUNTRY: Chile
NATIONALITY: Chilean
Married to Chilean writer Sonia González Valdenegro; 3 children.
RESEARCHER NOTES:
PERSONAL
Born July 15, 1956, in Punta Arenas, Chile; married Sonia González Valdenegro; children: three.
ADDRESS
CAREER
Author.
AVOCATIONS:Reading.
WRITINGS
Also author of La ciudad está triste.
Author’s novels were adapted for television and broadcast as Heredia & asociados, 2005.
SIDELIGHTS
Ramon Diaz Enteric is well-known within the country of Chile. His work as a crime writer has earned national acclaim. In an interview featured on The Big Thrill website, Entervic explained that he picked up his love for writing through a much earlier love for reading. By the age of fourteen, Enteric began dabbling with writing himself. His skill grew as he reached adulthood. He began networking with others in the writing industry and entering his work into contests. Enteric finally made his professional literary debut in the year 1980, and has been writing ever since. He is most famous for his series of novels starring the character of Heredia. In the same interview on The Big Thrill website, Enteric expressed that his interest in crime fiction was born from the political strife plaguing Chile throughout the 1980s. It allowed him to communicate the experience of living under an ever-watchful authority, while also fueling his personal interest in adventure stories. His novels have been adapted for other printed mediums, including graphic novels, as well as for television.
Dark Echoes of the Past
Dark Echoes of the Past marks Enteric’s literary introduction to English-speaking audiences. The novel stars Heredia, whose exploits drive the plot. Heredia works as a detective within the capital of Chile, and supplements his income by writing book reviews for the local newspaper. He spends his days in a dingy apartment with the company of Simenon, Heredia’s pet cat, who seems to have the peculiar ability to speak. Dark Echoes of the Past starts with Heredia being pulled out of a business slump when a new client approaches him with a case. The client’s name is Virginia Reyes. She seeks justice for her brother, a man by the name of German, who died under what Virginia is sure were malicious circumstances. In the days leading up to his death, German expressed paranoia over being followed by an unknown, unseen assailant. Heredia accepts the case, and decides to start off his sleuthing by figuring out who could have been stalking German prior to his death.
However, what starts out as a merely intriguing case soon leads Heredia into the underground aftermath of Chilean president Augusto Pinochet and his hellish rule. The world of Dark Echoes of the Past is thirty years past Pinochet’s time, but its effects remain, hidden but present. Only a few of the bit players within the horrors of that era faced any punishment; those with enough power were allowed to escape and pick back up as if nothing happened. Heredia soon learns that German was deeply involved in attempting to take down those who helped further Pinochet’s crimes and managed to get away unscathed, as well as uncover the truth of that dark period. In fact, German may have been on the verge of a breakthrough, only to be snuffed out before the truth could be delivered. What’s more is individuals with connections to German are also losing their lives. A bystander on the night German died also winds up dead, giving Heredia further evidence to believe there is a government conspiracy at play. However, by getting involved with the case, Heredia finds his life is also at risk. He must rely on his wits and help from his allies in order to survive this case and get to the bottom of it—once and for all. Booklist contributor Thomas Gaughan called the book “a fine discovery for followers of international crime.” A reviewer in Publishers Weekly called Dark Echoes of the Past “Chandleresque.” A writer for Kirkus Reviews stated: “The surprise is the extent to which, despite its lack of big surprises, the book nevertheless works: Eterovic constructs an intricate plot peopled with dozens of characters, and he unravels the snarls patiently and often stylishly.” On the New York Journal of Books website, D.R. Meredith remarked: “Senor Diaz Eterovic is both an eloquent writer and a profound one, veiling his philosophical musing in humor which does nothing to disguise the sting of his observations.” They also said: “Dark Echoes of the Past is a literary treat for fans of noir, but not so much for those who appreciate a softer, gentler cozy mystery.”
El hombre que pregunta
El hombre que pregunta is another novel starring Heredia as he embarks upon a new case. The story starts with Heredia learning of the demise of Francisco Ritter, a renowned critic of literature. Berta Zamudio, Heredia’s ex-girlfriend, and Heredia himself do not believe the claims that Ritter’s demise came about unintentionally; rather, someone sinister must have been behind it, and they both want to figure out the identity of the culprit. Berta gets in touch with Heredia personally to hire him to look into the truth of the case. Through conversations with those involved in the literary world, Heredia is able to gather information. Claudio Ramon, a man with close ties to Ritter, was also found dead under violent circumstances mere days before Ritter lost his life. As Heredia continues his sleuthing, he uncovers further information that suggests a sinister motive behind Ritter’s demise. For starters, in addition to his careers as a professor and critic, he also performed ghostwriting work for a mysterious client. Heredia believes the shadowy client may have some involvement in Ritter’s demise, but he has to uncover the identity of the client before he can figure out anything else.
He starts by continuing his conversations with various writers and other people involved in the literary world, using his own complex understanding of literature and publishing to wheedle what he needs out of his interviewees. Along the way, Heredia discovers a less than pristine side to literature and those he create it; some people are so driven to find the recognition they crave that they will do absolutely anything to obtain it, or get rid of those who might hurt their chances of success. Barbara Mujica, writing in the Americas magazine, commented: “Like Perez Reverte, Ramon Diaz Eterovic elevates sleuth fiction to an art.” She added: “His writing is erudite, engaging, and fun, all at the same time.”
BIOCRIT
PERIODICALS
Americas, March-April, 2003, Barbara Mujica, “Poetic enigmas and intrigue,” review of El hombre que pregunta, p. 60.
Booklist, November 1, 2017, Thomas Gaughan, review of Dark Echoes of the Past, p. 19.
Publishers Weekly, October 9, 2017, review of Dark Echoes of the Past, p. 47.
ONLINE
Big Thrill, http://www.thebigthrill.org/ (November 30, 2017), Layton Green, “International Thrills: Ramón Díaz Eterovic,” author interview.
Kirkus Reviews, https://www.kirkusreviews.com/ (September 20, 2017), review of Dark Echoes of the Past.
New York Journal of Books, https://www.nyjournalofbooks.com/ (March 22, 2018), D.R. Meredith, review of Dark Echoes of the Past.
World-weary private investigators, talking cats, political intrigue, and a murder mystery that reaches into the troubled past of South America: What’s not to like? This month’s globe-trotting literary adventures take us to Chile, a country that stretches almost the length of South America and is home to some of the world’s best hiking, wine, and ski trails. Though known for beautiful nature and the warmth of its people, it carries the dark stain of the Pinochet regime, a brutal military dictatorship in power from 1973 to 1990.
Our interview subject, Ramón Díaz Eterovic, explores the lingering impact of the regime in DARK ECHOES OF THE PAST, the first of his best-selling novels featuring private investigator Heredia to be translated into English. Ramón is one of Chile’s most beloved authors, and delivers that rare breed of crime novel: a page-turning mystery that serves as a medium for an incisive examination of society and the human condition.
Ramón has also published novels, books of short stories, children’s books, and poetry. His work has won numerous awards, been translated into a dozen languages, and has appeared on Chilean television.
This interview was translated by Patrick Blaine.
Thanks for taking the time to chat, Ramón. We’re thrilled to have you. Can you tell us a bit more about your background? Where are you from and how did you come to be a writer?
I was born in the city of Punta Arenas, on the shores of the Strait of Magellan in Chilean Patagonia. It’s a snowy, windy place that was settled at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century by immigrants from a number of countries. My maternal grandfather was one of them, and came from Croatia. In this city I lived out my childhood and teen years. When I was 17, I traveled to Santiago, the capital of Chile, to study political and administrative science at the University of Chile. I currently split my time between Santiago and Villarica, in the south of Chile, a place characterized by beautiful lakes and volcanoes.
Years ago, during one of the rough winters that punish Punta Arenas, I discovered that the windows of my house were covered with frost that I used to write the first letters I had learned in school. Through those letters I could see my backyard, the animals that my mother tended, the gray or blue sky (depending on the time of year), the snow, and the neighbors on their way to work. That is to say that through those letters drawn on glass I could see a fragment of life. Since those childhood years, and my first readings, and surely without knowing it until much later, this innocent attraction gave birth to my fascination with portraying my world or building others with words.
Like almost any writer, I began as a passionate reader. At the age of 10 or 12 I read comics, and soon moved on to authors like Jack London, Alexandre Dumas, Jules Verne, and many others. There were also two Chilean authors that are still among my favorites, Manuel Rojas and Francisco Coloane. After that came the time of the Latin American Boom authors like Juan Carlos Onetti and Julio Cortázar. At 14 or 15 I wrote my first stories. I didn’t have any teachers or older writers to show me the way, and so I learned to write with the most effective resources that a writer has for creating work: reading all the books I could get my hands on and writing as much as I possibly could. As a university student I won a handful of prizes and also met aspiring writers like myself. Both things were important in my development as a writer. I published my first book in 1980, and since then I haven’t stopped writing. I have published 30 books, not all of which were novels, and some have been published in a dozen languages apart from Spanish.
I really loved DARK ECHOES OF THE PAST. The novel concerns a private detective’s search for some of the torturers responsible for human rights atrocities during the Pinochet regime. While it sounds heavy like a heavy topic, and it is, I think the genius of the novel is how you subtly weave the political themes into a fast-paced mystery that has plenty of heart, soul, and even laughs. If you don’t mind talking about it, how did this dark period in Chile’s history affect you personally?
That was a period in the history of my country that affected me in many ways. I was 17 years old at the time of the military coup, and I watched as classmates from my high school were detained, beaten, and sent to prison camps, such as the infamous Dawson Island, where many people were tortured. I lived the next 17 years under the dictatorial regime, and I was 34 when I voted in a presidential election for the first time. Many of the subjects that I wanted to study in the university were banned from academic programs. Writers that I wanted to meet were detained or forced into exile. In 1976 I was kidnapped by the dictatorship’s secret police, and in 1985 I was fired from my job for being part of a political movement that fought against the military regime. In general, I would say that, like many Chileans, I had to learn to live with fear while gathering the energy and hope to participate in resistance activities. Because of all of this, and some other reasons that I won’t get into, that time has been and is important to my writing.
How repressive was the regime to writers and the arts? When did the first novels about the period begin to surface, and are there any in particular you would recommend?
Many of the authors from the generations before mine were forced into exile or had to remain silent if they stayed. Of those that remained, some were sent to prison camps, such as Chacabuco in the north of the country. The rest of us had to learn to live with fear, censorship, the shuttering of publishers, and the permanent possibility of being detained for texts we read in public or that we began to publish, almost clandestinely, in order get our work out. Many books that interested us were banned, and we had to read them in secret. Among others, I remember I Confess That I have Lived by Pablo Neruda, and The Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano. With respect to Neruda, I can add that there is a current investigation into the possibility that he had been assassinated through the injection of a virus while he was being treated in the clinic where he would ultimately die. To pull all of this together, it was a difficult time to survive in and to write, but we did so with the idea of resisting through literature and creating the conditions for democratic recovery.
Of the first memoirs written about this time, and all were published outside of Chile, I remember the book Tejas Verdes (Green Roof Tiles) by Hernán Valdés; the novels En ese lugar sagrado (In That Sacred Place), by Poli Delano; Un día con su excelencia (A Day With His Excellence) by Fernando Jerez; Viudas (Widows: A Novel) by Ariel Dorfman; and La casa de los espíritus (The House of Spirits) by Isabel Allende, among others.
How is the political climate in Chile today?
The return to democracy occurred in 1990, and since then we have lived in a climate in which we can express ourselves without fear. The political parties that were prohibited are back, along with some new ones. Even though there are still many legacies of the dictatorship, above all in the realm of economics, education, and social security, there is no doubt that we are living in an epoch different from that of the government of Pinochet and his henchmen. Writers can publish and share our works without problems, with the exception of the limitations caused by a reduced number of publishers and the lack of variety in media. We are missing things that are needed for a fuller democracy, but there is no questioning that the situation is better than what we lived through in the past. Another thing that we need are policies that help to mitigate the high level of economic inequality in Chile.
Getting back to DARK ECHOES OF THE PAST, why did you decide to write a detective series?
My work as a detective novelist was born out of my fascination with a genre whose stories I always found attractive because of the way the characters fed my desires for adventure and justice. I was also looking for a form of expression that would allow me to convey the feeling of a culture under surveillance, specifically Chilean society as it was some years ago.
My novel La ciudad está triste (The City Weeps), written in 1985 and published two years later, marked the birth of Heredia, the detective that has accompanied me through 16 novels, a graphic novel, and a television series. It was also the beginning of a project that reflected a double marginalization. First, writing out of the codes of a literary form that is little explored in Chilean literature, and second, tackling issues that at the moment were difficult to speak aloud: political repression, the reality of the detained and disappeared, and the corruption of public power. These themes gave way to others with time, such as the prevalent racism in Chilean society, the abandonment of the elderly, arms trafficking, narcotrafficking, and ecological crimes. Looking at the totality of the Heredia novels, I feel as if I have traced the path of Chilean history over the last four decades. In all of them there is an evident counterpoint between literature and history, between reality and fiction. My intention has simply been to write from the codes of a literary form that I am passionate about, and that my words provoke readers to be more attentive, less complacent with the past, and the time we now live in.
How did private investigator Heredia, your main character, evolve?
When I began to think about the Heredia novels as a longer-term project, I decided that he would be a character that aged, and that he wouldn’t be a character that remained static in time. On one hand this seemed more realistic, and on the other it allowed me to turn the Heredia series into a sort of chronicle of Chilean society. For the latter it was necessary for Heredia to function as a witness, and to live through the events that occurred in different periods of Chilean social life. The aging of the main character implies a creative challenge in showing a character who changes, and at a certain point doesn’t have the swiftness that he did in the first novels, and begins to feel the afflictions of age. He experiences both psychological and physical changes. The only thing that does not change is the ethic and will for arriving at the truth that has identified Heredia since his birth.
Just a wild guess: do you own a cat? I confess I’ve never read a series where the detective talks to his feline companion about life, love, and catching the bad guys. I loved it (and I’m not even a cat person).
The main—and at times only—company that Heredia has is a white cat named Simenon, in homage to the creator of Inspector Maigret. Heredia carries on dialogues with his cat that serve to reflect upon existential uneasiness or about the details of crimes that he investigates. Also, the cat’s speech serves as a critical counterpoint for Heredia’s actions or his doubts, which are sometimes significant. In these conversations, Heredia often comes to realizations that allow him to zero in on clues or his intuition.
In the first novels in which Simenon appears, the cat doesn’t talk, or better stated, Heredia doesn’t imagine that he can talk to his cat, but soon the dialogues increase in frequency and constitute a significant element in the development of the novels. It is also an ingredient that some readers are especially attached to, both because of the humor and irony that the conversations employee and because they also contain a number of reflections that fill out Heredia’s psychological profile. In the end, the dialogues that Heredia imagines himself having with his own cat are dialogues with his own consciousness. He is talking to himself, not with the cat.
The book is full of lovely, pithy nuggets of wisdom. Do these roll off the pen, or is it something you have to work at?
They are ideas, reflections, and observations that come to me naturally as part of the writing process and the themes that I’m touching on in a given novel. I’m interested in telling attractive stories, but at the same time I want them to have elements that cause readers to reflect upon the beauty and misery of the world we live in.
I took a trip to Santiago some years ago, and it was great to revisit the city in the novel. How has the city changed during your lifetime?
Santiago has changed a lot. I arrived in 1974, and since then I have seen it grow and modernize permanently. It is one of the most modern cities in Latin America. The relationship that Heredia establishes with the city, and especially with one of the oldest and most traditional neighborhoods, allows him to perform a sort of urban registry that names places that are being destroyed. These changes aren’t part of the normal architectural changes of a city, but are instead a product of changes in lifestyle and the erasure of the country’s memory. I understand the possibility of preserving some traces of the past city as an exercise in urban memory and I effectively use Santiago as a character in the stories that I write.
Who are some of your favorite crime novelists, both at home and abroad?
Some Chilean authors that I enjoy are Luis Sepúlveda, Juan Ignacio Colil, Gonzalo Hernández, Bartolomé Leal, and Antonio Rojas Gómez. The list could be much longer, because among other reasons, the last years have seen an uptick in the number of authors writing within the codes of crime fiction. This makes for a much different scene than when I published my first Heredia novel. At that time the detective genre wasn’t very esteemed by the publishing world or critics. Today that situation has changed. Crime fiction has much more space in publishing houses and critical spaces. It is also studied in the universities, and is considered a literary form that has contributed to reflecting upon the relationship between power and criminality in Chilean society.
As for authors from other countries, I can mention writers like the Mexican Elmer Mendoza, the Argentines Juan Sasturaín and Mempo Giardinelli, and the Bolivian Gonzalo Lema. Leonardo Padura, a Cuban, and the Rubem Fonseca from Brazil have also been important. From Spain, Juan Madrid, Manuel Vásquez Montalbán, Andreu Martín, and Alexis Ravelo are notable. Ultimately, the list could always be longer. I’m also interested in authors like Henning Mankell, Ian Rankin, Arnaldur Indridason, and Pierre Lemaitre from France, and Michael Connelly. Finally, among the classics, Georges Simenon, Jim Thompson, Horace MacCoy, and Ross MacDonald are indispensable.
I’m curious about literary tastes in Chile — what does the public like to read? How do thrillers and mysteries fare?
In general people in Chile read a lot of Spanish and Latin American authors. U.S. writers like Philip Roth, Paul Auster, and Charles Bukowski are popular. People read a lot of scholarly books about the political and historical events in Chile. They also read a lot of poetry, which is rich and varied in Chile. Self-help books are popular with many readers. As it concerns crime fiction, I would say that there is a larger and more enthusiastic audience than in the past; however, we still lack better distribution of foreign authors, and in many cases people only read authors that have been translated into Spanish in Spain.
What advice would you pass on to budding novelists?
I always say the following to the students that participate in the workshops that I lead: the only valid method is to read and write incessantly. By reading we learn how other authors resolve their narrative situations; by writing we improve in the trade and in the ability to create our own stories. To this we have to add the factor of time that is indispensable to realize our creations. Writing a novel is a long distance race, and to arrive well at the finish line requires preparation and willpower.
What are you reading right now?
For the last couple of weeks I’ve been reading two Chinese authors. The novels Big Breasted and Wide Ships by Mo Yan, and One Word is Worth Ten Thousand Words by Liu Zhenyun. I’ve also been reading a biography of Jim Thompson, Savage Art, and a really entertaining book on the wide world of the crime novel, “Sangre en los estantes” (Blood on the Shelves), by Paco Camarasa.
What can we look forward to next?
In the U.S., DARK ECHOES OF THE PAST will be released on December 1st, 2017. We’re in conversations with my publisher to translate and publish the novel Ángeles y solitarios (Angels and Loners) in the near future. At present I’m working on novel number 17 of the Heredia detective series, and I’m also preparing a re-edited collection of my short stories to be published in 2018 by LOM, my publisher in Chile. I’d also like to add that 2017 has been important for the distribution of my books outside of Chile. In the beginning of the year DARK ECHOES OF THE PAST (La oscura memoria de las armas) was published in Spain, and my novel La música de la soledad (The Music of Solitude) was published in France, where it was titled “Black Loneliness.” Finally, La oscura memoria de las armas (DARK ECHOES OF THE PAST) is about to come out in Venezuela.
Print Marked Items
Dark Echoes of the Past
Thomas Gaughan
Booklist.
114.5 (Nov. 1, 2017): p19.
COPYRIGHT 2017 American Library Association
http://www.ala.org/ala/aboutala/offices/publishing/booklist_publications/booklist/booklist.cfm
Full Text:
* Dark Echoes of the Past.
By Ramon Diaz Eterovic. Tr. by Patrick Blaine.
Dec. 2017.270p. AmazonCrossing, $14.95 (9781542046916); e-book, $4.99 (9781542096911).
Eterovic is an institution in his native Chile. His novels have been turned into TV shows and graphic novels,
but this one is the first translated into English. It introduces Heredia, a Santiago PI who is hired to
investigate the murder of a cashier in a lumberyard. Police see it as a robbery gone wrong, but Heredia links
it to the CIA-aided coup that installed General Augusto Pinochet as president and resulted in a reign of
terror, torture, and murder that still casts a shadow on the country. Eterovic stays close to the facts, but U.S.
readers will likely need to do some Googling to understand the emotional scars that Eterovic's characters
display. Heredia is an engaging protagonist. He talks to his cat, Simenon, and Simenon talks back, usually
with snark, in the way of a spouse or a lifelong friend. Heredia reads American crime novels and bets on the
horses with his pal, Anselmo, who sells newspapers from a kiosk. Much of the book is discursive, and the
discursions illuminate the city of Santiago. A fine discovery for followers of international crime.--Thomas
Gaughan
Source Citation (MLA 8th
Edition)
Gaughan, Thomas. "Dark Echoes of the Past." Booklist, 1 Nov. 2017, p. 19. General OneFile,
http://link.galegroup.com/apps/doc/A515382931/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=affdc817.
Accessed 5 Mar. 2018.
Gale Document Number: GALE|A515382931
Dark Echoes of the Past
Publishers Weekly.
264.41 (Oct. 9, 2017): p47.
COPYRIGHT 2017 PWxyz, LLC
http://www.publishersweekly.com/
Full Text:
Dark Echoes of the Past
Ramon Diaz Eterovic, trans, from the Spanish
by Patrick Blaine. AmazonCrossing, $14.95
trade paper (270p) ISBN 978-1-5420-4691-6
Chilean author Eterovic makes his English-language debut with this Chandleresque crime novel centered on
a case about the human rights abuses that occurred in Chile in the years after Pinochet ousted Allende. In
classic PI style, Heredia, a Santiago private investigator, looks into the death of a security guard at a
lumberyard on the behalf of the victim's sister. He follows clues through the mean streets of Santiago,
slowly interviewing witnesses and suspects. The trail eventually leads back to the inmates and executioners
of Villa Grimaldi, a torture camp, though the narrative emphasizes moral outrage rather than the violence.
Along the way, the bookish Heredia associates with another investigator, who's more inclined to use muscle
than he is. He also has a cat named Simenon, who gets some dialogue, which inevitably gives the novel a
soft-boiled edge. Imagine Philip Marlowe with a talking cat and lots of time to read, but still sleuthing and
drinking, and you have Heredia. (Dec.)
Source Citation (MLA 8th
Edition)
"Dark Echoes of the Past." Publishers Weekly, 9 Oct. 2017, p. 47. General OneFile,
http://link.galegroup.com/apps/doc/A511293318/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=37fff66f.
Accessed 5 Mar. 2018.
Gale Document Number: GALE|A511293318
Poetic enigmas and intrigue
Barbara Mujica
Americas.
55.2 (March-April 2003): p60+.
COPYRIGHT 2003 Organization of American States
Full Text:
Selected Prose and Prose-Poems, by Gabriela Mistral. Ed. and Trans., Stephen Tapscott. Austin: University
of Texas Press, 2002 (Bilingual).
Unfortunately, Gabriela Mistral is not a household name in the English-speaking world. Although some
Anglophone readers do know her as a Nobel Prize winner (literature, 1945), relatively few are familiar with
the breadth of her work. Aside from specialists, most of Mistral's North American admirers are acquainted
mainly with her poetry, which is why Stephen Tapscott's beautifully translated edition of her prose and prose
poems is a particularly welcome addition to the growing corpus of Spanish American literature in English.
Critics have focused on Mistral's feminism, her political activity on behalf of children, her views on
education, her attachment to her native Chile, and her spirituality. Reams have been written on the themes of
maternity, faith, and death in Mistral's poetry, as well as on her use of traditional "children's" musical forms
such as the ronda and the lullaby. Tapscott writes in his "Remarks" that Mistral won the Nobel Prize because
after World War II, "the world seemed to need an icon of healing, devout, even oddly virginal `maternity'."
And yet, as the translator points out, Mistral's writing is more complicated than this limited perception
suggests. Both her life and her oeuvre were full of enigmas, contradictions, and nuances.
Certainly, Mistral's prose poems and essays offer endless examples of the familiar themes. Maternity is a
dominant thread just as it is in her verse, and her poetic evocation of pregnancy in "Poems of the Mothers"
is exquisite: "And now I feel in my own breathing an exhalation of flowers: all because of the one who rests
inside me gently, as the dew on the grass." Her prose "Lullabies" differ little structurally and thematically
from those in verse: "Little fleece of my flesh--that I wove in my womb,--little shivering fleece, --sleep
connected to me!"
Beauty and emotional pain are also prominent themes. She writes in "Spiritual Readings": "All the beauty of
the Earth can be a bandage for your wound." These prose-poems offer magnificent examples of Mistral's
imagery, her gift for metaphor, and her musicality, all of which Tapscott captures admirably in his
translation.
They also highlight her ability to discern beauty in the mundane and to diverge from conventional
associations. For example, in "The Tortoise" she celebrates the "lovely slowness" of the amphibian, so often
an example of lumbering ineptitude. In glass, frequently a symbol of coldness or cruelty, she sees delightful
surprises, since glassblowers never know exactly what they will produce, and enduring childhood, since
glass objects never grow ("In Praise of Glass"). In sand, a traditional symbol of impermanence, she sees
smoothness and purity ("Second Praise-Song for the Sand").
However, Tapscott's new collection highlights less-known aspects of Mistral's writing as well. Some of her
rarely anthologized stories are truly delightful--full of poignant humor and gentle irony. In "Why Bamboo
Canes are Hollow," all of the earth's plants, embracing social revolution and its resultant equality, lose their
individuality and become the size of oaks. Unable to sustain their height, one by one they die. Bamboo cane,
the insurgent leader, empties its marrow and turns hollow in order to remain tall, but soon even it falls.
When Nature graciously returns things to normal, she punishes cane by leaving it void. In fables such as this
Mistral mocks the modern propensity toward leveling and the resultant uniformity that obliterates the
glorious diversity of human life. Fables such as this one demonstrate the nuances of Mistral's social thought.
Yes, she fought for a more democratic society that would afford opportunities to all, but she was leery of
policies that would produce an unhealthily homogeneous society. "Everything is beautiful as God made it,"
the Poet tells the plants at the end of the story.
Of equal interest are Mistral's highly personal essays on literary figures such as Alfonso Reyes, Alfonsina
Storni, Rainer Maria Rilke, and Jose Marti. These brief compositions reveal Mistral's erudition--in
particular, her knowledge of Hispanic and European writing and the literary criticism of her day. Some of
the pieces, like those on Rilke and Marti, help elucidate Mistral's approach to literature. Others, such as the
essay on Storni, are more intimate. In addition, the collection contains essays on Chile, Mexico, political
issues, and Mistral's insightful "Thoughts on Teaching."
Mistral died in 1957, almost half a century ago, and yet, much of her writing is as fresh and relevant as
when she produced it. Now, thanks to this fine bilingual edition, Anglophone audiences will have the
opportunity to know an aspect of her work that until now has been largely neglected.
The Cave, by Jose Saramago. Trans., Margaret Jull Costa. New York: Harcourt, 2002.
Nobel laureate Jose Saramago, who was born in Portugal in 1927, has been winning the hearts of readers on
both sides of the Atlantic for decades with his humane, deftly drawn characters. Cipriano Algor, the
protagonist of Saramago's latest masterpiece, is an elderly potter who creates dishes, pots, and jugs in his
kiln alongside his daughter, Marta. Father and daughter live in a small village on the outskirts of The Center,
a huge complex of apartments, shops, offices, and entertainment areas, where Marta's husband, Marcal,
works as a security guard.
The Center has a monopoly on Algor's wares, for his contract with the purchasing department prohibits him
from selling outside the complex. A traditional craftsman, Algor produces his merchandise piece by piece.
Some objects have imperfections or distinguishing marks; each is unique. Suddenly, The Center decides to
reduce drastically its order because, according to the purchasing department, people no longer want this type
of coarse pottery. They prefer plastic, which is more durable and uniform. Yet, The Center still prohibits
Algor from selling his earthenware independently. Desperate, Algor doesn't know what to do with the
crockery no one seems to want and tries to give some of it away. He offers a jug to a widow named Isaura,
and this simple act of giving initiates a halting romance.
When The Center cancels Algor's contract, Marta hits on the idea of producing dolls, and the purchasing
department surprisingly orders hundreds. Father and daughter set to work and from a few basic molds they
make figurines of six types--clowns, jester, Eskimos, mandarins, nurses, and bearded Assyrians. Although
the details and colors are different, all the dolls are basically the same. However, before they have
completed the order, The Center cancels the contract. In the meantime, Marta learns she is pregnant, but
Marcal is given a promotion, becoming a full-time guard at The Center, which entitles him not only to an
apartment in the complex, but also access to excellent medical care for his wife and child.
The move is difficult for the potter. He will have to leave the beloved kiln that has sustained generations of
Algors, the dog named Found who appeared one night uninvited and joined the family, and the lovely
widow. But with no work, Cipriano Algor is completely dependent on his son-in-law. The Center is
inflexible. Products that don't sell are eliminated. And what happens to people who produce goods that don't
sell is inconsequential.
Once they move, however, the real horror of The Center becomes apparent. This monstrous, hermetically
sealed aquarium contains everything inhabitants need, even a cemetery. Residents need never go out. They
can enjoy tropical beaches, snowy mountains, and exotic deserts--all synthetic or virtual. In "sensation
zones" they can experience foreign climes, from Paris to Beijing, from Patagonia to the North Pole. What
they cannot do is give vent to their imaginations, explore the endless corridors, pass from one side of the
complex to the next, build and create--as Algor has always done.
And then one terrible night Algor discovers that not only the myriad landscapes are artificial. The people are
synthetic, too, all cut from one mold, just like the scores of figurines that he and Marta made. And the same
will happen to him and his family, too, if they stay at The Center.
Saramago's fable presents a shocking vision of the future. The Center is the depersonalized, dehumanized
world of shopping malls, sports played on computer screens, and adventure experienced vicariously--all
taken to the nth degree. In Algor's world, he, the potter, the Creator, makes individual pieces of earthenware,
each with its idiosyncrasies and flaws, but each beautiful in its own way. In this world there is room for
fantasy and love, even for a man in his sixties. What grips the reader in the descriptions of Algor's daily life
is the tremendous affection among the characters-between Marta and her father, between Cipriano and his
son-in-law, between Found and his masters, and, finally, between Isaura and the rest of the family. This is
not the plastic world in which people--regardless of color and other externals--are cut from the same mold
and live out their lives according to a predetermined plan, but a world of fluctuations and surprises, of true
color (not Technicolor), of dreams, of love, of all the complexities of human existence.
Saramago has built his story on Plato's cave parables, quoted at the beginning of the book, in which the only
apparent reality are simulacra, or reflections. The inhabitants of Tim Center are replicas of standardized
models. Although Saramago's notion of the future may seem far-fetched, we have only to contemplate how
today's men and women strive to emulate ideals generated by the media to realize that the world the author
envisions is already here. Jose Saramago has written a profound and frightening book.
La novia oscura, by Laura Restrepo. New York: Rayo / HarperCollins, 2002.
Like Laura Restrepo herself, the narrator of La novia oscura is a Colombian journalist. Fascinated by a
photo of a sensual, mysterious woman, the newswoman sets out to discover the story behind the image and
stumbles into a dark world of prostitution, political intrigue, and violence. The novel consists in large part of
reminiscences and flashbacks that emerge from her interviews with characters acquainted with the whore
Sayonara, the "dark bride."
The title character arrives as a young girl in Tora, a rough and wild Colombian city, and asks to be taken to
La Catunga, the brothel district. Tight-lipped about her past, the beautiful and arrogant newcomer is
befriended by Todos los Santos, a shrewd yet maternal madam who sees her potential. Todos los Santos
transforms the scruffy girl into the alluring Sayonara, who, in spite of her Indian origins, soon becomes a
superstar in a business in which women with European features usually have the advantage. The old
madam's lessons in reading and religion are among the most appealing episodes in the book.
Every month workers from the Tropical Oil Company appear in La Catunga in search of Sayonara's favors.
However, the girl's charms entice others, too, and one of the book's strengths is the array of attentiongrabbing
characters that congregate in La Catunga. One of the most endearing is Sacramento, Sayonara's
childhood friend, who strives to redeem her from prostitution.
An implicit rule of the trade is that a prostitute must never fall in love, but Sayonara violates protocol by
becoming enamored of Sacramento's friend El Payanes (so called because he is from Popayan). The two
swear to spend the last Friday of every month together. They seal their pact with an amulet, a braid of
Sayonara's hair that Payanes wears around his neck, yet refuse to reveal their true names to each other. The
talisman becomes a symbol of betrayal to Sacramento, who had hoped his friend would help him rescue
Sayonara. In the end, this romance between people who share no confidences is doomed. Payanes turns out
to be a fraud, a traitor not only to Sacramento, but to the woman he professes to love.
The backdrop to this ill-fated affair is the tension between the American-held Tropical Oil Company and its
Colombian employees. Management abuse leads to a rice strike, in which the workers refuse to eat the
appalling concoction of low-quality rice and grease the firm supplies for meals. The prostitutes of La
Catunga lend their support, refusing to work until the dispute is resolved. Frank Brasco, a member of the
company's American directors, sides with the workers, yet winds up their hostage. Later, he is disciplined by
his American bosses for fraternizing with prostitutes, even though he has never slept with any of them.
Countless Latin American authors, most notably Gabriel Garcia Marquez, have depicted in fiction the
exploitation of nationals by North American companies. Restrepo really contributes nothing new to the
topic; the political conflict serves primarily to provide a setting for the romance between Sayonara and
Payanes.
Restrepo weaves a surprising amount of compassion and humor into this dark tale. Todos los Santos, the
worldly wise procuress who prays regularly to Jesus, collects a menagerie of animals, and treats Sayonara
like a daughter, is one of the most engaging characters in the book. Another is Dr. Antonio Maria Florez,
charged with examining the prostitute population of La Catunga. Many women readers will chuckle at
Sayonara's panic upon facing the gynecologist in spite of her candor about sex. Dr. Florez eventually wins
the girl's confidence by allowing her to listen to her own heart with a stethoscope, but even then, Sayonara
refuses to submit to an examination, even after she winds up working for the doctor as a medical assistant.
Laura Restrepo breaks little new ground in La novia oscurca but she provides readers with a plethora of
well-drawn characters and an engaging story.
El hombre que pregunta, by Ramon Diaz Eterovic. Santiago, Chile: LOM, 2002.
El hombre que pregunta, a smart, witty, fast-moving detective novel by Chilean writer Ram6n Diaz
Eterovic, is the latest book in a series devoted to the adventures of a Santiago sleuth named Heredia.
Francisco Ritter, an important literary critic, has been murdered. According to the police report, the death
was accidental, but Ritter's neighbor and former lover, Berta Zamudio, believes otherwise. She contracts
Heredia to investigate the case.
Ritter dined with a group of friends the night of his death, and Heredia's investigation of the suspects leads
him to bars and bookstores frequented by the literary crowd. Ritter also worked as a university professor,
and Heredia learns that one of the critic's friends and students, Claudio Ramon, died a few days earlier,
apparently the victim of a holdup. Could there be a relation between the two deaths? Were the two men
homosexual lovers? All the evidence seems to lead nowhere until the detective learns that Claudio Ramon
worked as a ghost writer. Who he ghosted for and what he wanted out of the deal prove to be the keys to the
mystery.
Diaz's tough-guy detective is a highly literate dude who quotes Dumas and listens to Mahler, but is not
above drinking on the job or sleeping with his suspects. His closest companion is his sardonic snow-white
cat, Simenon, who functions as his alter-ego, commenting on his character flaws, his work habits, his
hunches and his screw-ups. The irony introduced by Simenon turns the novel into a kind of parody of the
genre.
Heredia's investigation takes him and us into the world of literary intrigue and power struggles. "Writers
don't kill except in their fiction" is a bit of popular wisdom that suffuses the novel. And yet, in the dog-eatdog
world of publishing, in which literary critics have the power to make or break a book and editors
beholden to publishing conglomerates decide which manuscripts will see the light of day, the old adage
doesn't necessarily hold true. A pen, as Heredia notes, can be a lethal weapon. This is a world in which
ambition reigns and writers turn desperate when they can't produce what the publisher wants. Diaz Eterovic
takes publishing out of the idealized world of high culture and exposes the industry's dark underbelly,
toppling writers, critics, and literary academics from their pedestals. Some of the funniest scenes in the book
are those in which Heredia, who seems to know the works of every author he interviews, plays on his
suspects' vanity in order to get information out of them.
In recent decades, the detective genre has grown in prestige, with authors like Arturo Perez Reverte
producing international bestsellers that are studied in university classrooms. Like Perez Reverte, Ramon
Diaz Eterovic elevates sleuth fiction to an art. His writing is erudite, engaging, and fun, all at the same time.
A critic, novelist, and short story writer, Barbara Mujica is a professor of Spanish literature at Georgetown
University and author of the novel Frida.
Mujica, Barbara
Source Citation (MLA 8th
Edition)
Mujica, Barbara. "Poetic enigmas and intrigue." Americas, Mar.-Apr. 2003, p. 60+. General OneFile,
http://link.galegroup.com/apps/doc/A99118578/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=ec9821aa.
Accessed 5 Mar. 2018.
Gale Document Number: GALE|A99118578
The first of Chilean crime novelist Eterovic's books to be translated into English features a hard-nosed PI named Heredia investigating a crime whose roots lie in the political kidnappings and torture of the Pinochet regime four decades ago.
In outline, this is straight-down-the-line hard-boiled fiction. Heredia lives in downtown Santiago and close to the bone, using his office as a place to flop; he's tough, world-weary, a gambler and a habitué of rough, run-down bars and clubs (like the cafes con piernas, "coffee shops with legs")...but also bookish. He scorns technology like cellphones and computers, and he speaks in an edgy banter lifted straight from Hammett and Chandler. In some ways the case he investigates here, too, is straightforward, even predictable: Germán Reyes, a lumberyard employee, has been murdered, and though the (minimal) evidence in the case doesn't support the theory at all, the police have declared the death a botched robbery to get it off the books. What's most conspicuously unusual here, for an American reader, is the setting—Chile about 30 years after the Pinochet regime—and Eterovic makes impressive use of it. Reyes was held and tortured by the infamous intelligence services at Villa Grimaldi, and he has in recent years been working with a group trying to excavate that little-spoken-of past and identify, shame, and prosecute those who, often under aliases, took part in arresting, tormenting, and in many cases murdering their fellow citizens—and then were allowed to resume or remake their bourgeois lives. Heredia immediately sees where his investigation is headed and doggedly—with the help of friends including a news vendor, an independent-minded girlfriend, and an enforcer who's auditioning for a partnership with Heredia—pursues the snake into its many holes. The surprise is the extent to which, despite its lack of big surprises, the book nevertheless works: Eterovic constructs an intricate plot peopled with dozens of characters, and he unravels the snarls patiently and often stylishly. The star here is contemporary Chile as a classic noir setting, not unlike gilded-but-corrupt LA in the 1930s: a society built on nested lies and dissimulations that many people would just as soon not expose.
Heredia is an iconic figure in Chilean crime fiction, the subject of graphic novels and a TV series, and one hopes his U.S. debut will be followed by many more outings.
Based on historical events, Dark Echoes of the Past is the first novel by award-winning Chilean author Ramon Diaz Eterovic to be translated into English. Such a translation is long overdue and will be a welcome addition to the growing number of titles by foreign mystery writers now available to an English-speaking audience.
Set in Santiago, Chile, some 30 years after the fall of the Pinochet dictatorship, Dark Echoes of the Past reflects the lingering effects of the torture and the “disappearing” of Chilean citizens perpetrated by that regime’s military intelligence services.
Now 50-year-old Heredia, private investigator and protagonist, spends his days reading detective novels, talking to his aging cat, Simenon, who occasionally answers (or maybe Heredia thinks he does), and gazing out his window at the Mapocho River. When business is slow, and it is at present, Heredia reviews books for an obscure journal.
“. . . reviewing lengthy and boring books on politics, sociology, economics, and other occult sciences that purported to explain the erratic behavior of human beings since their first steps on Earth.”
When he can no longer stand his apartment/office, he spends time with Anselmo at his newsstand, talking about the week’s horse races and which animals to bet on.
“I was OK, but I don’t know that I’d say I was happy . . . I spent a good bit of my time nodding off with my elbows on the blotter of my desk or smoking with a lost gaze that went far beyond the window . . .”
A client arrives at his door escorted by his long-time lover, Griseta. Virginia Reyes wants to hire Heredia to investigate the death of her brother, German. The police believe he was killed during a botched robbery, but Virginia believes he was deliberately murdered.
Virginia tells Heredia that her brother believed someone had been following him days before his murder, and that he was afraid. Heredia agrees to ask some questions and try to discover what German was afraid of.
Heredia quickly discovers that he has involved himself in a case that dates back to the torture chambers of the Pinchet dictatorship, and continues into the present. German engages in uncovering the real identities of those members of the military intelligence services who actually carried out the torture and murder of political prisoners.
While a few underlings of the intelligence service, guards, body disposal teams, etc., have been unveiled and punished after the fall of Pinochet, the hands on torturers and those who ordered the torture are still hiding their real identities. Heredia believes that German was about to unmask the real perpetrators when he was murdered.
When a witness to German’s murder also dies under suspicious circumstances, Heredia is certain that the motive to both deaths is the desire of former members of the intelligence service responsible for the criminal excesses of the Pinchet regime to evade discovery.
Heredia’s poking into the sins of the distant past puts a target on his back, and the guilty from the past are not hesitant to murder the detective if that is what it takes to protect themselves.
He tells Anselmo of one encounter that leaves Heredia in less that pristine condition. “I ran into a guy who doesn’t like questions and has a couple of King Kong clones to follow his orders.”
His comments to Griseta about his life and the case lack the black humor coloring the remarks to Anselml. “I’m tired of staring at the stains on my desk as I wait for clients and the clock keeps ticking. I’m tired of so many miserable people. Tired of forcing myself to get my hopes up and dragging my body around, when I’m not as spry as I used to be.”
Along with Heredia, his friend, Anselmo, and his lover Griseta, the most prominent character in the novel is not a person at all, but the city of Santiago. Senor Diaz Eterovic paints a vivid verbal portrait of a city is echoing the effects of a military dictatorship overthrown years in the past.
“I knew about the misery and the secrets crouching in the corners, the pain nesting beneath the bridges, the humidity of the tenements, the drunk resignation of those who slep on the sidewalks, the sadness of the streetwalkers by the gates, and the cry of the brat who panhandled on the last bus to nowhere. I knew the city and I could move through her however I wanted . . . “
Senor Diaz Eterovic is both an eloquent writer and a profound one, veiling his philosophical musing in humor which does nothing to disguise the sting of his observations.
Dark Echoes of the Past is a literary treat for fans of noir, but not so much for those who appreciate a softer, gentler cozy mystery.