Interview to Rodrigo Blanco Calderón, writer

Rodrigo Blanco Calderón: “París was a myth that collapsed for me”

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Andreu Navarra

Rodrigo Blanco Calderón (Caracas, 1981) stands out as one of the most distinguished contemporary writers in the Spanish language. His style, nocturnal and forceful, marked by incisive phrases and succinct instincts, remains resolute in a literary landscape often saturated with opportunists and superficial rhetoric. My growing interest in his work was sparked by our conversation at the recent KmAmèrica festival in Barcelona.

In Simpatía (2021) and some of your short stories, Caracas emerges as a character in its own right—a living, breathing entity that envelops the protagonists in violence and confusion. Do you view yourself as a social writer, or are you documenting recent events that the world seems eager to overlook?

I do not see myself as a social writer in the sense of social realism and its accompanying aesthetic demands, which, to me, would constitute a denial of aesthetics. Nonetheless, elements and events that have significantly impacted Venezuelan society often serve as catalysts for the plots in my novels and stories. I use these elements as a framework for character development, which is what ultimately matters.

Who are your primary literary influences?

There are many, and they evolve over time, but some persist: Jorge Luis Borges, Teresa de la Parra, Rómulo Gallegos, Ricardo Piglia, Juan Rulfo, Roberto Bolaño, Elisa Lerner, Carson McCullers, Louise Glück, Ismaíl Kadaré, José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Joseph Brodsky, André Breton, Nicanor Parra, Francisco Massiani, and Darío Lancini, among others that come to mind.

Which contemporary Venezuelan authors would you recommend?

In narrative, I would enthusiastically recommend Juan Carlos Méndez Guédez, María Elena Morán, Daniel Centeno, Karina Sainz Borgo, Juan Carlos Chirinos, Keila Vall de la Ville, Héctor Torres, Gabriela Consuegra, Jesús Miguel Soto, and Loredana Volpe.
In poetry, I would recommend Santiago Acosta, Natasha Tiniacos, Jesús Montoya, Pamela Rahn, Alejandro Castro, Sonia Chocrón, Adalber Salas, Graciela Yáñez Vicentini, Carmen Verde, Yolanda Pantin, Willy Mckey, Igor Barreto, and Rafael Cadenas.

I understand that Simpatía is inspired by real events, particularly the mass abandonment of dogs, which allowed you to construct your novel…

Yes, the mass abandonment of dogs in Venezuela, a consequence of the massive exodus of Venezuelans, was one of the triggers for this novel. This situation continues to persist today. I chose this angle to narrate the distress involved in the Venezuelan exodus, perhaps as a way to transcend the dichotomy of the emigrant and the one who stayed. I selected the most vulnerable beings, in this case, dogs, to explore this narrative.

What do Málaga and Paris represent to you?

Paris was a myth that collapsed for me during my three years there. It remains a majestic ruin to which I always wish to return, but only as a visitor. In contrast, Málaga is an unexpected and everyday paradise.

In your novel The Night (2016), Sergio Pitol makes an appearance. What is your connection to his writing?

My connection is quite circumstantial. I recall that as a teenager, my mother brought home a signed copy of El relato veneciano de Billy Upward by Sergio Pitol. This anthology of stories by the Mexican writer, published by Monte Ávila in the 1990s, intrigued me, though it took time for me to engage deeply with Pitol’s world. Later, while writing The Night and researching Darío Lancini’s life, I discovered that Pitol played a subtle but crucial role in his story by giving Julio Cortázar a copy of Oír a Darío, by Darío Lancini. I also learned that Pitol had spent some time in Caracas in the 1950s.

How did you develop the plot for your story “Agujeros negros”? Tell us about the writing of this tale.

This story is a product of my nocturnal wanderings while living in Caracas. Without a car, I often had to take a taxi late at night. I became friends with many taxi drivers, who are excellent sources of unusual stories. One driver told me about “La Tetona,” a woman who rode a motorcycle topless at late hours on the Cota Mil in Caracas. This highway circles the city from west to east. After a certain hour, taxi drivers would gather at a specific spot to watch La Tetona speed by. “Agujeros negros” is an attempt to capture what might lie behind that fleeting image.

Finally, necessary questions: What are you currently writing? What are your current projects?

I am working on two novels—one short and one very long—and I alternate between the two projects.

Are we all calves?

From the perspective of Cronos, of whom we are all children destined to be devoured, yes.

Source: educational EVIDENCE

Rights: Creative Commons