登陆注册
10449900000002

第2章 Author's Preface

The six short stories from The Leaders are a handful of survivors out of the many I wrote and tore up between 1953 and 1957, while I was still a student in Lima. I have a certain fondness for them, because they remind me of those difficult years when, even though literature mattered more to me than anything else in the world, it never entered my mind that one day I would be a writer—in the real sense of that word. I had married early and my life was smothered by jobs to earn a living as well as by classes at the university. But more than the stories I wrote on the run, what I remember from those years are the authors I discovered, the beloved books I read with the voracity that characterizes one's addiction to literature at the age of eighteen. How did I manage to read them with all the work I had? By doing only half of it or doing it very poorly. I read on buses and in classrooms, in offices and on the street, in the midst of noise and people, standing still or walking, just so long as there was a little light. My ability to concentrate was such that nothing or no one could distract me from a book. (I've lost that ability.) I remember some feats: The Brothers Karamazov read in one Sunday; that white night with the French version of Henry Miller's Tropics, which a friend had lent me for a few hours; my astonishment at the first novels by Faulkner that fell into my hands: The Wild Palms, As I Lay Dying, Light in August, which I read and reread with paper and pencil as if they were textbooks.

Those readings saturate my first book. It's easy for me to recognize them in it now, but that wasn't the case when I wrote the stories. The earliest of them, "The Leaders," ostensibly re-creates a strike that we, the graduating students at the San Miguel Academy in Piura, attempted and deservedly failed at. But it's an out-of-tune echo of Malraux's novel Man's Hope, which I was reading while I wrote the story.

"The Challenge" is a memorable story, but for reasons the reader cannot share. A Parisian art and travel magazine—La Revue Fran?aise—was devoting an issue to the land of the Incas and consequently organized a contest for Peruvian stories offering a first prize of nothing less than a two-week trip to Paris with reservations at the Napoleon Hotel, from whose windows the Arch of Triumph could be seen. Naturally, there was an epidemic of literary vocation throughout Peru and hundreds of stories were entered in the competition. My heart beats fast all over again when I recall my best friend entering the booth where I was writing news for a radio broadcast to tell me that "The Challenge" had won the prize and that Paris was waiting for me with a welcoming band of musicians. The trip was literally unforgettable and full of livelier episodes than the story offered me. I wasn't able to see my idol of the moment—Sartre—but I did meet Camus, whom I approached with as much audacity as impertinence at the exit of the theater where a revival of Les justes was being staged; and I inflicted on him a little eight-page magazine that three of us were bringing out in Lima. (His good Spanish surprised me.) At the Napoleon I discovered that my neighbor across the hall was another laureate who was enjoying two free weeks at the hotel—Miss France of 1957—and I was terribly embarrassed at Chez Pescadou (the hotel restaurant, which I entered on tiptoe for fear of wrinkling the carpet) when they handed me a net and indicated that I should fish in the dining room tank for the trout I had chosen from the menu in complete ignorance.

I liked Faulkner but I imitated Hemingway. These stories owe a great deal to that legendary figure, who came to Peru just at that time to fish for dolphin and hunt whales. His stay left us with a shower of adventure stories, spare dialogues, clinical descriptions and bits of information withheld from the reader. Hemingway was good reading for a Peruvian who started writing a quarter of a century ago: a lesson in stylistic abstinence and objectivity. Although it had gone out of style elsewhere, we were still practicing a literature about country girls raped by despicable landowners, a literature written in purple prose that the critics used to call "telluric." I hated it for being a cheat, since its authors seemed to believe that denouncing injustice excused them from all artistic and even grammatical concerns; nevertheless, I admit that my distrust did not prevent me from lighting a candle at that altar, because "The Younger Brother" lapses into indigenist themes, flavored, perhaps, with motives originating in another of my passions of that period: Hollywood westerns.

"The Grandfather" is out of key in this suite of adolescent and machista stories. It, too, is a leftover from my reading—two beautiful, perverse books by Paul Bowles, A Delicate Prey and The Sheltering Sky—and of a summer in Lima filled with decadent actions: we used to go to the Surca cemetery at midnight, we worshipped Poe and, hoping to achieve satanism someday, we consoled ourselves with spiritism. The spirits dictated all their messages to the medium, a relative of mine, with identical mistakes in spelling. Those were intense and sleepless nights, because while the séances left us skeptical about the beyond, they put our nerves on edge. Judging by "The Grandfather," I was wise not to persist in the genre of diabolism.

"On Sunday" is the story in this collection whose life I would spare. The institution of the barrio—a fellowship of girls and boys with their own territory, a magical space for the human game described by Huizinga—is now obsolete in Miraflores. The reason is simple: nowadays, as soon as they stop crawling, the young people of Lima have their own bicycles, motorcycles or cars that carry them great distances and bring them back to their homes. In this way, each one of them establishes a geography of friends whose routes spread across the city. But thirty years ago we had only roller skates, which hardly let us go around the block, and even those who did go by bicycle didn't get much farther since their parents forbade it. (And in those days, parents were obeyed.) So we boys and girls were condemned to our barrio, an extension of the home, a kingdom of friendship. Nor should barrio be confused with "gang" as it is known in the United States—masculine, bullyish, gangsterish. The barrio in Miraflores was innocent: a parallel family, a mixed tribe where you learned to smoke, dance, play sports and open your heart to girls. The concerns were not very elevated: they came down to enjoying yourself to the hilt every holiday and every summer. The great pleasures were surfing and playing soccer, dancing the mambo gracefully and switching couples after a while. I grant that we were rather silly, more uncultured than our older brothers and sisters—which is already saying a lot—and blind to what was going on in the immense country of hungry people that was ours. Later on we would discover all that, as well as what good fortune had been ours in having lived in Miraflores and having had a barrio! And retroactively, at a given moment, we came to feel ashamed. That was silly too: one doesn't choose one's childhood. As for me, my warmest memories are all linked to those barrio rites out of which—nostalgia blended in—I wrote "On Sunday."

The barrio is also the theme of "The Cubs." Yet this story is no youthful transgression but something I wrote as an adult in Paris in 1965. I say "wrote" and I should say "rewrote," because I made at least a dozen versions of the story, which never worked out. It had been going through my mind ever since I had read in a newspaper about a dog's emasculating a newborn child in the Andes. From then on I dreamed of a story about this strange wound that, in contrast to others, time would open rather than close. Simultaneously, I was turning over in my mind the idea for a short novel about a barrio: its character, its myths, its liturgy. When I decided to merge the two projects, the problems started. Who was going to narrate the story of the mutilated boy? The barrio. How to ensure that the collective narrator didn't drown out the various voices speaking for themselves? Bit by bit, filling up my wastebasket with torn sheets of paper, that choral voice gradually took shape, dissolving into individual voices and coming together again in one that gives expression to the entire group. I wanted "The Cubs" to be a story more sung than told and, therefore, each syllable was chosen as much for musical as for narrative reasons. I don't know why, but I felt in this case that the verisimilitude depended on the reader's having the impression of listening, not reading, that the story should get to him through his ears. These, shall we say, technical problems were what absorbed me. Imagine my surprise, then, at the variety of interpretations that P.P. Cuéllar's misadventures deserved: the parable of an impotent social class, castration of the artist in the underdeveloped world, a paraphrase of the aphasia among young people brought on by comic strip culture, a metaphor of my own ineptitude as a narrator. Why not? Any one of these may be correct. One thing I have learned from writing is that in this craft nothing is ever entirely clear: truth is a lie and the lie truth, and no one knows for whom it works. What's certain is that literature does not solve problems—instead, it creates them—and rather than happy, it makes people more apt to be unhappy. That's how it is and it's all part of my way of living and I wouldn't change it for any other.

Lima

February 1979

同类推荐
  • The Core of the Sun
  • Molloy

    Molloy

    Molloy is Samuel Beckett's best-known novel, and his first published work to be written in French, ushering in a period of concentrated creativity in the late 1940s which included the companion novels Malone Dies and The Unnamable. The narrative of Molloy, old and ill, remembering and forgetting, scarcely human, begets a parallel tale of the spinsterish Moran, a private detective sent in search of him, whose own deterioration during the quest joins in with the catalogue of Molloy's woes. Molloy brings a world into existence with finicking certainties, at the tip of whoever is holding the pencil, and trades larger uncertainties with the reader. Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.
  • Strangers May Marry

    Strangers May Marry

    Laura had raised Mandy as her own ever since she found her homeless on the street. She loves the child as a daughter. But the authorities are threatening to take the child into custody, and Laura has no legal claim to keep her--and very few choices.Until she meets handsome, domineering Paul Penalis. He can help Laura keep custody of Mandy--but his help comes at a price. Can Laura pay it--and will she wind up losing her heart in the bargain?
  • Transmission (The Invasion Chronicles—Book One): A

    Transmission (The Invasion Chronicles—Book One): A

    "TRANSMISSION is riveting, unexpected, and firmly rooted in strong psychological profiles backed with thriller and sci-fi elements: what more could readers wish for? (Just the quick publication of Book Two, Arrival.)"--Midwest Book ReviewFrom #1 worldwide bestselling fantasy author Morgan Rice comes a long-anticipated science fiction series debut. When SETI finally receives a signal from an alien civilization, what will happen next?A 13 year old boy, dying of a rare brain disease, is the only one able to hear and decode signals from outer space. SETI confirms it is a real signal.What is the message? How will the world react?And most of all: are the aliens coming?"Action-packed …. Rice's writing is solid and the premise intriguing."–Publishers Weekly, re A Quest of Heroes"A superior fantasy… A recommended winner for any who enjoy epic fantasy writing fueled by powerful, believable young adult protagonists."
  • Making It Happen

    Making It Happen

    In all aspects of her life, author and motivational speaker Leigh Anne Tuohy advocates living a better life by cultivating a more generous spirit. By volunteering in your community, valuing other people, and reaching out to those in need, Tuohy believes that anyone can lead a happier and more fulfilled life—and this book is your guide to achieving it.In Making it Happen: Just Turn Around, Tuohy details concrete action steps you can take to becoming more involved and giving—in both your community and in your one-on-one interactions with others. Woven within are stories and lessons designed to help you change your mindset—to bring a happier and more generous life within your reach.
热门推荐
  • 狂尸

    狂尸

    一场意外让光国遭到毁灭性打击,上亿的人沦为狂尸,国主带领人民对抗,最后还是熬不过精神的透支,,,国主新一世轮回,再一次走进与狂尸对抗的世界
  • 乱世猎人(2)

    乱世猎人(2)

    他来自山野林间,他是一个普通的猎人,但却有着一位极具传奇性的父亲!他无意名扬天下,他不爱江山只爱美人,但时势却将他造就成一段武林的神话!他无意争霸天下,但他为了拯救天下苍生于水火,而成为乱世中最可怕的战士!他就是——蔡风!北魏末年,一位自幼与兽为伍的少年,凭着武功与智慧崛起于江湖,他虽无志于天下,却被乱世的激流一次次推向生死的边缘,从而也使他深明乱世的真谛——狩猎与被猎。
  • 闪婚

    闪婚

    “离婚!”男人声音有藏不住的失落。“好!”她二话不说,净身出户!“我没有你这样的女儿,滚!”“好!”不痛不痒的一个字,就算被那个她称之为‘妈’的女人赶出家门,她也是眉头都不皱一下!从豪门中挣脱出来,当她终于能呼吸到自由的空气时,她忍不住放声大笑!“为什么对我一点都不留恋?你真狠!”这是前夫说的话!她笑了,笑得有些没心没肺,“是你提的离婚,忘了吗?”某男脸上冒出三条黑线!!!“学姐,你为什么就是不接受我的爱?”这是大学学弟说的话!“姐姐我不喜欢幼-齿的!”“我只比你小一岁!”“一岁不也是小吗?”某男彻底无语的表情!!!“跟我结婚吧!”这是她老板说的话!“我对同性恋不感兴趣!”“都跟你说是双性恋了!”“我对变态不感兴趣!”某男一副咬牙切齿想杀人的表情!!!“我养你吧!”这是帅得不像话的青梅竹马说的话!“我有手有脚,干嘛要你来养?”“你是真不明白还是装糊涂?我在向你求婚呢!”“滚出我家!”某男没了下话,只剩下唉声叹气!***推荐自己架空文《男祸》看女王的后宫祸乱:龙凤胎的诅咒聪明姐姐傻弟弟,当他们的出生被命运烙下诅咒,便断定了纳兰衍月一辈子还不完的感情债!无奈,她被迫忘记身份忘记性别,以男儿身登王称帝!纳兰漓天,一个以影子生存在她生命里的男人!白天,他是她的贴身侍卫,彬彬有礼;夜里,他是她的床上伴侣,猛如狼虎!司傲晨,目中无人,狂妄野性的将军!笃定了要与她纠缠一生,管她是男还是女,他照单全收!徐墨翟,神秘国舅爷!整日扬着一张俊美无俦的无害脸孔招摇撞骗,在她的生命里掀起情感的惊涛骇浪。樱落,绝世神医!不择手段得到她,哪怕被恨也无妨!雪刹,雪隐国国主!囚禁她,禁锢她,甚至用刀在她身上刻下永生的羁绊,只为要与她‘刻骨铭心’!纳兰衍月,一个坚强的王者,究竟她能否冲破命运的桎梏,在感情的纷乱错综中找回自我?让我们拭目以待吧!推荐自己现代文《撒旦夺欢》看情妇组织里蜕变的她如何将男人踩在脚下!!!
  • 混世王妃

    混世王妃

    乞丐变公主,麻雀变凤凰,这个世界上哪里还有比这更好得事情!想我肖喜喜一辈子最大得梦想就是混吃等死,居然真得美梦成真!但是,等等,怎么一转眼就变俘虏了?还变宫女,变王妃!!不要不要,还是让我做乞丐吧!
  • 碧血倾心

    碧血倾心

    九州之上,碧血倾心,人情百态,身世浮沉。神秘莫测的江湖,浩瀚如烟的人情世故。天道不仁,人间不平,人生飘摇,那又如何?看透红尘,驾驭江湖,行侠仗义,威震华夏。为着复兴,洞察世事,驱使人情,玩味人间。
  • 超神至尊兵王

    超神至尊兵王

    【火爆新书】兵王不死,嚣张归来!兵王三大要素:嚣张,嚣张,还是嚣张……犯我华夏者,虽远必诛!……《超神至尊兵王VIP群》:703897653,欢迎兄弟姐妹们加入!
  • 狂徒

    狂徒

    节日献礼番外一:腹黑三人行关于请客:三人在茶楼喝茶,到结帐的时候。单:“男士优先。”气定神闲。断:“这点小钱,爷还不看在眼里。”斜眼不屑。慕:“说的也是,但不好意思,我今天忘记带钱包了。”傻笑卖萌。单:“本月第五次。”每次都忘记?断:“嘿嘿,我第一次忘记。”奸笑。慕:“……”单:“去个洗手间……
  • 全能天后请指教

    全能天后请指教

    【复仇爽文,爆笑互宠!】“滚,我不会娶你的!”因为又丑又蠢,她惨遭101次退婚。一朝重生,当风头正盛的雇佣兵女王成为她,摇身一变,貌美无双,成超级学霸,娱乐圈全能天后,虐渣打脸白莲花。一次意外,她误惹上前未婚夫的小叔,那个帝国最高贵神秘的男人,从此被强势缠上,一宠上瘾。某天,助理来报:“不好了,总裁,有大批土豪男粉丝当众向夫人表白。”素有亚洲醋王之称的男人火速封锁现场,霸道警告:“滚,你们的女神是我的。”女主:“大叔,脸是个好东西,拜托你要点行么?”某人直接扛着她往屋里走:“有了媳妇,还要脸干什么?”被冷落在角落里的小奶包哭兮兮:每天都被爸妈强行喂狗粮怎么破?求虎摸,求抱走~
  • 首席追妻:总裁前夫,求放过

    首席追妻:总裁前夫,求放过

    三年前,她将一纸离婚协议书甩在他面前,他毫不犹豫的签字离婚。三年后,她只是一个再平凡不过的小员工,他却成了雷厉风行的商界帝王,呼风唤雨,无所不能。本以为就此形同陌路,没想到有一天传说中冷酷无情、手段狠厉的钻石单身汉会堵在她门口求复合,小萌宝从后面钻出来,冲着她眨着星星眼喊道:“妈妈。”司乐桀表示一脸懵逼,她什么时候有孩子了?……【男女主身心健康√】【女主不白不绿√】【女主性格不定型√】
  • 深宫情缘

    深宫情缘

    一个可爱的初中女生,穿越到异世,成为一个小公主。习得绝世武功,搅动宫廷!等等……她记得,穿越来的并不止她一个,还有一个很帅很帅的男生,我一定要找到他!不是为了一起回到原来的世界,只是难以忘记他帅到掉渣的容颜!额!花痴公主又来了!--情节虚构,请勿模仿