Por Iván Beltrán Castillo
Many are my view, the merits of the "Nouvelle" of Guido Tamayo, named, with laconic melancholy Tenant. One of the most notable, I suppose, is to come to join with humble grace, from its few pages, the sumptuous and intimate "twilight literature," that that traffics closely with death, decay, disease , war, pestilence and the countless apocalypse that so far have been, ie the perpetual flirtations with Thanatos in the life, and the same love and devoted readers recognized and that always seems to give us a brand new figure-virgin-devouring despite being as old as literature itself. From Balzac to Flaubert, Thomas Mann to Thomas Bernhard, from Shakespeare to Dostoevsky, Gogol to Samuel Beckett, Joyce Lampedusa, spread like a deadly harvest of lucidity, we find its identity exploration, not without cruelty and, above all, his pious understanding of our finitude inexplicable.
The contraption before us we find a tragic, Manuel Narvaez, hypersensitive operator who has not fared too well in the great theater of the world: prominent writer and fever, is still waiting to rise to a reading public expects the critical acclaim and publishers and only has the support alone, although not insignificant, of a mature translator, who was always convinced of her unusual talent, but who dies suddenly, plunging into an orphanage and a gentle desperation no way back.
remarkable human being, Manuel Narvaez has not been happy, as I wanted Borges , tal vez ya no le importa. Sus recuerdos familiares, sus escarceos eróticos, sus filiaciones románticas, son apenas fragmentos desportillados y pretéritos, partes, quizá, de sus ficciones y en último término vestigios de otras vidas extintas que, algunas veces, su memoria embellece y ama, y en otras tergiversa y degrada. Su madre y gran cómplice también acaba de morir luego de años de protectorado, su padre, apenas entrevisto como si se tratara de un sueño furtivo, es apenas el símbolo de un origen detestado y remoto, y todas las ilusiones que lo llevaron un día a la ciudad de Barcelona en busca de la gloria literary have dissipated like smoke from the many cigarettes they smoke daily.
What are then enclosed in a small apartment or, more precisely in a room whose walls is beginning to show snuff devouring action, which also eats his body and see it governed by the most incredible wilderness, the writing fighting beyond their forces mined, drinking a lot and sleeping very little and playing embodies passion, a heroin addict prostitute, estimated that only if you a little more than the bulk of its customers.
The game is raised. As the Consul of the Cinderella Under the Volcano Malcolm Lowry, Manuel Narvaez their poodles makes us powerless, viewers of his agony and the relatives of his death is not nothing but a death ritual, if we accept this loss so that there is nothing casual or unexpected but rather because it is inevitably happens written death that is not part of natural cycles because it is biological akin to the ceremonial and liturgical cycles. And unfortunate accompany the writer to the end of the game in a big drunk liquor and snuff. We will see installed in the twilight as his natural station and literally smoke it. And we will stand with Barcelona in the recesses of a mythical city of the myths that have disappeared.
But these are just some of the data that the author gives us. The real charm of the novel is skillfully create a "vacuum curtain": a "feeling." So, beyond the laconic, indeed voluntary, the hundred-odd pages of The Tenant, and after a couple of readings delicate richness of the work power, rises, opens the gate to the realm of intuition. The shades and the ambivalence that covers all the chapters end opening up space for a flowering of messages that are never completed, that they appear as they evaporate. Moreover what is not said that what was said, outweigh the blanks lines. is a mechanism that authors such as Juan Carlos Onetti and Henry James, professional opponents outright truths and manifest destinies, practiced with a large fortune, and Guido Tamayo has been able to inoculate your story.
Tenant reads it as a good cigarette smoke or rushes a good bourbon. Transient intensity. But above all, knowing that in the short duration of the pleasure lies nothing less than eternity ...
(Side note: One can not help but remember, when first read the title of this book, that another great creation that Roman Polanski urdiera decades ago with the same name, and also witnessed a process of isolation enervating break with the world and hypertrophy an imagination so bountiful as unfathomable. "Simple coincidence? We suspect not, suspect that the choice of name has a mischievous wink and raised, and that the fund's novel Guido Tamayo also hides a little spooky, gothic, spectral ....
Tenant. Guido Tamayo. Random House Mondadori. 111 pages
0 comments:
Post a Comment