An interview to Pablo Gonz, writer

Pablo Gonz: “Writing with humour today is a revolutionary act”

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Andreu Navarra

Sloper Publishing has recently reissued a remarkable novel that won the Juan March Cencillo Prize in 1997, Experto en Silencios. We speak with its author, Pablo Gonz, a seasoned writer with a rich and unique personal biography.

How and why did you come to the conclusion that Experto en Silencios should be reissued?

After publishing Cerca del fuego with Sloper, we considered releasing a second novel that would, at least from my perspective, offer a more accurate reflection of my literary career. I say this because all the themes that interest me—primarily freedom—had been explored through a lens of sarcastic humour. Cerca del fuego, a purely dramatic story, is thus an exception in the context of my work.

The second reason is that the first edition of Experto en Silencios (1997) received very limited distribution. It was published as a special issue of the magazine Bitzoc, and presumably only reached subscribers from that time. We concluded that it deserved a second chance, which, in reality, was its first.

What was the writing process like? The novel is far from conventional…

When I wrote this novel, I was very young, reckless, and bold. Likely influenced by Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, I was struck by the image of a man who wakes up one morning with no knowledge of who he is. At that time, this entry point into fiction was enough for me to embark on the adventure. If I was lucky and the ground was fertile, I could continue, inventing as I went along. If the initial image didn’t unfold as I had hoped, I would retreat, calling off the venture.

Today, I’m less young and less reckless, which allows me to be more successful in my boldness. I never begin a story now unless the initial image is accompanied by a series of elements—anxieties, memories, desires to express—that offer some guarantee of successful writing.

“Humour is one of the central psychological functions of humanity—it helps us to maintain emotional balance”

As for writing without full stops, it’s largely a formality intended to heighten the sense of confinement or anxiety. Experto en Silencios is still very readable because, in fact, the sentences are structured quite normally.

Is humour dying?

That’s impossible because humour is one of the central psychological functions of humanity—it helps us to maintain emotional balance. When something evokes a strong emotion, especially positive ones, we laugh to restore balance, in essence, to keep from losing our minds. Humour in literature serves the same purpose as literature itself: it creates a representation of life that allows us to reflect and feel without risk. In this sense, both writing and reading literature prepare us for life.

Currently, the publishing industry pays less attention to humorous works for a simple reason: we all feel sorrow for the same things, but we laugh at different things. Therefore, in a mass-market-driven world that stems from industrialism, it’s more practical to create dramatic works with a potentially larger audience. A secondary reason is that in tough yet self-satisfied societies like ours, many find solace in witnessing the drama of others, while the contemplation of happy lives becomes a difficult challenge to accept. Writing with humour today is a revolutionary act.

How did you become a bookseller? Would you recommend it to friends?

I had always seen it as a possibility, but the right circumstances had never arisen. Naturally, it’s advisable to have bookshops, but for them to be viable businesses, those who run them must have a good understanding of the field. Most mainstream literature is sold in well-established bookshops, in branches of large chains, or online. Therefore, I see a niche only in specialised bookshops with national reach. Today, for instance, it’s feasible to set up a bookshop in a small town like Tomelloso, Ciudad Real, specialising in marine topics, and succeed—with the support of the internet for advertising and orders.

In fact, this kind of peripheral location can significantly reduce installation costs, especially regarding rent.

“If you don’t know the true value of a specific book, such as an 18th-century piece, you may not maximise its profit during the buying and selling process”

Another option that has proven very successful is dealing in old, second-hand, or rare books. Many people still seek the advice of a bookseller but can’t stand the high prices of new books. As the stock in conventional bookshops is being reduced to favour new releases, a niche opens up for the sale of classics or long-sellers, which easily occupy second-hand bookshops. These are easier to manage because they don’t require significant training. However, dealing in antique books is different, as the product is more unique. If you don’t know the true value of a specific book, such as an 18th-century piece, you may not maximise its profit during the buying and selling process.

What was Libertad, the dystopian novel you wrote in 2010, like?

It was and still is a novel that functions almost as a synthesis of my previous works. After a five-year hiatus, I returned to literary creation by gathering everything that had always obsessed me around the word ‘Freedom’. Libertad is a dystopia, a work that fits within soft science fiction—a subgenre more concerned with social and philosophical issues than technical-scientific ones. Yes, there are UFOs in my novel, which, because they are perfectly identified, are called ‘ovis’, but I don’t delve into explaining their propulsion systems. Instead, I focus on the conversations between the people travelling inside these crafts.

On the other hand, the setting is dual, featuring hyper-technological cities and rural areas much like those of the past. This also gives the novel a bucolic air.

What are your fondest memories of Brazil and Chile?

I remember almost nothing of Brazil as I arrived when I was two months old and left at three years. In fact, I’m not sure if my memories are my own or merely those my parents once shared with me.

From Chile, I cherish the grandeur of the landscape, its purity and majesty, the strength of the ocean and storms. I also fondly recall the high quality of the food—both wild produce (especially from fishing and shell-fishing) and human-made products. All vegetables and fruits are excellent, as are the meats. No one forgets Chilean ulmo honey once they’ve tasted it. On the other hand, the country had a deficit in cheeses, but this is improving daily. Their olive oil has nothing to envy from ours.

“My literature is bold in its themes, rigorous in its form, and primarily concerned with musicality”

How would you define your literature?

My literature is bold in its themes, rigorous in its form, and primarily concerned with musicality. For that reason, I consider myself more of a prose writer than a storyteller. Perhaps I’m not in tune with the topics of today or those easily embraced by society, but I will write unforgettable sentences, one after another, and compel you to follow me to the end. What my literature offers readers today is a unique way of making language dance before their eyes.

What authors do you prefer? What do you read?

I have many preferred authors, or rather, many preferred works, as great authors should, if they are truly good, venture into many different areas. Authors should be different each time they approach a specific story. Without any particular order, I would mention: Sherwood Anderson, Faulkner, José Eustasio Rivera, García Márquez, Ciro Alegría, Borges, Cortázar, Onetti, Stevenson, Wilde, Chesterton, Dickens, Saki, Wodehouse, Zweig, Balzac, Flaubert, Mohamed Chukri, Tomasi di Lampedusa, Pavese, Calvino, Curzio Malaparte, Ivo Andrič, Kafka, Tolstoy, Turgenev, Bulgakov, Grossman, Sholokhov…

Among Spanish authors: Cervantes’ Exemplary Novels, Galdós, Azorín, early Cela, Baroja, Chaves Nogales, Eduardo Mendoza, Vázquez Figueroa, and Juan Eduardo Zúñiga, who, in my opinion, is one of the finest prose writers in the Spanish language.

How do you view contemporary Spanish literature?

I know very little about it. I don’t have enough exposure to form a well-founded opinion. If I were to say something—more a perception or an invention—it’s that novel writing (I have no idea about the other genres) is divided into three tiers: mainstream literature, published by large publishers, usually bestsellers (that is, very conventional novels), or false essays—novels that provide hard information but of poor quality, not backed by credible sources. This would include many current historical novels or those addressing ‘big topics’—slave trade in East Africa, military dictatorship in Argentina, or China’s expansion into Tibet.

The second tier consists of serious novels that respect the genre’s necessary transgressive nature. These works are published by medium and small presses, ensuring a sensible level of diffusion that promotes intellectual plurality. This is the pool from which I fish when I do fish, which isn’t often, as I said.

The third tier includes self-published novels, whether through small presses, obscure imprints, or well-known platforms like Amazon. These novels are often conventional in theme (autobiographies or clichéd narratives) and tend to be written in a poor or awkward style, by those who either fail to achieve coherence or have read extensively without assimilating enough to develop their own voice. Of course, this third tier may also contain hidden gems, difficult to perceive as such.

Are you writing now? What are you working on? Will Kola and Louise make it to Switzerland aboard a transatlantic ship?

No, Kola and Louise have already found their place, and I don’t plan to give them more space. I’ve just finished an odd little novel that I’m not sure I’ll even attempt to publish. It’s titled The Triumph of Matter and tells the story of a translator who experiences a series of abductions by members of an advanced alien civilisation. I won’t reveal more, as I’m still unsure whether I’ll publish it.

In the meantime, I have an idea for something more serious, but for now, it’s just that—an idea. If it develops properly, I’ll work on it gradually, though my time is consumed by the bookshop. Still, I’m grateful because it allows me to keep writing.

Source: educational EVIDENCE

Rights: Creative Commons