SUBVERSION OF TRADITIONAL FRANCOIST HISTORIOGRAPHY IN THE
FICTION OF GONZALO TORRENTE BALLESTER
by
DOUGLAS KEITH ANTHIS, M.A.
A DISSERTATION
in
SPANISH
Submitted to the Graduate Faculty
of Texas Tech University in
Partial Fulfillment of
the Requirements for
the Degree of
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Approved
Janet I. Pérez
Chair of Committee
Genaro J. Pérez
António Ladeira
Peggy Gordon Miller
Dean of the Graduate School
December, 2011
© 2011, DOUGLAS KEITH ANTHIS
Texas Tech University, Douglas Keith Anthis, December 2011
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I could not have finished the Ph.D. without the support of various people. I would
like to thank my professors at Texas A&M University, with whom I studied for the
Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees. They are the ones who inspired me to continue my
studies of Spanish at Texas Tech University and keep learning more about this field. I
have great respect and admiration for all of my professors at Texas A&M and Texas
Tech, and I hope that I can one day be as inspirational to the next generation of potential
scholars as my professors have been to me. In particular, I am grateful to the members of
my dissertation committee, Dr. Genaro J. Pérez and Dr. António Ladeira, for being
examples of distinguished teachers and scholars in their fields, and for helping me in my
efforts to become one.
Most importantly, I owe a tremendous debt to Dr. Janet Pérez, without whose
guidance and support I would never have been able to complete the terminal degree. As
both the chair of my dissertation committee and the professor for whom I served as
Graduate and Editorial Assistant, Dr. Pérez has provided me with a solid foundation in
Twentieth-Century Spanish literary studies, which will prove invaluable as I continue my
scholarly research. I cannot thank her enough for the kindness and generosity she has
shown me, both professionally and personally. As Isaac Newton once said, “If I have
seen further, it is only by standing on the shoulders of giants.” It is my wish that, by
continuing in her footsteps, I can repay Dr. Pérez for allowing me to stand on her
shoulders and gaze upon the ever-broadening horizons of our field.
Many other people have provided me with support over the years leading up to
the completion of this dissertation. Several of my fellow graduate students lent me
advice and support, which helped me from becoming discouraged by the daunting task of
writing the dissertation. Dr. Marie Moerkbak provided me with impartial feedback
during the early stages of my dissertation writing. With her guidance, I was able to
organize my thoughts and my materials in a way that helped me to finish what I started. I
will always be grateful to her for this.
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Texas Tech University, Douglas Keith Anthis, December 2011
Last, but certainly not least, I wish to thank my mother, Thelma, for all of the love
and support she has shown me throughout my life. It is because of her that not only was I
inspired to follow my dreams, but that I have had the conviction and determination to
make those dreams a reality. My Mom has always been there for me in so many ways, in
good times and in bad, often acting as a soundboard for me to bounce off my ideas. She
has been my muse, and she has never lost faith in my ability to overcome any challenge,
no matter how difficult. I owe her this dissertation and much, much more.
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Texas Tech University, Douglas Keith Anthis, December 2011
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ............................................................................................ ii
ABSTRACT ...............................................................................................................v
CHAPTER
I. INTRODUCTION.....................................................................................................1
II. LIFE AND WORKS .............................................................................................11
III. REVIEW OF THE CRITICISM ............................................................................28
La Tabla Redonda ..............................................................................................76
IV. THEORETICAL FRAME ....................................................................................96
V. ANALYSIS ........................................................................................................119
Filomeno, a mi pesar and Los años indecisos..................................................119
Crónica del rey pasmado and Doménica .........................................................130
Las islas extraordinarias and La muerte del Decano .......................................156
La novela de Pepe Ansúrez and La boda de Chon Recalde.............................180
VI. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS ......................................................................198
WORKS CITED .....................................................................................................206
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ABSTRACT
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (1910-1999) dedicated much of his 60-year publishing
career to commenting on the tremendous impact the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) and
the post-War era had on all facets of Spanish life. During the almost four decades of the
Franco dictatorship, Torrente was unable to make any criticism openly. Instead, he
would create fictitious or mythical worlds set in other countries and/or other time periods,
thus enabling him to criticize the harsh conditions found in post-War Spain without
alerting the Francoist censors.
Torrente was remiss to follow the literary trends of the day, preferring rather to
experiment with styles long forgotten or those with which Spaniards were unfamiliar.
For this and the above reasons, Torrente remained in relative obscurity for the first
decades of his publishing career. After 30 years, Torrente published something which
gained the attention of critics and public alike. With La saga/ fuga de J.B. (1972)
Torrente finally garnered the praise the Galician had deserved all along.
Torrente’s final novels have not received much critical attention, partly due to
their relative newness, and partly because critics have deemed these novels to be a sign
that Torrente’s skills as a novelist were waning. This dissertation seeks to analyze these
final novels, shedding light on their significance within Torrente’s vast oeuvre as well as
their importance to literature published in Spain during the end of the Twentieth Century.
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CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (1910-1999) is perhaps the most often overlooked of
the leading Spanish authors of the Twentieth Century, having gained the notoriety his
writings deserved only after he had entered his sixties and had been publishing for some
40 years. Torrente published in almost every literary genre during his life and won most
of Spain’s highest literary prizes, yet his work has garnered only limited critical attention
in relation to his stature in Spanish literary circles. Even though Torrente was able to live
in Spain during most of the Francoist dictatorship following the Spanish Civil War, he
certainly did not have an easy life. His fellow writers who went into exile often also
missed out on the recognition they deserved, but for different reasons. Writers in exile—
such as Francisco Ayala, Ramón Sender, and Max Aub—would write works about the
conditions they experienced during the Spanish Civil War and other works reflecting the
exile experience, but their literary works went misunderstood by those in the Latin
American countries in which these authors lived and/or saw themselves forced to
publish. 1 Though some of these writers would later gain a portion of the attention their
works deserved, many Spanish writers were relegated to a limbo at times as literary as
geographical. Although Torrente remained largely in Spain, political circumstances
impeded him from gaining recognition for his literary work. Torrente’s involvement with
the liberal Partido Galleguista before the war meant that he had associated with people
the Franco regime considered radical political dissidents. As José Ponte Far notes, “El
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Partido [Galleguista] era separatista—en la acepción que se utilizó en todo el
franquismo—y, desde luego, republicano.” 2 In addition, the themes Torrente attempted
to explore in his literary works often contradicted the model of a Catholic, conservative,
family-oriented Spain promulgated by the Franco regime. For this reason, and in order to
protect his family, Torrente heeded the advice of a family friend and sought a post in the
Falange. 3 Furthermore, recognizing that his dissenting opinions would endanger him and
his family and realizing the need to camouflage them for the censors, he developed a
habit of referring obliquely to the conditions of Twentieth-Century Spain by writing
ostensibly about other places (sometimes fictional) and other times, or else by treating
mythological figures. Due to political problems and a vastly-expanded censorship in
operation during the Franco dictatorship, authors constantly had to rewrite their works so
that they might be published, or face not being published at all. Still worse, many writers
were jailed for writing “unpublishable” works. Moreover, since Torrente became more
or less blacklisted early on during the dictatorship, otherwise friendly critics would avoid
saying anything about the Galician’s literary works, in an effort to avoid guilt by
association for giving praise to an author already considered “problematic” by the
regime.
Nevertheless, Torrente managed to publish a considerable oeuvre during the
almost forty-year span of the Franco dictatorship, and continued to publish literary works
until his death in 1999. His novels number twenty-five and his theatre works six.
Torrente never published poetry, although bits of poetry appear in some of his prose
works. Torrente also published an unknown number of short stories, 4 as well as
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narratives of varied classifications and other miscellaneous works (such as Compostela y
su ángel and Santiago de Rosalía de Castro). Other important criticism appeared in El
Quijote como juego and Los cuadernos de un vate vago, among others. He continued
contributing regularly to various newspapers to supplement his income. Five
compilations of these contributions to newspapers—Cuadernos de la Romana, Nuevos
Cuadernos de la Romana, Cotufas en el golfo, Torre del aire, and Memoria de un
inconformista—were published over the years.
Alicia Giménez (Bartlett) begins her Introduction of Torrente Ballester: El autor y
su obra 5 with the following:
Suelen comenzarse las introducciones a las monografías de un autor
famoso, haciendo alusión de modo general a los numerosos ensayos,
estudios críticos, análisis y semblanzas personales que de él se han hecho.
Todas estas muestras de interés sirven para encuadrar su figura
elogiosamente en el ámbito artístico y dan pie para iniciar la visión que
nos proponemos llevar a cabo. Para Torrente Ballester esta presentación
no es válida; creo que si buscamos la fórmula opuesta al tópico, nos
acercamos a una realidad tan incomprensible como cierta. Nuestro
escritor es famoso, se le concede gran importancia, es catedrático de la
Lengua, tiene un puesto indiscutible en las Letras españolas, lectores
fieles, admiradores incondicionales, premios, cátedras; pero, a pesar de
todo ello, es un literato poco conocido, mal estudiado, someramente
analizado. Cuando alguien intenta recopilar datos o consultar una
bibliografía sólida sobre su producción artística, se encuentra con una
asombrosa penuria: breves capítulos en obras de carácter general donde ni
siquiera se hallan reflejadas sus últimas obras, juicios de valor poco
matizados que se repiten y eventuales en revistas especializadas que
glosan alguna de sus novelas en concreto. Nada en definitiva que pueda
considerarse como una auténtica documentación, como un análisis
riguroso de su figura literaria. (7)
At first glance Giménez (Bartlett)’s comments might seem not to ring true, considering
that she published the book in which they appear just after the publication of La isla de
los jacintos cortados (1980), the final part of Torrente’s so-called “fantastic trilogy” (the
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most popular and most studied of all of Torrente’s works). Nevertheless, there is veracity
to Giménez (Bartlett)’s statements. More than a quarter century later, critics maintain
that Torrente has only begun to receive the attention he deserved.
Torrente is particularly difficult to categorize, considering that his literary works
seldom adhered to whatever the prevailing literary movement might be at the time of
their publication. He did not subordinate his own truly unique writing style and sense of
humor just to follow what was in vogue at the time. His at times individualistic and
unique way of writing would cause him problems both with the censors and with literary
critics, precisely because his writing did not neatly fit in with other works published at
the same time. Frieda Blackwell asserts that
Torrente Ballester usually spurned the predominant Spanish literary styles
of the 1950s, neorealism and objectivism, for a more imaginative and
fantastic form of fiction. His concept of realism, developed from his
reading of the works of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, held that the
writer’s task is to create new worlds through the evocative power of
words. […Furthermore,] While [Torrente’s] works received scant
attention from the censors, who missed [their] ironic tone, they were also
largely ignored by the reading public, who favored neorealistic works that
purported to offer a ‘camera’s-eye view’ of contemporary Spain. (329,
332) 6
Simply stated, Torrente wrote the best literature that he could, often ignored or rejected
because of his aesthetic independence, but finally achieved success after returning from
his quasi-exile in America, where he had begun writing more freely—and simply for the
joy of writing.
In her article appearing in Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, 7 Janet
Pérez observes that some novels Torrente published in the decade following the so-called
“fantastic trilogy” did not garner the same enthusiasm as these three novels. Citing the
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lack of scholarly attention given to some of the works published by Torrente during the
1980s, she reasons that:
Such unevenness is understandable, perhaps, in the case of those works
written long before and thus bearing characteristics of other works
published in their day which failed to attract favorable notice earlier in
Torrente’s career. This might explain the silence which has greeted the
novel La princesa durmiente va a la escuela (1983), written around 1950
and published with few revisions. Much the same would be true in
reprintings of works long out-of-print, the early theater and essays.
Harder to explain, however, is the indifferent critical reception of Dafne y
ensueños (1983) and La rosa de los vientos (1985), whose style is that of
the mature Torrente, and which incorporate much of the same whimsy,
fantasy, irony and humor which contributed so much to the success of the
first four novels cited [La saga/ fuga de J.B. (1972), Fragmentos de
Apocalipsis (1977), La isla de los jacintos cortados, and Quizá nos lleve el
viento al infinito (1984)]. [. . .] The general lack of critical response is
more probably due, therefore, to these forgotten works’ not fitting the
peculiar and personal, experimental and vanguardist pattern from which
the more successful novels are cut. In fact, these neglected titles fit no
recognizable pattern, and so have bewildered rather than enthused the
critics. Their differences are more apparent than real, nonetheless, and
consist primarily in matters of genre or structure; style, content, themes
and preoccupations seldom fail to coincide with—or provide variations
upon—constants of Torrente’s narrative art. (79)
Thus, the problem with the aforementioned novels Torrente published during the 1980s is
due not to their lack of literary merit, but rather to critics’ perception that they comprise a
stylistic departure from the “fantastic trilogy.” Ironically, the novels referred to by critics
as the “fantastic trilogy” were themselves a stylistic departure from earlier Torrente
works including the Realist-style trilogy, Los gozos y las sombras, which likewise did not
garner the critical attention they deserved. However, following the tremendous success
of the “fantastic trilogy,” Los gozos y las sombras was re-issued to tremendous critical
enthusiasm and adapted to the screen and televised as a miniseries on national television.
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Perhaps the same problem of critical indifference occurs with novels Torrente
published during the last decade or so of his life. Like the novels from the 1980s
commented on above by Pérez, many of these last works of Torrente went unnoticed or
unappreciated by critics. The publication of Filomeno, a mi pesar (1988) represents a
shift in Torrente’s writing style, back towards the realist or neo-realist works popular
during the 1940s and 1950s and away from his more fantastic works published during the
1970s and 1980s. Also a unifying characteristic of all Torrente’s final novels studied
presently is their brevity (with the exception of Filomeno). None of the novels Torrente
published during the final decade of his life, from Crónica del rey pasmado (1989)
onward, contain more than 230 pages, and several of these are limited to roughly 150
pages. Also, the print in these novels tends to be larger, with wider margins, leaving less
verbiage per page. These factors, coupled with less complex storylines, have led critics
to dismiss these works as evincing a decline in the quality of the Galician’s literary work.
However, Torrente stated that “Tal vez se debe a que, cuando me pongo a escribir, tengo
miedo de no poder terminar, tengo miedo de morirme antes” (82). 8 While not all of the
novels in the aforementioned group—those novels published during the final decade of
Torrente’s life—treat the same subject, the majority tend to focus on the decades of
Torrente’s life. Some focus on the immediate post-war era (for example, Las islas
extraordinarias [1991], La muerte del Decano [1992], La boda de Chon Recalde [1995]),
whereas others provide broad brush strokes of earlier decades of Torrente’s life (i.e.,
Filomeno, Los años indecisos [1997]). One novel, Crónica del rey pasmado, focuses on
the Seventeenth Century, whereas La novela de Pepe Ansúrez (1994) seems to take place
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either near the end of the dictatorship or during the transition to Democracy. Though the
novels as a group lack temporal unity, they nevertheless possess thematic cohesion which
somewhat distinguishes them from novels of the previous two decades (1970s and
1980s). Though Torrente’s posthumous and truncated novel, Doménica (1999),
comprises a stylistic departure from these aforementioned novels from the end of
Torrente’s life, this final stylistic shift should by no means lessen the importance of the
posthumous novel to those who wish to study Torrente’s literary works more thoroughly.
The present study analyzes the seven novels published by Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester (1910-1999) during roughly the final decade of his life—Filomeno, a mi pesar,
Crónica del rey pasmado, Las islas extraordinarias, La muerte del Decano, La novela de
Pepe Ansúrez, La boda de Chon Recalde, and Los años indecisos—as well as the
posthumous novel Doménica. Its main purpose is to help bring more critical attention to
these novels, and to encourage further study of them as independent works and as
revealing parts of Torrente’s varied body of literary work. This study will likewise serve
not only as an extension of earlier critical analyses of the Galician writer but also as a
means of shedding light on various works which have not benefitted from sufficient
critical reflection heretofore, either because of their relatively recent publication, or
because the more widespread critical praise certain earlier works received caused critics
to focus on them rather than on those works of his final years. Given Torrente’s
extensive work as historian and literary critic, the analysis of the works in question will
emphasize the very important role which history plays in Torrente’s novels; indeed,
treatment of history becomes a leitmotif in the Galician author’s literature. This extends
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to treatment of historiography, or the making and/or writing of history. It also includes
the demythification of historical figures (which Torrente referred to as “destripar el
mito,” a tactic he employed particularly for oblique depictions of important figures in
contemporary Spanish history, and including Franco and leaders of Falange). Finally, the
present analysis will approach Torrente’s use of (ironic and often humorous) literary
comments on the blending of fiction as history and history as fiction.
There will be a brief chapter on Torrente’s life and works, including the prizes the
Galician author won during his life and examining Torrente’s political differences with
the Franco regime (and why this often made it difficult for him to publish during the
Franco dictatorship). Next comes a chapter reviewing the criticism to date on Torrente
and his works. Though relatively little which deals specifically with Torrente’s last
novels exists, criticism of earlier novels and themes/ preoccupations which spanned
Torrente’s life will provide a critical foundation for the present study. After the review of
the criticism, a theoretical orientation to the study at hand will follow. Torrente’s almost
constant references to Spain beg use of New Historical criticism, which discusses how
some critics consider History a genre of literature, and how, likewise, some works of
literature can be considered historical texts in their own right (as indeed was done with
many works of Benito Pérez Galdós, for example). Following the theoretical frame, the
analysis chapters will divide the novels into groups of two novels per chapter. This will
facilitate a dialogue between texts which would not occur if each were discussed
separately. Likewise, the analysis will gain more focus than if all the novels were
compared at once. Most importantly, as stated above, the present study seeks to add a
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new dimension to literary studies of Torrente, by focusing on his last novels but
analyzing themes which can be found in all periods of the Galician’s works.
1
Torrente once commented on the manner in which his generation of writers had
to obscure their literature in order to get it past the censors under Franco, compared to the
openness enjoyed by subsequent literary generations:
A nosotros, los maduros, la Ley de Prensa e Imprenta poco viene a
añadirnos. El que no ha aprendido todavía a decir la verdad, es porque no
la lleva dentro. A quienes, en cambio, beneficiará, es los escritores
jóvenes. Tendrán a mano libros que nosotros leíamos de occultis o
adquiríamos de contrabando, y se ejercitarán en la expresión directa. Sus
libros saldrán a la luz sin mutilaciones graves y, más libres para la
exposición de ideas, abandonarán el recurso fácil de la escatología, que
nos estaba inundando (“La Ley de Prensa,” in Memoria de un
inconformista, Madrid: Alianza, 1997, 418).
2
José A. Ponte Far, “Galicia en los cuadernos de trabajo de Torrente Ballester,”
in La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín et al. (Vigo,
Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 177.
3
Pío Moa says this of Torrente’s decision to join Falange: “Al igual que de tantos
otros, se diría de Torrente que ingresó en la Falange para salvar la vida.” See Pío Moa,
Años de hierro: España en la posguerra, 1939-1945 (Madrid: La Esfera de los Libros,
2007), 120. Moa includes Torrente (as well as Dionisio Ridruejo) in a group of
intellectuals which helped fill the gap left by those who either fled Spain or were
imprisoned and/ or assassinated during the Spanish Civil War, referring to these as “no
todos falangistas, o sólo pasajeramente” (76-77).
4
Several of Torrente’s novelettes and short stories appear in Ifigenia y otros
cuentos (Barcelona: Destino, 1987). Others, published in short-lived periodicals of the
early postwar years, slipped into oblivion. Torrente himself had no complete record of
where they appeared, and sometimes had no copies.
5
Barcelona: Barcanova, 1981.
6
Frieda Blackwell, “Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,” in Twentieth-Century Spanish
Fiction Writers, ed. Marta E. Altisent and Cristina Martínez-Carazo, Dictionary of
Literary Biography Ser. 322 (Detroit: Gale, 2006) 328-36.
7
Janet Pérez and Stephen Miller, eds., Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish-American Studies, 1988).
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8
See José Miranda Ogando, “Entrevista: ‘Todos los dictadores eran bajitos,’”
Cambio 16 1197 (31 Oct 1994): 80-83. Cited in Stephen Miller, “El último estilo
creativo de Torrente Ballester: la narración esquemática (1989-1999),” La Tabla Redonda
5 (2007): iii.
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CHAPTER II
LIFE AND WORKS 1
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester was born in the Serantes parish of Ferrol, Galicia, on
13 June 1910. The young Torrente’s family changed residences (Cartagena, Estepona,
Oviedo, Vigo, Madrid, Valencia, Ferrol again, Santiago) quite frequently during the
1920s and 1930s, first because his father was a Naval officer (for which reason is family
lived in numerous port cities, moving frequently), then attending Universities in Santiago
de Compostela, Oviedo, and Madrid. While in Madrid, Torrente also participated in
tertulias of Ramón María del Valle-Inclán and attended lectures by José Ortega y Gasset,
the intellectual leader of the day. His stay in Madrid, and in Valencia shortly thereafter,
proved to be important in his theoretical formation, as there he was exposed to new ideas
through the contemporary literature he read and the literary and artistic people he met
while in those cities. After his stay in Valencia, Torrente returned to his native Galicia.
First he lived in Bueu with his family; during this time he would meet Josefina Malvido,
who represented Bueu’s intelligentsia. The two married in 1932. Torrente moved to
Ferrol to teach Latin and History in 1933, as well as undertaking coursework toward a
degree in Philosophy and Letters at the University of Santiago de Compostela. Torrente
also began participating in the Galleguista movement during this year (a movement
which promoted Galician independence), even serving as Secretario Local in 1935. In
the interim, Torrente would celebrate the birth of his first two children, a daughter in
1934 and a son in 1935. The following year, he was appointed Profesor Auxiliar de
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Historia at the University of Santiago de Compostela, a position he obtained through
oposiciones (public examinations) in 1936. That Summer, Torrente left for Paris to begin
investigations for a doctoral dissertation on Valle-Inclán on a grant from the University
of Santiago. His stay in France was cut short abruptly by the outbreak of the Spanish
Civil War in 1936. Torrente returned to Spain in October 1936, and upon arrival, he
followed advice given to him by his elders and joined the Falange, hoping thereby to
protect his family. The Spanish government-controlled university system would later
reject (prohibit) Torrente’s topic of study, as Valle-Inclán—a Republican sympathizer—
was considered persona non grata by the Franco regime (which forbade all study of
Valle and other prominent writers favoring the Republic). Torrente refused to change his
dissertation topic, and therefore never completed the doctoral degree.
Torrente quickly became active in publishing circles after his return to Spain at
the beginning of the Spanish Civil War. He attended the Congreso Nacional del Servicio
de Prensa y Propaganda in Salamanca, where he met Pedro Laín Entralgo. A member of
Falange since early on, Laín was notable as both a historian and an intellectual; he later
became a member of the Real Academia de Historia and the Real Academia de la
Lengua, as well as winning the Premio Príncipe de Asturias. Torrente moved to
Pamplona, becoming part of the Grupo Jerarquía, working with people like Laín and
Eugenio d’Ors. He then moved to Burgos to become part of the Grupo de Burgos (or
Grupo Escorial), which included intellectuals affiliated with Falange such as Luis Rosales
and Luis Felipe Vivanco and which was led by Dionisio Ridruejo. 2 While there,
Torrente collaborated with Spanish newspapers Arriba España and Sur, as well as
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publishing his first essay, “Razón y Ser de la Dramática Futura.” During the following
year, 1938, Torrente would meet Dionisio Ridruejo, a writer who would have a great
impact on the young aspiring Galician author. Ridruejo was among the founding
members of Falange, and supported its tenets long before Franco changed the course of
that organization during the decade following the end of the Spanish Civil War. Torrente
also admired Ridruejo for his writing, and dedicated his first novel, Javier Mariño (1943),
to him. During this same year, Torrente also published his first literary work, the
theatrical piece El viaje del joven Tobías. In addition, Torrente’s second daughter was
born in 1938. In 1939, Torrente’s fourth child, a son, was born. This year Torrente once
again served as Profesor Auxiliar de Historia at the University of Santiago. He also won
a government-sponsored competition for best auto sacramental for his second theatre
work, El casamiento engañoso. Before the close of the decade (and the end of the
Spanish Civil War), Torrente published the essays “Las ideas políticas modernas: el
liberalismo” and “Antecedentes históricos de la subversión nacional.”
The 1940s began well for Torrente. In 1940 he won a Cátedra de Lengua y
Literatura at the Instituto de Ávila, then successfully petitioned to have his position
transferred to Santiago de Compostela. During the following year, Torrente published
the theatrical piece Lope de Aguirre. In 1942, Torrente yet again faced the possibility of
leaving his home province of Galicia, this time with an assignment in Mahón. He again
petitioned for a transfer, which allowed him to return to Ferrol. In Ferrol, Torrente
published Siete ensayos y una farsa (El pavoroso caso del señor Cualquiera), as well as
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another theatrical work, República Barataria, followed by Selección y Prólogo a la
Antología de José Antonio Primo de Rivera.
In 1943 Torrente published Selección y prólogo a la Antología de Sor María de
Agreda. This year marks a more important event: the publication of Torrente’s first
novel, Javier Mariño. By the time Torrente published Javier Mariño, the stricter post-war
Francoist censorship was already in full swing (as opposed to a more lenient censorship,
operating in Burgos during the war), first prohibiting Javier Mariño in its entirety. Then
the third and final part of Torrente’s first novel was eliminated to make the novel fit
better with the tenets of the newly-formed Francoist government (termed by
contemporary observers “el nacional catolicismo”). In a foreword to the revised 1985
version of Javier Mariño, Torrente remarks:
La redacción de esta novela, escrita durante un invierno y un verano
consecutivos, coincidió en su terminación con uno de los momentos más
graves y decisivos de la Historia de España de nuestro tiempo: septiembreoctubre de 1942. Escrita pensando en una censura de talante liberal, hubo
de hacer frente a un cambio de situación que los escritores españoles de
aquel tiempo recordamos con un escalofrío. Un superviviente del anterior
equipo, a quien se la entregué privadamente, me aconsejó varios cambios
nada superficiales, que casi me obligaron a rehacer el texto en muchas de
sus más importantes páginas. La novela fue publicada algo más de un año
después, cuando las circunstancias se habían estabilizado: diciembre de
1943. Veinte días pasados de su aparición, el diez de enero de 1944, los
ejemplares existentes en las librerías fueron retirados, y la editorial recibió
orden de almacenarla. Mi carrera de novelista comenzaba con un tropezón
importante. (7)
This would not be the last time one of Torrente’s novels was published, only to be pulled
from the shelves shortly after its initial publication. The most notable example of this is
La princesa durmiente va a la escuela (1983), 3 which appeared in an absolutely minimal
first edition when originally published in the early 1950s, and was then given the same
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treatment that Javier Mariño had received a decade before. Neither novel had sufficient
time to garner attention for Torrente as a novelist before being pulled from the market
and banned. Once the censors banned anything, criticism of it became impossible, often
extending to other works by the same author. For Torrente, both Javier Mariño and La
princesa durmiente remained essentially unknown until republished in 1983 (La princesa
durmiente) and 1985 (Javier Mariño), both well after Franco’s death in 1975 and the
establishment of the newly democratic, post-Franco constitutional monarchy.
Despite the troubles encountered with the publication of his first novel, Torrente
continued with more narrative in 1944, publishing the short stories “Gerineldo” 4 and
“Cómo se fue Miguela.” 5 In 1946, he published his most important theatrical piece, El
retorno de Ulises, as well as his second novel, El golpe de estado de Guadalupe Limón.
In Guadalupe Limón Torrente managed to avoid some of the major problems he had
encountered with Javier Mariño, which still failed to gain significant critical attention.
The year 1947 brought a change of scenery for the Galician: he was appointed Profesor
de Historia General at the Escuela de Guerra Naval in Madrid. Upon arriving at Madrid,
Torrente began publishing theatre critique in Arriba. The following year, Torrente would
also begin doing cinema criticism in addition to theatre. All of these jobs were controlled
by the government. In addition to his activities as critic of theatre and cinema, he
attended conferencias at the Instituto de Humanidades, where he heard José Ortega y
Gasset speak. Ortega was to have a profound influence on Torrente’s thought and
writing. At the end of the 1940s, Torrente collaborated occasionally with Radio Nacional
de España, commenting on theatre and theatrical works. Before the close of the decade,
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Torrente also published his first serious volume of literary criticism, Literatura Española
Contemporánea, 1898-1936 (1949), 6 as well as the novelette, Ifigenia (1950).
Torrente continued to find publishing venues during the 1950s, beginning with the
one-act theatre piece, Atardecer en Longwood, in 1950. Torrente also continued his work
as theatre critic through Radio Nacional de España, as well as work on his next novel, La
princesa durmiente va a la escuela. As mentioned before, Torrente encountered several
setbacks in finalizing La princesa and attempting to secure a publisher for it. He
managed the smallest possible publishing run of the novel—perhaps because he had to
pay for it himself—only to have all copies of the novel removed from bookstore shelves
within weeks of publication, as was the case for Javier Mariño. After Torrente’s bad
publication experience with La princesa, Torrente shifted his focus more from writing to
criticism. He published one additional novelette, Farruquiño (1954), then devoted
himself to studies of literary criticism. First, Torrente published Panorama de la literatura
española contemporánea (1956), a revised and expanded version of Literatura española
contemporánea, 1898-1936 from almost a decade before. Panorama de la literatura
española not only incorporated new works published by authors featured in Torrente’s
earlier work of literary criticism, but also added newer authors who had come to his
attention during the 1950s. In 1957 Torrente published another major contribution to
Twentieth-Century Spanish literary history, Teatro Español Contemporáneo. Now with
three weighty tomes of literary criticism to his name, Torrente became known as an
important literary critic. Between these scholarly books and his frequent critical pieces in
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the periodical press, he was perhaps the best-known critic of his day—especially outside
of Spain.
Also in 1957 came El señor llega. El señor llega would form the first part of the
trilogy, Los gozos y las sombras. 7 In contrast to the later, much better-known “fantastic
trilogy,” Los gozos y las sombras is more reminiscent of Galdós, written in a Realist
manner. It serves as a historical reconstruction of some twenty years before, preceding
the Spanish Civil War in a Galician fishing village. Torrente would postpone further
work on the trilogy following the death of his wife, Josefina Malvido, and his father,
Gonzalo Torrente Piñón, the next month. However, upon winning the Premio Fundación
March in 1959 for El señor llega, Torrente resumed work on the second and third
installments of Los gozos y las sombras.
The 1960s began well for Torrente, but soon things would change for the
Galician. In 1960, he married Fernanda Sánchez-Guisande and travelled to France and
Germany. The two celebrated the birth of the first of the seven children they would have
together, a daughter, the following year. 8 Also in 1960, Torrente published the second
volume of Los gozos y las sombras, Donde da la vuelta el aire. The trilogy’s final
installment, La Pascua triste, would appear two years later. However, completion of the
trilogy was to be overshadowed when Torrente, along with some 200 others, signed a
manifesto in opposition to the various levels of “unofficial” censorship in effect in Spain
at the time. All who participated in the signing of the document, as well as public
protests which culminated in it, met swift retribution from the Franco government. Some
of the participants were imprisoned, whereas others were fined. Torrente, however, lost
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all of his government jobs, including his teaching job at the Escuela de Guerra Naval and
his posts at newspapers and radio. He was also forbidden to publish literature and literary
criticism under his own name for some time, forcing him to make a living through
translation work which was signed by his son. A notable exception to this rule was his
novel, Don Juan (1963), accepted for publication before Torrente had received his
punishment. Furthermore, critics were not allowed to discuss any of Torrente’s literary
works, including La Pascua triste. Thus, not only that work, but Los gozos y las sombras
as a complete trilogy, faded into obscurity.
Torrente gained employment once more in 1964, this time as a teacher at the
Instituto Femenino Valle Inclán in Pontevedra. During this period he also contributed to
the newspaper El Faro de Vigo (these contributions would later be published as Memoria
de un inconformista, published in 1997). In 1966 Torrente received an offer to teach at
the State University of New York at Albany (University of Albany) as Distinguished
Visiting Professor. There Torrente would find an audience appreciative of his literary
works as well as his vast knowledge of Spanish literature of his day. This environment
helped him begin work on what many would later consider his crowning achievement.
Torrente spent over a year studying new trends in literary criticism and thought in
North America, while adapting to life in Albany and enjoying the freedoms not available
to him in Franco-controlled Spain. In 1969 he published Off-side, a lengthy satirical
return to realism which, though it never drew much positive critical or public attention,
nevertheless signals an important shift in his writing. The novel follows Los gozos y las
sombras in its surfeit of realism, though it also contains a bit more humor than the trilogy.
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According to Torrente, “La vida de una ciudad puede usarse literariamente sin incurrir en
el costumbrismo. En Off-side, además, se anuncia mi nuevo estilo, en lo que tuvo de
humorístico y hasta de satírico” (69). With the imminent death of his mother, Torrente
returned to Spain. For some time he divided his time between teaching at the Instituto de
Orcasitas in Madrid and teaching in Albany.
In 1972 Torrente published La saga/ fuga de J.B., which was to become one of his
most famous novels. With La saga/ fuga Torrente finally received long-deserved
attention, both from critics and the reading public. The novel became an instant bestseller, and received both the Premio de la Crítica (awarded by literary critics for merit
and not by publishers as a sales inducement, thus considered one of the most prestigious
of literary prizes in Spain) and the Premio Ciudad de Barcelona. La saga/ fuga marked
the first time Torrente received widespread acclaim for one of his literary works, thus
marking a turning point in his literary career. Shortly after the publication of La saga/
fuga, Torrente decided to remain in Spain, no longer to divide his time on two continents
by teaching in Albany during part of the year. He obtained employment at the Instituto
de A Guía in Vigo, and fixed his residence in La Romana. In subsequent years, Torrente
would contribute to the important Madrid daily, Informaciones. When Torrente later
compiled his contributions to this periodical for publication, La Romana would provide
the titles for the compilations: Cuadernos de La Romana (1975) and Nuevos Cuadernos
de La Romana (1976). Torrente also published another important, lengthy essay: El
Quijote como juego (1975). This work would indulge his interest in Cervantes and
techniques in Cervantes’s literature, which now might be considered postmodern, as well
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as offering insight into the direction Torrente’s own writing had taken beginning with La
saga/ fuga. Also at this time, Torrente moved to Salamanca. There he would teach
Spanish to foreign students through the Instituto Torres de Villarroel and in conjunction
with American universities.
In 1975 Torrente was elected to the Real Academia Española de la Lengua, one of
the most important types of recognition available to a Spanish author. The overwhelming
success of La saga/ fuga undoubtedly contributed to this decision, as it was Torrente’s
most popular, best-selling publication of a work of narrative. Torrente would have to
delay his discurso de ingreso, however, due to a heart attack he suffered in December
1976. Torrente was able to deliver his discurso, “Acerca del novelista y su arte” (to
which fellow Galician Camilo José Cela responded) allowing him to become an official
member of the Real Academia. Shortly after this, Torrente published Fragmentos de
Apocalipsis (1977). Fragmentos received the same positive reaction from the public and
the critics as had La saga/ fuga, winning Torrente another Premio de la Crítica and
marking the first time any author had won that prestigious literary prize for two
successive novels. However, schemata representing a half-dozen aborted novels would
be published in 1979 as Las sombras recobradas when Torrente, nearing seventy,
despaired of finishing them as the full-length narratives he had originally intended.
In 1980 Torrente retired from teaching, after receiving an “Homenaje de la ciudad
de Salamanca.” His ailing health and his recent success in literature convinced him to
use writing as a primary source of income (not an easy thing to do during much of the
Franco era, much less for someone like Torrente who had so many children to support).
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During this year Torrente published La isla de los jacintos cortados, a work for which he
would win the Premio Nacional de Narrativa the following year. Critics would quickly
group La isla with La saga/ fuga and Fragmentos to become what they referred to as
Torrente’s “fantastic trilogy.” These three novels remain some of the most widely read
and analyzed of Torrente’s works. Torrente never thought of combining La saga/ fuga,
Fragmentos, and La isla as a trilogy. He explains:
No sé por qué, les ha dado a algunos en llamar a esta novela [La isla de los
jacintos cortados], con las dos anteriores [La saga/ fuga de J.B.,
Fragmentos de Apocalipsis], la “trilogía fantástica.” No lo es más que
Quizá nos lleve el viento al infinito, o que La Rosa de los vientos. Yo la
relaciono, por la forma, con Don Juan; por la materia, con Fragmentos...,
sin que tenga que ver demasiado con la una ni con la otra. Quien conozca
la novela, se explicará las razones por las que he elegido el fragmento que
se ofrece. 9
Unlike Los gozos y las sombras, which Torrente had conceived as a trilogy, a literary
whole sharing a single plot and common characters, the “fantastic trilogy” lacks
commonalities of plot, setting, characters, chronology, etc.
In 1981 Torrente published “Currículum en cierto modo”, as well as “Iñaqui mi
primo y Dios,” in Triunfo. He would also receive an “Homenaje de Galicia” in Santiago
de Compostela. In 1982 Torrente was awarded the Premio Príncipe de Asturias de las
Letras, along with Miguel Delibes. The Fundación Príncipe de Asturias noted that the
authors’ “capacidad de invención y de exposición se ha manifestado en un dominio
magistral de nuestra lengua que garantiza su pervivencia en la historia de la Literatura
española.” 10 The same year, Torrente published Ensayos críticos as well as Los
cuadernos de un vate vago. He also edited and re-published Teatro I and Teatro II,
bringing together in two tomes all of his theatrical works, many of which had not seen
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new editions since their initial publication. Torrente included a lengthy prologue to his
collected theatre works, as well as his “Diario de trabajo” (1942-1947). Finally, Torrente
oversaw the production of a miniseries based on Los gozos y las sombras. The miniseries
would air in Spain and Latin America and would become extremely popular in Spain,
further heightening public recognition of Torrente and his literature. Following the airing
of the ten-episode miniseries, a new edition of Los gozos y las sombras was published.
This time it found significantly greater success than it had done when originally
published.
Torrente published the complete version of La princesa durmiente va a la escuela
in 1983, close to 30 years after his failed attempts at doing so under the Franco regime.
During this year he also published Dafne y ensueños, a semi-autobiographical novel in
which appear references to the Galicia of Torrente’s youth. Torrente later referred to
Dafne as “Sin duda, uno de mis mejores libros: uno de los menos conocidos, por lo
tanto.” 11 Also in 1983, Torrente was named Hijo predilecto by his hometown, Ferrol.
He would receive similar recognition from his adopted city of Salamanca the following
year. In addition to this recognition, Torrente published Quizá nos lleve el viento al
infinito (1984). He also saw the publication of Compostela y su ángel and El Quijote
como juego y otros trabajos críticos. In addition to the 1975 essay which gives the latter
work its name, Torrente included six of the essays from his Siete ensayos y una farsa in
El Quijote como juego y otros trabajos críticos, as well as articles he published in
newspapers during the 1940s and 1950s. Torrente published the novel La rosa de los
vientos (1985) the following year.
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The honors and prizes culminated in 1985, the year in which Torrente became the
first Spaniard to receive the Cervantes Prize—sometimes called the Nobel Prize of
Spanish-speaking countries—in recognition of his life-long contributions to Spanish
literature. 12 In 1986 Torrente published another compilation of contributions he had
made to the “Sábado cultural” section of the Madrid daily ABC from 1981 to 1986, with
the title Cotufas en el golfo (1986). During this year Torrente’s theatre work, El retorno
de Ulises, was staged in Salamanca under the title “Oh Penélope.” The following year
Torrente published Yo no soy yo, evidentemente (1987). He also received Doctor
Honoris Causa from the Universidad de Salamanca. In 1988 Torrente was awarded
Doctor Honoris Causa by other universities, including those at Santiago de Compostela
and Bourgogne. The Republic of France also bestowed the Chevalier d’Honneur des
Arts et des Lettres upon him this year. Also this year, Torrente published Filomeno, a mi
pesar, for which he won the Premio Planeta. After Filomeno, Torrente would publish the
rest of his works (all novels) through Planeta. The year 1989 saw the publication of a
novel drawing upon Spain’s past, Crónica del rey pasmado. Also to appear this year
were Lo mejor de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester—a collection of excerpts from Torrente’s
works of literature and some essays, including an introduction to each excerpt by the
author—and Santiago de Rosalía de Castro. Finally, Torrente would undergo an
operation on his cataracts, which sought to help improve his deteriorating eyesight to
some extent.
Torrente’s output diminished significantly during the final decade of his life, the
1990s, although he continued to receive recognition for his life-long contributions to
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literature. In 1990 Torrente received the “Medalla de Oro al mérito cultural” from the
city of Santiago de Compostela, as well as the “Libro de oro 1990” from the Federación
de libreros de España. During this year, Torrente published a theatrical work, Una gloria
nacional, which he had originally written in 1947. In 1991 Torrente’s work appeared in
two formats. First, his novel Las islas extraordinarias was published. Second, his son
Gonzalo Torrente Malvido, along with Joan Potau, collaborated to adapt Crónica del rey
pasmado to cinema as El rey pasmado. Imanol Uribe would direct Torrente Malvido and
Potau’s screenplay.
Torrente was again awarded Doctor Honoris Causa in 1992, this time from the
University of Havana. During this year he published the novel, La muerte del Decano,
and a compilation of articles Torrente had contributed to the literary supplement,
Informaciones de las Artes y las Letras, between 1975 and 1979, Torre del aire. As
explained at the beginning of the 1000-page tome, “Con la presente edición se completa
el corpus periodístico del autor de La saga/ fuga de J.B.” 13 The year 1993 saw good and
bad developments occur for Torrente: he was awarded the “Premio Unión Latina de
escritores,” as well as being the subject of the International Symposium, “La creación
literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester” (whose proceedings would later be published
under the same title), which took place in Vigo. That same year, Torrente went to the
hospital in Santiago de Compostela for pneumonia. With this recent health scare behind
him, Torrente returned to writing. In 1994 he published La novela de Pepe Ansúrez.
Like Crónica del rey pasmado, Las islas extraordinarias, and La muerte del Decano, Pepe
Ansúrez is fairly short compared with earlier Torrente novels (and especially works like
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the three novels of Los gozos y las sombras, Don Juan, and the three novels of the socalled “fantastic trilogy”). Pepe Ansúrez won the Premio Azorín the year of its
publication.
Following Pepe Ansúrez, Torrente would publish two more novels during his life:
La boda de Chon Recalde (1995) and Los años indecisos (1997). Also in 1997, César
Antonio de Molina would edit essays Torrente published in Faro de Vigo from 1964 to
1967 as Memoria de un inconformista. Torrente received the Premio Castilla y León de
las Letras in 1996. During this year, the journal Abril would dedicate a monographic
issue to Torrente and his works. In 1997 he was awarded the Premio Rosalía de Castro
by the Pen Club in Galicia, as well as being named “hijo adoptivo” by the city of
Pontevedra. In 1998 Torrente was named “Cavaleiro da Ordem de Santiago da Espada,”
the highest accolade awarded in Portugal for an author’s literary production. Also this
year, Torrente went to the hospital in Vigo, again suffering from pneumonia. He was
able to return to his home in Salamanca, where he died on 27 January 1999. He was
buried in the cemetery of his hometown, Ferrol. Shortly after Torrente’s death, the novel
Doménica (1999) was published posthumously, as was his Atardecer en Longwood
adapted by Joaquín Hinojosa and premiered as the theatrical piece, Atardecer en Santa
Elena.
Scholarship focusing on Torrente’s vast literary oeuvre has intensified during the
years following his death. In 2003, the first publication of La Tabla Redonda was
published. La Tabla Redonda is the only scholarly journal devoted completely to the life
and works of the Galician. In 2010, the Primer Centenario Gonzalo Torrente Ballester
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was celebrated with conferences in Spain and abroad and various publications, including
a Número extraordinario of La Tabla Redonda and a special two-volume publication.
1
This chapter is based on bio-bibliographical information found in the following:
Janet Pérez, Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Boston: Twayne, 1984); Alicia Giménez
(Bartlett), Torrente Ballester: El autor y su obra (Barcelona: Barcanova, 1981); Carmen
Becerra, La historia en la ficción: La narrativa de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Madrid:
Ediciones del Orto, 2005); Frieda Blackwell, “Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,” in TwentiethCentury Spanish Fiction Writers, ed. Marta E. Altisent and Cristina Martínez-Carazo,
Dictionary of Literary Biography Ser. 322 (Detroit: Gale, 2006) 328-36; and Anthropos
número extraordinario “Gonzalo Torrente Ballester: Premio Cervantes 1985” (1986).
2
See Carmen Becerra, La historia en la ficción (9); Alicia Giménez (Bartlett),
Torrente Ballester: El autor y su obra (20); as well as Alicia Giménez Bartlett
(“Cronología de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,” pp. 29-30 in the special edition of
Anthropos dedicated to Torrente upon his winning the Cervantes Prize in 1985).
Ridruejo is cited as the main influence on Torrente, and it is possible the two met through
Laín, already an acquaintance of Ridruejo at the time.
3
Torrente wrote and published La princesa durmiente in 1950-51, although the
novel met the same unfortunate fate as that of Javier Mariño, being withdrawn from
bookstores within weeks of its publication. Torrente published it again after Franco’s
dictatorship had ended and Spain was firmly Democratic. The author once remarked of
La princesa, “La escribí cuando ser optimista era un pecado, y yo no intentaba pecar ni
aun con la imaginación” (Lo mejor de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester. [Barcelona: Seix
Barral, 1989] 27).
4
Originally published in 1944, and included in Ifigenia y otros cuentos
(Barcelona: Destino, 1987).
5
Originally published in 1944, and included in Ifigenia y otros cuentos.
6
Torrente would later expand this text in 1956 to include more contemporary
authors.
7
Three vols. Madrid: Arión, 1957-1962. Vol. I: El señor llega (1957); Vol. II:
Donde da la vuelta el aire (1960); Vol. III: La Pascua triste (1962).
8
Torrente and Fernanda Sánchez-Guisande had six more children during the first
decade of their marriage: a daughter in 1962, a son in 1963, a son in 1964, a son in 1966,
a son in 1967, and a son in 1969.
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9
Lo mejor de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Barcelona: Seix Barral, 1989) 93.
10
“Miguel Delibes Setién y Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, Premio Príncipe de
Asturias 1982,” Fundación Príncipe de Asturias. Web. 25 Mar 2011.
<http://www.fpa.es/premios/1982/miguel-delibes-setien-y-gonzalo-torrente-ballester/>.
11
Lo mejor de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester 111.
12
The Nobel Prize is awarded by a single entity, the Swedish Academy, and often
for a small portion of a writer’s work (e.g., when Camilo José Cela received the Nobel,
the citation mentioned only La familia de Pascual Duarte (1942) and La colmena
(1951)—although Cela listed over 100 titles in his bibliography. Thus, the Nobel
committee honored only 2% of Cela’s work—and early works, from his first decade. By
contrast, the Cervantes Prize is awarded by majority vote/ consensus of the 22 Academies
of the Spanish language, representing all countries in which Spanish is the official
language and including the United States. In addition, the Cervantes Prize is based on the
totality of the author’s work, making it a considerably more meaningful award.
13
Citation from front inside cover of Torre del aire.
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CHAPTER III
REVIEW OF THE CRITICISM
Surprisingly little analysis has been published on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester’s
literary works, and most of what does exist tends to focus on earlier, best-selling works
not included in the present study. Many critics consider Torrente to have reached his
apex as both critic and author during the late 1960s and 1970s, especially in the so-called
“fantastic trilogy,” comprised of La saga/fuga de J.B. (1972), Fragmentos de Apocalipsis
(1977), and La isla de los jacintos cortados (1980). These three novels, while not
considered a trilogy by Torrente himself, nor possessing any thematic ties which might
connect them to each other, were christened a trilogy by critics. The author has
commented that “No sé porqué, les ha dado a algunos en llamar a esta novela [La isla de
los jacintos cortados], con las dos anteriores [La saga/fuga de J.B. and Fragmentos de
Apocalipsis], la ‘trilogía fantástica.’ No lo es más que Quizá nos lleve el viento al
infinito, o que La Rosa de los vientos” (93). 1 The present study analyzes novels written
from 1988 to 1997, representing the last decade of Torrente’s life. It is during this time—
and especially during the 1990s—that Torrente’s novels become more distilled, synoptic,
considerably shorter, and are sometimes considered less intellectually stimulating than
his major successes (and longer, denser, more fully thought-out novels) including La
saga/fuga de J.B., Don Juan (1963), or Off-side (1969), among others. The author
realized that he might not have sufficient time to elaborate fully various ideas he wished
to develop, considering that he was already in his 70s and 80s and had been hospitalized
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in serious condition. Thus, it seemed more important to Torrente to write novels which,
while shorter, still conveyed certain points he wished to make before he became unable to
write or publish any longer.
Major U.S. contributors to scholarship on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester include, but
are not limited to, Janet Pérez, Stephen Miller, Genaro Pérez, Angel Loureiro, Frieda
Blackwell, José Colmeiro, and Gonzalo Navajas. In Spain, perhaps the most important
contributor to Torrente scholarship today is Carmen Becerra, who not only knew the
author well and maintained contact with him during the final decades of his life, but who
has also worked with the Fundación Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (with all of its
manuscripts, etc.). Becerra is also Editor of La Tabla Redonda, 2 the only journal in the
world dedicated exclusively to studies of various facets of Torrente’s literary and critical
work, and the leading authority on the profound effect these works have had on literature
and culture in Spain and the Spanish-speaking world. In addition to Becerra’s vitally
important contributions to scholarly analysis of Torrente’s work, there is also a group of
professors with Becerra at universities in Galicia (Vigo, Santiago de Compostela, and A
Coruña) who dedicate much of their publishing energies to advancing studies of Galician
writers, notably Torrente. Becerra forms part of this research group dedicated to studies
of Torrente’s life and works; the group also includes José Antonio Ponte Far, Ángel
Basanta, Antonio J. Gil González, José Antonio Pérez Bowie, and José María Paz Gago.
Notable Spanish professors Darío Villanueva and Luis Iglesias Feijoo have also
contributed substantially to Torrente studies, having maintained involvement with La
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Tabla Redonda since its inception (aside from having published various scholarly and
periodical articles on Torrente over the last decades).
In order to get a better idea of Torrente’s evolution as a writer, one must consider
his vast, decades-long literary career. This necessitates a look at Torrente’s first literary
efforts, mostly theatre, followed by his beginnings in prose and some of his more
important works of short fiction (including short stories like “Gerineldo” and novellas
like “Ifigenia”) as well as Torrente’s first foray into the novel, Javier Mariño. Through
dialogue with critical works published by prominent Torrente scholars, one gains a
deeper understanding of how the author progressed as a writer, and clearer appreciation
of how he developed and maintained a solid literary career over the span of almost six
decades. The main focus of the present study will be the novels published during the
final decade of Torrente’s life, between 1988 and 1997: Filomeno, a mi pesar (1988),
Crónica del rey pasmado (1989), Las islas extraordinarias (1991), La muerte del Decano
(1992), La novela de Pepe Ansúrez (1994), La boda de Chon Recalde (1995), and Los
años indecisos (1997). Following discussion of the relatively scant criticism on these
later novels, a glimpse at Torrente’s posthumous novel, Doménica (1999), will be in
order. Doménica marks a departure from the rest of the novels Torrente published from
Filomeno, a mi pesar to Los años indecisos in that it does not appear to discuss any of the
historical themes so important to the rest of Torrente’s final novels. As Doménica was
unfinished at the time of Torrente’s death, it is tempting but probably futile to speculate
as to how he would have completed the novel. The nature of the novel itself suggests that
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it would have been something different from the kind of literature Torrente typically
published.
Following is a brief review conducted on Torrente’s literary works, with
particular emphasis on criticism published during the 1990s and 2000s, both because
these critical works are temporally more proximate and, much more importantly, the
works to be analyzed in the present study all date from the late 1980s and the 1990s.
Much serious critical analysis on Torrente’s literature dates from the early 1980s to the
present, having followed Torrente’s election to the Real Academia de la Lengua in 1975,
the publication of his novel, La isla de los jacintos cortados (the final part of the
“fantastic trilogy”), and his winning the Cervantes Prize in 1985. This should come as no
surprise, considering the relative lack of exposure Torrente encountered as a result of
less-than-ideal conditions for publishing in Spain during the Franco years. 3 For these
reasons, the following section of this study will follow the most salient criticism
conducted on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester from the early 1980s to the present, treating
books and scholarly articles in chronological order.
Alicia Giménez (Bartlett) published two critical studies on Torrente during the
early 1980s. These studies, an expansion upon Giménez’s doctoral thesis at the
University of Barcelona, would be among the first to consider Torrente as a major literary
figure in contemporary Spain. The first study, Torrente Ballester: El hombre y su obra, 4
includes a chronology of the author up to the date of publication of the study, as well as
insightful criticism on the Galician’s publications up to that point. Therefore, this critic
includes literary works from Javier Mariño to Fragmentos de Apocalipsis and Las
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sombras recobradas, as well as a mention of criticism and contributions to periodicals.
Giménez benefits from insights provided to her through interviews with the author
himself, but claims that Torrente Ballester should be considered more of an intellectual
“tip of the iceberg” than an exhaustive study. She urges those interested in Torrente’s
work to take up their pens and contribute to scholarship as well:
Torrente necesita ser estudiado, analizado, controvertido incluso; su
novelística, su labor de crítico y periodista debe ser tomada de una vez en
cuenta por la crítica, no como fenómeno aislado, sino como componente
de un panorama cultural que sin él no sólo estaría incompleto, sino que no
llegaría a entenderse. (8)
Torrente Ballester concludes with a discussion of Torrente’s entrance into the Real
Academia Española, noting that “queda aún una parte de deber pendiente: por parte de
los estudiosos de la Literatura española, el redactar libros de análisis y de crítica sobre la
obra de Torrente, cuya escasez, como comentábamos al principio de este trabajo, es tan
incomprensible como indignante” (125).
Carmen Becerra makes her first of several books on Torrente with Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester, published in 1982. 5 Not precisely a critical work of its own right, this
book contains biographical information on the Galician, followed by excerpts from
selected, representative works including the “fantastic trilogy.” Becerra then includes
excerpts from criticism on each of the works featured in the anthology section, as well as
a chronology and a bibliography.
In Torrente Ballester en su mundo literario 6 Giménez (Bartlett) renews her
scholarly interest in Torrente and his literature. In this volume, she comments on
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Torrente’s seemingly overnight success in Spain following the publication of La saga/
fuga de J.B.:
Sirva como comienzo, como segundo comienzo, el recordar que en el año
1972 brotó un fuerte chorro de agua del suelo bastante estéril de nuestro
campo literario. Muchos se admiraron de la variedad de las formas que
tomaba el líquido, de lo caprichoso del ruido de caer, de los laberintos, de
los colores, de las notas musicales que la fuente provocaba. Se trata, de
una vez por todas, de recordar que esa fuente no era un surtidor ocasional
o espontáneo, sino una fuente subterránea, un río que fluía y había fluido
desde mucho tiempo atrás sin que nadie pareciera darse demasiada cuenta.
Esa es y será una de las principales particularidades de T.B., su
reconocimiento en los altos niveles intelectuales del país, con poca
permeabilidad en un principio a niveles más bajos, y su recuperación, me
atrevería a decir tumultuosa, a raíz de una de sus obras que le hará ser
conocido y admirado, que lo devolverá del dorado anonimato de los
críticos especializados o de las academias, al mundo vivo de los lectores,
de la reseña periodística, de la entrevista, de los homenajes, de las
conferencias multitudinarias, del contacto entre autor-sociedad. (15)
Giménez concentrates her literary analysis in the following sections: “Realismo: novelas
y relatos realistas desde 1944 hasta 1969” (Javier Mariño, Los gozos y las sombras, Offside), “Novela intelectual” (Ifigenia, El golpe de estado de Guadalupe Limón, Don Juan,
El hostal de los dioses amables), “La novela fantástica” (the “fantastic trilogy”), and
“Otros relatos fantásticos.” She also offers insight into Torrente’s literature as a whole,
exploring common themes. Giménez then discusses the Galician’s essays and criticism,
before closing her study with a bibliography of works on and by him. Though most of
the books she mentions do not focus specifically on Torrente, they nonetheless constitute
some of the most up-to-date criticism on the author at the time of publication of Torrente
Ballester en su mundo literario, making this study a valuable research tool for other
Torrente scholars.
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Janet Pérez’s Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, 7 published shortly following the
publication of La isla de los jacintos cortados, is one of the pioneering critical studies on
Torrente. Pérez discusses Torrente’s life up to the publication of the study, as well as
early works leading up to the “fantastic trilogy.” Pérez focuses on Torrente’s theatrical
works and early criticism first, noting the presence of certain elements in these works
which would continue to appear throughout Torrente’s literary career. She states that
“Today, Torrente is unquestionably the most highly lauded novelist in Spain, but nothing
essential in his stance has changed: it is the public which has changed” (158-9).
Explaining further, Pérez states:
Over the course of more than four decades as a novelist, Torrente’s
technique has evolved and his emphasis has changed, but the essentials
has not: intellectuality, humor, satire, a critical stance, a fascination for
myth and history, the alternation of fantasy and parody with an underlying
realism, self-conscious experimentalism, and the interest in novelistic
theory. All are present to varying degrees in all his narratives, although in
some the mythic predominates, while others are more sober. If a
continuing trend can be distinguished in Torrente’s work, it is the
sustained increase in humor, parody, and self-conscious theorizing,
accompanied by an ever-growing intellectual capacity. (159-60)
Similarly, Pérez devotes a chapter to Torrente’s first novels, Javier Mariño and El
golpe de estado de Guadalupe Limón. Pérez then devotes a lengthy chapter of her study
on Torrente’s trilogy, Los gozos y las sombras. Pérez devotes the next chapter to the pair
of novels Ifigenia and Don Juan. She then discusses Off-side in one chapter, followed by
La saga/ fuga de J.B. in another chapter, and a chapter devoted to short fiction and essays,
before finishing her analysis with a chapter devoted to Torrente’s (at the time) most
recent publications, Fragmentos de Apocalipsis and La isla de los jacintos cortados.
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Pérez, undoubtedly aware of critical grouping of La saga/ fuga, Fragmentos, and La isla
into a “fantastic trilogy,” maintains that:
La Saga/ fuga de J.B., Fragmentos de apocalipsis, and La isla de los
jacintos cortados belong to another cycle unified by a common
preoccupation with literary theory, the self-conscious character, the
relationship between literature and reality, and a pronounced parodic
tendency. If indeed the three recent experimental novels constitute a
trilogy, it is not in the usual sense, for their structural interrelatedness is
extremely tenuous with no common characters, common time or setting,
without continuity of action from one to the other. The trilogy “Los gozos
y las sombras” is thus Torrente’s only complete, unified novelistic cycle.
(53)
In her conclusion, Pérez affirms that “The frustrated dramatist who spent most of his life
as an obscure high-school teacher is today one of Spain’s most honored and creative
intellectuals, unchallenged as the novelist of the decade” (161).
Frieda Blackwell makes an important contribution to studies of Torrente’s
literature with The Game of Literature: Demythification and Parody in Novels of
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester. 8 Blackwell begins by asserting:
Nothing in literature is ever lost, nor is any work a totally new creation.
Literature is constantly revitalized as writers create while simultaneously
drawing thematically and stylistically from a long literary tradition. In his
novels, Gonzalo Torrente Ballester consciously lays bare this tradition and
through the use of this exposing, ironic technique renews a very common
theme of Spanish letters: the disparity between appearance and reality.
(11)
Noting Torrente’s observations of Spain of the Spanish Civil War and the immediate
postwar as major influences, Blackwell explains how the Galician utilizes literary
techniques such as parody and humor to overturn the demythification of Spanish history
as established by the Franco regime. This critic focuses on El golpe de estado de
Guadalupe Limón, Ifigenia, Don Juan, and Off-side, to illustrate the various forms of
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demythification present in Torrente’s literature (i.e., demythification of historico-political
myths, of a national cultural myth, of social and literary conventions) before suggesting a
demythification and remythification of history and literature in La saga/ fuga de J.B. and
Fragmentos de Apocalipsis.
Shortly after Torrente received the Cervantes Prize, the journal Anthropos
published two special numbers dedicated to his life and works. The first issue, a número
extraordinario, was published in 1986 to celebrate the bestowing of the prestigious
literary prize on the Ferrol native. It includes comments by the author on his life and
literary works up until he received the prize, as well as his “Currículum en cierto modo”
and “Cómo se fue Miguela,” as well as Torrente’s discourse on receiving the Cervantes
Prize. Torrente remarks on being the first Spaniard to win the award which some
consider to be the Nobel Prize of the Spanish-speaking world address: “Soy el primer
novelista español que recibe este premio, destinado a honrar a los creadores de ambos
lados del Atlántico, no porque mis merecimientos superen los de mis colegas, sino
porque alguien tenía que ser el primero, y la suerte quiso que fuese yo” (45). Later in his
speech, Torrente discusses the importance of Cervantes in his literary work. He states:
El escritor vive en la realidad inevitablemente, pero, además, como
materia prima de su arte, sólo cuenta con ella, con lo que de ella pueda
obtener o recibir; a la relación del hombre con lo real llamamos
experiencia. […] Hay quien, pues, ante la realidad así conocida y
experimentada, adopta una actitud radical que, al expresarse poéticamente,
aproxima a la poesía, en tanto respuesta a la experiencia, en tanto nutrida
de ella, a esa otra repuesta ya mencionada, la que declara el sentido de lo
que existe o reconoce su carencia: por otros caminos, pero hacia las
mismas metas. Yo pertenezco a una generación de escritores a la que
preocupó ante todo hallar ese sentido. (46)
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Immediately following the transcript of Torrente’s discurso are works of fiction
and reflection by Spanish writers Alfredo Conde, Francisco Cataño and Alicia Giménez,
as well as Portuguese writer Miguel Viqueira. After these appear articles of literary
analysis contributed by scholars from Spain, France, and the United States. Many of
these articles focus on the most recent of Torrente’s literary works, many of them paying
attention to elements in Torrente’s literature which most closely link him to Cervantes.
The second issue of Anthropos published to commemorate the presentation of the
Cervantes Prize to Torrente, published in 1987, contains further critical reflection on
Torrente’s literary work and the Cervantine characteristics found therein, as well as the
importance of Torrente’s publications in contemporary Spanish literature. A carefully
compiled bibliography of work by and about Torrente, prepared by Carmen Becerra,
completes this issue of Anthropos.
Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, 9 edited by Janet Pérez and
Stephen Miller, was published shortly after Torrente was awarded the Cervantes Prize.
As Pérez observes in the Introduction, “Given the near-total lack of critical notice of
Torrente’s early career, it comes as no surprise that few studies exist of works prior to La
saga/ fuga. Indeed, the total corpus of critical writings on Torrente continues to be
relatively small in proportion to his obvious significance” (1). The collection brings
together many prominent Torrente scholars, and constitutes a solid contribution to
Torrente studies. Pérez states that the intention of the collection was not only to honor
Torrente for the latest and most significant of a series of awards the Galician author had
received during the past decade and a half, but also to “deal with the neglected early
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works” (2). Pérez also notes that many of the essays in the collection still focus on the
“fantastic trilogy” as well as Quizá nos lleve el viento al infinito and Yo no soy yo,
evidentemente, for those were the novels published most recently before Critical Studies.
This, however, by no means diminishes the value which Critical Studies has for Torrente
scholarship, thanks in small part to essays exploring Torrente’s early works (“Parodia y
subversión en las primeras novelas de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester” 10 ), as well as one
which analyzes aspects of Torrente’s theatrical works (“El viaje del joven Tobías and the
Quest for Purity” 11 ).
Critical Studies is divided into four sections. Each article in the first section
focuses on one of Torrente’s works, whereas articles in the second section treat multiple
works. The articles treat a diverse set of topics in Torrente’s literature, including speech
acts, 12 syllabic games, 13 intertextuality and literary borrowings, 14 apocalyptic themes, 15
metafiction, 16 myth and metaphor, 17 questions of identity, 18 literature within literature, 19
history in fiction and fiction in history, 20 historiography, 21 and existentialism in the face
of Catholicism. 22 The third section of Critical Studies deals with Torrente’s literary
theories. Two articles on literary theory (by notable Torrente scholars Ángel Loureiro
and Stephen Miller) address how Torrente’s dual role of writer and literary critic often
coincided in his literature. The fourth and final section of Critical Studies consists of an
interview with Torrente, conducted by Stephen and Francisca Miller. The interview
which concludes Critical Studies (as Pérez explains in the Introduction):
centers upon clarification of the controversial issue of the novelist’s
politico-literary attitudes during the period 1930-1960. The intention of
the interviewers is to clarify Torrente’s political sentiments during the
Civil War and his prolonged period of literary apprenticeship, his
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relationship to the Falange and the Franco regime, and the relevance of
these for his literary career. (11)
Critical Studies contains solid criticism, as well as the insightful interview of the author
himself, providing a valuable resource for those studying Torrente, his life and his
literature.
Genaro Pérez contributes to the critical dialogue on Torrente’s work in his book
entitled La novela como burla/ juego: Siete experimentos novelescos de Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester. 23 This critic refers to Torrente as “uno de los escritores españoles
más honrados y más innovadores,” stating that La novela como burla/ juego “es el
resultado en parte de la admiración por siete novelas experimentales de Torrente
Ballester, las más innovadoras y originales que el genial gallego ha escrito hasta la fecha”
(13). Pérez also identifies a veritable myriad of literary influences on the Galician writer,
including Cervantes, Sterne, Joyce, as well as theories such as structuralism,
deconstructionism, semiotics, reader response, and Russian formalism (14), stating that
the amalgam of these influences has produced in Torrente’s experimental novels
something which goes beyond the nueva novela española of the 1960s and 1970s. Pérez
maintains that, through use of prominent techniques of the nueva novela española,
Torrente:
logra mantener un contenido tradicional que el lector medio puede
entender. Esto no equivale decir que el lector tiene que ser pasivo y no
poner nada de su parte (como es característico de muchas “nuevas
novelas”), sino que en la novelística experimental de Torrente pueden
existir dos tipos de lectores: el lector medio, pasivo, para quien sólo existe
un texto; y el lector activo quien tiene que poner mucho de su parte puesto
que el propósito primordial de las novelas no es el contenido, sino el
deleite del(os) texto(s) en sí y para sí. (14-15)
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Notwithstanding the possibility of multiple ways in which to read the nueva novela
española, Pérez acknowledges the intellectual depth accomplished by Torrente, even in
his more recent, experimental novels.
Pérez first analyzes Don Juan, noting the burlesque elements contained in
Torrente’s version of the myth originated by Tirso Molina. For this critic, “El tema
principal de la novela es la burla. Pero no se limita a Don Juan como notorio burlador;
alude también a la burla sufrida por el narrador español a manos de los actores, y además,
se burla de aquellos lectores ingenuos que esperaban una obra convencional y cerrada”
(19). Pérez then compares Off-side with the novela negra, although he notes certain
disparities between Torrente’s novel and the typical novel of this literary genre. 24 He
states that, “En el caso de Torrente, el lector familiarizado con el género se da cuenta
inmediatamente que Off-side tiene una densidad de elementos filosóficos que no se
encuentran en la típica novela negra” (33). Pérez also cites Ortega y Gasset and Flaubert
as major influences in the philosophical and realist/ quasi-objectivist style that Torrente
employs in Off-side. Pérez highlights various characteristics of the typical detective
novel found in Torrente’s novel, including sex and homosexuality, drugs, prostitution,
and crime, as well as those found in social Realist works of mid-century Spain, like
religion the role of the individual in society, and the emotional commitment of the
individual to society and against totalitarianism (36). He then mentions elements found
in Off-side featured in works published after this novel:
Entre los elementos precursores de las futuras novelas de Torrente (aunque
ya existen rasgos en las novelas primerizas), se observan ciertas
preocupaciones estilísticas y temáticas ya notadas en Don Juan y que
luego se desarrollarán más ampliamente, verbigracia, la metaficción o el
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narrador autoconsciente. Igualmente se notan las dicotomías de realidad/
irrealidad, realidad/ historia, realidad/ invención-apariencia.
Far from being limited to the works analyzed in La novela como burla/ juego, these
stylistic and thematic preoccupations are also prominent in the works to be analyzed in
the present study. In addition, the particular richness of themes and elements found in
Off-side prompts Pérez to conclude that the novel “no merece haber sido ignorada por la
crítica y el público [. . .]. A Torrente le faltó enchufe, buenas conexiones entre la crítica
peninsular” (41).
Pérez devotes a chapter of La novela como burla/ juego to each of the novels
comprising Torrente’s “fantastic trilogy,” applying a different theoretical approach to
each one. He takes a structuralist stance in his analysis of La saga/ fuga de J.B., focusing
on intertextual devices employed in the novel that many critics have judged to be the
most important of Torrente’s literary work. 25 Pérez cites structuralist techniques such as
charts used to explain theories related to the different J.B. personae and the poem
consisting of syllables whose varying combinations yield nonsense words (50-51). Pérez
also comments on the presence of Cervantes in Torrente’s novel, noting that:
Torrente experimenta con el desenlace variable o múltiple en La saga/
fuga, resucitando a personajes muertos ya, y cambiando el final de los
acontecimientos de acuerdo con diferentes posibilidades [. . .].
Obviamente, Torrente está consciente tanto del aspecto lúdico como del
aspecto teórico-experimental y el más profundamente filosófico,
existencial, del juego de múltiples y variables desenlaces que pone al
relieve el contraste entre la obra de arte y la realidad: aquélla puede
hacerse y deshacerse según los caprichos del creador, mientras que ésta se
limita a un solo final. El ser humano no puede volver, no puede revivir lo
ya vivido ni cambiar los resultados de decisiones equivocadas ni de
consecuencias desagradables. (52)
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This observation provides insight into one of the ludic elements found in Torrente’s
literature, which is the play between fiction/ fantasy (following Todorov’s definition of
the fantastic) and reality.
Pérez follows his structuralist analysis of La saga/ fuga with a deconstructionist
perspective on Fragmentos de Apocalipsis. As ways of a continuation of the final pages
of La saga/ fuga—in which Pérez suggests that the protagonist/ narrator/ author threatens
the authenticity of his own narration throughout the novel (51)—here this critic maintains
that “Torrente lleva hasta un extremo el concepto metaliterario de autoconciencia o de
novela autorreferencial” (57). Pérez explains:
Esta novela es una prolongada meditación, entre lúcida y alucinada, sobre
el proceso de creación literaria, sus problemas y placeres secretos, como
también los trucos y las trampas del escritor, particularmente la de
cuestionar repetidamente la autoridad/ autoría del texto y la existencia de
un narrador, tan en boga últimamente. (57)
Pérez credits Torrente’s vast knowledge of critical and literary theory to the games the
Galician writer plays in Fragmentos. As with other works by Torrente which appeared
before and after it, Fragmentos contains many intertextual, autoreferential elements, as
well as a continued play with certain binaries such as reality/ fiction, reality/ fantasy, real
life/ literature, etc. (66). As Pérez concludes:
El ensayo de metaficción iniciado en Don Juan llega al límite de la
experimentación autoconsciente y teórica en Fragmentos de Apocalipsis,
experimento enajenante y sin embargo lúcido, destrucción creadora,
novela/ texto/ narrador/ autor despedazados y recreados continuamente:
desconstrucción paródica. (66)
Pérez comments upon the history/ fantasy, or history/ fiction, dichotomy prevalent
in many of Torrente’s literary works in his analysis of La isla de los jacintos cortados.
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This critic contrasts the fictional aspects of La isla—the proof offered that Napoleon
Bonaparte never really existed, having been created by a cabal to propagate a national
myth—to the Galdosian Realist manner in which Torrente depicted Galicia in his
historical trilogy, Los gozos y las sombras. Comparing La isla to El golpe de estado de
Guadalupe Limón, Pérez astutely observes that the creation of a national myth lies at the
very heart of La isla. Furthermore, he continues, “En estas obras, se detiene antes de
sostener que ciertos hechos históricos tenidos por verdaderos pueden ser totalmente
falsos, invenciones puras, o que un prohombre de la historia europea moderna no existió
nunca” (70). This critic also discusses the notion of singularización, as applied to the
passage of time in La isla: there is no concept of past or future, only the present,
reminiscent of Unamuno’s concept of intrahistoria. Pérez states that “Escribir la historia
con protagonistas y unidades es hacer teatro; el modo legítimo de escribirla exigiría la
enumeración de todo cuanto acontece, un método interminable. Las divisiones que
suelen hacer los historiadores son igualmente artificiales, pues la realidad no se divide en
épocas, años o minutos” (73-74). Pérez declares La isla to be a more conventional novel
than the other novels studied in La novela como burla/ juego, yet he praises the novel as
“originalísima en su ‘demostración’ de la mentira de la historia, que establece la
superioridad de la ficción sobre los métodos historiográficos” (78).
Pérez discusses two novels published after the “fantastic trilogy,” Quizá nos lleve
el viento al infinito and Yo no soy yo, evidentemente. The critic illustrates how Torrente
utilized elements of science fiction and the spy novel as a form of protest in Quizá nos
lleve el viento al infinito. By combining the two aforementioned genres, Torrente has
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opened the door to new possibilities otherwise unavailable to authors of one genre or the
other. In addition, Pérez says, this allows Torrente a new way to continue his trend of
demythologization established much earlier during the Galician’s literary career (81-85).
Finally, Pérez explores questions of identity and literary research in Yo no soy yo,
evidentemente. The novel revolves around what Janet Pérez has referred to as “academic
detecting.” 26 As other critics have noted, Pérez discusses Torrente’s interest in leading
Portuguese author Fernando Pessoa, and the heteronyms he created, complete with their
own biographies and “authors” of their own styles of literature. Relating back to Yo no
soy yo, Pérez explains that the principal theme is the subject of authorship and the
process of “cuestionar la realidad del texto y del autor del mismo” (87). As a conclusion,
Pérez states:
En conjunto, las siete novelas estudiadas aquí representan una aportación
muy significativa al caudal literario español. Tal conclusión no es ni
personal ni nada arriesgada, puesto que el Premio Cervantes se concede
solamente a escritores que han contribuido con la totalidad de su obra a
incrementar notablemente el patrimonio literario del mundo hispánico
entero. Por lo tanto, resulta inconcebible que de aquí en adelante
cualquier estudio serio de la nueva novela española no incluya varias de
las novelas de Torrente aquí examinadas. (97)
Thus, Pérez echoes other critics by insisting that a continuation in studies of Torrente’s
literature is sorely needed.
Janet Pérez comments on various elements in Filomeno, a mi pesar, in an article 27
appearing shortly after this novel was published and won the Premio Planeta. Pérez
comments on the noticeable lack of elements popular in Torrente’s works which appeared
before Filomeno, particularly humor and literary experimentation. This critic also states
that even the notoriety of the Premio Planeta could not explain the fact that the novel had
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gone through eight editions in the five months following its initial publication (341).
What Pérez finds interesting about Filomeno is precisely the fact that the novel takes
place during roughly the same time as its author’s life, beginning in the early Twentieth
Century and ending sometime in the decade following the Spanish Civil War. This is
significant because many of Torrente’s earlier works referred to the same time period
only allegorically or otherwise obliquely, often thinly veiled as taking place in “another
place, another time,” in a conscious effort Torrente made to get around the Francoist
censors. Since Filomeno was published over a decade after Franco’s death (and close to
a decade after the ratification of Spain’s constitution), Torrente could represent events
during this time frame more openly and directly. To that matter, Pérez discusses the
potential importance of the protagonist’s name, referring to the ancient mythical figure of
Philomena. This critic then suggests that the violence committed against Philomena—
she was raped and her tongue cut out—could be somehow symbolic of the various forms
of punishment Torrente experienced by Franco censors, who either grossly edited, or
outright banned, his earlier literary works, and for a short time would not even allow the
writer to publish under his own name (345).
Sagrario Ruiz Baños contributes a lengthy study on the literary output of
Torrente. Her dissertation, “La novela intelectual de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,” 28
draws upon studies conducted on Torrente’s narrative, theatre, essay, and journalism in
order to yield “la consideración de Torrente como ‘novelista intelectual’ y su
incardinación en una tradición narrativa de la historia de la literatura española, que parte,
como es natural, de Cervantes y su magistral obra de arte” (2). She proceeds to analyze
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Torrente’s literature, from Javier Mariño to Yo no soy yo, evidentemente. She then
compares Torrente’s intellectualism to that of Wilhelm Dilthey, Eugenio D’Ors, Romano
Guardini, and José Ortega y Gasset, among others. One interesting section involves the
role of reality and fantasy in literature. Ruiz Baños will continue to study these and other
topics in Torrente, including the prominence of history in fiction and fiction as quasihistorical account, in later studies.
Ángel Loureiro provides an insightful study of the “fantastic trilogy” with his
Mentira y seducción: La trilogía fantástica de Torrente Ballester. 29 While Loureiro
acknowledges the increased amount of attention the “fantastic trilogy” won for Torrente,
both from critics and the public, he asserts that the Galician’s literary oeuvre still merits
much more attention. He states the following:
Este libro persigue el objetivo de mostrar la complejidad y riqueza técnica
de las tres novelas de Torrente que, en su conjunto, reúnen todas las
características más destacadas de su larga carrera narrativa, utilizándose
para ello una variedad de acercamientos provenientes en general de
diversos sectores teóricos de la narratología. (10)
Loureiro devotes one chapter each to the three works of the “fantastic trilogy,” with as
many pages on La saga/ fuga de J.B. as Fragmentos de Apocalipsis and La isla de los
jacintos cortados combined. Rather than closing with a “Conclusions” chapter, Loureiro
prefers “Punto y Seguido…,” thus implying that studies on the “fantastic trilogy” (as well
as all of Torrente’s literature) should continue well beyond the end of this one.
Perhaps one of the single most important contributions to studies of Torrente is
Carmen Becerra’s Guardo la voz, cedo la palabra: Conversaciones con Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester. 30 As the title implies, the book consists of a series of interviews this critic
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conducted with Torrente over the decade following the publication of the final
installment of the “fantastic trilogy,” La isla de los jacintos cortados. Becerra divides the
book into specific themes, stating that:
A través de sus páginas he pretendido poner al lector en contacto directo
con la voz de Gonzalo Torrente, con su peculiar manera de ver el mundo y
con su vastísima cultura. En esta larga conversación estructurada en
bloques, que desarrollan cada uno un único tema, pueden hallarse la
mayoría de las claves de las creaciones torrentinas, algunas ya expresadas
por él en otros lugares y momentos, dispersas e incontrolables, aquí
reunidas y ordenadas. (14)
The conversations contained in Guardo la voz, cedo la palabra provide invaluable
insight—from the author himself—on some of the most important themes found in
Torrente’s literature.
José Ponte Far contributes a study of the presence of Galicia in Torrente’s
literature with his Galicia en la obra narrativa de Torrente Ballester. 31 He begins by
providing an extensive amount of biographical information on Torrente. Ponte Far then
lists literary works published by Torrente, as well as criticism on and interviews of him,
before finishing his study with his own literary analysis. This critic considers Galician
landscape, myths and legends, various elements of the weather (rain, wind, etc.), as well
as habitats, homes, and the “pazo” as influential on Torrente’s writing.
Another significant contribution to Torrente studies is La creación literaria de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester. 32 Like La Tabla Redonda, this major scholarly resource
began as a conference series and was spearheaded by Carmen Becerra and two other
Galician professors specialized in Torrente studies, Ángel Abuín and Ángel Candelas. In
it are featured some of the most prominent Torrente scholars of the past decade: Ángel
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Loureiro, Janet Pérez, Ángel Basanta, Carmen Becerra, and José Antonio Ponte Far.
Also included in La creación literaria is a talk given by famed Portuguese novelist and
Nobel laureate José Saramago, which compares Torrente to Cervantes in terms of the
quality of their literature, and more specifically, makes a comparison between the
former’s La saga/fuga de J.B. and the latter’s Don Quijote. Saramago states:
Un día escribí que el lugar a la derecha de Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra,
autor del Quijote, vacante durante siglos, había sido ocupado por Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester, autor de La saga/fuga de J.B. Vuelvo a decirlo ahora,
habré de repetirlo mañana, sabedor de que muchos y muchos años tendrán
que pasar antes de que se vuelva a escribir un libro como éste. (21)
Several years of friendship and avid reading of each other’s works made of the TorrenteSaramago duo a mutual admiration society.
Eduardo Alonso, in his essay, “La fabulación ‘como si,’” 33 discusses his
experiences reading Torrente from an early age. Alonso cites the influence of Cervantes
on Torrente’s literature, saying that “Siempre me han fascinado los escritores capaces de
poblar espacios de apariencia fabulosos” (24). He notes Torrente’s affirmation that “toda
narración puede ser infinita, igual que amorfa, como la vida” (24), and his comment that
“El novelista se mueve en esos movedizos territorios: tratar lo importante con aparente
ligereza, aliviar lo árido con el juego, escribir novelas como Chopin componía música:
dar baile al dolor” (30). Upon consideration of the conditions in which Torrente
produced much of his literature, one understands the importance of criticizing the powers
that be behind the veiled setting of novels involving another place and another time. As
for the characters, Alonso astutely points out that “los personajes de Torrente no son
violentos, no son seres abocados a la destrucción por una idea o un ideal arrasador, por
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una pasión desbaratada, por un desgarro trágico. Pero son pequeños transgresores.
Quebrantan creencias, aunque son tributarios de la convención. Son libres por dentro,
pero por fuera sólo un poquito estrafalarios” (29). This observation evinces a
penetrating, intuitive discernment of Torrente’s characters.
Alonso notes that what readers look for in Torrente’s literature are ambiguity (31)
and uncertainty (“Esto es lo que queríamos oír como pulso propio, bajo la envoltura
amena de la ficción: la incertidumbre” 32). Alonso perceives in Torrente the reader of
Unamuno, who thrives on paradox, as seen in the following discourse on what might be
called Torrente’s method:
Torrente no es posmoderno. No plantea tanto el estar, como ha hecho
mucho la novela de estos años, cuanto el ser, aunque sin la gravedad
dramática o angustiada con que lo trató la modernidad. Porque en él la
complejidad se expone con el cervantino recurso del como si: se acepta el
orden del mundo, aunque se cree que es un caos. El mundo visto a la
manera ferrolana, en la medida en que El Ferrol “es una ciudad lógica en
un entorno mágico.” Ésa es la clave de sus novelas: una lógica
vertebradora en un marco ficticio. Ni términos a contrario ni síntesis:
complementariedad sin soluciones y sin moralinas. (32)
For Alonso, as for many critics, Torrente’s literature is firmly rooted in the fantasy and
mysticism which are part of Galician literature. But, as Alonso observes, there is a
canvas of logic upon Torrente paints even his most fantastic works, astutely noting: “La
fantasía se impregna de una tonalidad escéptica y humorística sobre la realidad” (34).
Alonso concludes by saying, “La fantasía es el excipiente, el formol de los sueños y de
las creencias. Sus novelas [las de Torrente] proponen una forma ilusa de felicidad pero,
al mismo tiempo, tienen algo de fonendoscopio con el que se oyen los latidos acezantes
de la vida. El como si… es la condición del jugador. Y del escritor” (34).
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Sagrario Ruiz Baños examines Torrente’s methods of writing fictional works in
her contribution to La creación literaria, “La construcción ficcional en Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester.” 34 Ruiz Baños discusses Torrente’s work as both literary critic and novelist,
and notes that the author “ha ejercido paralelamente ambas facetas casi con
simultaneidad: la crítica como profesional, la creación como vocación íntima, y el cultivo
del espíritu, lo que él mismo denomina ‘alma rica,’ como deber inexcusable y alimento
humanístico” (35). Ruiz Baños cites Cervantes, Ortega y Gasset, Pirandello, and
Fernando Pessoa as influences on Torrente.
Ruiz Baños parts from the premise that Torrente is a born intellectual, both
cultured and in possession of a quasi-instinctive “‘saber’ mágico” (39) as well. Thus:
intelecto y fantasía, en suma, son los pilares básicos de su imaginación
creativa, conforman un todo orgánico y “real” con su propia coherencia
interna, de la que se desprende una peculiar “verdad” poética. Porque la
realidad para Torrente es tanto la vital como la creativa, entendida la
creación como epifanía de la vida, valga la paradoja. Y que sea válida de
veras, pues el escritor gallego asume, en su condición de hombre complejo
y auténtico, la radical ambigüedad de lo real, entendido como sistema de
apariencias, y cree firmemente, con la fe del artista, que la realidad se abre
y el hombre puede introducir en ella nuevos y posibles mundos mediante
la palabra. La realidad de lo creado se completa siempre con la realidad
creativa del arte. (39)
Ruiz Baños examines narrative verisimilitude and reality at length. She determines that
Torrente has always been a good storyteller (40), likely owing in part to his Galician
heritage: “Tras el tono cervantino y, más que cervantino, quijotesco del ‘empeño’ de
‘camino propio,’ lo que se percibe es una auténtica filiación narrativa de Torrente: el
mundo gallego de su infancia, en el que ‘contar’ era inventar realidad” (41). This, Ruiz
Baños explains, is how Torrente can write novels which seem to defy reality as the reader
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knows it. Ruiz Baños adds: “Y es que las novelas de Torrente se plantean como una
alternativa posible y fantástica, desmitificadora de la verdad histórica o épica, como
ocurre, por ejemplo, con La isla de los jacintos cortados, obra que plantea la posible
inexistencia de Napoleón sobre una trama ficcional compleja pero verosímil en su ‘lógica
interna’” (42).
Ruiz Baños maintains that the line between reality and verisimilitude in literature
would not mean much without a narrator to relate these things to the reader:
Para Torrente Ballester, el narrador, su figura, es un elemento fundamental
de sus discursos novelescos, precisamente por la lejanía de sus
presupuestos estéticos de aquellos “objetivistas” que dieron lugar al
“nouveau roman,” y que le hacen autodefinirse como “escritor anticuado.”
Para Torrente, la presencia del narrador es un juego de manipulación
fabulística que entronca con la narrativa tradicional, pero que tiene
también que ver con su modernidad, profundizando en lo más clásico del
género. Al estudiar El Quijote como juego señala el escritor gallego que
“el autor” “ha jugado” y el libro es, no uno, sino todo un “sistema de
juegos que en su ilimitada libertad llegan al borde del acertijo (…) el
narrador es la pieza primordial.” (45; internal citation from Torrente, El
Quijote como juego 27)
Thus, as Ruiz Baños indicates, Torrente considers the narrator one of the principal pieces
in the puzzle which is his literature. Ruiz Baños certainly is not the only critic to
emphasize Cervantes’s influence on Torrente, his thinking, and his writing. Her citation
of Torrente’s El Quijote como juego mirrors other critics’ observations of the Cervantine
literary games which take place in Torrente’s literature. Ruiz Baños summarizes as
follows: “la unidad de construcción en íntima conexión con el juego del narrador que
ofrece como resultado un hermetismo novelesco de atmósfera ambigua. En el juego de la
parodia, la ironía es, constructivamente, muy seria y la función del narrador,
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fundamental” (47). These comments by Ruiz Baños harmonize with, and complement,
some of Alonso’s most penetrating insights.
Ruiz Baños returns to differences between fantasy and reality, as well as those
between verisimilitude and reality, in Torrente’s literature. She affirms that “la fantasía
es en Torrente el punto de partida creativo; la fantasía entendida como ensanchamiento
posible de lo real (. . .). Es decir, que lo posible inventa imágenes que son las que, en
palabras de Torrente, producen la impresión de realidad en lo literario” (48). This critic
concludes her study by indicating her disagreement with critics’ consideration of La saga/
fuga de J.B., Fragmentos de Apocalipsis, and La isla de los jacintos cortados as a
“fantastic trilogy” (59), citing Gonzalo Sobejano, 35 who had seen these novels as a new
direction in Torrente’s literature (something Torrente confirmed in his comments on
these three novels):
(…) la narrativa torrentina ha evolucionado desde unos inicios
“contaminados” por la práctica teatral, hasta la consciencia del género
novelesco (mediante la doble vía de la novela cervantina, así como de
técnicas de crítica literaria fundamentalmente rusa, francesa y
estadounidense, en las sucesivas ramificaciones del formalismo) y su
inversión, su proceso, su poematización, su espejo y su dimensión lúdica
(a partir de Quizá nos lleve el viento al infinito, como señaló levemente
Sobejano al definir a esta novela como “lúdica” (“que cultiva el
entretenimiento parodiando”). (59, internal citation from Sobejano 1 [see
previous note])
Ángel Loureiro discusses “Torrente Ballester, novelista postmoderno” 36 in his
contribution to La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester. In his essay, Loureiro
focuses on metafiction and history, 37 which he considers to be “dos características que
juegan un papel fundamental en la obra de Torrente” (61). With these characteristics of
postmodern fiction in mind, Loureiro, noting that there exists “por encima del nivel
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meramente narrativo, un segundo nivel que en casi todas las obras que Torrente escribe
desde el Don Juan va a tomar un cariz abiertamente metaficcional” (62), centers his
discussion on the “fantastic trilogy.” While worded quite differently, Loureiro’s
observation of an essential, underlying dichotomy in Torrente coincides with the
perceptions of Alonso and Ruiz Baños. Loureiro’s reasoning for limiting the scope of his
article to the “fantastic trilogy” is this:
Las novelas que integran la “trilogía fantástica” de Torrente constituyen
ejemplos perfectos del tipo de obra que Linda Hutcheon denomina
‘metaficción historiográfica’ y que, a su modo de ver, constituye el tipo
fundamental de novela postmoderna [… porque] el postmodernismo no
sólo cultiva la metaficción sino que añade otro ingrediente fundamental, la
historia como tema, la historia como construcción humana. De ahí el
nombre que Linda Hutcheon da a la novela postmoderna—metaficción
historiográfica—, la cual incorpora literatura, teoría e historia. (62)
Loureiro identifies a significant difference between Torrente’s fiction and other, more
“mainstream” postmodernism, as he observes:
La historia y la ficción, para Torrente, coinciden entonces en su naturaleza
narrativa, pero la historia no es por eso simplemente, como quiere
Hutcheon, un texto semiótico, una construcción humana, un conjunto de
signos interpretables y revisables. La historia es una forma de
representación que no puede prescindir de la figuración, como insiste
Hayden White. (70)
Yet Loureiro perceives that Torrente’s literature transcends Hutcheon’s definitions of
“metaficción historiográfica,” and chooses to cite Paul Ricoeur:
En vena postmoderna, Torrente parodia en su obra los grandes relatos
legitimadores, pero eso no significa que la narración sea algo meramente
negativo, como quiere Lyotard, sino todo lo contrario. En este sentido,
Torrente estaría cerca de Paul Ricoeur, para quien la historia y la ficción
están relacionadas, debido a que ambas ofrecen respuestas diferentes pero
complementarias a la discordancia entre esas dos dimensiones del tiempo
a las que Ricoeur llama tiempo vivido y tiempo cósmico. 38 Mientras que
la historia reinscribe el tiempo vivido en el tiempo cósmico por medio del
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calendario, las generaciones y los documentos como trazas, la ficción,
indica Ricoeur, ofrecería variaciones imaginativas sobre esas formas de
reinscripción, sobre la fisura que divide ambos tiempos (A Ricoeur Reader
338-54). La ficción y la historia se entrecruzan debido al papel de la
imaginación productiva en la reconstrucción del pasado no observable,
mientras que la ficción tiene de la historia su sentido de casi-pasado, de
“como si.” Esta reivindicación de la imaginación y del valor de la
narrativa que se da en Ricoeur la sustenta Torrente con su práctica
narrativa. (71)
Loureiro has touched upon one of the quintessential elements of Torrente’s writing: the
blend of history and fiction is unmistakably present in several of the Galician author’s
works, from the beginning of his literary career until the end. For decades, such a
convention was a necessary mechanism of subterfuge for Torrente to obtain approval for
publication by the censors of the Franco regime; after Franco’s death and Spain’s
transition to democracy, this blending of fact and fiction had already become second
nature for Torrente.
Similar to Loureiro’s article, Janet Pérez’s contribution to La creación literaria de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, “Sátiras del poder en la narrativa de Torrente,” 39 offers a
critical perspective on a recurring theme in Torrente’s literature. As the title implies,
Pérez’s focus is on representations of people and groups in power—whether dictators, or
monarchs, or otherwise—in various works. Also evident by the title of her article, Pérez
is quick to point out that those who believe they are in power, or who are taken to be in
power, often are the least powerful characters in Torrente’s literature. Pérez first
discusses themes constant in Torrente’s work, stating that: “De suma importancia son los
temas nucleares del poder y la impotencia, el hombre y el mito, historia y ficción, censura
y desinformación, guerra y revolución, temas de fuerte reverberaciones políticas,
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generalmente tratados mediante la sátira, alegoría y desmitificación” (77). Pérez centers
the rest of her article on satire, first providing definitions to help orient the reader
interested in this aspect of Torrente’s writing. She then explains that many readers have
misread Torrente’s literature: “Parte de tales equivocaciones puede deberse a no haber
captado la ironía, no haber reconocido la sátira o no haber comprendido pasajes ambiguos
y voces ambivalentes empleados de forma calculada para facilitar el paso por la censura”
(78). Pérez also illustrates one misreading of Javier Mariño which resulted in the critic
labeling Torrente as a fascist:
Desafortunadamente, los exámenes políticos no suelen hacerse en un
clima de objetividad, lo cual explicará la reticencia de muchos críticos al
emplear tal enfoque. Típico de las tergiversaciones es el ensayo de
Eduardo Iáñez Pareja sobre Javier Mariño, una denuncia de Torrente como
fascista. Aunque Iáñez nunca explica lo que entiende por ideología
fascista, afirma el fascismo de Torrente como punto de partida, argumento
central y conclusión. Tampoco explica en qué consiste el fascismo, aparte
de la pasajera asociación con la Falange en plena guerra civil. No es
arbitrario exigir aclaraciones, puesto que no existe acuerdo general
respecto a la definición del fascismo con sus muchas variantes nacionales,
culturales y regionales. (79)
This is not the first time Torrente has been labeled a fascist because of his early ties to
Falange, though Pérez has commented numerous times on the fact that critics should not
mistakenly believe Torrente to have been a fascist without first considering the reasons
Torrente was affiliated with Falange. Pérez gives ample evidence as to the erroneous
nature of Iáñez’s criticism of Javier Mariño, reminding the reader that “Tales
equivocaciones o tergiversaciones ejemplifican las dificultades en la hermenéutica de
obras de Torrente. El error se debe, a veces, a la persuasiva ironía, no tan fácilmente
perceptible en su primera novela, debida a la falta de humor o comicidad” (84).
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Pérez then cites other literary works of Torrente’s which more readily illustrate
the Galician author’s ample use of satire and other forms of humor, including
“Gerineldo,” El golpe de estado de Guadalupe Limón, La princesa durmiente va a la
escuela, La isla de los jacintos cortados, La rosa de los vientos, Filomeno, a mi pesar,
Crónica del rey pasmado, Las islas extraordinarias, among others. Pérez discusses works
dating from the 1940s through the early 1990s, up until the publication of Pérez’s article
in La creación literaria, illustrating how prevalent the use of satire is in Torrente’s literary
works.
More closely tied with the theme of her article, satires on power, Pérez notes that
“Son pocas las obras de Torrente donde no haya rebelión, revolución o guerra (históricas,
míticas, o ficticias), donde no se encuentre el gobernante, el guerrero o el ideólogo,
factores difícilmente separables del poder y la política” (87). Pérez explains that this
could stem from Torrente’s early involvement with the Partido Anarquista, which Pérez
signals as “un factor intelectualmente significativo que apenas se ha tomado en cuenta,
pero que influye en su visión del poder y quienes lo ostentan” (87). Pérez also explains
how Torrente’s “rechazo visceral de la mitificación franquista y falangista por la
historiografía oficial de postguerra produce dos de los grandes núcleos de su obra
literaria, el tema del hombre y su mito, y el de la historia como ficción y viceversa” (88).
Dubbing Torrente an “anarquista literario” (88), Pérez indicates that:
Torrente subvierte la historiografía oficial de dos maneras: pinta el empleo
de materiales inventados y sugiere la falsedad y mala fe hasta de la
Historia canónica, como sucede en La isla de los jacintos cortados, donde
un historiador del último cuarto del siglo XX encuentra “pruebas” de que
Napoleón no ha sido nunca más que mito o invención. (88)
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Pérez adds that Napoleon is a fitting example of the historical subversions found in
Torrente’s literature, given Napoleon’s status as “mito del poder” (88). Pérez concludes
her article by suggesting that “un estudio completo del tema del poder en Torrente tendría
que ser mucho más extenso” (96), having laid the foundation for such a study with her
article. She ends by stating:
Al igual que los temas centrales del poder y la impotencia, el hombre y su
mito, historia y ficción, censura y desinformación, inextricablemente
entretejidos, la sátira del poder político ofrece una perspectiva unificadora
desde donde contemplar una extensa, profunda y complicada obra
novelística. (96)
Isabel Torrente Fernández maintains that, through her readings of Torrente’s
literature from Los gozos y las sombras to La muerte del Decano:
De todo ello concluí que Gonzalo Torrente Ballester nunca había
abandonado su primera inclinación a la historia, pues en sus novelas
utiliza materiales históricos, emite juicios interpretativos sobre los
fenómenos de tal índole e, incluso, ofrece reflexiones sobre el estatuto
epistemológico de este saber. (100)
Torrente Fernández focuses on La saga/ fuga de J.B. and La muerte del Decano in her
contribution to La creación literaria, “La historia en la narrativa de Torrente Ballester.” 40
Given that La muerte was Torrente’s most recent publication at the time of Torrente
Fernández’s article, that it is a brief novel and it has History professors as two of its
protagonists, La muerte is a good choice for inclusion in Torrente Fernández’s article.
Her choice of La saga/ fuga should be obvious, as this is the most studied of all
Torrente’s literary works. As part of her reading of La muerte, Torrente Fernández states
that “El conocimiento histórico no está desvinculado de otros que tienen por objeto las
diferentes facetas de la realidad” (101). Or, “en la novela conocida como histórica, sus
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autores, manteniendo mayor o menor fidelidad a ciertos hechos, se permiten atribuir a los
personajes históricos conductas y sentimientos nula o escasamente constatables, aparte de
poner en sus labios palabras que expresan ideas de los autores” (101-102).
Torrente Fernández also notes that the importance of the re-creation of the death
of the title character is important, as are the details which go into any works of fiction
that might involve historical details. Referring to the qualities of detective fiction found
in La muerte, Torrente Fernández says that:
A este efecto recuerdo al historiador inglés Collingswood, quien en su
obra Idea de la historia afirma como ‘la analogía entre métodos legales e
históricos tiene cierto valor para comprender la historia.’ En el caso del
Decano, la reconstrucción de su muerte conlleva la aplicación de un
método coincidente, en muchos aspectos, con el del historiador (103).
Torrente Fernández notes that Torrente had wished to add a mythical aspect to La
saga/ fuga, drawing parallels between the different versions of J.B. in the novel and
England’s King Arthur and Portugal’s Dom Sebastião (104). Furthermore, Torrente
Fernández states, “el mito en cuanto elaborado por la sociedad no está fuera del interés de
la historia cuyo objeto es evidentemente social” (106). This critic ties certain mythical
aspects of La saga/ fuga back to the context of history in literature, saying that “también
es notoria la fidelidad a lo histórico, ya que los elementos culturales utilizados, aunque
combinados libremente por la imaginación, son históricos en cuanto corresponden al área
cultural galaica” (106). Thus, even in the novel which critics would later deem the first
of the “fantastic trilogy,” Torrente Fernández observes a strong presence of historical
elements. In conclusion, she comments that:
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester nos ofrece en La muerte del Decano
reflexiones sobre el conocimiento histórico, método y resultados, aparte de
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la posibilidad de inserción de la historia en la novela mediante imágenes,
siendo La saga/ fuga de J.B. una excelente muestra de lo último, ya que en
ella se incluyen múltiples aspectos de la historia de los ámbitos galaico y
occidental en general. (110)
Ángel Basanta discusses Torrente’s novels written after the “fantastic trilogy” and
up to Las islas extraordinarias in his article entitled “Gonzalo Torrente Ballester en los
80: últimas novelas del autor.” 41 Basanta briefly mentions important works by Torrente,
and corresponding awards bestowed upon him, including the publication of the “fantastic
trilogy,” the adaptation of Los gozos y las sombras for television, and the Cervantes
Prize. He then offers a succinct explanation of how the works published after the
“fantastic trilogy” fit into the entire body of Torrente’s literary work, which Basanta
divides into three phases. For Basanta, the first phase consists of the works leading up to
the “fantastic trilogy,” the second phase comprises solely the “fantastic trilogy,” and the
third phase includes works which appeared after the “fantastic trilogy” (112-115).
Basanta signals the second phase of Torrente’s writing as the “culminación del arte de
Torrente Ballester, [en que] confluyen unidos los tres pilares básicos de su literatura: la
historia, el mito y la creación literaria misma” (114).
Deeming Dafne y ensueños as the best-written of Torrente’s post-“fantastic
trilogy” works (116), Basanta states:
Por mi cuenta añadiré que este indisoluble dualismo de realidad y fantasía,
que caracteriza la obra de Torrente Ballester, vuelve a aglutinar aquí los
pilares básicos de su literatura. La tergiversación de la historia aflora en la
nueva estrategia para vencer en Trafalgar. La manipulación del mito
reaparece en la aventura infernal de Orfeo para rescatar a Eurídice, modelo
compositivo sobre el que se completa la proeza del protagonista
encaminada al rescate de Dafne. Y las consideraciones metaliterarias se
proyectan aquí sobre lecturas, invenciones y otras obras del autor que han
recreado personajes y episodios de aquella época. (116)
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Once more, major critics coincide in their perceptions of the central dualisms in
Torrente’s literature.
Basanta presents his conclusions early in his article, indicating in the second of
seventeen pages that:
Hay que reconocer que estas obras poco añaden a la trayectoria novelística
de quien tan elevadas cumbres había escalado antes. Pero también es
igualmente cierto que estas novelas, tal vez concebidas sin la ambición de
sus hermanas mayores, en su mayoría están desarrolladas con la bien
probada maestría narrativa de quien ya se siente absolutamente seguro y
dueño de su oficio. (112)
Thus, although Basanta might not regard Torrente’s works of the 1980s to be his most
significant, he nevertheless agrees that they merit critical attention. By beginning his
article with a list of awards won by Torrente since the publication of the “fantastic
trilogy,” Basanta demonstrates that Torrente, already considered a leading literary figure
in Twentieth Century Spain, was finally free to write what he wanted to write during and
after the 1980s, free from censorial pressure or having to prove himself to anyone. Thus,
in his conclusion Basanta states:
Porque este hábil manipulador de los mitos y de la historia, ducho en el
empleo de procedimientos del relato oral, maestro en la creación de
humor, dueño de una extraordinaria ductilidad narrativa y con capacidad
para ironizar sobre cualquier asunto, es hoy el novelista que mejor ha
comprendido la herencia de Cervantes. (127)
Carmen Becerra discusses Torrente’s contribution to the Don Juan myth in her
essay, “Contribución al estudio del significado de Don Juan en la versión de Torrente
Ballester.” 42 Becerra reviews the intertextuality which has increased with the publication
of each major version of Don Juan, including those by Zorrilla, Unamuno, Grau, and
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others, leading up to Torrente’s version. Becerra states: “Es cierto que todas y cada una
de las versiones de Don Juan poseen entre sí un significado común: el significado mítico;
o lo que es lo mismo, la existencia en su interior de un esquema semántico vertebrador”
(130). However, Becerra also argues that the different versions become like branches of
the same mythical tree, each one of them receiving a slightly different treatment
according to the societal and/ or literary norms during which it was published, or because
they are missing one of three principal elements: “el amor, las mujeres, y la muerte”
(130). By identifying these elements common to the original Don Juan myth Becerra can
compare and contrast the different versions before she discusses Torrente’s. This critic
also cites Northrop Frye, 43 who remarked “a medida que se desarrolla una cultura, su
mitología tiende a hacerse enciclopédica, a ampliarse en un mito total. Un mito
completamente desarrollado o encilopédico, encierra todo el conocimiento que es de
mayor incumbencia para su sociedad” (131). Becerra relates Frye’s comment to the
various versions of Don Juan which have appeared over the centuries, commenting that
Twentieth Century interpretations of the myth are vastly different from earlier versions
dating from the Seventeenth Century.
Becerra next proceeds to analyze Torrente’s contribution to the Don Juan myth,
affirming that “La versión torrentina posee todos los elementos necesarios e
imprescindibles para elevar de nuevo al personaje a su condición mítica, porque en ella
hallamos los tres rasgos que caracterizan al mito de Don Juan: a) la presencia de la pareja
amor/ muerte, b) las mujeres; y c) el héroe y su capacidad de seducción” (133). This
critic also cites Jean Rousset’s observation 44 that “Don Juan no sería Don Juan si sus
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relaciones amorosas (y para ello requiere, indispensablemente, a las mujeres) no le
condujesen a su trágico final” (133). Thus, Becerra cites theme and variations in
Torrente’s version of the Don Juan myth, to show how the Galician author has succeeded
in updating the myth while remaining faithful to central elements of the myth itself.
Likewise discussed is Don Juan’s role as hero/ protagonist, as well as his powers of
seduction in Torrente’s version of the myth. Becerra states that “La capacidad de
seducción ha sido utilizada por muchos autores para trivializar al mito, cuando se ha visto
en él sólo su aspecto físico, sus dotes de conquista; una especie de ideal masculino que,
bien por su fortuna, su habilidad técnica o su belleza física, embauca a las mujeres”
(140). She then contrasts this tradition with Torrente’s treatment of the title character:
“En el Don Juan de Torrente, el héroe está dotado de una capacidad de seducción de la
que él mismo no es consciente […]. Serán sus primeros contactos con las mujeres, tras
su llegada a Sevilla para los funerales de su padre, los que le quiten la venda de los ojos,
los que le desvelarán su increíble fuerza fascinadora” (141).
Becerra also focuses on psychological aspects of the Don Juan myth, emphasizing
that:
Según nuestro criterio, lo que debe quedar claro es que el psicoanálisis es
un interesante método de trabajo que puede tener aplicaciones, más o
menos felices, a la literatura en general, y en concreto a las obras literarias,
siempre que se le considere como posibilidad de análisis y explicación de
determinados aspectos, pero no de otros. (144)
Becerra offers attention to Freud’s question of whether Don Juan suffers from an Oedipus
complex, citing J. Rof Carballo: “El psiconoanalista que cree esclarecer un poema
hablando por ejemplo de ‘complejo de Edipo,’ ignora que en ese mismo momento, sobre
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todo si la obra es de egregia categoría estética, el interpretador ha quedado ciego, obtuso,
para el resto de las iluminaciones que se encierran en aquellos versos o en aquel drama”
(144). Therefore, Becerra illustrates that inappropriate application of the Oedipus
complex to a reading of the Don Juan myth would detract from any further study of the
title character, or the variation of the myth analyzed, explaining further:
Torrente no sólo se limita a negar la existencia de tal complejo [de Edipo],
sino que, además, elabora el personaje con los rasgos necesarios para que
no pueda darse ningún tipo de ambigüedad al respecto […]. También el
Don Juan de Torrente carece de madre pero, aquí, se habla explícitamente
de su muerte: “Mi madre, doña Mencía Ossorio, murió al parirme” (P.
145). 45 La consecuencia parece obvia: si Don Juan no ha conocido a su
madre, resulta imposible que en algún momento de su infancia centrase,
inconscientemente, su atención sexual sobre ella, y, por ende, nunca pudo
padecer complejo de Edipo. (145-146)
This critic concludes that Don Juan’s situation, as orphan, in Torrente’s version of the
myth as well as earlier versions, further clarifies how Freud’s Oedipus complex should
not be applied to the character, adding that “Nosotros intentamos demostrar que en la
versión de Torrente carece de justificación tal atribución: estamos en presencia de un
mito y, como tal, no pueden adjudicársele patologías o problemas que sólo a los hombres
afectan” (161).
Becerra concludes her article by examining Torrente’s concept of love as applied
to the Don Juan myth, analyzing the insertion of lyrical text in Torrente’s novel
pertaining to the original couple of the Bible, Adam and Eve: “El contenido del poema de
Adam y Eva posee claras implicaciones teológicas que dotan al personaje y a la novela de
un significado teológico; el cual, para algunos críticos, es el fundamento sobre el que
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descansa el sentido de la obra de Torrente” (158). This inclusion of Adam and Eve leads
Becerra to state:
En nuestra opinión, esta novela, a la vez que desarrolla una ficción,
contiene complejas referencias a la cultura de la época a la que la trama
subordinada se remite; por tanto, si desconocemos ésta, el mensaje, en ese
nivel, se hace ininteligible, se pierde y no llega al lector […]. Torrente
Ballester reanima en su versión esa médula originaria de Don Juan y lo
transporta al siglo XX, recreando al personaje y ofreciéndonos originales
respuestas a las preguntas que ha arrastrado durante siglos. El contenido
del poema del pecado de Adam y Eva es buena parte de ello […]. Don
Juan, al no vincularse con los demás, ha perdido al prójimo y a sí mismo;
por ello su soledad es absoluta. Asistimos, así, a la soledad del pecador a
quien sólo le queda su propia realidad y su propio infierno. (159)
Becerra thus explains how the Galician novelist ties in the biblical tale of original sin to
the sins of love committed by Don Juan, particularly in the context of Torrente’s novel.
For Becerra, “la concepción del amor” (161) 46 is essential to the understanding of the
Don Juan myth; furthermore, “El tratamiento de este tema no sólo proporciona a esta
versión una clara apoyatura teológica, sino que además liga a este Don Juan con las
versiones míticas medulares y la fundacional del polémico y fascinante siglo XVII
español” (161).
French Hispanist Eliane Lavaud takes an innovative approach to a collection of
essays on literary creation by Torrente: she discusses “la crítica genética,” described as
criticism tied to the genesis of a literary work, explaining that “la crítica genética” entails
“examinar y analizar todo lo anterior a la primera publicación en prensa o en librería,
quiero hablar de los apuntes, cuadernos y manuscritos” (164). 47 Explained further, “La
crítica genética renueva, pues, la concepción misma del texto literario. Ya no sólo
interesa la forma acabada de la obra maestra sino también la dimensión dinámica de su
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propia elaboración, como producto de un trabajo de escritura y reescritura cuya meta es
poner en forma un proyecto textual” (165). Lavaud’s application of this type of scholarly
investigation traces the evolution which took Torrente’s Don Juan from manuscript to
published novel.
Lavaud notes numerous examples of different manuscripts submitted to various
publishers, then Francoist censors, for approval, and notes the often vast changes
indicated (primarily by the latter) required as necessary for Torrente’s highly-studied
novel to be published. By citing text contained in the original manuscript, but which was
not included in the first printing of Torrente’s novel, Lavaud reveals how the meaning of
the novel changed before it arrived at bookstores, citing specific passages, including
entire chapters, which censors doomed to exclusion. The French critic explains that
“podemos ver que la censura tachó en total unos 17 folios de los 206 que contiene el
manuscrito. Pero, más allá de la cantidad matemática de las tachaduras, que llegan a un
12% del libro, hay que darse cuenta de que la obra no sólo estaba mutilada, sino que
estaba literalmente fusilada, sin sentido ya e imposible de publicar” (172).
Lavaud states that “El mito se puede interpretar como un recorrido del
conocimiento. Ahora bien, para que se mantenga vivo el mito, lo que, a través de él, se
cree no tiene que transformarse en algo que se sabe. El saber definitivo mata el mito”
(172). She concludes by noting that three highly significant lines of text are missing from
the ending of Torrente’s novel: “Sonja no era una actriz, sino una chica que me había
desdeñado. Y, don Juan y Leporello, ¿Quiénes eran? Volví a preguntármelo mientras el
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tren se metía en las sombras; y las sombras no me dieron respuesta” (173). Lavaud
explains, in conclusion:
Estas frases, que ya aportaban un saber sobre Sonja y que dejaban bien
claro que a propósito de los dos hombres se sabía que no se sabía, estaban
de más. Por su sola presencia amenazaban de muerte al mito. Y su
desaparición es, para mí, una confirmación más de la sutileza y la calidad
de esta versión del mito donjuanesco en pleno siglo XX. (173)
Lavaud demonstrates that the exclusion of text from manuscript to published novel was
not wholly attributed to the censorship. Thus, she admits that “la crítica genética” also
allows for an appreciation of the author’s addition or omission of text, and how authorial
emendations contribute to a broader appreciation of the published work. In this final
example, Lavaud deems Torrente’s omission of text to have been beneficial to
maintaining the air of mystique required by the Don Juan myth. Thus, according to
Lavaud, the final version of the novel benefits from the cut made by Torrente.
José A. Ponte Far, also part of the Vigo group of Torrente scholars, discusses the
influence of Galicia on Torrente’s work in “Galicia en los cuadernos de trabajo de
Torrente Ballester.” 48 Ponte Far, by means of introducing the importance of Galicia in
Torrente’s work, briefly mentions the parts of his life which Torrente spent in Galicia.
Ponte Far also discusses the time Torrente spent in New York, and how this time yielded
two of Torrente’s most influential works, La saga/ fuga de J.B. and Fragmentos de
Apocalipsis. Citing Torrente’s “morriña” for his native Galicia, Ponte Far asserts that:
esto es lo que explica que sea en tierras americanas donde aborda la
redacción de una novela profundamente gallega, a la que bautiza como
Campana y piedra, tan ambiciosa y abundante que será el germen de nada
menos que de dos: La saga/ fuga de J.B. y Fragmentos de Apocalipsis.
Estamos viendo, pues, cómo Torrente, aun estando fuera de Galicia y
fuera de España, sentimental y literariamente no sólo no pierde, sino que
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intensifica, su relación con todo lo que es y significa para él esta tierra.
(178)
This argument that Torrente could “write Galicia” while somewhere else, whether in
other areas of Spain or (in the previous example) on another continent, becomes
important for the rest of Ponte Far’s argument. Ponte Far maintains that Galicia had such
a profound effect on Torrente, dating from the early years of his life, that it was always a
part of him, no matter where he lived during his life. Using quotations from Torrente’s
cuadernos de trabajo (Cuadernos de la Romana, Nuevos cuadernos de la Romana, and
Los cuadernos de un vate vago), Ponte Far illustrates that “la relación de Torrente con
Galicia fue muy prolongada en el tiempo, muy intensa en sus ausencias de esta tierra, y
muy sentida y querida siempre” (179).
La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester includes El pavoroso caso del
Señor Cualquiera, 49 a farce written by Torrente before the beginning of the Spanish Civil
War and reprinted for the first time in La creación literaria. Ángel Abuín, one of the
contributors and editors of the collection, indicates influences apparent in the work,
including those of Heidegger, Ortega, Cervantes, Calderón, Valle-Inclán, and Pirandello.
Abuín also mentions an article by the Galician scholar Luis Iglesias Feijoo, published in
1986, which analyzes Torrente’s theatre and calls for the publication of El pavoroso caso
(193).
Carmen Becerra concludes La creación literaria with a substantial bibliography by
and about Torrente, not only works published by Torrente (including narrative, theatre,
essay, entries in periodicals, prologues to his and other authors’ works), but also scholarly
books, articles, book reviews, theses, and dissertations by other authors as well. Becerra
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identifies other bibliographies from which she incorporated references in order to
complete the present one (243). Totaling 29 pages, Becerra’s listing provides invaluable
bibliographic information to the student or scholar who wishes to discover more
completely Torrente’s works, and works focusing on him, to continue investigating at a
more detailed and thorough level.
Janet Pérez’s “As novelas ‘menores’ de Torrente á luz do Neohistoricismo” 50 is
one of the most informative sources for the present study, as it not only discusses most of
the works to be analyzed shortly, but also does so by making use of theories of the New
Historicism, also to be utilized. At the time of the article’s publication—near the end of
Torrente’s life—Pérez reaffirms the fact that “as obras de Torrente a partir da chamada
triloxía [fantástica] atraeron a relativamente poucos estudiosos” (43). Pérez asserts that
while Torrente’s later works have not yet received sufficient critical analysis,
nevertheless “verase que todas estas obras se sitúan nun continuo historia-ficción, que
reflicten certas teorías en canto a un ou ámbolos ditos xéneros, e que o percorrido do
escritor non é unha liña recta, senón a figura trazada polo que anda e des-anda
repetidamente o mesmo camiño” (44).
Just as Pérez insisted in “Sátiras del poder en la narrativa de Torrente” (in
Creación literaria) that “Un estudio completo del tema del poder en Torrente tendría que
ser mucho más extenso” (96), here she provides a solid argument that Torrente’s latter
novels need much more attention than they had received at the time of the publication of
“As novelas ‘menores.’” Power and history go hand in hand, for those who win the war
write the history books in accordance with their ideology and idiosyncratic perspective of
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the historical events in question (i.e., the winners [of wars] write the history books).
Based on the earlier argument, “As novelas ‘menores’” serves as an insightful
introduction and/or overview to the application of the theories of New Historicism to
Torrente’s later works. It also advocates a more extensive, in-depth analysis of the post“fantastic trilogy” works in light of this theoretical trend—precisely the kind of analysis
the present study proposes to do in greater depth and detail.
José Paulino and Carmen Becerra offer a volume of the collection Compás de
Letras, dedicated to Torrente shortly after his death. 51 The collection includes essays by
notable critics including Víctor García de la Concha, Ángel Basanta, Antonio J. Gil
González, as well as Eliane Lavaud and Claude Bleton, two of the principal French
translators of Torrente’s literature. The essays treat various themes present in Torrente’s
literature.
Janet Pérez visits themes of writers and writing in her article on Los años
indecisos. 52 Pérez discusses other literary works published by Torrente featuring writer
protagonists before focusing on the final novel the Galician published before his death.
This critic also notes Torrente’s fascination with literary theory and narrative perspective,
pointing out that the introduction to Los años indecisos leaves open the possibility that
the first-person narrator is not, in fact, the one who has written the account. The narrator
of the novel proper then makes statements which lead the reader to doubt his reliability as
a narrator, another recurring characteristic in Torrente’s novels. Pérez mentions other
Torrente novels, particularly Quizá nos lleve el viento al infinito and Yo no soy yo,
evidentemente, in which these things can also be found, and indicates that these and other
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questions of identity can be found in much of Torrente’s literary work, although their
treatment reaches its maturity following the publication of Torrente’s seminal essay, El
Quijote como juego (1975).
Antonio Jesús Gil González contributes to Torrente studies with his book, Relatos
de poética: Para una poética del relato de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, 53 which expands
upon his doctoral thesis written at the University of Salamanca. A prologue written by
Carmen Becerra precedes Relatos de poética, in which the distinguished Torrente critic
states that:
El trabajo del profesor Antonio J. Gil González no es, como pronto se
comprueba, el resultado de un primer acercamiento al tema, sino que, por
el contrario, constituye el fruto de un largo proceso de reflexión, análisis y
sistematización de las teorías que, en el discurso de la Posmodernidad (es
decir, la concepción y la ostentación del arte como una actividad
autoconsciente), se denominaron con el término general de metaficción,
tan intensa particularmente en la obra de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester. (1415)
Relatos de poética centers its critical attention on Torrente’s “fantastic trilogy,” and
analyzes characteristics of metafiction present in them. Gil González concludes his work
by mentioning other works of Torrente’s with similar elements, from Javier Mariño to Yo
no soy yo, evidentemente.
In El realismo mágico en la perspectiva europea. El caso de Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester, 54 Wojciech Charchalis alleges the presence of magical realism in various
works of Torrente. Charchalis divides the book into three main sections: “Etapa
prefantástica” (Ifigenia and Don Juan), “Etapa fantástica” (La saga/fuga de J.B. and La
isla de los jacintos cortados), and “Etapa postfantástica” (Quizá nos lleve el viento al
infinito and Crónica del rey pasmado). Thus, the only work analyzed in El realismo
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mágico en la perspectiva europea which is also of interest in the present study is Crónica
del rey pasmado. It is with the two novels analyzed as “época postfantástica” that
Charchalis maintains Torrente “consiguió crear una rígida interrelación entre lo real y lo
fantástico, creando un nuevo valor, una nueva poética, comparable con el realismo
mágico de los maestros latinoamericanos” (104), suggesting the “época postfantástica”
likewise be referred to as “época mágicorrealista” (104). Charchalis notes that the
“escacez [sic] de lo sobrenatural y su importancia primordial forman el rasgo
característico para la etapa postfantástica en la creación literaria de GTB” (104), as well
as “la estructura lineal y la escasez de tramas secundarias” (108). Likewise, Charchalis
discerns “un cierto rechazo de temas ‘difíciles,’ perdiendo el autor ferrolano su
intelectualismo” (109) in Torrente’s final works beginning with Dafne y ensueños.
In the case of Crónica del rey pasmado, Charchalis determines there to be an
absolute minimum of fantastic elements, only those sufficient to move the plot of the
novel forward (110). The two elements highlighted in Charchalis’s study are the opening
scene of the novel, as well as two of its characters. The opening contains a description of
what might be an earthquake, during which a subterranean pocket of sulfurous gases is
released; though gossip and an inclination toward superstition depicts it as the appearance
of a giant snake, accompanied by fire and brimstone. The two characters Charchalis
mentions are the Conde de la Peña Andrada and Padre Almeida. Charchalis cites
instances in the text during which one or both of these characters are involved in
mysterious occurrences, such as papers which appear in a drawer seemingly by magic, or
how the Conde does not sweat at times that others suffer from elevated heat, or appears to
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exit from a room miraculously by walking through a wall (110-111). Whereas other
characters of Crónica question whether one or both the Conde de la Peña Andrada and
Padre Almeida are demons, Charchalis cites Crónica to suggest they are angels (111). 55
Carmen Becerra’s La historia en la ficción: La narrativa de Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester 56 provides a brief, yet valuable overview of the connection between history and
fiction in Torrente’s literary works. Becerra includes bio-bibliographic information for
Torrente, as well as important historical/ political events and artistic/ cultural events
which occurred during Torrente’s lifetime. In the introduction to the analysis section of
La historia en la ficción, Becerra states that:
Me interesa en este momento centrar el estudio en la presencia y las
distintas funciones que la Historia posee en las novelas de Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester. […] Me sitúo en la posición de aquellos que
consideran que toda ficción es historia, un tipo particular de historia, pero
historia al fin y al cabo; pero además, en el caso del autor que ahora nos
ocupa, es evidente la relevancia que posee este tema en la totalidad de sus
obras. (32)
Becerra further asserts that “la utilización y la manipulación de ese tema [la historia] es
una constante desde las primeras hasta las últimas de sus obras” (35), and that “Torrente
manipula la historia en sus novelas, sean estas etiquetadas como realistas o como
fantásticas” (37). Becerra provides excerpts from the novels as she discusses how history
is interlaced in various ways into Torrente’s works (principally divided into two
subgroups: “la historia en la ficción” and “la ficción de la historia”).
Becerra proposes four classifications of history in the novels of Torrente: “1. La
Historia como escenografía. 2. La Historia como reinvención. 3. La Historia como eje
temático. 4. La Historia como crónica” (40). Becerra cites Los gozos y las sombras as an
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example of the first classification, briefly offering the reader an overview of the principal
characters of the trilogy and their (in)actions as a way of illustrating the realist manner in
which Torrente wrote these novels. Yet Becerra determines this method of representing
history as the least successful of Torrente’s literary tactics: “la contemplación global de
su obra revela que este tratamiento de la historia es el menos frecuente y podría añadir
también, aunque con matices, que el menos interesante” (43).
Acknowledging “la totalidad de la crítica,” Becerra affirms that “Torrente es un
escritor de estirpe clara y confesadamente cervantina, y lo es por el frecuente empleo de
las técnicas utilizadas por el autor del Quijote” (43). This brings Becerra to the second
classification, “La Historia como reinvención.” Becerra states that the works of the
“fantastic trilogy” serve as the best examples (though certainly not the only ones) of this
classification:
Torrente reinventa la historia empleando fundamentalmente dos
procedimientos: la fusión, confusión y mezcla de lo histórico y lo
legendario, la utilización como material histórico de lo mítico, y la
transformación del material histórico por medio de la imaginación, la
ironía y el humor. (44)
One notable example of the transformation of historical information by means of large
doses of imagination detailed by Becerra is the scene in La isla de los jacintos cortados
during which it is explained that Napoleon Bonaparte was invented by Metternich,
Nelson, and Chateaubriand. As Becerra explains in the accompanying excerpt from La
isla, this scene also serves as a parody on the creation of myths of power.
Becerra’s third classification, “La Historia como eje temático,” occurs in theatre
works such as Lope de Aguirre and Atardecer en Longwood, as well as in one of the
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novels to be analyzed in the present study, Crónica del rey pasmado (52). Becerra
disagrees with critics such as Colin Smith, who choose not to view Crónica as a historical
novel. 57 Becerra states that Smith’s affirmation illustrates a narrow definition of the
“historical novel.” Though what occurs in Crónica is not historically accurate, Becerra
explains that it nevertheless illustrates attitudes and superstitions commonly held by
people in Spain during the time period depicted in the novel (53).
Becerra applies her fourth classification of history in fiction in Torrente’s
literature, “La Historia como crónica,” to other novels to be discussed in the current
study. According to Becerra:
En los últimos años las novelas de Torrente se internan de nuevo por los
caminos del realismo. Con pequeñas concesiones a la imaginación y al
humor, sus personajes se mueven en espacios conocidos y en ambientes
realistas. La historia en estas novelas vuelve a conformar un telón de
fondo, un escenario sobre el que se proyectan las vidas de hombres y
mujeres sin esperanza; pero, a diferencia del tratamiento dado en la
trilogía realista, ahora el personaje-narrador se erige en una especia [sic]
de cronista de una determinada época. Su actividad vital sirve para
realizar uno a modo de inventario de sucesos, que se narran desde fuera,
como si de un observador se tratase. (55)
Becerra then focuses on Filomeno, a mi pesar, to illustrate this final classification. The
narrator, “un periodista, cronista de guerra, a quien el autor ha cedido una parte de sus
vivencias personales, contempla y describe los acontecimientos históricos que presencia,
con la frialdad de un observador, con la mente de un cronista” (55).
Becerra concludes La historia en la ficción by stating that Torrente’s literature can
be divided into two phases: “la primera, que podría calificarse como esperanza escéptica,
culmina con la escritura de La princesa durmiente va a la escuela, en 1951 [...]. En la
segunda fase—de descreimiento total—el autor centra su escritura sobre todo en la
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creación de personajes que protagonizan su propia historia, y a los que la Historia, con
mayúsculas, no les tiene reservado ningún espacio” (56). Regardless of the treatment,
Becerra maintains that history is an important theme throughout Torrente’s literature,
from earliest to latest: “La utilización de materiales históricos no se detiene en las novelas
de la llamada trilogía fantástica. Una y otra vez Torrente sigue echando mano de este
tema, con nuevas fórmulas, atendiendo a diferentes aspectos” (51).
Similarly, Carmen Becerra offers a short study devoted to one of the “géneros
populares” found in Torrente’s literature: specifically, detective fiction. 58 Becerra
discusses the role of postmodernism on Torrente’s literary works, then cites examples of
detective fiction by Torrente: more concretely, Quizá nos lleve el viento al infinito and
La muerte del Decano. She then gives a concise overview of the genre of detective
fiction, citing not only Spanish authors and critics, but also British and American authors
such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Edgar Allan Poe, respectively. She then analyzes
the two aforementioned works by Torrente, focusing more attention on Quizá nos lleve el
viento al infinito because of its “indiscutible mayor complejidad, diría incluso calidad e
interés, aunque también por razones que atañen al espacio del que dispongo” (19).
Finally, Carmen Becerra and Emilie Guyard have provided a collection of essays
which explore various themes of identity in Torrente’s publications. 59 According to the
editors: “Entre los elementos característicos de la obra de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester
aparece un juego constante respecto a la identidad (11). During the six decades in which
Torrente was publishing, the editors state that:
el hombre busca unos puntos de referencia y apoyo que se le escapan, en
el que las referencias definitorias e integrantes de la identidad no son sino
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un intercambio perpetuo, una mutación casi biológica: los signos no
remiten más que a otros signos en un flujo de nunca acabar. Se intenta
saber si en esa circunstancia específica la obra de Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester puede seguir afirmando el sentido de una identidad histórica,
sociológica, filosófica, ética…, o si, al contrario, su obra constituye la
representación de una constante alteridad/ alteración que traduce una
profunda inquietud filosófica respecto al Ser [. . .]. ¿Las estrategias de
escritura de Torrente Ballester abren paso a una nueva representación del
mundo, a una visión individual, generacional o a un mero juego literario?
(12)
The essays explore questions of identity in Torrente’s works of theatre and narrative as
well as his criticism.
La Tabla Redonda
For the past eight years, Torrente studies have received a major stimulus and
expansion in the form of La Tabla Redonda, the only journal dedicated exclusively to the
study of Torrente, his life and his literary works. In the words of founding Editor Carmen
Becerra, La Tabla Redonda:
nace con la intención de crear un lugar de encuentro para aquellos
investigadores que, interesados por Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, su obra y
su tiempo, no disponían hasta el momento de un “lugar” idóneo en el que
exponer el resultado de sus reflexiones, de sus análisis o de sus propuestas
sobre este autor; el cual, siendo uno de los autores fundamentales de la
literatura española del siglo XX, no ha sido, sin embargo, atendido como
debiera, e incluso a veces obviado, por la crítica académica. (1)
Therefore, La Tabla Redonda constitutes a joint effort by Torrente scholars in three of the
main universities in Galicia—Universidad de Santiago de Compostela (Antonio J. Gil
González), UNED, A Coruña (José Antonio Ponte Far), and Universidad de Vigo
(Carmen Becerra). Various doctoral students of Carmen Becerra have continued studies
of Torrente after becoming professors at other universities in Galicia and elsewhere in
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Spain, helping to form a network of Torrente scholars. The first number of La Tabla
Redonda (2003) comprises the proceedings of a conference which sought to
commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of the publication of La saga/fuga de J.B. It is
also the first significant conference to take place after Torrente’s death. In the first issue
of La Tabla Redonda are contained not only presentations given—some of them
expanded and/or edited for publication, and others merely transcriptions of said
presentations—as well as a round-table discussion of Torrente’s impact on the larger
context of contemporary Spanish literature. The participants in this round-table included
Torrente’s fellow novelists, José Saramago, Alfredo Conde, Víctor Freixanes, Manuel
Rivas, and José María Merino.
José Saramago speaks fondly of his memories of Torrente, admitting that “Yo no
he conocido íntimamente a Gonzalo, aunque me gustaría que la realidad fuera otra” (6).
Saramago then focuses on La saga/ fuga, recalling how he was asked to write a prologue
to the French translation of what some consider to be Torrente’s magnum opus.
Saramago recounts that, in the aforementioned introduction, he stated that “había hasta
ahora una silla vacía a la derecha de Miguel de Cervantes, y que acababa de ser ocupada
por Gonzalo Torrente Ballester que había escrito La saga/ fuga de J.B.” (9). Saramago
explains this assertion: “La saga/ fuga de J.B. es un libro que, al contrario de lo que
ocurrió con el Quijote, que tuvo un reconocimiento en toda Europa, se puede decir,
inmediatamente, aún está esperando que en España y en los países de lengua castellana se
descubra” (9). In other words, Saramago continues, “el reconocimiento de la importancia
de ese libro todavía no es lo que debería ser” (9).
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Saramago suggests that La saga/ fuga has not found a sufficient amount of
recognition because it is a work without precedents, much like Cervantes’s Don Quijote
and Portuguese writer Luís Vaz de Camões’s Os Lusíadas were when they were
published. Saramago likens La saga/ fuga to a mountain, upon which many gaze but few
dare to climb (10). Alternatively, La saga/ fuga is a novel whose existence is noted by
many more than those who have actually read it. According to Saramago:
La saga/ fuga es un libro—que no está escrito en gallego, pero quizás sea
la más gallega de todas las novelas que se han escrito sobre Galicia—que
no es sólo expresión de la vida en una ciudad que tendría que responder a
lo que fuese reconocible como gallego; es mucho más que eso, porque de
lo que Torrente se alimenta es de las raíces más profundas de lo que yo
llamaría (sin ninguna pretensión de independentismo, o algo que se pueda
asemejar a eso) galleguidad. Es decir, es lo esencial, lo que hay más
genuino y más profundo…, y eso ha creado esa especie de fatalidad de
quedarse no sólo como algo intraspasable, no sólo como algo inimitable,
sino como algo que, a lo mejor, estará condenado a la soledad de la
grandeza absoluta, si podemos saber lo que eso significa. Pero igual que
todas las cosas solas se pueden acompañar, todas las cosas absolutas se
pueden volver relativas… Pues bien, ahora, aquí, el acompañar, el
relativizar reside en el nuevo descubrimiento que La saga/ fuga necesita, o
que nosotros necesitamos hacer de La saga/ fuga. (11)
Saramago further indicates that La saga/ fuga is “evidentemente uno de los grandes
momentos de la vida literaria y personal de Torrente” (11). However, he notes that the
enormous popularity of the miniseries adaptation of Los gozos y las sombras is “una
popularidad que La saga/ fuga no ha podido tener” (12).
La Tabla Redonda 2 (2004), subtitled “A propósito de Villasanta de la Estrella,”
focuses on the prominence of Santiago de Compostela in Torrente’s literature. In her
introduction to the second number, Editor Carmen Becerra states:
A nadie que conozca la trayectoria biográfica de Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester extrañará que algunas de sus narraciones remitan a un espacio
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extratextual llamado Santiago de Compostela. Si algunas ciudades
marcaron de forma indeleble el espíritu de Torrente, una de ellas, y no la
de menor importancia, fue Santiago. (Tabla Redonda 2, i)
Becerra further stipulates that Santiago plays a prominent role in the following works:
Fragmentos de Apocalipsis, La muerte del Decano, Compostela y su ángel, and Santiago
de Rosalía de Castro. Apuntes sobre la vida en Compostela en tiempos de Rosalía de
Castro. Becerra further explains that, as La Tabla Redonda 1 focused principally on La
saga/ fuga de J.B., the articles found in La Tabla Redonda 2 focus on Fragmentos de
Apocalipsis (ii). She further notes that the third volume of the journal will focus on the
last component of the so-called “fantastic trilogy,” La isla de los jacintos cortados (iv).
As occurred in La Tabla Redonda 1, La Tabla Redonda 2 contains discourses by
other writers who knew Torrente, including fellow Galician writers Alfredo Conde and
Germán Sierra (Generación Nocilla/ Afterpop). Both writers studied in Santiago de
Compostela, thus each offers a unique set of experiences of the city as he considers its
treatment in Torrente’s literary works.
José Colmeiro offers his detective fiction expertise in his analysis of La muerte
del Decano. In “Historia y metaficción en La muerte del Decano de Torrente Ballester:
Crónica postmoderna de una muerte anunciada,” 60 Colmeiro explains that not only is La
muerte a postmodern interpretation of the detective novel, but that it also is a “novela de
campus” (139), meaning that the majority of the action in the novel takes place at a
university. Colmeiro adds that, “De hecho La muerte del Decano es una de las primeras
novelas de campus españolas propiamente, y seguramente es la primera novela policíaca
de campus española” (139). Colmeiro’s finds parallels between the background
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described in La muerte and the fog described in Unamuno’s Niebla: “el paisaje gallego
utilizado por Torrente en la novela, junto con el escenario claroscuro de los claustros y la
continua penumbra nocturna, tienen la misma función transcendente que la niebla
existencial en la novela del mismo nombre de Unamuno” (141). Colmeiro notes other
parallels between Torrente’s novel and that of Unamuno: particularly (as has not gone
unnoticed by a number of other critics), the ambiguous manner in which the Dean dies in
La muerte, leaving other characters unable to determine the true cause of his death.
Colmeiro does make an interesting observation when considering the possible guilt of the
assistant professor don Enrique, the prime suspect in the Dean’s death:
Igualmente, por medio de la figura del Decano la novela deconstruye
irónicamente el concepto de la autoridad del autor así como el sistema de
oposiciones académicas, parte fundamental del sistema universitario
español, sujeto a guerras de poder, rivalidades, influencias y una crónica
endogamia. La relación Decano-discípulo se presenta como una ecuación
de poder y saber del orden foucaltiano [sic]. Su emasculado discípulo
Enrique tiene saber pero no tiene poder, porque “le falta obra” (29), o lo
que es lo mismo, no tiene falo. Pero el contrario, el Decano, tiene el
poder, la obra y el falo, pero parece que sus ideas se han agotado y ya no
tiene nada nuevo que aportar al campo del saber. (143-144)
Colmeiro’s linking of the Dean’s possessing both power at the university and power over
don Enrique seems to be without precedent among critical interpretations of La muerte,
but it is noteworthy for other reasons as well. Colmeiro explains that “la compleja
relación entre el maestro y el discípulo, de naturaleza básicamente paternalista e
insidiosa, se revela como una ambigua y contradictoria realidad insoluble, que se
proyecta en la novela sobre la relación creador-creación y autor-personaje-lector” (144).
Thus, Colmeiro illustrates another parallelism between La muerte and Niebla: the
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struggle between creator and creation (the Dean and don Enrique, as opposed to
Unamuno and Augusto Pérez).
In La muerte, Colmeiro determines the Dean to be an:
autor tramposo a apócrifo [… que] se convierte en el cronista de su propia
muerte anunciada […] y además actúa como el autor de una narrativa
policíaca que escribe colocando pistas falsas, implicando a sospechosos y
adelantándose a las investigaciones policiales, pero negándose a resolver
el misterio finalmente. De esta manera su actuación es un desafío a los
otros personajes que se verán implicados, y en última instancia un desafío
al propio lector, proponiéndole un problema sin posible solución. Para el
lector, la autoría del libro de historia, como la autoría del crimen, quedará
siempre en la duda, en media penumbra. (145)
Colmeiro concludes that La muerte is “una profunda desconfianza en los mecanismos de
los historiadores” (146), and that the events of the novel should represent “el fin de la
Historia como certeza absoluta e incontestable” (149).
La Tabla Redonda 3 (2005), subtitled “Sobre ínsulas y caballeros,” focuses
largely on La isla de los jacintos cortados and El Quijote como juego. La Tabla Redonda
4 (2006), on the other hand, explores some of the autobiographical aspects of Torrente’s
literature. As guest editor Ángel Loureiro comments in the foreword, it is:
difícil pensar en otro escritor en cuya obra y peripecia vital los espacios en
los que vivió hayan tenido un papel tan crucial como lo hacen en la vida y
la obra de Torrente Ballester [. . .]. No sorprende, por eso, que esos
lugares aparezcan continuamente como referencia indispensable no sólo
en sus obras autobiográficas (como sería esperable), sino también en sus
novelas. En Torrente Ballester, los lugares en los que el escritor vivió y
las experiencias asociadas con ellos sirven de disparadero continuo para la
creación. (i)
Carmen Becerra’s contribution explores the reality/ fiction in the final novel published
during Torrente’s life, Los años indecisos. 61 Becerra examines parallels between the
protagonists of Los años and Javier Mariño, referring to the hybrid term of “autoficción”
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coined by Alicia Molero 62 as she discusses Los años. Becerra cites Molero’s definition
of “autoficción” as follows:
“lo que llamamos autoficción responde a un nuevo modelo de la escritura
autobiográfica—como pretenden ciertos autores y críticos y, sin embargo,
desmienten numerosas autobiografías que se publican bajo la
responsabilidad de quien habla—o por el contrario no es más que un
nuevo tipo de discurso novelesco, cuyo contenido autobiográfico se
justifica, entre otras causas, por esa tendencia al subjetivismo que invade
el arte de nuestros días.” (76 citing Molero; italics belong to Molero)
Becerra notes several parallels which exist between the unnamed protagonist of Los años
and Torrente, asking, “¿Estamos entonces ante una autobiografía parcial de Torrente? La
respuesta a esta pregunta no puede ser rotunda a poco que conozcamos el sentido lúdico
del autor, de reconocida estirpe cervantina, y las características de su poética” (81).
Perhaps most importantly, Becerra refers to an account Torrente published in Cotufas en
el golfo 63 which closely parallels the narration found in the prologue of Los años. After
careful consideration, Becerra concludes that:
no podemos atribuir a Los años la etiqueta de autobiografía, y no sólo por
transgredir los rasgos discursivos característicos del género, sino también
por la ambigua y calculada intencionalidad del autor para que sus novelas
puedan ser interpretadas por el lector de ese modo. Y es que, frente a lo
que sucede con la escritura autobiográfica, en la autoficcional el objetivo
del novelista parece ser diferente: hablar de sí mismo sin responsabilizarse
de lo narrado. (87)
Becerra states that Los años does, however, comply with Molero’s definition of
“autoficción.”
La Tabla Redonda 5 (2007) also proves itself invaluable to the present study, as it
focuses exclusively on what editor Stephen Miller calls the “narraciones esquemáticas”—
the novels which Torrente published during the final decade of his life, beginning with
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Crónica del rey pasmado. Miller explains the reason for grouping together the novels
published during the final decade of Torrente’s life:
Como grupo las siete narraciones esquemáticas se acercan más a la novela
corta o cuento largo que a la novela propiamente dicha. Hacen recordar
otras creaciones anteriores del autor tales como las narraciones más largas
incluídas en Las sombras recobradas (1979) e “Ifigenia” y otros cuentos
(1987). Pero, a partir de Crónica del rey pasmado, Torrente sólo escribe
corto y sin gran esfuerzo al ambientar sus creaciones. El narrar breve, que
antes de 1989 era una especie de relevo de la torrentina novela larga
habitual, se convierte con Crónica en estilo único. (ii)
All of the novels to be studied presently, except Filomeno, a mi pesar and Los años
indecisos, receive critical attention in this issue of La Tabla Redonda, though often from
a different thematic perspective.
Gonzalo Navajas focuses on anti-epic aspects of Crónica, contrasting it with the
series of novels by Arturo Pérez-Reverte which feature protagonist Capitán Alatriste.
Citing Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code, Carlos Ruiz Zafón’s La sombra del viento, and Julia
Navarro’s La hermandad de la sábana blanca, Navajas states that “la reemergencia de la
historia se ha planteado con la eclosión de la novela que se centra en la reconstrucción
ficcional de un tiempo pasado” (3). 64 He adds that Crónica “se incluye entre los textos
pioneros determinantes de esta reorientación hacia la temporalidad pasada” (3). In stark
contrast to the Capitán Alatriste series—“una narración expansiva que, aunque centrada
en la ciudad y la Corte de Madrid, se abre a los territorios del Imperio español en Europa
y el Mediterráneo” (3)—Crónica “carece de esa dimensión épica” (3). Likewise, whereas
the Capitán Alatriste series “es enorme en su extensión y dimensión físicas[,] Crónica,
por el contrario, es una narración de interiores” (3).
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Navajas points to a larger purpose in the resurgence of literature dealing with
historical periods in Spain during the final decades of the Twentieth Century:
Después de un largo periodo de silenciamiento y manipulación ideológica
del pasado a partir de los presupuestos del franquismo, la sociedad y la
cultura españolas han entrado en una fase de un replanteamiento más
genuino y veraz de su historia. Esa revisión se aplica, en primer lugar, a
los hechos de la Guerra Civil que tienen una mayor carga intelectual y
emotiva a causa de su mayor proximidad en el tiempo y su conexión
todavía directa con el presente. No obstante, esa reconsideración se
extiende también a la historia más lejana en cuanto que puede servir para
explicar los hechos del presente de modo más adecuado y preciso. (7)
Favoring microhistory over macrohistory (or the Grand Histoire), Navajas sees Marfisa
as the driving force behind the events which take place in this novel: “En Crónica,
Marfisa prevalece sobre la negación de los sentidos a través de la aserción de una fuerza
erótica que supera los dictámenes de la represión. De nuevo, la microhistoria prevalece
sobre los designios grandilocuentes, pero destructivos de la Historia monolíticamente
uniforme para todos” (10-11).
Richard Curry also analyzes Crónica del rey pasmado, but centers his
investigation on the film adaptation, El rey pasmado (1991). 65 This critic refers to
cinematic adaptation as a form of translation, noting the great similarity between it and
literary translation: “Los dos procesos son complejos y complicados transformacionales
que pueden resultar en la ‘traición’ del texto original” (14). Basing his evaluation of the
cinematic adaptation of El rey pasmado on categories established by Kiril Taranovsky
(who, in turn, based the categories on those established by Jurij Tynianov, Mikhail
Bakhtin, and Jan Mukařovsky), Curry deems that:
En la mejor tradición de las adaptaciones fílmicas, El rey pasmado no sólo
apoya esta misma temática (mensaje) sino que lo intenta hacer con el
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humorismo e ingenio característicos del subtexto de Torrente, alcanzando
una equivalencia de las más aproximadas a las que puede aspirar la
operación adaptadora. (25)
María Luis Gamallo relates the reception in France of three of Torrente’s
novels—Crónica del rey pasmado, La novela de Pepe Ansúrez, and La boda de Chon
Recalde. 66 She details the number of copies of each novel printed in French (4847 of
Crónica, 2018 of Pepe Ansúrez, and a paltry 1523 of Chon Recalde), citing these as the
reason that Crónica received the critical attention it did, whereas each of the others “pasó
prácticamente desapercibida” (28) in that country. Perhaps not surprising, then, were the
commentaries these novels received in the press:
Calificada la Crónica del rey pasmado de “littérature presque volatile” (Le
Monde, 17/04/1992), la crítica definió La novela de Pepe Ansúrez como
“un livre drôle et facile à lire” después de haber destacado la trayectoria
literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, “un vieux monsieur qui n’a plus
rien à prouver,” y quien, “à présent, il écrit juste pour s’amuser” (La
Tribune, 14/03/1996). (29)
Gamallo does mention one journalist who “paradójicamente subraya la fantasía y el
imaginario gallego del autor, ausentes de las tres novelas,” though she concludes that
“ninguna de las obras de Torrente Ballester traducidas al francés tuvo el éxito esperado
de ventas en librería” (32).
Frieda Blackwell analyzes metafictional characteristics and narrative perspective
in La novela de Pepe Ansúrez 67 in order to illustrate how this seemingly simple novel
actually becomes much more complex as its author contemplates on themes of literary
creation which he has treated in earlier works. Referring to Pepe Ansúrez as a “mature
work from the last decade of his life” (67), this critic maintains that “Torrente gives
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readers a fragmented piece with a unique shifting narrative consciousness that moves
among characters who offer contradictory ideas on the novel of Pepe Ansúrez” (67).
A “Número extraordinario” of La Tabla Redonda (2010) anticipates the
centennial celebrations of Torrente’s birth going on during the year of its publication.
Edited by Gonzalo Navajas, the special issue contains essays treating the central topic
(and subtitle) of “Configuraciones de la historia en Gonzalo Torrente Ballester.” In his
introduction to the special number of La Tabla Redonda, Navajas states:
La conmemoración del centenario del nacimiento de Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester, a la que este volumen se une, contribuye a dinamizar de nuevo
el intercambio intelectual con un autor y sus textos que abarcan algunas de
las cuestiones capitales que se dirimieron apasionadamente en un tiempo
que sigue siendo el nuestro. (i)
Navajas speaks of Torrente’s advantage of having lived through most of the Twentieth
Century as one of the contributors to the author’s ability to reflect upon the events of the
past century. Notwithstanding, continues Navajas, is the fact that Torrente spent much of
his working life as a historian and teacher of History. Navajas concludes that Torrente’s
life and literary works make the Galician “un testigo y narrador muy privilegiado de su
tiempo, que investiga, analiza y juzga no desde la mirada del historiador profesional sino
desde las construcciones subjetivas e imaginarias del arte” (i). Thus, continues Navajas,
Torrente’s literature evinces “una textualidad que se concentra en la complejidad, con
frecuencia contradictoria y sorprendente, de los registros de un tiempo” (i). For the
purposes of the present study, the fifth issue and the “Número extraordinario” of La
Tabla Redonda will serve the greatest importance, due to their great similarity both in
novels treated (La Tabla Redonda) and themes analyzed (“Número extraordinario”).
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However, the novels and themes treated in the present study will receive a more detailed
attention than the essays in these issues of La Tabla Redonda have afforded them.
Mechthild Albert considers the role of the Church and the Inquisition in Crónica
del rey pasmado, by Torrente, as well as Limpieza de sangre, by Arturo Pérez Reverte. 68
She states that “en Crónica, el Santo Oficio no existe como entidad monolítica sino que
Torrente Ballester da de ella una imagen muy matizada [. . .]. De esta manera en
Crónica, la Iglesia abarca una gran variedad de tendencias que van del oscurantismo más
fanático al raciocinio preilustrado” (2). This wide variety in outlooks in the members of
the clergy present in Crónica helps to explain how “cada uno llega a poner en duda la fe
del otro en algún momento, síntoma de la arbitrariedad y de la quiebra del sistema de
valores puesto al cuidado de la Inquisición” (9). Given the great deal of discord between
them, this critic signals that: “Al final, en una lograda vuelta dialéctica, la encarnación
suprema de la racionalidad resulta ser el Diablo. No, por cierto, el demonio que
obsesiona al pueblo inculto, sino el Trasgu, ‘confidente’ (C, 37) privilegiado de fray
Eugenio de Rivadesella de la orden de San Francisco” (12). In a manner of conclusion,
this critic states:
Torrente Ballester nos da una visión “intelectualizada,” personalizada y
matizada de la Inquisición, visión “desde dentro,” tal vez tributaria de la
larga experiencia del autor bajo un régimen dictatorial. Pues esta reunión
de “fantasmas,” ¿no podría leerse tal vez como parábola del tardo
franquismo, cuando, a excepción de unos exaltados, la mayoría de los
dirigentes ya no creían apenas en el sistema que representaban? (21-22).
Palmar Álvarez-Blanco focuses on Filomeno, a mi pesar in her contribution to the
centennial number of La Tabla Redonda. 69 As she explains in the opening of her essay,
“la comprensión de esta novela como un testimonio de la experiencia de lo real resulta de
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gran utilidad para entender, no sólo la labor de Torrente, como intelectual de la novela,
sino el devenir de un tipo de narrativa que damos en llamar pensante y que reaparece en
el siglo XXI en España” (25; italics belong to Álvarez-Blanco).
Janet Pérez discusses Torrente as a precursor to the New Historical Novel in her
contribution to the centennial number of La Tabla Redonda. 70 She notes Torrente’s
positions as literary historian and professor of history as crucial elements in
understanding the Galician’s literature. Also important is Torrente’s fascination with
Cervantes and Don Quijote. Perhaps most importantly, however, was the need to
incorporate his criticism without having his works censored by the Franco regime. Pérez
provides a list of characteristics found in the New Historical Novel, noting the presence
of many of these in several of Torrente’s literary works. They include the presence of
actual historical figures in literature, interactions between historical and fictional
characters, a challenging of so-called “official history” and the process by which it is
created, frequent use of irony, parody, intertextuality, metafiction, presence of Bakhtinian
elements such as heteroglossia and the carnivalesque, re-writing of history, non-linear
flow of time, and use of pastiche, among others (184). Pérez concludes that, “En
definitiva, la importancia de Torrente Ballester radica en su obra total y no en el conjunto
de técnicas subversivas que reunió para circunnavegar la censura y criticar la
historiografía franquista, aunque con ellas haya anticipado la casi totalidad de los rasgos
que caracterizan a la ‘nueva novela española’” (185).
Adolfo Sotelo Vázquez closes the “número extraordinario” of La Tabla Redonda
with a discussion of literary relations between Gonzalo Torrente Ballester and fellow
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Galician Camilo José Cela during the postwar period. 71 Sotelo cites correspondence
between the two authors, indicating their mutual respect and the parallel manner in which
they evolved as writers.
A forthcoming issue of La Tabla Redonda (2011) collects presentations given at
an international conference in October 2010 to celebrate Torrente’s centennial. It
includes contributions by many of the most eminent Torrente scholars, and as did the
various issues before it, will serve as an invaluable research tool for anyone interested in
studying Torrente more in depth.
1
See Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, Lo mejor de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester
(Barcelona: Seix Barral, 1989).
2
La Tabla Redonda: Anuario de estudios torrentinos, ed. Carmen Becerra
(Universidade de Vigo: Servizo de Publicacións, 2003–present).
3
A simple search for “Gonzalo Torrente Ballester” in the MLA International
Bibliography yields a disproportionately high amount of scholarly work on the Galician
starting in the 1980s, compared to previous decades. The search revealed two articles
published during the 1960s, 15 from the 1970s, 65 from the 1980s, 44 from the 1990s,
and 82 from 2001 to the present. However, the results of this search did not include
much of the scholarship conducted on Torrente and his literature in Europe, particularly
in Spain but including England, Germany, France, Italy, and the Netherlands.
4
Alicia Giménez (Bartlett), Torrente Ballester: El autor y su obra (Barcelona:
Barcanova, 1981).
5
Carmen Becerra, Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Madrid: Ministerio de Cultura,
1982).
6
Alicia Giménez Bartlett, Torrente Ballester en su mundo literario (Salamanca:
Universidad de Salamanca, Biblioteca de la Caja de Ahorros y Monte de Piedad de
Salamanca, 1984).
7
Janet Pérez, Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Boston: Twayne, 1984).
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8
Frieda Blackwell, The Game of Literature: Demythification and Parody in
Novels of Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Valencia: Albatros, 1985).
9
Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen
Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988).
10
Margarita Benítez, “Parodia y subversión en las primeras novelas de Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and
Stephen Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988)
107-112.
11
Robert Nugent, “El viaje del joven Tobías and the Quest for Purity,” Critical
Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen Miller (Boulder,
CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988) 13-18.
12
Leo Hickey, “Floutings of the Consistency Maxim in La princesa durmiente va
a la escuela,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and
Stephen Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988)
19-31.
13
Santiago López Torres and Jaime Carbajo Romero, “El juego silábico en La
saga/ fuga de J.B.,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and
Stephen Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988)
45-51.
14
Genaro Pérez, “Préstamos literarios/ intertextualidad en La saga/ fuga,” Critical
Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen Miller (Boulder,
CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988) 53-60.
15
Amparo Pérez Gutiérrez, “Motivos apocalípticos en La isla de los jacintos
cortados y sus nexos con las primeras partes de la trilogía,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish
and Spanish American Studies, 1988) 61-70.
16
David K. Herzberger, “Fragmentos de apocalipsis and the Meaning of the
Metafictional Character,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez
and Stephen Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies,
1988) 33-43.
17
Kathleen Glenn, “Myth and Metaphor in Quizá nos lleve el viento al infinito,”
Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen Miller
(Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988) 71-78.
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18
Carmen Becerra, “Juego y parodia de la identidad en Yo no soy yo,
evidentemente,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and
Stephen Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988)
99-106.
19
Frieda Blackwell, “Literature within Literature in Novels of Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen
Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988) 113-126.
20
Lynne E. Overesch-Maister, “History in Fiction and Fiction in History in the
Novels of Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,
eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish
American Studies, 1988) 127-139.
21
Janet Pérez, “La rosa de los vientos: Compendium of Torrente’s Novelistic Art
and Historiographic Speculation,” Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds.
Janet Pérez and Stephen Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American
Studies, 1988) 79-97.
22
“El viaje del joven Tobías and the Quest for Purity.”
23
Genaro Pérez, La novela como burla/ juego: Siete experimentos novelescos de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Valencia: Albatros, 1989).
24
Pérez later analyzes other works by Torrente that approximate the detective
fiction genre. See “La muerte del Decano: ¿Suicidio, asesinato, accidente?” Hispanófila
135 (2002): 61-71.
25
Furthermore, Pérez cites Pere Gimferrer as having considered La saga/ fuga de
J.B. “una de las mejores novelas de la década pasada [1961-70], y la más significativa
desde la publicación de Tiempo de Silencio de [Luis] Martín Santos” (43; citing Pere
Gimferrer, “Otras inquisiciones: La saga/ fuga de J.B.,” Destino, Barcelona, 29 July
1972).
26
See Janet Pérez, “Leonardo Padura Fuentes: La novela de mi vida. Academic
Detecting and the novela negra,” Hispanófila 143 (Jan. 2005): 111-20.
27
Janet Pérez, “Text, Context, and Subtext in Torrente Ballester’s Filomeno, a mi
pesar,” Letras Peninsulares 2.3 (Winter 1989): 341-362.
28
Diss. U of Murcia (Spain), 1989. Print.
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29
Ángel Loureiro, Mentira y seducción: La trilogía fantástica de Torrente
Ballester (Madrid: Castalia, 1990).
30
Carmen Becerra, Guardo la voz, cedo la palabra: Conversaciones con Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester (Barcelona: Anthropos, 1990).
31
José Ponte Far, Galica en la obra narrativa de Torrente Ballester (A Coruña:
Tambre, 1994).
32
La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Ángel Abuín, Carmen
Becerra, and Ángel Candelas (Vigo, Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997).
33
Eduardo Alonso, “La fabulación ‘como si,’” La creación literaria de Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín, Carmen Becerra, et al. (Vigo, Pontevedra: Tambre,
1997) 23-34.
34
Sagrario Ruiz Baños, “La construcción ficcional en Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester,” La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín, Carmen
Becerra, et al. (Vigo, Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 35-60.
35
Gonzalo Sobejano, “La novela poemática y sus alrededores,” Ínsula 464-465
(July-August 1985): 26.
36
Ángel Loureiro, “Torrente Ballester, novelista postmoderno,” La creación
literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín, Carmen Becerra, et al. (Vigo,
Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 61-76.
37
Loureiro explains history in Torrente’s fiction as, “en primer lugar, Historia
(con mayúsculas) como conocimiento del pasado, pero también, en segundo lugar,
contra-historia o historia como invención (de un personaje-narrador); y, por último,
historia como narración, como arte de narrar, como potencia creativa” (61).
38
The italics are Loureiro’s.
39
Janet Pérez, “Sátiras del poder en la narrativa de Torrente,” La creación literaria
de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín, Carmen Becerra, et al. (Vigo,
Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 77-98.
40
Isabel Torrente Fernández, “La historia en la narrativa de Torrente Ballester,”
La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín, Carmen Becerra, et
al. (Vigo, Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 99-110.
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41
Ángel Basanta, “Gonzalo Torrente Ballester en los 80: Últimas novelas del
autor,” La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Abuín González, Carmen
Becerra, et al. (Vigo, Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 111-27.
42
Carmen Becerra, “Contribución al estudio del significado de Don Juan en la
versión de Torrente Ballester,” La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed.
Ángel Abuín, Carmen Becerra, et al. (Vigo, Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 129-161.
43
Northrop Frye, El camino crítico (Madrid: Taurus, Col. Persiles, 1986) 32-33.
Cited in Carmen Becerra, “Contribución al estudio del significado de Don Juan en la
versión de Torrente Ballester,” in Creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Vigo,
Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 131.
44
“N’existe pleinement comme Don Juan que dans son rapport aux deux autres
composantes…” Le mythe de Don Juan (Paris: Armand Colin, 1978) 8.
45
The inner citation proceeds from Torrente’s Don Juan.
46
The italics are Becerra’s.
47
Eliane Lavaud-Fage, “Torrente Ballester y la crítica genética,” La creación
literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín, Carmen Becerra, et al. (Vigo,
Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 163-173.
48
José Ponte Far, “Galicia en los cuadernos de trabajo de Torrente Ballester
(Cuadernos de la Romana, Nuevos cuadernos de la Romana, Los cuadernos de un vate
vago), La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín, Carmen
Becerra, et al. (Vigo, Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 175-192.
49
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, El pavoroso caso del Señor Cualquiera: Farsa en
tres partes. In Siete ensayos y una farsa (Madrid: Escorial, 1942).
50
Janet Pérez, “As novelas ‘menores’ de Torrente á luz do neohistoricismo,”
Revista Galega do Ensino 18 (Feb. 1998): 43-71.
51
José Paulino and Carmen Becerra, eds., Compás de Letras. Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester (Madrid: Complutense, 2001).
52
Janet Pérez, “Writing, Writers, and the Writer in the Novels of Torrente
Ballester as Exemplified in Los años indecisos,” Confluencia 16.2 (Spring 2001): 61-70.
53
Santiago de Compostela: U of Santiago de Compostela, 2003.
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54
Wojciech Charchalis, El realismo mágico en la perspectiva europea. El caso de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (New York: Peter Lang, 2005).
55
According to Charchalis:
De aquí aparece la pregunta de si el Conde y el padre Almeida son diablos
como quieren varias personas en el libro o más bien ángeles que bajaron a
la tierra con el propósito de hacer creer la verdad a la gente en el
mandamiento del amor. Esta duda se hará más justificada cuando
reparemos en la conversación del padre Rivadesella con el Gran
Inquisidor, para quien la descripción del diablo que el día anterior apareció
en el cielo tuvo aspecto más bien angelical que diabólico (Crónica, p. 24).
(111; interior citation made by Charchalis)
56
Carmen Becerra, La historia en la ficción: La narrativa de Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester (Madrid: Ediciones del Orto, 2005).
57
Becerra cites Smith as having said Crónica del rey pasmado is “todo menos una
novela histórica” (“Crónica del rey pasmado. Una tapicería de ilusiones.” Abril 12
[1996]: 46).
58
Carmen Becerra, Los géneros populares en la narrativa de Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester: la novela policíaca (Vigo: Academia del Hispanismo, 2007).
59
Carmen Becerra and Emilie Guyard, eds., Los juegos de la identidad movediza
en la obra de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (Vigo: Academia del Hispanismo, 2008).
60
José Colmeiro, “Historia y metaficción en La muerte del Decano de Torrente
Ballester: Crónica postmoderna de una muerte anunciada,” La Tabla Redonda 2 (2004):
135-150.
61
Carmen Becerra, “Juegos de la autoficción en Los años indecisos,” La Tabla
Redonda 4 (2006): 73-89.
62
See Alicia Molero de la Iglesia, “Figuras y significados de la autonovelación,”
Espéculo: Revista de estudios literarios 33 (July-Oct. 2006): n. pag. Web. 18 Sept. 2011.
<http://www.ucm.es/info/especulo/numero33/autonove.html>.
63
See Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, “Encuentro el ‘el viejo almacén,’” Cotufas del
golfo (Barcelona: Destino, 1986) 375-378.
64
Gonzalo Navajas, “La historia anti-épica en Crónica del rey pasmado de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,” La Tabla Redonda 5 (2007): 1-11.
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65
Richard Curry, “Un caso de fidelidad intertextual: El rey pasmado en novela y
en cine,” La Tabla Redonda 5 (2007): 13-26.
66
María Luis Gamallo, “Sobre la recepción en Francia de Crónica del rey
pasmado, La novela de Pepe Ansúrez y La boda de Chon Recalde,” La Tabla Redonda 5
(2007): 27-32.
67
Frieda Blackwell, “Narrative Perspective in La novela de Pepe Ansúrez by
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,” La Tabla Redondada 5 (2007): 67-80.
68
Mechthild Albert, “Iglesia e Inquisición en Crónica del rey pasmado de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester y Limpieza de sangre de Arturo Pérez-Reverte,” (La Tabla
Redonda, Número extraordinario (2010): 1-23.
69
Palmar Álvarez-Blanco, “Filomeno, a [su] pesar. El testimonio de un
intelectual de la novela hacia 1988,” La Tabla Redonda Número extraordinario (2010):
25-40.
70
Janet Pérez, “Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, precursor de la ‘nueva novela
española,’” La Tabla Redonda Número extraordinario (2010): 175-187.
71
Adolfo Sotelo Vázquez, “Acerca de Camilo José Cela y Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester,” La Tabla Redonda Número extraordinario (2010): 189-205.
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CHAPTER IV
THEORETICAL FRAME
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester’s literary works span several decades, and the variety
of themes he treats in them lends itself to several methods of literary analysis. The
current study will focus on novels published during the final decade of Torrente’s life,
incorporating theories of New Historicism. New Historicism arose partly in rejection of
the narrowness, conservatism, and rigidity of the “New Critics” who insisted on strict
“close reading” and held that one could not go beyond the text by considering history,
authorial biography/ autobiography, psychology, etc. A type of Anglo-American
formalist criticism dominating the mid-decades of the Twentieth Century, New Criticism
rejected everything but “the work itself,” rejecting the “old historicism,” along with
biographical data, reader-responses, emphasizing Formalism, pretending to be a “science
of literature.” Consideration of authorial intent was neither possible nor desirable. Direct
declarations by the author (e.g. in diaries or interviews) were believed to result in
“intentional fallacy” and were not to be given credence. Meaning of the text was
intrinsic, to be found in patterns of sound, imagery, narrative structure, perspective,
repetition of symbols, etc.
New Historicism has been defined as:
an approach to literary criticism and literary theory based on the premise
that a literary work should be considered a product of the time, place, and
circumstances of its composition rather than as an isolated creation. It had
its roots in a reaction to the “New Criticism” of formal analysis of works
of literature, which was seen by a new generation of professional readers
as taking place in a vacuum. 1
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New Historicism, to some extent, steps backward in considering history relevant, at the
same time it proclaims that “history is fiction” and “fiction is history,” and rejects the
pretended “objectivity” or truth of documents formerly considered historical (e.g. diaries,
letters, newspapers, autobiographies, memoirs, etc.—as well as reports by investigators,
history books, etc.). Clearly a rejection of the kind of documents produced by Francoist
historiography (which Torrente observed first-hand, beginning as early as 1938 when he
was part of the group of young writers with the Franco command in Burgos), Torrente’s
literature from early on demythologizes, parodies, and even mocks the manipulation of
history—its falsification—and the erasure of dissenting viewpoints, heterodox texts, and
objective viewpoints. An early case in point is Torrente’s short story, “Gerineldo”
(1944), a comedic but nonetheless biting satire based in medieval France which strips
away any possible claim to glory for the Falangist/ Francoist revolt.
Catherine Gallagher and Stephen Greenblatt have stated that New Historicism
does not contain a specific set of criteria with which to judge texts, literary or otherwise,
reminding the reader that New Historicism was born out of “an impatience with
American New Criticism, an unsettling of established norms and procedures, a mingling
of dissent and restless curiosity” (2). 2 They maintain that it is this very lack of a rigid set
of rules, and the absence of a “New Historicist School,” which might otherwise unite
New Historicist theory across disciplines. The resultant moderate flexibility of the New
Historical approach allows it to become a “history of possibilities: while deeply interested
in the collective, it remains committed to the value of the single voice, the isolated
scandal, the idiosyncratic vision, the transient sketch” (16). Yet different applications of
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New Historicism still contain common elements. H. Aram Veeser has suggested the
following common theoretical assumptions:
1. that every expressive act is embedded in a network of material
practices;
2. that every act of unmasking, critique, and opposition uses the tools it
condemns and risks falling prey to the practice it exposes;
3. that literary and non-literary “texts” circulate inseparably;
4. that no discourse, imaginative or archival, gives access to unchanging
truths nor expresses inalterable human nature;
5. finally… that a critical method and a language adequate to describe
culture under capitalism participate in the economy they describe. (ix) 3
These critical assumptions fall within the purview of dialectical materialism and
Marxism. Though particularly helpful in the greater sub-field of New Historical
criticism, the Marxist aspects will not form an integral part of the present study. In light
of this, a more straight-forward, all-inclusive view of New Historicism will be necessary.
Hayden White has become one of the leading critics involved with New
Historicism and the relationship between literary and historical texts. White has said the
following regarding historical discourse:
What historical discourse produces are interpretations of whatever
information about knowledge of the past the historian commands. These
interpretations can take a number of forms, ranging from simple
chronicles or lists of facts all the way over to highly abstract philosophies
of history, but what they all have in common is their treatment of a
narrative mode of representation as fundamental to the grasping of their
referents as distinctively historical phenomena. Adapting a famous phrase
of Croce’s to our purposes, we may say that, where there is no narrative,
there is no distinctively historical discourse. (3; italics belong to White) 4
That history is written using narrative certainly is not new—history texts and lectures are
much more than a simple list of facts. Yet the notion that historical texts are more
interpretations than cold, scientific fact is fairly new; moreover, it acknowledges the
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possibility that various interpretations be made from the same historical event. It is often
said that “History is written by the victors,” and New Historicism endeavors to account
for marginal or marginalized voices as it reflects upon history. Upon considering the
historical veracity of fictional texts produced by members of the Latin American Boom,
White ponders: “Would [one] wish to say that their works do not teach us about real
history because they are fictions? Or that, being fictions about history, they are devoid of
tropisms and discursivity? Are their novels less true for being fictional?” (13). Just
because the narrative takes shape as a work of fiction, it does not mean that the work can
not ponder historical events, and particularly those during which the author has lived.
This holds true of representations of historical events present in Torrente’s fiction as well.
Two articles appearing in Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester 5 explore
the historical dimensions of Torrente’s literature. Janet Pérez focuses on La rosa de los
vientos (1985), La princesa durmiente (completed in 1952, but not published until 1983),
and Dafne y ensueños (1983) to illustrate Torrente’s “long-standing interest in history as
fiction and fiction as history, the relationship between man and myth, or reality and what
history makes of that reality” (6). 6 Similarly, Lynne Overesch-Maister utilizes Torrente’s
“fantastic trilogy” to demonstrate the symbiosis of history and fiction: “History and
fiction coincide in that both represent man’s attempts to formulate in intelligible form
what is perceived as an ever-changing, incomprehensible reality” (9). Overesch-Maister
explains that Torrente’s dual occupation as historian and novelist put him at a privileged
position from which to observe the combination of the two entities (fiction-history) and
how they function together.
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Janet Pérez draws upon New Historicism theories in an article published on what
she terms Torrente’s “novelas menores,” 7 referring to the novels Torrente published after
the “fantastic trilogy.” Accordingly, despite Torrente’s almost-meteoric rise in popularity
in response to the “fantastic trilogy,” and to the prestigious literary prizes and seat in the
Real Academia de la Lengua he received shortly following their publication, “as obras de
Torrente a partir da chamada triloxía atraeron a poucos estudiosos” (43). Employing the
theories of New Historicism established by Hayden White, Frederic Jameson, Stephen
Greenblatt, and David Lodge, the critic explains that “Varias obras de Torrente (en
especial, as escritas a partir de Filomeno, a mi pesar) ilumínanse ó lelas á luz de
postulados do novo historicismo” (46). To synthesize the aforementioned critics’
theories:
Hai numerosos puntos de coincidencia entre teóricos do neohistoricismo e
conceptos expostos por Torrente en entrevistas, ensaios e novelas, dos
cales o máis importante é o concepto da condición ficticia da Historia, con
maiúscula, o mesmo cá idea de que a ficción é historia. [. . .]. No canto de
ve-lo pasado como algo monolítico, e producir unha visión monolóxica, os
seguidores do neohistoricismo concíbeno como algo aberto á
interpretación de cada individuo, de cada lector ou investigador, de acordo
coa súa personal circunstancia histórico-cultural e o contexto do suceso ou
documento. Posto que o grupo inclúe historiadores, críticos literarios,
ademais de metahistoriadores como Hayden White, enténdese a falta de
normas ben definidas ou fronteiras ríxidas [. . .]. Segundo Hayden White,
non existe ningún achegamento específicamente histórico ó estudio da
historia, senón unha variedade de achegamentos, de acordo coas diferentes
posturas ideolóxicas, principio que demostran moitas obras de Torrente.
Para White, a relación entre o texto e o sistema cultural que o produce é
intertextual posto que os sucesos se describen a partir dunha revisión
lingüística; a “Historia” é simplemente un dos moitos posibles textos
lingüísticos. (44-45)
Having explained the principal concepts of New Historicism, Pérez establishes a
connection between them and the novels published by Torrente in the 1980s and 1990s.
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cataloguing the many points of contact Torrente has had with history or its representation
in his life. This includes his studies of history at several universities, as well as his
numerous teaching positions in contemporary and ancient history. A case in point is
Torrente’s great interest in literary history, evidenced by his critical works Literatura
Española Contemporánea (1949) and Teatro español contemporáneo (1957), and notably,
his at-times Galdosian manner of depicting historical settings of the Nineteenth Century
in early works such as Farruquiño (1954), “Farruco el desventurado” (1979), Los gozos y
las sombras, 8 and of more contemporary historical settings later on in works like Off-side
(1969).
History, while a constant theme in Torrente’s literature, does not receive the same
treatment in each work:
A historia viste de xeitos diferentes na obra de Torrente, en certas obras
situadas no pasado nas que o contido non allude a feitos históricos
específicos ou establecidos (Guadalupe Limón, Ifigenia, Don Juan). A
historia preséntase outras veces de xeito máis rigoroso, sobre todo cando
se refire ós séculos XIX e XX, pero este rigor tampouco non é regra xeral,
posto que pode ser historia lúdica ou fantástica (por exemplo, en La isla de
los jacintos cortados, La rosa de los vientos e La princesa durmiente va a
la escuela), cun propósito de subverte-la historiografía e desenmascara-la
súa servidume política-económica. (46-47)
Perhaps most importantly, Pérez states that “un elemento constante en toda presentación
por Torrente do ‘histórico’ é a súa convicción de que a historia é interpretación” (56).
Readers must never forget that Torrente witnessed years of systematic erasure, twisting
and rewriting of Twentieth-Century Spanish history by Francoist historiographers during
the four decades of dictatorship.
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The 2003 issue of the Monographic Review/ Revista Monográfica treats the
nueva novela histórica in Hispanic Literature of the decade prior to its publication, when
the New Historical Novel was still largely an emerging phenomenon in the Peninsula,
notwithstanding its earlier emergence in Latin America. The articles contained within it
treat applications of New Historicism to this genre of Hispanic literature, published both
in Spain and Latin America during recent years. In the introduction to the issue, editor
Janet Pérez states that “A notable increase in historical novels treating official
historiography with visible lack of reverence marks the post-Franco years in Spain” (9). 9
These novels, “essentially postmodern, deconstructive and postcolonial in their basic
orientations, [. . .] owe much to the so-called ‘New Historicism’ with its tenet that
‘History is Fiction; Fiction is History’” (9). Pérez relates the situation of literature
published in Spain during the Franco regime:
The highly visible process of mythification of Franco from the closing
months of the Spanish Civil War (1936-39) until near the end of the
dictatorship (1975) created widespread distrust of official historiography
in Spain, the more so because the regime systematically went through
universities at war’s end, eliminating professors of history and law,
ransacking archives, burning books and libraries—destroying the extant
historical record, along with many familiar with it, before replacing it with
History of its own creation, made in its own image. (10)
Thus, many of the writers who sought to contradict the “official” history fabricated by the
Franco regime found little possibility to do so within the country, without putting
themselves and their families at risk of severe punishment. Hence, much of this literature
was generated by Spaniards writing and publishing in exile, such as Francisco Ayala and
Ramón Sender, followed by a veritable “flood of long-censored writings by exiles” which
appeared after Franco’s death (10). 10 In addition to those publications by exiles, there
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has been a steady stream of publication of literature within Spain which opposes the
established myths of the Franco regime. Pérez does not limit herself to literature
published during the dictatorship (and mainly by those authors who went into exile
during the Spanish Civil War or shortly thereafter), but also includes literature published
after the end of the dictatorship, both by the generations of writers who experienced the
Civil War and the dictatorship and by a new generation of writers who grew up during
the post-Franco democracia yet were compelled to ponder those important events which
shaped the modern Spain. Hence, “New availability under the monarchy of works of
exile and opposition writers plus ‘unofficial’ histories by foreign historiographers,
eagerly devoured, likewise helped to create an enthusiastic market for subversive,
demythologizing, counter-histories” (10).
Current trends of demythologization of Spain’s recent history are not limited to
literary production, however, particularly in the most recent years of the new millennium.
In an effort to parallel measures enacted worldwide to ensure the horrors of the World
Wars—and, in particular, the Holocaust—do not pass from civilization’s collective
memory just because those who lived through them are no longer alive, Spain passed the
Ley de Memoria Histórica 11 in October of 2007. With this new law in place, the country
has encouraged production of works in many fields dedicated to analysis of the Spanish
Civil War and the Franco dictatorship, including the atrocities both sides in the Civil War
committed and the effects of the Civil War and the dictatorship on Spanish civilization
and culture in the Twentieth Century.
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Torrente is classed with writers contradicting the Franco regime’s “official
history” from within Spain, rather than in exile. “Within Spain,” Pérez notes, “Gonzalo
Torrente Ballester undertook the demythologization of official historiography early on,
although some incredibly subversive texts such as La princesa durmiente va a la escuela
(written in the 1950s but unpublished until 1983) were prudently withheld until much
later” (10). Torrente’s works embody the characteristics of the nueva novela histórica,
yet avoided the heavy censorship of the Franco regime:
Other, more ludic works openly question and even ridicule the
historiographic process—especially La isla de los jacintos cortados
(1980), La rosa de los vientos (1985), and Yo no soy yo, evidentemente
(1987), seemingly targeting academic historians in other times or other
places, a transparent dodge for censors. (10)
Seymour Menton and Fernando Aínsa are especially important historians and theorists
who have published on topics dealing with New Historicism and which are particularly
pertinent to studies of Iberian and Latin American literatures. Comparing Menton’s Latin
America’s New Historical Novel and Aínsa’s “La nueva novela histórica
latinoamericana” 12 to the typology present in Tzvetan Todorov’s The Poetics of Prose
(1977), 13 concepts explored by Mikhail Bakhtin, and theories of Lacan (11-12), Pérez
catalogues common themes found in the nueva novela histórica from each side of the
Atlantic. Themes explored in Aínsa’s article include:
revisionist readings of official history; deconstruction of national myths,
and elimination of the ‘epic distance’ between the narrator or text and
historical events; exaggerated, frequently burlesque incorporation of
certain historic archives or sources (to which might well be added a
repetitive technique of Torrente Ballester and others, the invention of
apocryphal archives and documentation); rewriting of historical events,
superimposing multiple time periods; questioning of historical veracity or
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authority via multiple narrative perspectives; and the use of techniques
such as pastiche, parody and metafiction to demythologize the past (11).
The issue of Monographic Review exploring nueva novela histórica in Hispanic
literature contains no essays devoted entirely to the study of Torrente’s works. However,
the introductions to the essays therein could help orient the reader towards a theoretical
approach to the Galician writer’s novels. Mercedes Mazquiarán de Rodríguez comments
insightfully on the prevalence of this new historical novel in Spain during the final
decades of the Twentieth Century in her study of José Manuel Fajardo’s Carta del fin del
mundo. 14 This critic cites a question posited by critic Luis Sepúlveda, to begin her
discussion:
When Luis Sepúlveda asks rhetorically, “¿...es posible que un escritor de
treinta y tantos años recupere un manuscrito perdido en el laberinto de su
imaginación hace casi cinco siglos?,” he is actually bringing to the fore the
emphasis on historiography on the part of Spanish writers in the last
decades of the twentieth-century. (49) 15
Although the novel in question treats a different time period than the novels to be
analyzed in the present study, it is nevertheless this preoccupation with history, and more
specifically, with their reflections on actual events in Spain’s history, which remains the
same in Torrente’s works. Novelists of the last half of the Twentieth Century and the
first decade of the Twenty-first Century make use of postmodern techniques not widely
practiced by their counterparts of Nineteenth Century Realism and Naturalism or Spain’s
mid-century Social Realism as they reflect upon facets of Spanish history and culture
contemporary to them. Mazquiarán de Rodríguez notes this significant difference,
explaining that “Postmodern simulacra allows fiction to make claims upon the historical
past by creating alternatives derived from the historical altenatives derived from the
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official historical referent, or even constructing the ‘historical facts’ to attach to them a
particular interpretation, fictionalizing history” (51).
Perhaps one way of envisioning the past as described in Torrente’s literature is as
articulated by Antonio Gómez López-Quiñones in his article, “La historia como laberinto
textual.” 16 This critic first refers to another who suggests that history should not be
studied at all, 17 before deciding that taking this radical stance is not advisable for studies
of literature dealing with the Spanish Civil War and Franco dictatorship. He also
acknowledges the difficulty for writers of historical novels (or as often is Torrente’s case,
novels that refer to the post-war period and the dictatorship) to deal with events of the
past objectively:
Por una parte, los textos [. . .] se niegan a manipular y erigir un pasado
como se éste fuese un espejo o una sábana blanca que reflejase o en el
pudieran proyectarse indiscriminadamente la sensibilidad, el orden y las
preocupaciones del presente [. . .]. Por otra parte, estas novelas también se
resisten a monumentalizar el pasado, a construirlo como un “otro”
temporal de carácter absoluto, un tiempo-paraíso perdido y encapsulado
sin mayores repercusiones para los debates culturales y políticos en los
que se dirimen los diversos matices de las distintas identidades
individuales y colectivas. (125)
Therefore, López-Quiñones proposes to look at literature dealing with the past in a way
in which it does not project current situations onto historical events of the past, nor in a
way that elevates the past to some quasi-utopian status never susceptible to repetition
afterward. At first this might seem paradoxical, considering the tendency of literature to
apply to multiple meanings, situations, or events. Likewise, authors face the peril of
including hindsight in their recreations of the past, especially a past in which they did not
form a part. In order to understand historical events, it is imperative to avoid
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superimposing perspectives and/ or preoccupations from the present onto those historical
events. Rather, the reader must conceptualize the historical event utilizing those
perspectives and/ or preoccupations from the time in which the event occurred (rendering
a literary context more in line with the one preferred by New Historicists). Thus, the task
of the writer is to divorce him- or herself from an anachronistic perspective of said event
in order to arrive at a more accurate portrayal. As a historian and professor of history,
Torrente was well acquainted with a slightly more neutral manner of conveying the past;
yet, as has already been established, New Historicists consider history texts to be simply
another form of literature. However, Torrente lived through the phase of history which
appears in most of the novels he published during the last decade of his life—i.e., the
Spanish Civil War and the Franco dictatorship. The parody he produces in these final
novels mirrors (but goes beyond) the kind of parody he created in literature published
during earlier decades, during the years that he was living that phase of Spanish history.
López-Quiñones offers more details to his stipulation cited above, regarding the
treatment of the past in literature of the present. This critic considers that “El pasado no
es una realidad transparente, dada, evidente ni directamente aprehensible. Por el
contrario, el pasado se trata, antes que de cualquier otra cosa, de un esfuerzo responsable
por querer conocerlo, de un acto voluntario y consciente por buscar sus rastros” (125).
Thus, narrating the past is not a simple undertaking: time erases some memories, and
changes in perspective (personal, political, ideological, etc.) tinge others. LópezQuiñones suggests that the past is in the past, and that it is extremely difficult to discuss it
without introducing some kind of modification. It should be noted, however, that the
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authors López-Quiñones treats in his article attempt to reflect upon the Spanish Civil War
and the Franco dictatorship without having lived through more than the very end of the
dictatorship. Thus, this critic is discussing a situation quite different from the one in
which Torrente was as he published literature vaguely and indirectly referencing this
difficult period in recent Spanish history.
Nevertheless, it is important to heed López-Quiñones’s analysis, considering it
still has to do with the act of representing situations of the past in a present day far
removed from them. He reasons that history does not have to be a discussion about the
past but depending on paradigms of the present. Rather:
la Historia no tiene por qué ser una narración sobre el presente y sus
intereses [. . . sino] que es, desde luego, una narración desde el presente.
Esta realidad epistemológica, a la vez que dificulta nuestro conocimiento,
supone un reto ético para el hermeneuta. De esta forma, la Historia (en
concreto, un episodio de ésta que posee una cualidad fundacional para la
identidad contemporánea española, la Guerra Civil), se torna un espacio
discursivo en el que cuenta tanto lo propuesto, narrado y afirmado, como
las preguntas y los cuestionamientos en torno a los procedimientos
epistemológicos, los intereses ideológicos y las motivaciones morales
inherentes a dichas proposiciones, narraciones y afirmaciones. (126; italics
are those of López Quiñones)
Like the novels this critic studies, the novels Torrente published during the last decade of
his life can be read in such a way that they lend insight into what life was like in Spain
during the immediate post-war period and the Franco dictatorship.
Kathryn Quinn-Sánchez notes that, during the Nineteenth Century, literature was
widely used to produce ideal citizens, who, in turn, would create ideal nations. However,
during the Twentieth Century and beyond, Quinn-Sánchez identifies a shift not only in
the purpose of literature, but also in the manner in which authors create it (153). 18
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Whereas literature before the last century could be used to reinforce a concrete way of
recalling the past, new forms of literature including the new historical novel have
rendered a more ambiguous version of days gone by. In the words of this critic, “During
the twentieth century, the role of literature has changed markedly, as it no longer
necessarily legitimates the nation or ‘Official History’” (153). Quinn-Sánchez asserts
that writers of literature appearing in the last century, and of the new historical novel in
particular, “have been rewriting history with the power of the imagination,” (153) making
much use of metafiction, exaggeration, and anachronism, as well as literary techniques
such as intertextuality and heteroglossia. As a result, Quinn-Sánchez comments:
By removing History from its place of privilege, the new historical novel
points to the role that textuality plays in our understanding of the past and
as a result, of the present. What appears most interesting is that the
discipline of History, once considered to be based on fact, when studied
through the lens of literature, becomes a subjective “text” with layers of
meaning and a point of view that consequently can be analyzed. In this
postmodern era of questioning, it is only logical to question not only
History’s place in our comprehension of the past but also that of
Literature. Both of these fields have historically relied on the assumption
that it is possible to mimetically represent reality. However the new
historical novel challenges this very notion. (153-54)
Considering the rewriting of Spanish history during the almost forty years of the Franco
dictatorship, which served as nothing but a continuing glorification of Franco and
Falange, it is easy to see the parallels between Quinn-Sánchez’s comments above and
Torrente’s recurring literary technique of demythologization.
In his article, “La parodia en la reescritura laberíntica de la historia: Rut, la que
huyó de la Biblia de Josefina Leyva,” 19 Luis A. Jiménez offers the following explanation
of the nueva novela histórica, drawing upon the writings of Fernando Aínsa. Jiménez
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cites Aínsa to the effect that “el revisionismo de la novela histórica contemporánea
permite una reescritura desmitificadora del pasado que incluye la parodia en la
reconstrucción de mitos, leyendas, crónicas, testimonios, etcétera (14, 19)” (265). 20
Jiménez devotes his article to the study of this literary trend in Latin American literature,
and more specifically, to the study of a novel written by a Cuban author. However,
certain elements that Jiménez cites from Aínsa’s critical study are still applicable to many
of Torrente’s works, including El golpe de estado de Guadalupe Limón (1946), Ifigenia
(1949), “Gerineldo,” La princesa durmiente va a la escuela, La rosa de los vientos, and
Crónica del rey pasmado.
Carmen Becerra offers an important perspective on the presence of history in
Torrente’s literary works in her book-length study, La historia en la ficción: La narrativa
de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester (2005). Becerra clarifies her position concerning
“aquellos que consideran que toda ficción es historia, un tipo particular de historia, pero
historia al fin y al cabo; pero además, en el caso del autor que ahora nos ocupa, es
evidente la relevancia que posee este tema en la totalidad de sus obras” (32). Becerra
notes that “la crítica ha señalado que es fundamentalmente en la trilogía fantástica en
donde el autor manipula la historia [. . .]. Por el contrario, y como vengo sosteniendo
desde el principio, la utilización y manipulación de ese tema es una constante desde las
primeras hasta las últimas de sus obras” (35). Becerra defends this statement by citing
Celia Fernández Prieto’s definition of history:
[L]a historia es sobre todo historiografía, escritura, forma de
representación de un modelo de realidad, el modelo de la realidad histórica
[. . .] Por tanto, hay que hablar, en plural, de verdades parciales, sujetas a
controversia, provisionales, verdades que se confirman o desconforman en
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la interacción social, mediante acuerdos sociales, institucionales o
interpersonales. (36) 21
Becerra then considers José María Pozuelo’s theories on history and fiction: “[T]anto el
universo que modelizamos como realidad como el que modelizamos como ficción son,
ambos, códigos culturales que se construyen y que resultan ser un modelo de existencia
proyectado en el seno de cada cultura.” (36) 22 In light of these definitions of history,
Becerra reinforces her earlier statement as follows:
Partiendo de tales planteamientos resulta sencillo aceptar la afirmación
según la cual el uso de materiales históricos por Torrente Ballester abarca
la totalidad de su obra y se adecua sin estridencias al material ficcional,
ficcionalizándose al integrarse en su discurso de esa naturaleza, al margen
de cuál sea la adscripción de sus obras a uno u otra tendencia o
movimiento estéticos. O expresado de otra manera, Torrente manipula la
historia en sus novelas, sean estas etiquetadas como realistas o como
fantásticas. Dicho lo cual conviene advertir que tal manipulación se
realiza con mecanismos e intenciones diferentes en unas y otras. De
hecho, Torrente no sólo utiliza materiales históricos, sino que además
interpreta los fenómenos de esa naturaleza, e incluso reflexiona sobre el
estatuto epistemológico de la Historia. (36-37)
Becerra proposes four classifications of the manners in which history plays a part
in Torrente’s literary works:
1.
2.
3.
4.
La Historia como escenografía.
La Historia como reinvención.
La Historia como eje temático.
La Historia como crónica. (40)
Becerra then devotes the rest of La historia en la ficción to providing detailed examples
of works which fit in each classification. Works such as Los gozos y las sombras typify
the first classification (40-44), whereas the “fantastic trilogy” fits well within the second
classification (44-52). Becerra includes Torrente’s early epic drama, Lope de Aguirre
(1941), and his last theatrical piece, Atardecer en Longwood (1950), as well as Crónica
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del rey pasmado (1989), in the third classification (52-55), leaving the fourth
classification (55-56) for Torrente’s final works, beginning with Filomeno, a mi pesar
(1988).
In the introduction to the “Número extraordinario” of La Tabla Redonda (2010),
guest editor Gonzalo Navajas reflects upon the Twentieth Century as a time of both great
advances in artistic and cultural output as well as great advances in violence and
destruction, noting Torrente’s privileged perspective as one who lived during a great
majority of the past century including many significant historical moments. Navajas cites
this privileged perspective, as well as the writer’s life-long interest in history and literary
history, among contributors to a literature which embraced the seemingly contradictory
elements of history and fiction (i). Navajas explains:
La obra de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester trata la historia de su tiempo, pero
no lo hace de un modo limitadamente mimético sino que la cuestiona a
partir de configuraciones imaginativas que trascienden el modelo histórico
representacional y hacen que la historia del siglo aparezca en una versión
distinta que aúna lo dramático con lo irónico para producir una lectura
inesperada y no convencional de esa temporalidad diabólicamente
iluminadora. (ii)
Although not all of the articles in the “Número extraordinario” of La Tabla Redonda treat
the novels to be analyzed in this study, they nevertheless focus on themes which will be
discussed here. These themes include the presence of the Spanish Civil War (along with
specters of Falange and the Franco dictatorship) in Torrente’s literature, as well as the
historical Church and Inquisition in Crónica del rey pasmado. They also include
perspectives on literary and philosophical influences on Torrente, including that of
Cervantes, Ortega y Gasset, or the Don Juan myth.
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Also pertinent to this study, although not as much as New Historicism, is the New
Historical Novel. Seymour Menton has commented on the New Historical Novel in Latin
American literature in what might be the first work to analyze this literary genre as it
applies to literature written in Spanish. In Latin America’s New Historical Novel, 23
Menton develops a definition for, and origins of, the New Historical Novel in Latin
American fiction. Menton observes that, “In the broadest sense, every novel is historical
since, in varying degrees, it portrays or captures the social environment of its characters,
even the most introspective ones” (15). Menton lists six characteristics which commonly
occur in New Historical Novels produced in Latin America during the second half of the
Twentieth Century (Menton is careful to point out that novels do not have to contain all
six characteristics to be considered examples of the New Historical Novel):
1. The subordination, in varying degrees, of the mimetic re-creation of a
given historical period to the illustration of three philosophical ideas,
popularized by Borges and applicable to all periods of the past, present,
and future [. . .]. [T]hese ideas are (a) the impossibility of ascertaining the
true nature of reality or history; (b) the cyclical nature of history; and (c)
the unpredictability of history—that although history tends to repeat itself,
occasionally the most unexpected and amazing events may and do occur.
2. The conscious distortion of history through omissions, exaggerations,
and anachronisms.
3. The utilization of famous historical characters as protagonists. [. . .]
4. Metafiction, or the narrator’s referring to the creative process of his own
text. [. . .]
5. Intertextuality. [. . .]
6. The Bakhtinian concepts of the dialogic, the carnivalesque, parody, and
heteroglossia. (22-24; italics belong to Menton)
It is important to remember that Menton focuses only on novels treating “a past not
directly experienced by the author” (16) in his groundbreaking study on the New
Historical Novel in Latin America. This distinction would exclude almost all of the
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novels to be analyzed in the current study, with Crónica del rey pasmado (1989) as the
only exception. As such, Crónica will receive treatment as a New Historical Novel in the
analysis section of the current study. However, this study does not focus entirely on the
New Historical Novel, but rather includes it as one of several configurations of historical
representation Torrente employs in his final novels.
More applicable to this study is the contribution by Janet Pérez to the “Número
extraordinario” of La Tabla Redonda. 24 In it she discusses Torrente’s position as the
precursor of the New Historical Novel in Spain, reminding the reader that Torrente’s
positions as historian and professor of history constitute principal reasons for the Galician
to include historical elements in his literature. Citing groundbreaking critical studies by
Seymour Menton and Fernando Aínsa on the New Historical Novel in Latin America,
this critic posits that this postmodern literary genre was perhaps identified in Latin
America first because the harsh censorship conducted during the decades of the Franco
dictatorship would have prohibited the publication of any such works in Spain.
Nevertheless, Torrente managed to publish several works that meet criteria of the New
Historical Novel by setting his literature in another place during another time period,
owing greatly to the fact that the censors often could not draw the parallels back to
present-day Spain.
Pérez explains how the New Historical Novel owes its existence to New
Historicism, in which history is treated more like a literary genre than an immutable
science. The New Historical Novel makes much use of different techniques of
subversion, often parodying events and people in history and sometimes even re-writing
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history or erasing people from it. One of the examples of Torrente’s literature that Pérez
mentions is that of La isla de los jacintos cortados, in which the main characters seek to
prove that Napoleon did not exist, having been invented by a covert group. Another main
characteristic of the New Historical Novel is its inherent distrust of anything claiming to
be an “official history,” as well as the methods of historiography involved in creating
what is referred to as “official history.” Pérez cites La rosa de los vientos as an example
of Torrente’s literature in which this occurs. This critic also provides a list of
characteristics of the New Historical Novel, many of which appear frequently in
Torrente’s literary works. These characteristics include the presence of actual historical
figures in literature, interactions between historical and fictional characters, a challenging
of so-called “official history” and the process by which it is created, frequent use of
irony, parody, intertextuality, metafiction, presence of Bakhtinian elements like
heteroglossia and the carnivalesque, re-writing of history, non-linear flow of time, and
use of pastiche (184).
While only one of Torrente’s final novels can be classified as a true example of
the New Historical Novel in accordance with Seymour Menton’s definition (that the
novel can not take place in a time experienced first-hand by the author), all of the final
novels do possess enough of the characteristics listed above to merit closer inspection
with these in mind. Notwithstanding, all of the final novels fit closely with the theories
of Hayden White and other New Historicists, in that they are literature which
incorporates historical elements of Twentieth-Century Spain in a manner unlike that of
the official history texts produced during the Franco dictatorship. The following chapter
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will analyze these final novels published by Torrente during his lifetime, in addition to
his posthumous novel, Doménica, bearing this in mind.
1
Cited in “New Historicism,” Wikipedia, 2 July 2011. Web. 18 Sept. 2011.
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Historicism>.
2
Catherine Gallagher and Stephen Greenblatt, eds., Practicing New Historicism
(Chicago and London: U of Chicago P, 2000).
3
H. Aram Veeser, ed., The New Historicism (New York: Routledge, 1989).
Cited in John Brannigan, “History, Power and Politics in the Literary Artifact: New
Historicism,” Introducing Literary Theories. A Guide and Glossary, ed. Julian Wolfreys
(Edinburgh, Scotland: Edinburgh UP) 173.
4
See Hayden White, Figural Realism: Studies in the Mimesis Effect (Baltimore
and London: Johns Hopkins UP, 1999).
5
Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen
Miller (Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988).
6
Janet Pérez, Introduction to Critical Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester
(Boulder, CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988).
7
Janet Pérez, “As novelas ‘menores’ de Torrente á luz do neohistoricismo,”
Revista Galega do Ensino 18 (Feb. 1998): 43-71. Pérez also provides an excellent
explanation of key concepts of New Historicism in her article, “Text and Context of
Carme Riera’s En el último azul,” Letras Peninsulares 12.2-3 (Fall 1999/ Winter 2000):
239-254.
8
Three vols. Madrid: Arión, 1957-1962. Vol. I: El señor llega (1957); Vol. II:
Donde da la vuelta el aire (1960); Vol. III: La Pascua triste (1962).
9
Janet Pérez, Introduction to Monographic Review/ Revista Monográfica 19
(2003): 9-27.
10
Max Aub could easily fit within this group, as could several other Spanish
writers forced to go into exile at the end of the Spanish Civil War.
11
The official title of the law is “Ley por la que se reconocen derechos y se
establecen medidas a favor de quienes padecieron persecución o violencia durante la
Guerra Civil y la Dictadura.” According to the Wikipedia entry, the law:
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Incluye el reconocimiento de todas las víctimas de la Guerra Civil, la
víctimas de la dictadura pero no la apertura de fosas comunes en las que
aún yacen los restos de represaliados por los sublevados en la Guerra
Civil, realizadas desde entidades privadas (como la Asociación para la
Recuperación de la Memoria Histórica—ARMH—y el Foro por la
Memoria) o comunidades autónomas. (Cited in “Ley de Memoria
Histórica de España,” Wikipedia, 16 Mar 2011. Web. 24 Mar. 2011.
<http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ley_de_Memoria_Histórica_de_España>)
12
See Fernando Aínsa, “La nueva novela histórica latinoamericana,” Plural 240
(Sept. 1991): 82-85.
13
Originally published in French as La poétique de la prose (Paris: Seuil, 1971).
14
Mercedes Mazquiarán de Rodríguez, “Haunting Voices from Fort Nativity in
José Manuel Fajardo’s Carta del fin del mundo,” Monographic Review/ Revista
Monográfica 19 (2003): 49-62.
15
The interior citation is from Luis Sepúlveda, “Prólogo,” in José Manuel
Fajardo, Carta del fin del mundo (Barcelona: Ediciones B, 1998) 7-10.
16
Antonio Gómez López-Quiñones, “La historia como laberinto textual,”
Monographic Review/ Revista Monográfica 19 (2003): 123-138.
17
López-Quiñones briefly cites two articles by Keith Jenkins: “Why Bother with
the Past?” Rethinking History 1.1 (1997): 56-66; and “After History,” Rethinking History
3.1 (1999): 7-20. See López-Quiñones 123-24.
18
Kathryn Quinn-Sánchez, “Historical Fiction/ Fictitious History: Boullosa’s
Llanto: Novelas imposibles,” Monographic Review/ Revista Monográfica 19 (2003):
153-163.
19
Luis A. Jiménez, “La parodia en la reescritura laberíntica de la historia: Rut, la
que huyó de la Biblia de Josefina Leyva,” Monographic Review/ Revista Monográfica 19
(2003): 264-277.
20
Jiménez cites Fernando, Aínsa, “La reescritura de la historia en la nueva
narrativa latinoamericana,” Cuadernos Americanos 28 (July-August 1991): 13-31. The
internal page numbers refer to the sections of Aínsa’s article which Jiménez paraphrases.
21
The interior citation is from Celia Fernández Prieto, Historia y novela: Poética
de la novela histórica (Pamplona: Ediciones Universidad de Navarra, 1998): 40.
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22
The interior citation is from José María Pozuelo, “Realidad, ficción, y semiótica
de la cultura,” La novela histórica a finales del siglo XX, eds. José Ramera et al. (Madrid:
Visor, 1996) 99.
23
Austin: U of Texas P, 1993.
24
Janet Pérez, “Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, precursor de la ‘nueva novela
española,’” La Tabla Redonda Número extraordinario (2010): 175-187.
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CHAPTER V
ANALYSIS
Filomeno, a mi pesar (1988) and Los años indecisos (1997)
Filomeno, a mi pesar, subtitled “Memorias de un señorito descolocado,” roughly
follows events of certain years of Torrente’s life, starting in the early Twentieth Century
and progressing toward the postwar era. Filomeno is considered different from many of
Torrente’s works, in that he utilizes a much drier, more subtle humor than that typically
found in most of his other works. Filomeno won the highly endowed Premio Planeta in
1988, and following its publication Torrente published his remaining novels through
Planeta (not coincidentally, the Premio Planeta was then and continues to be the
country’s most highly endowed literary prize). This is the last lengthy tome the Galician
produced during his life: Filomeno contains roughly 440 pages, whereas the novels
published after it all contain 250 pages or less (and some contain as few as 160).
The title character of Filomeno relates his life from early childhood, spending part
of his time in Galicia and the other part in Portugal. Filomeno never feels completely at
home in either place, and symptomatically uses his official Spanish name—Filomeno
Freijomil—while in Galicia but prefers to use a more Portuguese-sounding but unofficial
name—Ademar de Alemcastre (preferred by his class-conscious, aristocratic
grandmother)—when in Portugal. Filomeno reminisces about growing up, attending
university, and eventually getting a job working in a bank in London. He soon meets a
German woman through the bank, and develops a strong romantic interest for her; but
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with the rise of Hitler and the Third Reich in Germany, and with family problems back
home, the German love interest must soon leave London and Filomeno to be with her
family. Filomeno then moves to Paris, working as a correspondent for a Portuguese
newspaper until the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. After some time, Filomeno
leaves Paris to return to Portugal, where he spends the duration of the Spanish Civil War,
and during World War II, he returns to London as a war correspondent, staying there
during the air raids and finally through the Allied invasion, thereafter publishing a book
based on his experiences. At the end Filomeno returns to Galicia, matured and somewhat
affected by his experiences abroad.
Janet Pérez notes that Filomeno constitutes a sudden shift in Torrente’s writing, in
that it lacks much of the humor and experimentation which made many of the Galician’s
earlier works popular among readers and critics alike. This critic also points out that,
although this novel is subtitled “Memorias de un señorito descolocado,” that it is still a
work of “fiction—fiction which at times overlaps the autobiographical, and could
conceivably be termed the fictionalized biography of Torrente’s generation, but fiction
nevertheless” (342). 1 Pérez also explains that Filomeno is clearly not a masked version
of Torrente: “the major points of contact between Filomeno’s formation and that of his
creator include similarity in dates of birth, the fact that some of Filomeno’s life is spent in
Torrente’s native Galicia, and that Torrente and his persona coincide in spending time in
Madrid in the late 1920’s and Paris in 1936” (344).
The most delightful sections of Filomeno occur late in the novel, after the
protagonist’s more “novelesque” experiences as a foreign correspondent, his life with his
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aristocratic grandmother in Portugal, his international travels, his love interests and
various other adventures, when he is eventually relegated to a small, muddy, boring,
reactionary, and intolerant/ intolerable backwoods town, where he quickly and repeatedly
clashes with the befogged local representatives of civil authority. The sixth and final part
of Filomeno, which takes place as Filomeno returns to Spain following World War II,
also finds some commonalities between protagonist and author: “His intellectual
resistance to reactionary totalitarianism provides the substance for a series of minor
satires and parodies of the regime’s puritanical, Victorian morality, and the narrowminded rigors of the censorship, which Torrente had experienced already” (348). One
particular episode, almost certainly set during the mid forties, would thus chronologically
coincide fairly closely with La muerte del Decano (1992) wherein Torrente satirizes the
crime-solving skills of the local police, whose relevant knowledge is drawn entirely from
their readings of detective novels with dissimilar and even conflicting approaches. 2
Unsurprisingly, therefore, the murder remains unresolved. In Filomeno, Torrente’s
broadside sprays all Francoist officialdom from City Hall on down to the parish churches,
as the protagonist goes to battle to force a Christian burial for a devout woman accused of
prostitution when the town’s reactionary forces wish to block her access to the
camposanto in scenes ranging from satire to slapstick, sometimes hilarious but not
exempt of pathos.
The time frame shifts to the first decades of Torrente’s life in Filomeno, rather
than the Nineteenth Century (or earlier, including ancient times) featured in several of his
previous works. As Pérez points out, Torrente represents key events in the Twentieth
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Century, primarily the Spanish Civil War and World War II, through the experiences of
the title character. Or, as Pérez explains, Filomeno is “fiction, masquerading as memoir,
comprising an autobiographical substratum interwoven with the plot of the putative
memoir, both of which are projected against the broader Spanish and European historical
background” (343). And Filomeno’s ability to observe the world around him does not
allow him to follow the more self-aggrandizing versions of important historical events,
particularly those of the Francoist regime. As Pérez concludes her study on Filomeno,
she notes: “Filomeno’s procedures, like those of his creator, are ludic and subtle in their
demythologizing thrust. Torrente did not lend his pen to fascist propaganda before, and
he does not place it at the service of ideology now” (356). Thus, while Filomeno might
lack much of the humor and experimentation of previous Torrente works, it remains true
to form in its faithful representation of a crucial period of Twentieth-Century Spain.
Los años indecisos seems to carry the most autobiographical imprint of all of
Torrente’s final novels. Ironically, in an interview conducted roughly a decade before the
publication of Los años, Torrente alluded to a time during his young adulthood to which
he referred as “los años indecisos” (180). 3 Torrente recounts this time period:
Pues, económicamente difícil, ¿no? Es decir, yo trabajaba en un periódico
de extrema izquierda, que se llamaba La Tierra. Y este periódico tenía la
buena costumbre de no pagar. Entonces, mis padres pasaron por Madrid y
me aconsejaron que me fuera con ellos. Y, efectivamente, me fui con
ellos, y de esto ya hablaremos. El resultado positivo de estos años
indecisos, que además yo los llamo cuando pienso en mi vida, en mi
pasado, los llamo “años indecisos” y me gustaría escribir un libro titulado
así. (180)
Carmen Becerra has also indicated a parallel between Torrente’s real life and that of the
unnamed protagonist of Los años, 4 discussing points of contact between this novel and an
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account Torrente published in Cotufas del golfo (1986), “Encuentro en ‘el viejo
almacén.’” 5 More specifically, the account in Cotufas en el golfo recalls a moment
during the 1980s in which Torrente met a bandoneon player in Buenos Aires and shared
stories with him. He mentions spending time with Ana María Matute in “el viejo
almacén,” implying he is telling a true story, and claims that “Esta historia es verdadera,
aunque inverosímil; increíble, también, como todo lo real” (375). The main point of
interest occurs with the bandoneon player, whom Torrente describes as follows:
Me descubrí en la persona de un bandoneísta, tan parecido que podía ser
yo (¿y no lo es metafísicamente?), aunque, visto de cerca, con algunas
diferencias: el cabello más blanco, el vientre menos visible, y, en las
mejillas, las huellas de una experiencia más dura. [. . .] Aparentemente, es
tan difícil que yo me reconozca en él como que él se reconozca en mí,
pero no es más que eso, apariencia. Conforme nos vamos contando
nuestras vidas, comprendo que cada uno de nosotros hace suyo lo que el
otro le cuenta y que por aquel tiempo breve volvemos a ser uno y el
mismo; yo, rico de su experiencia; él, de la mía. Yo escribí libros y
enseñé a los jóvenes a aprender el pensamiento con la palabra y a
descubrir la belleza; él, detrás del tango, como había anunciado, acabó en
maestro de bandoneón, pero también en personaje de esos ambientes. Amó
a todas las mujeres que yo no pude amar; participó en todas las
revoluciones a cuyo margen yo permanecí, y si su puerto final fue la
ironía, como pronto se advierte, no llegó a ella por el camino de lo
intelectual, sino por el del desencanto. (377)
A situation very similar to the one described by Torrente in Cotufas en el golfo occurs in
the prologue to Los años:
Aquel tío que se parecía a mí tocaba el bandoneón bastante bien. Lo
tocaba muy bien, y se parecía a mí en todo, menos en una cosa: que él era
calvo, o al menos empezaba a serlo, y yo no. [. . .] Me dijo su nombre
después de que yo le había dicho el mío. Coincidíamos en el nombre, pero
no del todo. El nombre de él también empezaba a calvear, como su
cabeza. Me contó muchas cosas. Yo le conté las mías. A veces,
coincidíamos; a veces, nos separábamos. En la vida de él, por ejemplo,
había habido muchas mujeres; en la mía, no. Él no se había movido de
Buenos Aires: allí había aprendido todo lo que sabía y había sido todo lo
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que era. Yo, en cambio, siempre anduve de la Ceca a la Meca y había sido
lo que soy, pero también lo contrario, hasta no ser nada, aquí y allá. (Los
años 7-8)
The two descriptions above—the first a real-life account told in Cotufas en el golfo, the
second from the beginning of Los años indecisos—contain clear similarities, begging
further the question of whether there might be some autobiographical materials in the last
novel Torrente published before his death.
Similar to Filomeno, Los años indecisos follows the life of an unnamed young
man from Galicia as he takes journalism jobs and hopes to become a writer. The novel
takes place in the 1920s and early 1930s, and the title refers to the uneasiness felt in a
country then experiencing socio-political upheaval. The protagonist recounts taking a job
in the nearby provincial capital of Oviedo (where, coincidentally, Torrente had spent
some time during his early adulthood), and presents the people he met there. He relates
his aspirations of moving to Madrid as a writer, and his eventual success in doing so, but
also reveals that he can never be away from his native Galicia for too long. Perhaps as a
result of his naïveté, or perhaps because of his Galician “saudade,” the protagonist meets
with failure after failure in the various places where he attempts to establish himself. He
finally decides to leave Spain for Argentina, eager to establish a life for himself in the
New World. This is interesting primarily because the only place in which a Torrente
character considers or adopts this historically popular “solution” is here and in Javier
Mariño. Also interesting is the postmodern narrative strategy undertaken by the
protagonist-narrator, who repeatedly admits to uncertainty concerning whether the things
he says did or did not happen. The past he narrates which leads up to the Spanish Civil
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War thus becomes a blur, and the protagonist leaves it up to the reader to decide whether
the events occurred as he has narrated them. Likewise noteworthy is the very
postmodern beginning/ end involving the trip to Argentina, where the alter ego of the
protagonist has presumably spent his life, and the protagonist (who goes there at the end)
is unsure whether “yo no soy yo” or it is a dream or some bad joke.
Los años indecisos could be a full-circle on the “portrait of the writer as a young
man,” reflecting, in a sense, Torrente’s first novel, Javier Mariño. The time period is
slightly different, yet in both novels a young optimistic protagonist must face various
setbacks, admitting defeat in the end. As he had done with Filomeno, Torrente
incorporates several autobiographical aspects in Los años indecisos. Janet Pérez has
discussed these at length, and has provided a list of characteristics which several of the
protagonists in Torrente’s literature share with their author. 6 They include: similar age,
similar stature, similar ethnicity/ origin (from Galicia, typically a coastal city or a port), a
father in the Navy, similar education (highly intelligent with connections to intellectual
circles, yet not university-educated), similar Bohemian lifestyle with low-paying jobs and
periods of unemployment, similar professional interest in writing (including the arts,
theatre, avant-garde movements, journalism, etc.), and similar problems with authority
figures (such as censors and editors), and similar ideology (typically liberal, galleguista,
and/ or Socialist and anarchist leanings) (“Writing, Writers and the Writer” 69).
The list of shared characteristics above is applicable to characters in roughly one
dozen of Torrente’s works, establishing a pattern well before the publication of Los años
indecisos near the end of the Galician writer’s life. However, Los años indecisos
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contrasts with Filomeno in that the events of Los años indecisos completely pre-date the
Spanish Civil War. The unnamed protagonist spends his late teens and early twenties
working at a newspaper and attempting (unsuccessfully) to finish a university career,
eventually emigrating to Argentina just before the establishment of the Second Republic.
The former elements of the protagonist’s timeline mirror those of Torrente’s, although
divergence occurs in the latter: Torrente studied while working at low-paying newspaper
jobs, but left Spain shortly before the beginning of the Spanish Civil War to study the
doctorate in Paris. Nevertheless, Pérez concludes that “These resemblances suffice to
authorize consideration of the anonymous protagonist of Los años as an autobiographical
mask of the author” (65). Pérez also notes the fact that the narrator of Los años indecisos
is younger than any other narrator—autobiographical, semi-autobiographical, or
otherwise—in Torrente’s literary works, with the exception of the narrator of Dafne y
ensueños (1983). This critic comments that “It is perhaps fitting that a novelist whose
works become progressively more ‘youthful’ should devote his last novel to the
circumstances and environment of his youth, and that this youthful alter ego in that final
narrative should be the only one to undertake a voyage of no return” (“Writing, Writers
and the Writer” 70).
Carmen Becerra shares this opinion, noting that there are too many similarities
between Torrente and the protagonist of Los años to dismiss as pure coincidence.
However, Becerra also opines that this is another of Torrente’s Cervantine literary games:
no podemos atribuir a Los años la etiqueta de autobiografía, y no sólo por
transgredir los rasgos discursivos característicos del género, sino también
por la ambigua y calculada intencionalidad del autor para que sus novelas
puedan ser interpretadas por el lector de ese modo. Y es que, frente a lo
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que sucede con la escritura autobiográfica, en la autoficcional el objetivo
del novelista parece ser diferente: hablar de sí mismo sin responsabilizarse
de lo narrado. (“Juegos de la autoficción” 87)
Becerra does classify Los años as compatible with the definition of “autoficción” coined
by Alicia Molero. 7
From the prologue of Los años indecisos, Torrente experiments with
narratological questions of authorship and reliability of the narrator. In it the narrator
states that the two of them could be brothers, sharing many characteristics and even their
name although with some differences. The narrator then says, “Era difícil que nuestras
vidas coincidiesen. Por eso él me contó la suya, y yo le conté la mía. Yo escribí la suya,
porque mi oficio de siempre es escribir, pero ¡vaya usted a saber lo que él hizo con la
mía! A lo mejor la olvidó” (Los años 8). In this manner, it is revealed that the narrator of
the prologue has shared his story with someone else, and that he is sharing that person’s
story. Thus, from Chapter I on, the story of the unnamed protagonist “yo” is recounted
by another, similarly unnamed entity. As mentioned before, this echoes Torrente’s
encounter with the bandoneon player in Buenos Aires, accounted by the author in Cotufas
en el golfo and examined at length by Becerra in her study on Los años. 8 Becerra also
likens it to another account by Torrente, this time appearing in the prologue to his Obra
completa (1977). In this account Torrente discusses a chance encounter he had with
Ashverus, “el Judío Errante,” in New York. The encounter is echoed later by the narrator
of La isla de los jacintos cortados (1980). 9
The questions of authorship and authorial control of the text are also pondered by
Pérez, who reminds the reader that Torrente has visited the theme of the writer who lacks
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control of his literary works several times before, most notably in Fragmentos de
Apocalipsis. According to Pérez, this element “reappears with a twist in Los años,
suggesting that the autobiographer similarly lacks control over his narrative. Once told,
his tale is (here quite literally) rewritten by others” (“Writing, Writers and the Writer”
67). The results of Torrente’s playing with conventional narrative style and literary
theory “goes beyond suggesting the death of the author, literally erasing the author (who
has been reduced to stenographer) and neutralizing the narrator whose narrative is
narrated by a voice which may not be/ logically cannot be his own” (67). The
focalization also accounts for the uncertainties introduced in the narration, summed up by
the closing lines: “Yo dije adiós a aquellas tierras. O no les dije adiós: no lo recuerdo
bien” (Los años 235).
The nameless narrator of Los años indecisos seems remarkably like Torrente
during his early adulthood. The one great exception is that the literary character
presumably leaves permanently, whereas Torrente stayed in Spain during the Franco
dictatorship. A closer reading reveals that, although the character Filomeno initially
seems like the antithesis of Torrente, his attitudes and some of his actions (particularly
near the end of the novel) become increasingly like those of his creator. This suggests
that his ideology has evolved over time, in response to people he has encountered and
events he has witnessed. In this sense Filomeno—particularly as he is portrayed at the
end of the novel—quite possibly could reflect Torrente during his younger years,
affiliated with Falange only out of necessity and never truly adherent to the Franco
regime’s ideology. Most importantly, Filomeno and Los años indecisos provide an
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insightful portrayal of the most crucial period of the history of Spain during the first half
of the Twentieth Century.
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Crónica del rey pasmado (1989) and Doménica (1999)
Crónica del rey pasmado takes place in Spain’s historical past, and as the title
suggests, follows events in the life of a monarch. Spanish critics have suggested that the
time period depicted in the novel is roughly the Seventeenth Century. More specifically,
Richard Curry posits that, though “El tiempo en que se desarrolla la acción de la novela
nunca está claramente especificado [. . .] no es difícil adivinar que la novela sitúa el
presente narrativo a comienzos del reinado de Felipe IV, quien reinó de 1621 hasta 1665”
(La Tabla Redonda 5, 21). 10 The novel satirizes the monarchy as institution, the
members of the aristocracy, and the Church, spoofing how most of the members of the
aristocracy and the Church work diligently—notwithstanding their mutual struggle to
control the Monarch—to keep the King from seeing his Queen naked. Two factions or
more operate in the Palace, each with its own agenda: the hierarchy of the Church and the
nobility. In each group are those whose main interest is manipulating the King for their
own benefit, and those who are concerned with what is best for the country (they do not
see eye to eye). Some, who favor the King, view it as being in the highest national
interest to ensure there be a royal heir, while others would prefer to prevent that.
Peripherally, there is an ongoing struggle between the Church and the State, in which the
Church has previously held the upper hand, but “royalists” have been gaining ground,
favoring a much stronger crown (this will continue through the Eighteenth Century). In
Spain after Carlos V (of the Holy Roman Empire; Carlos I of Spain) and Felipe II, the
King was typically fairly helpless against a much stronger Church. What Torrente shows
is the huge amount of scheming, and the factionalism, on both sides, plus the King’s
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helplessness. If not for Torrente’s illustration of this ongoing class struggle, Crónica
might be dismissed as a fairly insipid bedroom comedy, in danger of never getting to the
punch line. Gonzalo Navajas has characterized the novel as an anti-epic, pointing out
that “aparece en Crónica la banalidad de la vida de todos los días en una corte que sólo
conserva la estéril apariencia de grandeza de un pasado que ya ha dejado de significar en
el presente” (Tabla Redonda 5, 3). 11 Meanwhile, Richard Curry deems that the novel:
pertenece a esa categoría de obras contemporáneas que no escamotean el
referente histórico, sino que lo postulan abiertamente [. . .]. Crónica del
rey pasmado presenta características típicas del estilo narrativo de
Torrente: ironía, sátira, humor, burla: juegos con la realidad y la fantasía,
con la historia y la literatura; personajes libres, algo extravagantes.
Torrente entretiene y se entretiene. (La Tabla Redonda 5, 16-17)
The plot of Crónica includes a character who might be the Devil, who decrees that
the outcome of two important battles between the Spanish and other countries will
depend upon whether the King follows protocol and does not gaze upon his wife naked,
or whether he breaks the protocol. After Filomeno, Crónica might be considered a return
to form for Torrente: in direct contrast to Filomeno’s dry humor, Crónica is unabashedly
satirical, ridiculing the nobility of the Seventeenth Century and the machinations whereby
they seek to protect their way of life. Richard Curry has pondered the significance of
Crónica for the contemporary Spanish society into which the novel was published:
A un nivel simbólico-alegórico, es un reflejo de un período histórico de
caos y confusión en las contradicciones inherentes de lo filosóficoreligioso (al mismo tiempo que apunta a una época histórica
contemporánea que se caracteriza por el cuestionamiento de las relaciones
tradicionales entre hombres y mujeres, como en la década de los ochenta
en España, en particular, y en el mundo occidental, en general). (Tabla
Redonda 5, 22)
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Similarly, Mechthild Albert questions the possible parallels between the historical past,
treated in Crónica, and the Franco dictatorship, when she states:
Torrente Ballester nos da una visión “intelectualizada,” personalizada y
matizada de la Inquisición, visión “desde dentro,” tal vez tributaria de la
larga experiencia del autor bajo un régimen dictatorial. Pues esta reunión
de “fantasmas,” ¿no podría leerse tal vez como parábola del tardo
franquismo, cuando, a excepción de unos exaltados, la mayoría de los
dirigentes ya no creían apenas en el sistema que representaban? (Tabla
Redonda, Número extraordinario, 21-22). 12
Crónica was quite successfully adapted as a movie, El rey pasmado, in 1991. Torrente’s
son, Gonzalo Torrente Malvido, collaborated on the screenplay and Imanol Uribe
directed.
The opening narration of Crónica presents a good example of a technique
Torrente has utilized numerous times in his literary work:
La madrugada de aquel domingo, tantos de octubre, fue de milagros,
maravillas y sorpresas, si bien hubiera, como siempre, desacuerdo entre
testigos y testimonios. Más exacto sería, seguramente, decir que todo el
mundo habló de ellos, aunque nadie los viera; pero como la exactitud es
imposible, más vale dejar las cosas como las cuentan y contaron. (Crónica
7)
Here the Galician has provided a vague time and place clearly in the historical past but
whose specific details are not easily identifiable, thus leaving the novel open to a more
allegorical reading. While some of the characters and their actions seem firmly rooted in
the distant past, they nevertheless compel the reader to form possible parallels to the
present. As the above narration implies, the novel begins with a tumultuous event. Most
likely an earthquake, this event reputedly includes an unearthly dragon that has split open
the street and is attempting to rise up and attack the city. Most accounts of the event
given by townspeople border on the supernatural, befitting of a more superstitious, less
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scientifically and/or technologically advanced, populace. According to one soldier’s
account, “lo que pudo contemplar, atónito o desorbitado, fue una gigantesca boa que
rodeaba al alcázar, por la parte que se apoya en la tierra o coincide con ella, y parecía
apretar el edificio con ánimo de derribarlo, o al menos de estrujarlo” (8). The release of
sulfurous gases leads them to believe demons have escaped from their infernal prison to
wreak havoc on the town:
al parecer, salían de la grieta (de la sima, según los primeros testigos,
desconocidos) gases sulfurosos, por lo que todo el mundo pensó, y con
razón, que en el fondo de la grieta empezaba el infierno, sobre todo, si se
tiene en cuenta que, con los gases, salían rugidos de dolor y blasfemias
espantosas; pero cuando la gente empezó a juntarse y echar su cuarto a
espadas, la sima ya no lo era, y no olía peor que la misma calle. Se conoce
que los gases se habían agotado. (9)
The narrator implies that the aforementioned events are the direct result of recent
actions of the King. He has spent the night with Marfisa, the best—and most
expensive—courtesan in town, leaving the King “pasmado,” as the title of the novel
implies, though he does not even possess the money required to reimburse Marfisa for
her services (“No los tengo. Nunca he tenido diez ducados” [14], he remarks). 13 Word
of the King’s recent activity spreads quickly, which causes some worries among
members of the clergy. The concern centers around the King’s “carnal distractions,” and
how they might affect his ability to help the country avoid a possible defeat, either to the
Dutch in battle or by the English due to their intercepting the gold and silver coming to
the country by ship. Gonzalo Navajas considers Marfisa as the pivotal character of
Crónica, explaining:
Es importante destacar que Marfisa es la contrafigura de la Inquisición.
Ella afirma la libertad sexual y la independencia del sujeto para la
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realización de sus deseos por encima de la normativa de la Iglesia. Posee,
además, el poder del conocimiento y el saber que contrastan con la
ignorancia de la Iglesia. Una prostituta en los márgenes de la sociedad se
transforma en la pieza clave de la deconstrucción de la versión de la
sexualidad de la Iglesia. (Tabla Redonda 5, 8-9)
Once back at the palace, the King orders one of his servants to bring him “las
llaves del cuarto prohibido” (Crónica 24), a secret chamber containing artwork collected
by the King’s grandfather but not approved by the Inquisition, mostly due to its sexual
nature. He must make his way through a veritable labyrinth of corridors and ascend into
one of the far towers so that he may spy upon what be comparable to a secret collection
of pornography, becoming particularly transfixed by a painting depicting Zeus’s coming
to Danaë in the form of golden rain, in which Danaë “tenía unos muslos largos y un
cuerpo dorado, semejante al de Marfisa. El Rey quedó ante él, como pasmado, durante
mucho tiempo” (26-27). Though seemingly unimportant, the restrictions placed on the
King with regards to seeing his Queen naked or visiting certain areas of the palace hints
at a much larger issue for the monarch: “This limitation is emblematic of other
restrictions of personal freedom and power to make decisions (i.e., of hidden reasons why
the powerful may not be at liberty to resolve certain problems or make specific changes)”
(Pérez, “The Impotence of Power” 167).
Meanwhile, the Grand Inquisitor summons Padre Rivadesella, to hear what he has
to say about the report of the dragon. The Grand Inquisitor tells Padre Rivadesella of the
King’s visit to a courtesan, and reminds him of seemingly interminable threats to the
kingdom by other nations: “el peligro nos viene de Inglaterra, de Francia, de los Países
Bajos, de Alemania, y de Turquía, además” (35). The Grand Inquisitor’s paranoia
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revolves around potential enemies to the King and, by extension, the country. Padre
Villaescusa perhaps represents the most extreme of the multiple factions of the church
portrayed in Crónica. Villaescusa does not hesitate to hurl accusations, suggesting “que
se saque de palacio al confesor del Rey, conocido judío, y que se meta en las prisiones
del Santo Tribunal a esa Marfisa [. . .] por sospechas de endemoniamiento” (37).
Furthermore, when Padre Villaescusa learns the King plans to visit his Queen and see her
in the nude, he does not hesitate to act:
cuando el Rey se acercó a los aposentos de la Reina, con ánimo de entrar,
él se hallaba delante. Y cuando el Rey alargó la mano hacia el picaporte,
la cruz se le atravesó ante la puerta, en ángulo inclinado sobre el eje
vertical, y en los ojos encendidos del padre Villaescusa pudo leer el Rey
un veto indiscutible. (44)
The King can only offer a meek, “Quiero ver a la Reina desnuda” (44), but Villaescusa
refuses to allow him passage to see her.
Padre Villaescusa is by no means the only member of the clergy who will stop at
nothing to keep the royal couple apart. Various characters of Crónica seem to share the
opinion that:
No sólo los protocolos de la corte se oponen a semejante disparate, sino
que también lo impiden las leyes de Dios y de la Iglesia. El varón puede
acceder a la mujer con fines de procreación y, si sus humores se lo exigen,
para calmarlos, pero jamás con intenciones livianas, como lo sería la de
contemplar desnuda a la propia esposa. (53)
This follows the Church’s stance that sex for any reason other than procreation is strictly
verboten. Furthermore, since the Church exercises a considerable amount of control over
the people, what ecclesiastical representatives say goes. For example, the Grand
Inquisitor’s servant, Diego, comments that: “Le aseguro, Excelencia, que la gente habría
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puesto fuego al Alcázar si el fraile se lo hubiera ordenado, pero se limitó a organizar
procesiones a deshora, una en un barrio, otra en otro, y así, con cantos penitenciales y él
mismo al frente de alguna de ellas arrastrando una cruz” (58). The Grand Inquisitor
remarks that “Los viejos principios, Diego, están pidiendo vigencia, los tiempos cambian
y la gente piensa distinto” (60).
In a meeting of clergy members, Padre Villaescusa opines that the King’s sins of
spending the night with a courtesan and desiring to see the Queen naked will have
deleterious effects for the country. The Grand Inquisitor interrupts: “Habíamos quedado
en si el Rey tiene o no derecho a ver desnuda a la Reina, y en que si esto es o no pecado”
(82), urging each to chime in. Padre Almeida concludes that the King “tiene derecho y
que no es pecado [. . .], afirmo no sólo esto, sino la conveniencia de que suceda para que
en el matrimonio de los Reyes, no como tales sino como cristianos, se realice la Gracia
del Señor” (81). He also proposes that no less than two separate comisiones be formed to
decide whether such a thing should be permitted. 14 Padre Villaescusa vehemently
disagrees with this stance, provoking Padre Almeida to reply:
Quemar judíos, brujas y moriscos; quemar herejes; atentar contra la
libertad de los pueblos; hacer esclavos a los hombres; explotar su trabajo
con impuestos que no pueden pagar; pensar que los hombres son distintos
cuando Dios los hizo iguales. . . ¿Quieren vuestras paternidades que
prosiga en la enumeración? (85)
The reader might take this to be a criticism of the way the Church and Monarchy
operated during the time period in question, although Torrente’s sense of humor often
includes poking fun at the machinations of both the establishment and those who
controlled it.
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The point taken, the Grand Inquisitor then summons the Conde de la Peña
Andrada to weigh in on the matter. The Conde informs the clergy how he helped arrange
the meeting between the King and Marfisa. When asked whether he believes the King’s
desire to see the Queen in the nude corresponds to the night he spent with Marfisa, the
Conde replies: “Creo, reverencia, que es efecto de esta causa. Un efecto lógico. Y
necesario, además. Los jóvenes que andan por el mundo no deben ser inocentes, sino
experimentados. ¿Y qué menos que pedir un esposo que saber cómo es el cuerpo de su
esposa?” (93). Furthermore, the Conde states that half the women of the world go naked,
asking that Padre Almeida confirm this from his years as a missionary in the Americas.
The Conde further conjectures that, “No sabemos cómo está en el paraíso la gente que lo
ha merecido, pero sospecho que no se habrán llevado sus ropas consigo” (96), leaving the
room of clergymen aghast.
Outside the meetings, a more rational perspective dominates. The Queen seeks
the counsel of her attendant, Mademoiselle Colette, inquiring what she would do. Colette
replies, “Desnudarme en la cama, sin pensarlo” (105), adding that “Desde que tengo uso
de razón, Majestad, no he dejado de desnudarme cuando hubo ocasión” (105-106). The
Queen inquires if this causes Colette to feel ashamed and the latter replies, “Por estos
corredores no prospera la decencia” (105). The Queen then decides to meet the King in
the nude.
As the Queen decides to give herself to her spouse, the King has sought his
confessor, Padre Fernán de Valdivielso. The King details to Padre Fernán that he has
spent the night with a courtesan and now wishes to see the Queen naked. The King tells
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him that he does not share a bed with the Queen: “Sólo me dejan verla de vez en cuando,
y dormir con ella cuando hay que preñarla porque así conviene al Estado. Pero eso no lo
decido yo, sino esos que mandan” (117). The reader again perceives the King’s
powerlessness in this matter, which again recalls Pérez’s article on the “impotence of
power.” The King asks whether seeing the Queen naked is considered a mortal sin, to
which Padre Fernán replies:
Eso lo dicen lo que no entienden ni de ese pecado ni de otros. Comer del
árbol del bien y del mal nunca quiso decir fornicar. Eso, seguramente, lo
venían haciendo Adán y Eva con toda regularidad desde que se
encontraron juntos la primera vez. Estoy seguro de que fue lo primero que
hicieron. Eso lo lógico, ¿no? Para eso los había hecho Dios. (118)
This passage shares intertextuality with Torrente’s version of the Don Juan myth, into
which the author inserts a section dedicated to biblical story of Adam and Eve, adding
what might be deemed a pep talk between Creator and Creature regarding sexuality. 15
More importantly, however, Padre Fernán absolves the King, concluding, “Sólo le
recomiendo que si fracasa esta noche, espere a otra, y en ningún caso se le ocurra volver
de putas” (119).
The night of the meeting of the King and Queen arrives, and despite various
setbacks and complications, the two succeed in their plan to spend the night together au
naturel (with the help of the Conde de la Peña Andrada and Padre Almeida). Meanwhile,
the Grand Inquisitor summons Padre Almeida, warning him that Padre Villaescusa and
his allies seek retribution against Almeida for his intervention with the King and Queen.
The Grand Inquisitor adds that “también piden la celebración urgente de un gran auto de
fe, en que se quemen sin dilación todos los judaizantes, moriscos, herejes y brujos que
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puedan hallarse a mano” (203). Padre Almeida tells the Grand Inquisitor that, “a estas
horas, el Rey y la Reina, Nuestros Señores, se encuentran juntos y sin vigilancia en un
lugar de la corte. Espero que por fin se hayan visto desnudos” (205). Before the two part
ways, Padre Almeida asks whether the Grand Inquisitor believes in God, to which he
replies, “Hay muchos libros escritos sobre Dios, pero todos caben en una palabra: o sí, o
no” (206). Richard Curry astutely observes that this conversation, between Padre
Almeida and the Grand Inquisitor, “gira en torno a la ironía socarrona tan típica [de
Torrente]. Con este tipo de diálogo, la novela polemiza la Historia al mismo tiempo que
entretiene al lector con su combinación de ingenio y humorismo” (La Tabla Redonda 5,
18).
After the King and Queen’s spending the night together, word arrives from
Flanders and Cádiz, in the form of a letter from each: “decían que la flota había llegado
entera a la bahía, si bien cuatro fragatas de escolta seguían peleando con los ingleses en
muy mala situación. [. . .] En el Segundo despacho le decían que las tropas españolas
habían obtenido una gran Victoria sobre los rebeldes protestantes” (210-211).
Furthermore, “[l]a victoria aconteció hace más de una semana, y la flota arribó a Cádiz
anteayer, justo el día en que el Rey se fue de putas” (Crónica 211). This pleases all who
hear the news except Padre Villaescusa, who notes that, “Ahora, Excelencia, convendría
celebrar el triunfo con un buen auto de fe. Ochenta o noventa herejes quemados sería una
buena muestra de gratitud al Señor” (211). The discussion is interrupted when “en la
puerta del monasterio aparecieron los Reyes, muy cogidos del brazo y con rostro
sonriente. Todo el mundo comprendió lo que había pasado” (212).
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Crónica comes to a markedly more satisfying end than do other novels by
Torrente (such as La princesa durmiente va a la escuela or Quizá nos lleve el viento al
infinito, for example). The entire series of events prompts one character to write a
décima. However, there is no elevated, sacrosanct depiction of the victory of the
monarchs’ love for each other in the poetry which helps to close the novel, claiming that
God had really intended they be able to witness each other in the nude. The décima,
replete with bawdy humor and saucy imagery, fits better among works by Cervantes (to
whom Torrente was a life-long disciple), Rabelais, or Chaucer (some of the racier of the
Canterbury Tales might come to mind).
Crónica can be analyzed as an example of the New Historical Novel, meeting
several of the characteristics 16 It takes place during a time not experienced by the
author, and it offers a carnivalesque view of the Spanish court of centuries past. Also
fitting of the New Historical Novel and with New Historicism in general, Crónica treats a
moment in the historical past (purposefully not identified by the narrator, and debated by
critics) with little notion of elevated, “epic” style of recounting events. Just like many
other New Historical Novels, Torrente’s novel casts a humorous, even satirical eye on
society and events in Spain’s past. The present-day reader might too easily dismiss
Crónica for having a somewhat flimsy premise—the king, supposedly the most powerful
person in the country, wishes to see his wife in the nude, only to have his attempts
thwarted repeatedly. Yet, this is precisely the point Torrente is trying to make. Not only
does it fit with tenets of New Historicism and the New Historical Novel for Torrente to
portray the King as being essentially powerless to do even the most mundane things. It
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also fits with the theme of the “impotence of power” 17 found in several of Torrente’s
works, including Lope de Aguirre, El golpe de estado de Guadalupe Limón, Ifigenia, OffSide, La princesa durmiente va a la escuela, La rosa de los vientos, and Las islas
extraordinarias). The ones who truly possess the power in Crónica are the members of
the nobility and the Church who try to manipulate the royal couple for their own
purposes. Thus, they are the ones Torrente satirizes in Crónica, rather than the somewhat
young, fragile (and easily duped) King, who appears as more of an underdog.
The posthumous novel Doménica marks a significant departure from Torrente’s
previous novels, including the last novels Torrente published during the 1980s—
Filomeno, a mi pesar (1988) and Crónica del rey pasmado (1989). In the entire decade
preceding Doménica, Torrente’s novels have focused on aspects of Spanish history.
Whereas Crónica del rey pasmado is set in the Seventeenth Century, the rest of the novels
from Filomeno to Los años indecisos take place during the Twentieth Century.
Doménica, however, is a fairy tale seemingly from another place and time, replete with
magical beings such as fairies, witches, and ogres. The child protagonist has the ability
to create people, things, and even whole villages just by thinking of them, and to change
street musicians into noblemen and beggars into kings. Considering that the first part
consists of nine chapters, the second part of five, and the third and final part of only one
chapter, it is easy to understand why some might claim (as early commentators theorized)
that the work was left unfinished at his death, and that Torrente never completed what
was to become his posthumous novel. However, since La boda de Chon Recalde also
consists of three parts—containing nine, four, and three chapters, respectively (though
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roughly 100 pages more than Doménica)—perhaps this is not as simple an indicator of
the degree to which Torrente finished (or did not finish) writing the novel before his
death. While Doménica ends in something resembling a conclusion, it nevertheless
leaves the story open to continuation. Perhaps Doménica is a parody of the fairy tale, or
a parody of the novela caballeresca, but Doménica may also be an amalgam of bedtime
stories Torrente might have told his children and/or grandchildren, sprinkled with
characteristically Galician fantastic elements. More analysis is needed to decipher what
Torrente truly intended to convey with this enigmatic short and seemingly truncated
novel.
Doménica begins in medias res, with the monologue of an unidentified firstperson narrator who may be an adolescent (or child older than Doménica), and in any
case makes many childlike observations. With the sudden appearance of a girl who has
no idea who she is or where she comes from, the reader can sense a shift from recent
Torrente novels (which, since Filomeno, mostly take place during different periods of
Spanish history and, with the exception of Crónica del rey pasmado, are firmly rooted in
the Twentieth Century). This is by no means the first time Torrente has produced a novel
in which fantastical or even magical elements abound—the “fantastic trilogy” certainly
contains such elements, as do novels such as Dafne y ensueños, Quizá nos lleve el viento
al infinito, or even Yo no soy yo, evidentemente. Yet, considering that the preceding
seven novels all have a historical slant, Doménica is strikingly different from its
immediate predecessors. Torrente had remarked that he wished to publish what became
his final novels (i.e., from Crónica del rey pasmado on) rather quickly, preferring to keep
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them succinct. When asked in an interview why he had opted for this shift in his writing
style, Torrente responded: “Tal vez se debe a que, cuando me pongo a escribir, tengo
miedo de no poder terminar, tengo miedo de morirme antes” (82). 18 With those novels
out of the way, perhaps Doménica marks yet another turning point in the Galician’s
publishing career, an opportunity to publish one last thing before he died which did not
have a historical slant. Unfortunately, Torrente died before being able to publish this
novel, and it remains unclear whether he finished it. There was also speculation that
someone else had finished the final part.
The narrator conveys some aspects of Doménica which the reader will find can be
explicated with Todorov’s definition of the Fantastic. 19 Not only has Doménica appeared
practically out of thin air, but she “tenía unas costumbres bastante raras, aunque no nos
sorprendiese, por su manera también rara de llegar” (15). These include such things as
sleeping standing up with her clothing on and eating meals backwards, beginning with
dessert. Even more curious is the passage of time, relative to Doménica. The narrator
relates that time does not pass at the same rate for Doménica as it does for everybody
else: what could be a matter of minutes to the average person could seem like decades to
Doménica, or vice versa. Oddly, as Doménica’s concept of time changes, so does the
effect its passage has on her. Furthermore, not only does Doménica not follow standard
hours, but as the passage of time changes according to her watch, so does the size of her
body. According to the narrator, “cada vez que las horas marcadas por su reloj eran más
pequeñas que las nuestras, Doménica conservaba su tamaño natural, pero cuando las
horas eran grandes, ella también crecía hasta ser de alta como una persona mayor, más o
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menos. O, al menos, así la veíamos” (16). Thus goes the description of the title character
from the first chapter of Torrente’s posthumous novel, although the narrator—by a
frequent process of “unwriting”—continually undermines most of what s/he has already
related concerning the strange apparition, placing in doubt the accuracy or veracity of a
considerable portion of his or her narrative. Most significantly, Doménica not only
materializes seemingly out of the air, but she exists to some extent in another dimension
where time does not correspond with that of the “normal world,” and still more strangely,
her nature seems to fluctuate according to the hours. In less than five pages, Torrente has
established that this novel will not be anything like the half dozen novels which preceded
it.
Based on their short acquaintance of her, the narrator recounts that “Doménica era
tan distinta de nosotros que llegamos a considerarla un bicho raro” (17). Just as quickly
as she arrived, Doménica must leave to continue what appears to be a personal quest. In
a scene which might closely resemble other fantastic and/or magical beings in literature
and film (and which might readily bring to mind characters such as Mary Poppins and her
flying broom), Doménica leaves by climbing out the window onto a what appears to be a
magical ladder, pushing off, and disappearing into the night. This presupposes a change
of narrator inasmuch as the first was a member of the family living in the house at which
Doménica originally materialized; the narrative consciousness presumably ceases to be a
juvenile, and there is a less naïve tone to the subsequent consciousness, which
occasionally exhibits a bit of skepticism or irony.
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Doménica uses the magical ladder to arrive at the house of Paco, who is in the
process of being robbed by three people with whom he is playing cards. Paco warns
Doménica not to play cards with them, explaining that the others are cheating by playing
with marked cards. Paco describes the other three men—Juan, Pedro, and Manuel—as
“truhanes que han venido aquí a llevarse mi dinero. Porque todo ese dinero que ve usted
sobre la mesa es mío, y me lo han sacado con diversos pretextos” (23). When Doménica
confirms this, she punishes the three men by turning them into balloons; she then offers
the money to Paco. Noteworthy is the fact that the other three men—now revealed to
employ dubious methods in the card game—are the only ones Doménica transforms into
balloons. One might say Doménica had chosen to punish them from having tried to
circumvent the rules of the card game.
Despite her ability to right wrongs committed by others, Doménica reveals herself
to be quite immature, and at times, impatient. She offers to let Paco accompany her on
her adventures, yet when they enter the forest, Doménica immediately forgets what the
two were doing. Paco then criticizes her for dragging him out to the forest, where he
should have never followed her in the first place. Upon his announcing that he will
simply return home, Doménica loses her temper with him, rendering him literally
incapable of finding his way back. He then decides to follow Doménica to wherever she
might lead. Not only is Doménica childlike, but it can be inferred that Paco is not a
mature adult; he acts more like a big child.
Doménica then finds a circle of beech trees, noting that the first letter of their
name has escaped: “todas las haches de las hayas se habían escapado, quedando sólo las
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hayas sin las haches. Afortunadamente, las únicas haches que se fugaron fueron las de
las hayas reunidas en corro, porque no habría nada más aburrido y difícil de imaginar que
un bosque de ayas” (31). The investigator seeking to elucidate the nature of this
enigmatic novel should note the growing sophistication of the narrative discourse,
especially when compared with the initial juvenile narrative perspective/ voice, and
subsequently with the second narrative discourse, lasting through the episode of the
gamblers, which utilizes an expanded vocabulary. Yet once the narrator makes the
observation concerning the missing aitches (letters h), the hayas (beech trees) have
magically transformed into ayas (governesses), leaving a group of aitches to escape into
the forest. Doménica describes them as ugly witches—“porque a todas les iba saliendo
una nariz ganchuda y una barbilla delgada y prominente que casi se juntaba con la nariz”
(32)—telling them that, once their aitches return, they will be trees again. At that point,
“recobraréis vuestra antigua prestancia, vuestro misterio y vuestra belleza, y dejaréis de
ser brujas, que tanto os afea” (32). She seems to have known these now-women from
when they were trees, as she says that “debo deciros que de todas las proposiciones que
ibais a hacerme cuando erais hayas y no ayas, la única que acepto es la del castillo del
ogro y ninguno de los otros castillos y de las casitas del bosque encantadas” (32). As if
sensing doubt among her audience, Doménica informs them:
porque el ogro es un chico guapo y siempre es preferible su compañía a la
de un príncipe tonto o a la de unos enanos pendientes de su trabajo y no de
la chica que tienen en casa, a la que no hacen pizca de caso, esto os lo
aseguro yo que soy una chica y los conozco bien, porque yo misma los he
inventado, así como al ogro, que siempre son feos, menos éste inventado
por mí, que va a protegerme en lugar de comerme, que es lo que hacen los
ogros inventados por otros autores. (32-33)
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Apparently, Doménica not only has the power to change things and people, but to invent
them as well. According to her remark concerning ogres created by other authors,
Doménica has had some exposure to children’s literature (at least, she does via Torrente,
who without a doubt, has had a great deal of exposure, and who probably could not resist
the temptation to insert a metaliterary comment in this novel). However, while she
observes all witches and ogres are ugly, the ogre she has created is (by virtue of being her
creation) beautiful. Likewise ironic is the restoration of the aitches (letters h) to the
witches, who then return to their natural state as trees (the ayas become hayas once
again): “Doménica siguió sentada y contempló con regocijo la transformación de aquellas
siete brujas poco respetables en hayas respetabilísimas; como que cada una tenía un
letrero que decía: ‘Respetadme’” (36). The level of narrative discourse has risen, more or
less paralleling the ongoing maturation of Doménica.
Having seen the trees restored to their former selves, Doménica is free to continue
on her journey. She contents herself by building a castle for the ogre she has created
(who now refers to himself as Julio, el Feo). Much to her chagrin, the ogre tries to eat
Doménica. She then thinks that:
aquel ogro, que ella había imaginado amable y guapo, era guapo, eso sí,
pero no era amable, con lo cual al ogro le pasaba lo que a ciertos
personajes literarios, que se independizan del autor y viven por su cuenta.
Al menos eso dicen, como pudo comprobar Doménica cuando hizo las
pruebas oportunas. (37-38)
Doménica then notices that the ogre’s body has a door and a window leading to his
stomach, which the ogre seems to have invented of his own accord (38-39). She then
climbs in the ogre’s stomach, which gives her a place to stay and a traveling
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companion—even if the ogre proves less than capable of maintaining a decent
conversation with her.
Doménica quickly becomes distracted by troops she sees, causing the ogre’s
castle to disappear. The ogre, on the other hand, does not disappear just because
Doménica has stopped thinking about him: “como hemos dicho, se había independizado
y vivía por su cuenta, de tal manera que se le amplió el bigote y empezó a crecerle pelo
por toda la cara y a ser un ogro como los demás” (41). The fact that the ogre has taken on
a life of his own, independent of his creator, brings to mind an earlier Torrente work,
Fragmentos de Apocalipsis, in which the literary creations of the writer-protagonist
likewise take on lives of their own. Thus, the window and door in the ogre’s stomach
also disappear, as does his castle.
Taking pity on him, Doménica decides to talk with the prince of the area to gain
permission to construct a castle for the ogre. Seeing that she has experience in dealing
with ogres, the prince asks Doménica to help him in combating all ogres. The prince and
his troops, with help from Doménica, easily win the battle. Doménica then leaves to
continue her journey. She soon encounters a tortoise, and she stops to talk with it. The
tortoise informs Doménica that:
en realidad no era tortuga sino una princesa encantada y que estaba
esperando el beso de alguien que parecía un ogro, pero era un príncipe,
revestido de ogro [. . .]. Añadió que el ogro que esperaba se llamaba Julio,
el Feo, a lo cual respondió Doménica que ella lo había inventado y que no
recordaba haberle metido dentro ningún príncipe. (51-52)
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The tortoise tells the girl that she will only find true happiness once the two of them are
together, having shed their respective guises by sharing a kiss and getting married as the
prince and princess they truly are. Yet none of this matters to Doménica:
resulta que a Doménica la felicidad, el beso y el matrimonio le importaban
un pito: serían, conjeturaba ella, una pérdida de tiempo, y así se lo dijo,
con su adiós, a la tortuga y se apartó de ella a su paso. Siempre hacia
delante, con lo cual al poco tiempo se halló bastante lejos de la tortuga y
olvidada de cuanto le había contado, así del beso, como del matrimonio
con el príncipe. (53)
Whether Doménica should have helped the tortoise is a problem left for the reader to
decide; for the moment, she resumes her journey. Similarly, in an ambulatory narrative
occasionally reminiscent of the picaresque, Doménica encounters a soldier, a musician,
and a beggar on the road, yet since they are traveling in the opposite direction as she, she
does not stop for them.
Doménica soon encounters an old woman named Ana, who confesses to
Doménica a desire to learn magic. The woman tells Doménica that she would like to
conjure a village with an inn, where she can eat dinner and rest for the night. Doménica
responds, “¿Y no le sería lo mismo confiarme lo del pueblo a mí? Porque yo no necesito
de objeto alguno para transformarlo, me basta con pensarlo, y ya está” (56). After the
town has appeared, the two make their way to an inn. After enjoying a veritable feast,
they retire to their respective rooms, though a mistake involving which room belongs to
each has disastrous—and somewhat comical—effects for the two. Although they change
to their correct rooms before going to sleep, a process has already begun. Doménica
judges that the two have slept hundreds of years, though the narrator corrects, reminding
the reader of Doménica’s inability to judge the passage of time. Upon waking, Doménica
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realizes too late what has transpired between Ana and her. The two have switched
bodies: Doménica is now old and unattractive, whereas Ana has become young and
beautiful. She tries knocking on Ana’s door, and upon entering her room finds that the
“old” woman “no tendría más que trece años, todo lo más catorce” (61).
Doménica leaves the inn, where a carriage awaits her. She enters the carriage and
takes off, with Ana in pursuit. As soon as Doménica leaves the inn and surrounding
village, both of these disappear. Since they had been figments of Doménica’s
imagination, they too ceased to exist when she stopped thinking about them. Left behind
is the restaurant’s waiter, whom Ana turns into a kick scooter so she can pursue the
carriage. Soon the carriage comes upon the beggar, who enters so that he might take a
nap. As the carriage departs and the beggar sleeps, Doménica notices his dirty, tattered
rags. She immediately gives the beggar a new change of clothes, simply by thinking it.
Doménica also thinks that “debajo de aquella cara sucia de pordiosero tenía que haber
otra, joven y limpia; seguramente, no había más que tirar de la cara fea para que
apareciese debajo la cara guapa” (65). Seeing Ana gaining on the carriage, Doménica
throws the man out the window at her. The same thing happens with the musician as
happened with the beggar. He enters the carriage, wherein Doménica changes his
physical appearance to something much more dignified. However, Doménica must suffer
the musician’s company, as there is no easy way for her to throw him out the window as
she had done with the beggar. The musician then plays an exotic melody, which helps to
reverse the transformation which has switched Doménica and Ana’s likenesses.
Doménica, although grateful to the musician for helping her regain her stolen youth from
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Ana, nevertheless throws him out of the carriage as she had done with the previous two
men.
Doménica then encounters the soldier, whom she invites to join her on her
wanderings. For the third time, she transforms her fellow passenger. When Doménica
asks the soldier whether he would like to be king, he replies that this is not possible.
Doménica assures him: “Y puedo llamarte Majestad. Lo que ahora tienes que hacer es ir,
así vestido, para que todos tus soldados te vean y vayan tras de ti. Ellos se creerán que
van detrás del rey, pero no importa pues el hábito hace al monje y tú vas vestido de rey,
luego eres rey” (71). The new king then exits the carriage and commands his troops to
victory, albeit thanks to an error in his directions to his troops (“‘vista a la derecha’ en
lugar de ‘vista a la izquierda’” [72]). The king then asks Doménica’s hand in marriage,
but she declines, explaining that he should reward his troops for their victory in battle
while she will continue on her journey.
The episodes with the beggar, the musician, and the soldier—just like those
involving Paco and the group of trees before—illustrate that Doménica enjoys helping
people. At times her attempts at performing good deeds yield unexpected results, no
doubt owing to the childlike, whimsical imagination with which she undertakes them.
However, considering how many people Doménica stops to help, one must wonder why
she has not done the same for the tortoise—particularly because of how easy it would be
for her to introduce the tortoise to the very ogre she had created before. This could be a
sign of the lack of maturity of the title character, or merely a reminder that she is still, for
all practical purposes, a child who has not yet formed any rigid ethos.
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Doménica’s carriage now begins a journey into the past. “Adelante, no hay
tiempo que perder” (81), Doménica announces. She arrives back at the kingdom of the
soldier she has made king. He informs Doménica that he is currently at war, and his
principal enemy is none other than Julio, el Feo. Doménica explains to the king her
conviction that the ogre should not be considered anyone’s enemy, as she was the one
who created him: “No es igual,” she tells the king:
porque tú ya estabas ahí y lo que hice fue hacerte rey. En cambio a él lo
saqué de la nada. Lo que pasa es que tanto tú como él, una vez que estáis
hechos, por el procedimiento que sea, hacéis lo que os viene en gana: tú,
por lo pronto, la guerra. Él, no sé. Ahora mismo voy a verlo y a
preguntarle sobre el particular. (85)
Once she arrives at the castle of the ogre, she finds that he entertains himself with the
latest electronics, leaving the questions of wars in the hands of his soldiers and their
commanding officers (86). Doménica offers herself as a military chief to help the ogre
win the battle against the king’s forces.
The troops from each side meet on the battlefield, where Doménica and the King
shake hands as old friends before the battle commences. Doménica ultimately triumphs,
and upon confronting the king asks him, “¿Juras que en lo sucesivo procurarás arreglar
cada guerra con una conversación previa?” (89). The king agrees, and orders a large
banquet to celebrate the peaceful ending of the battle. Both the ogre and the king (now
referring to himself as Canuto IV, coincidentally reminiscent of the name Torrente chose
for his “fairy-tale” monarch in La princesa durmiente va a la escuela) ask Doménica’s
hand in marriage. At that precise moment, the old king and Ana (now his queen) arrive
at the banquet. Ana suggests that Doménica marry the king, she can become a queen like
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Ana. However, as Doménica prefers neither Canuto nor the ogre, she mounts her white
horse and returns to her carriage.
All journeys must come to an end, and Doménica’s is no exception. She has slept
in her carriage as it continues onward; “Para el cómputo de Doménica, pasaron varios
cientos de años, seis o siete, entre el dormir y el despertar. Pero para el nuestro, pasaron
sólo unos minutos; todo lo más media hora” (95). In perhaps a belated apology to the
reader for Doménica’s extraordinary, fantastic qualities, the narrator explains that:
En lo cual se ve la enorme diferencia existente entre Doménica y nosotros,
y el enorme esfuerzo que teníamos que hacer para entenderla. Yo creo
que no la hemos entendido nunca, pero, ¡allá penitas! Contar, lo que se
dice contar, se va haciendo; lo de explicar, es más arduo y no se hace
nunca. Nosotros contamos sin explicación. (95)
Upon waking, Doménica notices that a serpent has joined her in the carriage. She tells it
that she assumes that, “detrás de esa cabeza o debajo de ella habrá otra, pues todo lo que
entra aquí parece una cosa y es otra” (97). The snake tells Doménica that he is a King
who has been enchanted by the witch Ana for refusing to marry her. The two proceed to
Ana’s castle, where they request that she undo the spell which she has placed on the man.
Ana (now a youthful queen, thanks in no small part to Doménica) agrees to return the
serpent to his rightful form, telling him that she would prefer to marry him once she
transforms him back, since the king to which she is currently married is a “viejo verde”
(101). With a small flourish, Ana then restores the serpent to his rightful human form.
The king, named Fernando, rejoices at having recovered his original form, and Doménica
accepts his offer to marry him. The transformation carries consequences for Ana, for, “al
decir la palabra ‘bruja,’ Ana recobró el aspecto de vieja que tanto la distinguía” (101).
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In appreciation for Ana’s lifting the spell on her future husband, Doménica tells
Ana she will make her younger and more beautiful, yet a more appropriate age to
correspond with her mature king. In an instant, Ana “abandonaba aquella repugnante
figura de vieja bruja, puntiaguda de nariz y de barbilla, y se convertía en esta otra, algo
más joven que el monarca, en cuyo cuerpo y en cuya cara se veía que Doménica había
andado bastante generosa” (103). Meanwhile, Doménica and Fernando head off to “ese
lugar donde los príncipes son felices con las mujeres elegidas de su corazón” (103),
leaving the snakeskin and carriage behind. With this, the character (and the novel) has
come to the end of her journey.
Despite the uneven division of chapters among the three parts of the novel (nine
in Part I, five in Part II, and one in Part III), and the somewhat open ending not altogether
foreign to the fairy tale genre (“Pero de esto ya hablaremos” [103]), the story told in
Doménica seems to wrap up in a satisfactory manner. Some readers might argue that
Torrente left too many loose ends, or that the storylines were not sufficiently developed,
though this could very well be the consequence of the author’s having died before he
completed this final novel. Nevertheless, as the publisher notes at the beginning of novel,
Torrente had intended Doménica to be a children’s book. 20 Taken as such, one can
appreciate that the protagonist undertakes a fantastical journey, full of magic and
memorable characters and a happy ending, narrated on a level appropriate for children.
Both Crónica del rey pasmado and Doménica seem to contain elements of the
supernatural, although Torrente develops each novel in a very different manner with a
vastly different humor and for a totally different readership. In the former, he plays upon
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the widespread sense of superstition which prevailed during the time period portrayed,
most likely the Seventeenth Century. In the latter, the Galician novelist spins a fable
replete with magical characters and fit to be told to children as a bedtime story.
Notwithstanding the ludic treatments of both, Crónica—given its historical background
and the presence of extremely serious elements (such as the allusions to the Inquisition,
the burning of “heretics,” and—it is implied—sundry others who became bothersome)—
there is a substrata where humor fades before the memory of horrendous happenings in
history. Doménica, by contrast, with its target audience of pre-schoolers, is pure fun,
lacking in serious content other than the implicit moral message conveyed by the
protagonist’s behavior, always to do good to others.
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Las islas extraordinarias (1991) and La muerte del Decano 21
Torrente published Las islas extraordinarias in 1991, shortly after beginning the
eighth decade of his life. Whereas La muerte del Decano (discussed below) specifically
evokes postwar Spain, Las islas does not provide easy physical or cultural connections
with postwar Spain or any particular country. Instead, in Las islas Torrente focuses on
several forms of political power rather than limiting himself to dictatorships and
dictators. Nevertheless, the novelist does not rule out all possibility for making this
connection. Considering various works Torrente published under the Franco dictatorship,
perhaps it is not too great a leap for the reader to see glimpses of historical
representations of postwar Spain in Las islas, whose narrator/ protagonist is a detective
contracted to venture to a tiny country located on a chain of three islands. There, he must
serve as a bodyguard to the country’s head of state (a veritable dictator), while working to
uncover an alleged assassination plot against him. The Detective explains:
La realidad y el mundo entero cambiaron para mí a partir del momento en
que un desconocido, que no quiso decir quién era, me propuso
contratarme, no sólo para salvaguardar la vida de cierto magnate de la
política cuyo nombre prácticamente desconocía, sino para descubrir y
desbaratar, o por lo menos, ayudar a hacerlo, una conspiración difusa y
casi misteriosa contra su vida y sistema. (7)
Though the reader well acquainted with geography of Spain might think first of the
Balearic Islands, various critics have speculated that Torrente is alluding to Cuba and
Fidel Castro. Carmen Luna Sellés perceptively clarifies that Las islas is “más que una
sátira particular, una crítica pretendidamente intrascendente a todos los totalitarismos”
(La Tabla Redonda 5, 50). From the Detective’s studies on the island nation, “Saqué la
impresión, […] de que existiera algo así como un compromiso tácito de ocultar la verdad
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en virtud de causas o razones que de momento no se me alcanzaban, pero que bien
pudieran ser de naturaleza económica: algo que nos importaba mucho y que nos obligaba
a cerrar los ojos ante determinadas realidades” (Las islas 11). This conclusion by the
investigator acquires enormous satiric power when readers of Torrente’s earlier satires
(e.g., La princesa durmiente va a la escuela, La rosa de los vientos, and La isla de los
jacintos cortados) apply the Detective’s observation to the Franco dictatorship. The
Detective agrees to help the Dictator, yet clearly has second thoughts while he recalls the
events leading up to the beginning of this mission:
todos mis años de vida anterior se hundieron definitivamente en el olvido,
o al menos eso llegué a creer, y me hallé con la memoria fresca, casi
intacta: como al comienzo de un libro que empezase precisamente con la
visita de un hombre desconocido, de voz simpática, que me había
contratado para una tarea que pertenecía a mi oficio, y que me había
anticipado, por mi trabajo, una importante cantidad de dinero. Pero este
dinero, si sucediese lo peor, quedaría para siempre en una cuenta cuyo
titular no podría cancelarse. (12)
This likening of the beginning of the Detective’s job to the beginning of a book, complete
with the character’s tabula rasa, could be compared to the beginning of a detective novel.
At the same time, the reader familiar with Torrente’s recent literary works will remember
the protagonist/ narrator of Quizá nos lleve el viento al infinito (1984), Torrente’s spoof
of a super agent (a robot) with the ability to take on the persona of other characters, yet
who has ceased to remember his own identity. Inasmuch the narrative consciousness is
in fact at the beginning of the book, the observation should alert readers acquainted with
some of Torrente’s earlier spoofs that many apparently “innocent” comments are
applicable verbatim to the narrative at hand.
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The trip to the islands involves crossing a bridge from the Detective’s home
country (revealed not to be a Spanish-speaking country) to the islands. The driver of the
taxi which takes the Detective to the bridge specifies that he will not cross the bridge
(thus entering another country). Therefore, the Detective must cross the bridge on foot.
As soon as he has crossed halfway, the bridge begins to retract: “así que [yo, el
Detective] llegué a la frontera antes de lo que había calculado, y en vez de continuar a
bordo del puente, descendí de él dando un pequeño salto y me encontré en la primera de
las Islas” (Las islas 13-14). Torrente’s depiction of the narrator/ protagonist literally
taking a tumble onto the island could be an intertextual reference to Alice in Wonderland,
and there are passages in Torrente’s posthumous Doménica (1999) that still more
strongly evoke the “looking-glass world.”
As is typical of the novela negra, Torrente sets the scene with enough doubt and
possible suspense to keep the reader interested in finding out what will happen next. The
Detective’s narration conveys the impression that there could be assassins lurking about,
waiting for their chance to kill the Dictator, and possibly the Detective as well. This is
evidenced by warnings he receives en route to his hotel. The Detective meets a
mysterious woman who rides a motorcycle (and whose helmet covers her face,
concealing her identity from him). The motorcyclist “había dejado no uno, sino dos
papeles. En el primero, el más grande, [. . .] figuraba la dirección del hotel Metropol; en
el segundo, una sola palabra: ‘Cuidado’” (15). Yet Las islas is not merely a typical
detective novel. The Detective describes his hotel as “indiferente” (18), yet describes the
feeling he has as he arrives as “el recuerdo de alguna lectura” (18), explaining that “el
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aspecto general del vestíbulo no me era desconocido, pero no como visto, sino leído,
quiero decir descrito” (19). The Detective’s resulting feelings of “inquietud” and
“desasosiego” (19) are further heightened by the strange configuration of the hotel: “sus
líneas no eran rectas ni sus ángulos sino mínimamente agudos o escalenos, como las
líneas verticales u horizontales un poco cóncavas o algo convexas: todo en perfecta
correlación” (19). However architecturally stimulating the description of his hotel, the
Detective adds that the quasi-literary feeling he has of the ambience is not an entirely
pleasant one: “La página descriptiva que había recordado incluía la palabra siniestro, pero
aquel vestíbulo no llegó a parecérmelo, sino sencillamente raro” (19-20). The Detective
likewise notes the absence of straight lines in his room. “Había que entrar prevenido en
mi habitación para darse cuenta de que, efectivamente, los planos de los suelos y la
techumbre convergían en un lugar remoto, mientras que, hacia el otro lado, divergían lo
suficiente como para poder imaginar que, a cierta distancia no muy próxima, pudieran
contener el cosmos entero entre sus líneas” (20). After settling down for the night, the
Detective discovers the woman motorcyclist outside his room. She warns him to check
his bed before sleeping in it. Upon a close inspection, the Detective discovers that:
Agarrado a las columnas inferiores, las hice girar lentamente en el mismo
sentido, y un crujido de madera, allá arriba, vino en ayuda de mi sospecha:
en efecto, el dosel se había inclinado unos centímetros, y logré equilibrarlo
haciendo la misma operación con las columnas de la cabecera. No me
cabía ya duda de que, girando simultáneamente las cuatro columnas, el
dosel descendería lentamente y podría asfixiar, y quizá también aplastar, a
cualquier durmiente desprevenido. (22)
This mechanism recalls such stories as Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum,” and causes the
Detective serious uncertainty. “Pero lo que no lograba explicarme,” observes the
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Detective, “eran las razones por las cuales yo, traído a aquella ciudad para un servicio,
iba a ser eliminado antes de cumplirlo” (22-23).
The Detective must interview the chief administrators of all spheres of life on the
islands, starting with the Dictator and his family and continuing with others who
administer day-to-day operations on the three neighboring islands, in order to gauge what
threat they might pose to the Dictator’s life and well-being. The Detective first meets the
Dictator, who controls the largest island and capital city of the country. His first
impression of the island country’s head of state is that of “nerviosismo” (37), an
understandable reaction for someone who fears his untimely demise. However, the
Dictator partially dispels this feeling, as he recounts his current situation to the Detective.
An event with the Dictator the following day creates further suspicion for the Detective.
The Dictator summons a servant to bring him something to drink. First, the Dictator has
the servant taste the drink; the servant does so, and immediately drops to the floor,
apparently poisoned. “De nada valen las precauciones” (39), remarks the Dictator in
reference to his dead servant, leaving the Detective to kick the body to prove the servant
actually died. The Dictator himself comments on how there is nothing he can do to avoid
such things in his life as political leader:
El resumen se lo puedo decir de palabra: aproximadamente cada mes hay
una conspiración contra mí, cuyos jefes son debidamente castigados.
Estas conspiraciones las organizan los agentes del Gobierno. Conozco su
desarrollo hora a hora. No me preocupan, como usted puede comprender:
son un instrumento de poder que manejo con cierta habilidad. (41-42)
The Dictator is quick to point out, however, that “existe otra conspiración, que yo no he
provocado, que yo no he organizado, y que es la que tiene usted que descubrir” (42).
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There is no more than an indication or an assertion that the person has power, but even
while he ostensibly controls the country, there are always forces conspiring to end his
reign. He is a de facto prisoner in his palatial fortress residence, seldom venturing out
except for pro forma, obligatory appearances concerning affairs of the state. Janet Pérez
has referred to this as the “impotence of power” 22 :
The strictness of the dictator’s confinement exceeds that of a patient in
quarantine, as his residence resembles a fortress or prison (or perhaps a
mental institution for the criminally insane), despite certain trappings of
power and luxury. His rare and carefully orchestrated, somewhat farcical
public appearances create the illusion of moving freely through the
crowds, but he is insulated by loyal supporters from real contact with the
public. (169)
Through conversations the Detective has with his liaison, Gina, the Detective discovers
that the Dictator often has a servant pretend to be poisoned, just to intimidate his guests.
“Es muy teatral, Su Excelencia, y ese truco lo usa con muchos visitantes” (45), she
observes of the Dictator. But when the Detective explains to Gina that the servant really
was dead, Gina questions whether the Dictator could be capable of having his servant
killed.
Before taking the Detective to the other islands to interview the Dictator’s son and
wife (rulers respectively of the two remaining islands) Gina takes some time to help
orient him to life on the different islands. During their discussion, Gina reveals aspects
of her country which seem unsettling to the Detective. She tells him how she has been
chosen to bear the Dictator a child. When the Detective balks, she explains that “Tener
un hijo de Su Excelencia es un honor que no alcanzan todas las mujeres [. . .]. Algo me
han dicho referente a sus hijos. . . Serán, al parecer, la futura clase gobernante, pero hay
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algunos idiotas. Ésos, en su día, serán dulcemente suprimidos (47-48). When the
Detective asks, “¿Y lo dice usted con esa tranquilidad?” Gina replies, “¿Cómo quiere
que lo diga?” (48). This disturbs the Detective, who notes that “me sentía repelido por su
manera de pensar, sobre todo, por aquella aceptación sin rebeldía de un sistema que yo
juzgaba ya intolerable aunque me hallaba allí para defenderlo, comprometido por un
contrato y unos dineros recibidos” (48). The Detective observes that everything on the
first island seems too clean and orderly. Gina informs him that “En las Islas no había
huelgas ni la policía tenía conflictos con los drogadictos. Los obreros trabajaban en su
Isla, donde vivían disciplinados y felices” (50). She proceeds to give the Detective what
might be termed the party-line description of how utopian the islands are:
En nuestra ciudad el tráfico está ordenado, y, en el otoño, no vuelan las
hojas por las avenidas. Pero los gastos del Estado son infinitamente
superiores. Tenemos un ejército muy lúcido, que desfila correctamente el
día de la Fiesta Patria, y una Armada de pocos barcos, aunque los más
avanzados del mundo. A los niños de las escuelas se les enseña a
enorgullecerse de nuestra Armada [. . .] En nuestros muelles, en nuestro
aeropuerto, barcos y aviones, cargados de mercancías cuya naturaleza no
nos interesa, compran, venden, intercambian sin otro requisito que pagar,
gracias a lo cual nuestro puerto es el más navegado del mundo, y nuestro
aeropuerto es el más visitado. Finalmente, puedo decirle a usted que la
droga que se consume en la Isla del Vicio es monopolio del Estado, lo cual
le permite controlarla. (52-53)
Furthermore, Gina explains that the second island is much more disciplined, due to its
permanent state of martial law. The Detective feels horror at the description of the
islands he has just heard: “Gina había descrito su país con voz monótona, pero agradable,
como quien recita una lección aprendida en la que, además, cree” (53).
The Detective then travels to the second island to meet the Dictator’s battlehungry son and military chief (el Jefe Militar), who has his island under martial law.
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What is frowned upon on the first island is surely against the law on the second island,
and there would no mercy for those who attempted to break the laws. The Jefe Militar
reveals to the Detective that his engineers have produced a new brand of shields, which
would render their ships impervious to air attacks. He then says that “Yo no necesito la
guerra para mostrar mi poder. Ni es tan pequeño que quepa en este salón” (73). For the
remainder of the discussion, the Jefe Militar concentrates on the advances of the
military—and by extension, the country—thanks to him. “Mi querido amigo,” he says as
his meeting with the Detective approaches its end, “si yo fuera vanidoso, tendría motivos
para creerme el hombre más poderoso del mundo, pero me contento con serlo de este
país” (77).
However lacking in humility, the Jefe Militar does not seem to fit the Dictator’s
conspiracy theory. Before they visit the wife of the Dictator (ruler of “Pleasure Island”),
Gina and the Detective have a meeting with Dr. Martín 23 on the third island. The
Detective describes Dr. Martín’s home as something from another time, whose contents
resemble well-preserved antiques found in museums more than furnishings of a home
(82-83). Dr. Martín does not appear to believe in the cooperation of the Jefe Militar in
whatever potential conspiracy against the Dictator, though he does not rule out the
possibility that the Dictator’s son be involved to a point. He reminds Gina and the
Detective that “Cualquier cosa que se trame contra Su Excelencia tiene que contar, si no
con la colaboración, al menos con la neutralidad del general. Él solo podría aplastar
cualquier movimiento” (80-81). Dr. Martín reminds the two that heads of state come and
go, sometimes earlier than they anticipate. He explains: “Comprendo que una de las
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cosas más difíciles de aceptar es la práctica de la muerte preventiva, derecho de la
sociedad a suprimir a aquellos de sus miembros que por alguna razón resultan peligrosos”
(88-89). He justifies this statement as follows:
Y no es que hayamos renunciado a la moral, sino que intentamos sustituir
la antigua, esa que hemos recibido y de la que tanto esfuerzo mental nos
ha costado librarnos, por otra nueva, una moral más apoyada en la realidad
de los hechos y en las urgencias de ciertas necesidades [. . .]. No olvide
que yo vengo de un mundo en el que todavía subsisten, aunque sea como
máscaras, las viejas estructuras mentales [. . .]. Y esto sostiene al Estado,
y yo soy el artificio del pensamiento y del sistema. Sin mí, el Estado se
desmoronaría. La gente necesita creer que piensa. . . (90-92)
Finally, the Detective visits the dictator’s wife (la Directora del Casino), who
lives on the third island and dedicates herself to promoting the hedonistic lifestyle. In a
stark contrast, the third island is presided over by the wife of the Dictator, and mother of
the Jefe Militar. On the third island, law is all but non-existent and excess reigns. People
are free to explore sexuality, drug use, gambling, pornography, and anything else
imaginable on this island; many of them never return to the rigidity of the first two
islands. The Detective takes note of the absolute lack of prisons on the islands (100), a
detail which seems to reinforce Gina’s earlier claim that there is no crime or social unrest.
The Dictator’s wife supports this by saying that:
No hay delincuentes ni vagos, no hay rebeldes ni descontentos. A pesar
de eso, hay suciedad, ya lo creo que la hay, y, en cierto modo, esta Isla
Tercera se debe considerar como una letrina o, más bien, como la letrina
[. . .]. Pero no hay nada tan pacífico como el estiércol. Le aseguro que la
conspiración contra mi marido no nació aquí, ni aquí tiene seguidores.
(102)
The Dictator’s wife maintains that her husband’s downfall would not be beneficial to her
or to their son. To the contrary, she adds, “ninguna de las personas que ejercen algún
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poder en el país puede tener razones para conspirar contra mi marido. Su caída
significaría la nuestra” (103).
The Detective’s final meeting takes place with the Jefe del Gobierno the
following day. The meeting is short, due to a ceremony in which the Dictator will
inaugurate a bridge shortly thereafter. As if to underscore the diminished importance of
civilian leaders on the islands, the Jefe del Gobierno begs Gina and the Detective to
forgive him: “Todo el mundo irá de uniforme, pero yo, con este chaqué anticuado, quiero
insistir en mi condición de ciudadano civil” (117). When asked about his thoughts
concerning a possible conspiracy against the Dictator, the Jefe del Gobierno turns the
question around on the Detective. His reply: “No sé absolutamente nada” (118). The
Jefe del Gobierno responds that:
Ni lo sabrá aunque interrogue a todos los ciudadanos de las Islas. Por mi
cargo, yo debería tener, a lo menos, barruntos de esa supuesta
conspiración que le trajo a usted aquí. Me han dicho que está en el aire,
que se respira, pero el aire, por sí solo, no constituye una pista, ni siquiera
un punto de partida. En realidad, yo debería informarle a usted,
proporcionarle una base de investigación. No puedo hacer nada [. . .].
Tenga usted en cuenta que yo soy el hombre fuerte del sistema. El Estado
funciona porque yo lo hago funcionar, y todos sus resortes están en mis
manos. ¿Cómo los servicios secretos no me han informado? Pues le diré
por qué; porque no hay nada de que me puedan informar, como no sea eso
del aire. (118)
Thus, the Jefe del Gobierno echoes the other people who govern the islands, in
expressing his opinion that no conspiracy against the Dictator exists.
Following this seemingly conclusive interview, the Detective and Gina attend the
inauguration ceremony for the new bridge. During the ceremony, the Detective makes a
comment as to how vulnerable the Dictator is during his speech. “Si alguien quisiera
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matarlo, éste era el momento. Fíjese en su nuca” (125). Gina replies that “¿Se da cuenta
usted de que el asesino sería inmediatamente masacrado?” (125), leaving the Detective to
answer, “Todo magnicida cuenta con la muerte inmediata” (125). The Dictator fills his
speech with rhetoric designed to stir the emotions of the crowd, extolling them to be
vigilant of enemies threatening to erase the country’s hard-fought prosperity and plunge it
into the anarchy of yesteryear (126-127). The Dictator’s inflammatory speech causes the
Detective to remark that “todas aquellas gentes parecían dispuestas a morir por el jefe o
por la patria amenazada” (129). Gina comments cynically that the speech contained “las
mentiras necesarias para mantener el entusiasmo y la pasión” (133). The Detective asks,
“Es usted partidaria o enemiga de Su Excelencia?” (133). The discussion continues:
[Gina] –¿Por qué me lo pregunta?
[Detective] –Porque unas veces me parece usted una de tantos secuaces, y
otras, todo lo contrario.
[Gina] –Pues aténgase a eso: unas veces estoy de acuerdo y otras no.
[Detective] –Un sistema como el que rige en este país no admite esta clase
de adhesiones, que yo considero ambiguas. Aquí se está conmigo o contra
mí. (133)
This offers a chance for the Detective to question Gina’s loyalty to the Dictator, and
serves as one of the very few times in the novel in which Gina seems to speak openly
about her thoughts on the powers that be on the Islands. Equally worth noting is the final
line (“Aquí se está conmigo o contra mí”), a perfect parallel to the Fascist motto of “those
who are not with us are against us.”
Finally, the Detective is called upon to deliver his final report to the Dictator,
informing him that, “A estas horas, no sospecho a nadie, no tengo una pista, no hay nada
que pueda contarle. Incluso he llegado a dudar de que exista una conspiración” (141).
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The Dictator does not believe him, but rather insists that people are out to get him. At
this moment an alarm sounds, and the two men see a woman approaching the Dictator’s
quarters. The Detective recognizes the woman as Gina, and the Dictator announces his
intent to kill his would-be assassin before she kills him. As he turns to meet her at the
door, the Detective notices that the Dictator “Me ofrecía la enorme, la chata nuca
tentadora, provocativa. Tuve el tiempo justo para acercarme a la mesa, apoderarme del
puñal hindú y arrojárselo. Se le clavó en el cogote, y cayó sin un gemido” (155-156).
Thus, the Detective has become the unwitting instrument of ultimately nameless and
faceless forces to bring down the Dictator. The Detective reveals to Gina that he killed
the Dictator to save her life; yet she insists that she was not going to kill the Dictator.
When asked whether she thinks the Detective is a murderer, Gina replies that “Usted hizo
lo que haría cualquier hombre de bien, aunque con más destreza” (158). She then helps
the Detective to escape from the islands before the authorities arrive at the palace. Gina
tells the Detective to take her car back to his hotel, then wait for a signal. At dawn, the
motorcyclist the Detective encountered upon arriving on the islands appears to help the
Detective out of the country. The two must make a daring escape on a motorcycle, and
are forced to jump across the waterway to the Detective’s home country as the authorities
begin to withdraw the bridge between the two countries:
Había clareado: estábamos sobre el puente, y la inmensa maquinaria se
movía. La muchacha me dijo: “Tendremos que saltar. Agárrese fuerte.”
Lo hice más de lo que estaba. Llegamos al borde del puente: faltaban
unos metros para alcanzar la orilla. Si nos deteníamos nos alcanzarían.
Ella apretó la marcha. Yo me agarré todo lo fuerte que pude. Al ver bajo
de mí las aguas, perdí el sentido. (161)
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Just as Dante does when crossing the River Acheron in the Inferno, the Detective loses
consciousness. This inverts another convention of the detective fiction genre (though
such an inversion becomes more frequent during postmodernism), i.e., the inversion of
gender roles—the “subordinate” female rescues the supposedly hardboiled macho
detective, who has passed out from fear.
The Detective wakes up in his own bed the next day, wondering whether it was all
a dream: “Cuando lo recobré [el sentido] me hallaba en mi habitación acostado en mi
cama, sin zapatos y sin chaqueta, tapado con una manta. Mi primera impresión fue de
que regresaba de un sueño” (161). He soon realizes that it was not a dream, when he
starts seeing news coverage of the Dictator’s death. Shortly thereafter, the Detective
receives a note informing him that “Le conviene cambiar de ciudad” (167). Based on the
ease with which this note has reached him, the Detective follows its advice and
establishes himself in another city where authorities from the islands might not find him
so easily. A year later, the Detective remarks that he has decided to write about the
whole ordeal. In conclusion, the Detective reports that the islands now commemorate the
death of the Dictator: “la fecha de la muerte del dictador es la más importante de las
fiestas nacionales. No se sabe si es una fiesta alegre o triste” (168). Thus, much of the
(characteristically postmodern) ambiguity found throughout the novel continues beyond
the end.
Torrente’s next novel, La muerte del Decano, more easily lends itself to specific
comparisons with Spain of the immediate post-war era—where this novel is set. In La
muerte del Decano Torrente satirically examines a facet of university life, just as he had
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done with Yo no soy yo, evidentemente (1987), and to a lesser extent, La isla de los
jacintos cortados (1980). This time, Torrente again chooses to parody the novela negra
as he illustrates some of the difficulties of Spanish university life during this time. La
muerte centers on a Dean of History at what many readers take to be the University of
Santiago de Compostela. José Colmeiro has pointed out that La muerte could very well
be “la primera novela policíaca de campus española” (La Tabla Redonda 2, 139).
Torrente creates an atmosphere analogous to that of a university in Galicia during the
early postwar era. 24 La muerte begins with intrigue: the Dean visits his friend the fraile
and affirms that he, the Dean, will die that very same day. He informs the fraile of “mi
muerte inmediata. ¿Esta noche, quizá? No puedo saberlo, pero lo presiento. Lo
presiento por ciertos indicios” (13). Furthermore, he implicates Don Enrique, the Dean’s
profesor auxiliar, former pupil, disciple and heir apparent: “Esta mañana don Enrique
estuvo tan amable conmigo, tan cariñoso. . . Yo le observaba, y en su mirada vi la
muerte” (13). The Dean even tells the fraile he fears he is to be poisoned before the day
is over. The fraile is concerned upon hearing this unsettling news, but the Dean insists
that nothing can be done to change his fate. “Ustedes [referring to believers of religious
faith] creen que Dios les tiene asignado un momento, y que es inútil escaparle. Yo espero
ese momento como inevitable. . .” (15). The Dean informs the fraile that he comes to
drop off a box containing important papers, which his friend should keep safe and not
open until twenty years after the Dean’s death. “Son unas precauciones a largo plazo,
pero también una venganza” (16), he explains. Readers should pay special attention to
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this conversation for its potential to clarify matters which otherwise seem to be
inscrutable at the end.
After the Dean leaves the fraile, he meets his assistant Don Enrique at the
university, and invites the latter to dinner, mentioning that he wishes to eat empanada de
lamprea, to which Don Enrique remarks that “Usted no suele cenar fuerte” (20). The
Dean replies that “Un día es un día” (20). After the two part ways, the Dean returns to
his office to attend to some business. Before leaving, however, the Dean “se levantó,
encendió la luz del techo, sacó unos papeles del cajón y los quemó en la estufa, uno a
uno, cuidadosamente. Dejó sin quemar dos o tres cuartillas que devolvió al cajón” (23).
As the Dean has already foretold not only his death, but his cause of death and the person
supposedly behind it, the combined act of leaving some papers to be meticulously
guarded while burning others arouses suspicion that the Dean might be helping to set the
stage for upcoming events.
As agreed that morning, the Dean and Don Enrique meet at a restaurant for
dinner. Before they begin eating, the Dean mentions a new book he has been reading.
“Estaba viendo ese trabajo de Méndez. Todo lo que dice aquí, como descubierto por él es
archisabido” (25). The Dean then proceeds to eat a tremendous amount of food,
including two plates of empanada de lamprea as well as tarta de almendra, a large
quantity of wine, and a shot of aguardiente. Don Enrique eats modestly—just merluza
con patatas—and admonishes the Dean for being so decadent; the Dean responds that
“un día es un día. El día de hoy lo dedico a los excesos” (25-26). He repeats himself
near the end of their dinner, saying that “Un día es un día, ya se lo dije, el de hoy es
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especial” (28). The Dean then tells Don Enrique he would like to discuss the latter’s
upcoming oposiciones, and in particular, a book the two have co-written which should
help Don Enrique secure academic employment. The Dean suggests Don Enrique should
take sole credit for the book, stating his opinion that Don Enrique “sabe mucho, eso tiene
que reconocerlo cualquier tribunal, pero le falta obra. Y he pensado que ese libro que
íbamos a firmar a medias, lo firme usted solo. Yo le pondré un prólogo” (29). When
Don Enrique objects to this suggestion, the Dean says that “Yo no escribí ni una sola
línea” (29). Don Enrique still considers the forthcoming publication a joint effort. The
Dean counters as follows: “¿Está usted seguro de que [el pensamiento] no es también
suyo? No le digo que, en el origen, allá muy lejos, no haya algo mío, pero eso sucede
con lo que piensa el discípulo, y usted lo fue mío” (29-30).
Following their dinner, the Dean asks Don Enrique to accompany him to his
quarters in an off-campus Colegio. The Dean then informs Don Enrique that he is
contemplating transitioning from History to Literature, so he can focus on the historical
novel. The Dean wastes no time in telling Don Enrique the news:
Lo que tengo que decirle es sencillo: renuncio a la Historia por la
Literatura, es decir, renuncio a mi carrera. Y renuncio porque he
encontrado un camino mejor para expresar lo que llevo dentro. Voy a
dedicarme a la novela. . . ¡No ponga esa cara, hombre! De momento a la
novela histórica. De momento, y quizá para siempre. (38-39)
The topic of literature and history has appeared various times and in many guises in
Torrente’s works; given that Torrente’s career combined that of professor of history and
literature, this scene suggests a clear parallel between the Dean and Torrente himself
(although Torrente was never so fortunate with the Spanish university system). The
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reader might take this gesture on the part of the Dean as a critique of the conditions in
various spheres of employment during the immediate post-war: those who did not support
Franco were relieved of their positions, and replaced by those who would be loyal to the
dictator. In the case of history professors, sometimes those in opposition to Franco were
imprisoned or assassinated (and in the immediate postwar period, many historians were
assassinated or imprisoned, to open the way for a Francoist re-writing of recent history).
The Dean’s announcement of his intention of renouncing his career as a historian could
leave open the possibility for Don Enrique to advance within the Facultad. When he
inquires, “¿Y la cátedra? ¿Qué va a hacer de la cátedra?” (40), the Dean replies that, “De
momento, seguir en ella. Más adelante, Dios dirá” (40).
The scene between the Dean and Don Enrique becomes crucial to the
understanding of events which occur later during La muerte. Torrente offers several
clues which will be followed by those who investigate the Dean’s death, some of which
serve to complicate the investigation rather than point towards a simple explanation of
the events during the Dean’s final waking moments. For example, as the Dean and Don
Enrique continue talking, the Dean offers him a drink and a cigar. Don Enrique passes on
the alcohol, but accepts the cigar. As the two smoke, Don Enrique shakes loose the ash
which forms at the end of his cigar, whereas the Dean says that “Un cigarro de esta
calidad conserva la ceniza hasta el final” (40). Additionally, the Dean becomes startled
and says he thinks he has seen someone outside the window. “Juraría que alguien nos
estaba escuchando,” says the Dean. “Vi una cabeza rapada y roja, un rostro pecoso” (43).
Don Enrique tells the Dean he has not seen anyone, though when Don Enrique asks
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whether he should make certain, the Dean does not stop him. Don Enrique then goes
outdoors to check, leaving his footprints in the mud outside the window. Finally, the
Dean asks him to look for his teacup. Upon finding it, he hands it to the Dean, leaving
his fingerprints. As Don Enrique leaves for the night, he notices that the Dean has
another guest: the Director of the Colegio.
As predicted, the Dean dies sometime during the night, only to be discovered on
the floor of his quarters the following morning. The Dean’s body is “en el suelo,
espatarrado, con los brazos en cruz, un cordón de batín flojamente arrollado al cuello,
como si el cuerpo al caer lo hubiera arrastrado consigo” (52-53). Initial speculations are
that the Dean had committed suicide, yet the Director of the Colegio does not agree.
When the Comisario in charge of investigating the Dean’s death arrives, the Director of
the Colegio explains to him that “A primera vista parece un suicidio, pero, no sé por qué,
lo encuentro algo raro” (53-54). The Director of the Colegio posits that the Dean “Estaba
muy tranquilo: nadie diría que iba a suicidarse” (56). However, when asked about his
thoughts concerning the Dean’s last visitor the previous night, Don Enrique, the Director
replies, “No hay más que ver, esa cuerda alrededor del cuello. No parece verosímil que
don Enrique se la haya puesto, ¿me comprende?” (56). However, the Comisario
dismisses this seemingly logical explanation for the Dean’s death, remarking, “Tampoco
le he preguntado lo que era lógico. Para sacar las consecuencia lógicas estoy yo aquí”
(57). The Director mentions the Dean’s status as “castigado” when he arrived at what
would become his final teaching post. When the Comisario asks whether the Dean was
“un rojo,” the Director of the Colegio replies, “No tanto un rojo, pero tampoco muy
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adicto al régimen. Un intermedio de esos, ya sabe usted. Un intelectual de los que no
emigraron
[. . .]. Un desafecto” (58-59). Given the information presented to him, the Comisario
proceeds to classify the Dean’s death a homicide.
In the following scenes (62-83), Torrente both shows his mastery of parody and
reveals his keen use of Cervantine literary elements. In an Unamuno-inspired twist, the
authorities cannot decide whether the death was caused by murder, suicide, or accident
stemming from overindulgence in food and alcohol. 25 The Comisario and the Juez—
significantly the major local authorities—who investigate the scene behave like parodies
of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, as the Comisario attempts to use the clues he has
gathered to connect the dots surrounding the events leading up to the Dean’s death. The
behavior of both the Comisario and the Juez is ludicrous as the two follow these clues
like a trail of breadcrumbs as they begin their investigation; but they are unable to decide
which of their alternative explanations is correct. For instance, the Comisario suggests
that he has a better idea of what happened not because of his training in investigating
homicides, but rather, because “he leído novelas policíacas que son el mejor libro de
texto y que suplen la experiencia” (63). Based on the positioning of the body—and
foregoing the benefit of a detailed forensic analysis—the Comisario hypothesizes that the
Dean’s death resulted from his ingesting a large quantity of poison (63-64). He adds that
the killer is “Un principiante. En su vida había leído una novela policíaca, lo ignora todo
de las huellas dactilares y de los restos que fue dejando” (68). The Juez is not so ready to
dismiss suicide as the possible cause of death, though the Comisario decides that the Juez
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must possess inferior deductive reasoning skills. As a result, the two have difficulties
concluding their investigation.
As with Augusto Pérez, the main character of Unamuno’s Niebla, authorities
consider possible causes of the Dean’s death: he has a noose around his neck, but the
noose has broken. They consider the amount of food the Dean had eaten the night before,
and whether that could have affected his health so grievously. [A clear clue pointing to
Niebla as the precedent parodied here is that the ostensible cause of Augusto’s death is
overeating, and Unamuno’s protagonist (who similarly forecast his own demise) stated
that he intended to commit suicide. Torrente also refers to precedents from Niebla in
Fragmentos de Apocalipsis.] The Juez and Comisario also consider political motivations,
since “El Decano era un rojo conocido” (72). Finally, and most importantly, they find
that the Dean has ingested cyanide, although—underscoring their ineptitude—this seems
of little interest to them.
La muerte also offers keen insight into the workings of the university system in
Spain. Having spent most of his adult career teaching at universities in Spain and visiting
the State University of New York at Albany during the late 1960s, Torrente demonstrates
not only his understanding of the political power struggles that often occur between rival
faculty members, but also shines in his ability to parody both university personnel as well
as the inspectors in charge of the case. The machinations of some professors are also
illustrated: those who are jealous of their colleagues would do anything to each other to
get ahead, including character assassination. This becomes evident in a meeting of the
other Deans of the university. Some of the Deans express opinions such as, “Yo mismo
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me desharía de buena gana de algún colega. . .” (86), or “alguno estorba aquí y en Pekín.
Yo, a más de uno, le deseo la muerte” (87). When someone mentions the Dean’s
reputation as an eloquent professor, another reminds the others that “En sus clases. A
nosotros nos despreciaba. . .” (87).
A trial is convened, and Don Enrique becomes not only the prime suspect, but the
only suspect. Given his position and his relationship with the Dean, Don Enrique could
have possessed sufficient motive for murdering the Dean. Yet conflicting evidence does
not prove or disprove this. During the trial, the evidence collected by the Comisario and
the Juez—along with deductions this caused the Comisario to make—is presented. Don
Enrique is asked whether he has bought cyanide in the past. He replies that “El Decano
se quejaba de las visitas nocturnas de una rata enorme, que le producía miedo y asco. Me
pidió que le comprara algo para matarla” (104). It is then revealed that “El Decano,
según la autopsia, murió por ingestión de cianuro” (105). Don Enrique’s wife, Francisca,
corroborates that Don Enrique kept poison so he could kill the rat which occasionally
visited the Dean. She adds that, “De lo único que estoy segura es de que no lo hizo mi
marido. Sin otras razones que mi propio sentimiento” (117).
In a surprise move, Fray Fulgencio breaks his confidentiality with the deceased
and reveals the Dean’s confession of having been in love with Don Enrique’s wife,
Francisca. The possibility of a love triangle involving the deceased and the prime suspect
introduces another potential motive for Don Enrique to want to murder the Dean. Thus,
rather than just a matter of professional jealousy, the Dean’s death—if determined to be a
homicide—could be ruled a crime of passion. Francisca testifies that she had dismissed
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the Dean’s overtures; though she had not explicitly told Don Enrique the Dean had been
pursuing her affections, she believes that “él lo adivinó. Recientemente. Pero no le
guardaba rencor” (163). If this is true, it opens the door to the possibility that the Dean
has committed suicide either out of jealousy of Don Enrique or as a rejected would-be
lover. Far from clearing things up, this added possibility only serves to make
deliberations surrounding the Dean’s death more difficult. A crime of passion, stemming
from jealousy of a husband whose wife has been won over by another, might produce
different consequences than a murder for professional benefits.
Having considered the evidence and the testimony of the witnesses, the
prosecution then relies upon what might prove to be damning evidence against Don
Enrique: the box of papers the Dean had entrusted to Fray Fulgencio the day before his
death. However, this seems to be the Dean’s last laugh: the box’s sole contents are
“Recortes cualesquiera, cuidadosamente cortados, eso sí, pero sin relación entre ellos.
Periódicos de Madrid y regionales, incluso locales [. . .]. No hay más que papeles de
periódicos, sin una sola palabra escrita” (168-169). Considering these papers were
described by the Dean as “una venganza” when he left them with Fray Fulgencio, and
that he had expressed his wish that they not be read until twenty years after his foretold
murder, the possibility that the Dean “montó toda esta máquina complicada y confusa
sólo para aniquilar intelectualmente al acusado” (179) becomes stronger.
During his final remarks, the Fiscal states: “No sé si el difunto, al que todos
hemos llamado el Decano, fue asesinado o no. Los indicios no son suficientes para
probarlo, o, al menos, a mí no me lo parecen” (199). Thus, in the absence of any
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definitive evidence that he murdered the Dean, Don Enrique is set free. They only take
the evidence they have and choose something which seems to be the most likely sequence
of events. Even the final, private conversation between the two characters most closely
involved—Don Enrique and his wife—only adds to the confusion, as she indicates that
she, too, had potential motives. She confesses to Don Enrique: “Cuanto más lo pensaba,
más lógico me parecía que tú lo hubieras matado, precisamente para evitarme a mí que lo
matase” (202). 26 When Don Enrique signals that he still does not believe the Dean to
have been capable of committing suicide, Francisca replies, “Pasan cosas raras. Hubo un
tiempo en que no lo creía. Ahora, no sé por qué, me parece posible. Pero tampoco estoy
segura” (203). Thus, the novel concludes ambiguously. In stark contrast to the typical
detective novel, in which the sleuth ties up all loose ends in a satisfying manner by the
end of the novel and the guilty are duly punished, La muerte ends with more questions
than answers. Neither Torrente’s characters nor the reader is able to determine
definitively what happened to the Dean.
Here, as with the end of Las islas extraordinarias, readers are left with an enigma.
Torrente in effect parodies the detective genre, but mocks the underlying epistemological
principle whereby the mystery is solved and all questions are answered, as well as the
moral principle whereby the guilty are punished and social order is restored. Torrente’s
resolution is more realistic, both in the relentlessly realist context of La muerte del
Decano and in the pseudo-fantastic case of Las islas extraordinarias, where the setting
and certain situations seem to lack a basis in external reality, but where the psychology
and motivations of characters coincide with those found in fully realistic novels.
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In both Las islas extraordinarias and La muerte del Decano, the person in power is
paranoid, believing that someone is conspiring to kill him to remove him from his
position of authority, even though subsequent investigations fail to corroborate these
fears. In each novel the investigations themselves are parodied, and the investigators end
up doing more harm than good to the investigations they conduct. Both Las islas and La
muerte are farces parodying the detective novel: neither novel ties up the loose ends in
the traditional, satisfactory manner. The ends of Las islas and La muerte resemble
“business as usual”: the novels depict these major events as bumps in the road. As the
Detective notes at the end of Las islas, “El país, sin embargo, marchaba bien, y nada
había cambiado tras la muerte del dictador, lo cual redondeaba en alabanza de su obra,
firme e inconmovible, etcétera” (167). Similarly, for Spain during the decades following
the Spanish Civil War, life goes on: only those in power have changed.
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La novela de Pepe Ansúrez (1994) and La boda de Chon Recalde (1995)
La novela de Pepe Ansúrez, winner of the Premio Azorín, is a metanovel which
takes place closer to the time of its publication, during the post-Franco dictatorship
Democracia. 27 The novel explores the process of writing, or more specifically,
meditations on and preparations for writing. In it, Torrente likewise continues to
examine life and attitudes in small-town Spain, as he had done in Filomeno, a mi pesar
(1988) and Crónica del rey pasmado (1989) and he continues to do with La boda de Chon
Recalde (1995). This theme seems near to Torrente: aside from living for part of his life
in Madrid, and a considerable amount of time in university towns such as Santiago de
Compostela and Salamanca, Torrente spent much of his life in villages and small cities
where a provincial attitude prevailed (i.e., areas of his native Galicia and Oviedo in
neighboring Asturias).
The protagonist and title character of Pepe Ansúrez, who lives in a provincial
town and is known for his poetry, decides to write a novel. As with many real-life
writers of the post-war era and even in the present, full-time writing does not pay the bills
on its own, necessitating that Ansúrez have a “regular job” (in his case, at a bank) while
writing on the side. The heretofore poet makes his big announcement at a function for
the bank for which he works, during which he reads verses including an ode to the wife
of the bank President (during which time the young writer eulogizes the woman’s
breasts). Ansúrez decides to write a thinly veiled novel about his fiancée and himself. In
the novel the couple plan and celebrate their nuptials, then live happily ever after.
However, as is often the case in small towns, gossip surrounding the possible plot of the
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novel travels quickly, sparking everyone’s attention and causing people of all spheres of
life in the town to speculate as to whether they shall be included in it. At the same time,
some people use the announcement as an excuse to rekindle feelings of jealousy. One of
Ansúrez’s co-workers at the bank, Don Perico, maintains that he—not Ansúrez—is the
best writer in town, having published work in prose before as opposed to Ansúrez’s sole
publications consisting of poetry. Though Ansúrez claims that no rivalry exists between
the two of them, nevertheless the two are little more than cordial co-workers, in
competition with each other:
Todas las mañanas, el que primero llegaba levantaba la tapa del escritorio
del otro y echaba un vistazo, a ver qué nuevas muestras de ingenio, en
prosa o en verso, habían surgido de la colaboración entre un caletre, una
cuartilla de papel y una máquina de escribir. “Está visto que tengo que
comprarme otro traje,” o bien “No tengo más remedio que buscarme otra
corbata.” Y luego se sentaba y esperaba la llegada del otro, que ya no
podía levantar la tapa, que tenía que sentarse sin saber si el cerebro del
uno seguía maquinando, en prosa o en verso, dicterios elegantes contra
una chalina deshilachada o contra una chaqueta cuyos codos necesitaban
del remedio urgente de unas coderas. (22-23)
Don Perico takes it upon himself to come up with a novel which will outdo Ansúrez’s
novel and become the talk of their provincial society. After many complications—
including Ansúrez’s boss wanting to be the villain of the protagonist’s novel—Ansúrez
and his wife quit their jobs, get married, and start their life together, leaving Ansúrez’s
boss to hire Don Perico to write the novel about the couple and him. The novel ends as
Don Perico begins his dictation to his wife, starting with “Capítulo primero” (162).
Pepe Ansúrez might well serve as the best example of Torrente’s novelas
dialécticas, with its scarcely 160 pages divided into several short chapters of five pages
or less, many of them employing one side of a dialogue and separated from surrounding
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pages by a blank page. As is the case with other novels Torrente published during the
1990s, Pepe Ansúrez lacks some of the intellectual profundity or complexity of earlier
works such as the “fantastic trilogy,” leading some critics to believe that Torrente no
longer could produce literature at such a high level. Reaction towards Pepe Ansúrez in
France was uneven, given the relatively small number of copies printed in this language,
but produced the following reaction: “la crítica definió La novela de Pepe Ansúrez como
‘un livre drôle et facile à lire’ después de haber destacado la trayectoria literaria de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ‘un vieux monsieur qui n’a plus rien à prouver,’ y quien, ‘à
présent, il écrit juste pour s’amuser’ (La Tribune, 14/03/1996)” (29). 28 However, the
Galician novelist defended his reasoning for publishing his then-most-recent works
quickly, rather than developing them further, explaining: “Tal vez se debe a que, cuando
me pongo a escribir, tengo miedo de no poder terminar, tengo miedo de morirme antes”
(82). 29 Simply stated, Torrente had ideas for novels and he wished to get them published
instead of leaving unfinished work upon his death.
The relatively short length of Pepe Ansúrez should not beguile the reader into
thinking that the novel has nothing stimulating to offer. The plot is sufficient enough to
keep the reader’s attention, and Torrente develops the characters enough that one wants
to see how the story will end. As critics have noted with earlier works, Pepe Ansúrez
once again returns readers to a small town which very well could stand in for Torrente’s
hometown of Ferrol, 30 or else, some other, similar small port city in Galicia. However,
details provided in the novel do not point the towards any concrete location: as Ansúrez
is an Asturian name, Torrente could also be referring back to Oviedo. For Torrente, then,
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narrating Pepe Ansúrez means recounting a lifestyle with which he would have been
intimately acquainted, with the type of situations (young adults gain employment and
consider marriage) and problems (how to afford rising cost of living in Spain during the
Democracia, the long-standing necessity of pluriempleo and the possibility of losing
one’s employment, as well as interpersonal complications arising from gossip and
jealousy) readily accessible to the average Spanish reader of the day—if not the average
reader from a much broader audience.
Notable Torrente critic Frieda Blackwell has observed how Pepe Ansúrez
constitutes a meditation on the acts of writing as well as reading. 31 By citing
incongruities found in the text, including unmarked shifts in narrative voice, a non-linear
passage of time, and discrepancies in characters’ recollections of past events (often these
are intentional), this critic illustrates a much deeper level to Pepe Ansúrez than the
divertissement to which French critics and readers initially limited it. According to
Blackwell:
The novel ends where it begins, with the same chapter heading used in the
novel we have just read. In the intervening pages, the reader has
constructed and deconstructed the work, ending with the same doubts and
uncertainties, yet much more aware of the act of reading and the creative
process in everyday life with people of all social strata, and the readers’
relation to the author and to this text. Thus, La novela de Pepe Ansúrez
becomes a further definition of the novel itself and its almost limitless
creative possibilities. (79)
Blackwell reminds readers that the novel Pepe Ansúrez intends to write is not actually
written over the course of, but is only started at the end of, the novel; even then, it is Don
Perico who ghost-writes the novel. This provides a chance for Torrente to illustrate the
early steps in the process of literary creation, including inception of an idea and writing
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preparation. Since practically the entire town becomes involved in the planning of the
novel, Blackwell argues that the writing of this particular novel has become a democratic
practice in itself: “one notes that those opining on Pepe’s novel come from all social
classes and profession, making the process very democratic and open, a stark contrast to
literary production under strict censorship of the Franco regime” (74). The idea that a
broad spectrum of members of the community in some way “participates” in the planning
of the novel-within-a-novel fits well within the tenets of New Historicism, in that it
includes several different viewpoints on the events to be described, rather than one single
viewpoint. Whether those come across in the finished product remains to be seen (the
novel is only begun at the end of Pepe Ansúrez), but readers of Pepe Ansúrez can
appreciate the inclusion of a wide variety of characters. However, thanks to the same
level of community involvement, Blackwell calls to the reader’s mind the idea that there
are still certain levels of censorship. Since Ansúrez will not follow the strong advice
given to him by the President of the bank—not only his boss, but also the one willing to
pay all expenses incurred by the novel’s publication—the bank president decides he will
pull his financial support, ultimately preventing Ansúrez from writing the novel.
Blackwell refers to this as economic censorship (78), a phenomenon not altogether
uncommon to Torrente.
Provincial attitudes prevail in Pepe Ansúrez, and focus primarily on the soon-tobe-married couple as well as on the novel the future groom (and namesake of the novel)
intends to write. Many fear that Ansúrez will air their dirty laundry, and quite a few
conjecture that he will write an anti-military work (which could very well do damage to
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the reputation of those living in this port city). Perhaps to serve a as criticism of the way
the people’s attitudes intervene toward Ansúrez’s planned novel, the President of the
Bank remarks:
¿Conocen ustedes alguna ciudad donde la inteligencia cuente menos que
en ésta? Usted puede ser inteligente o burro. Da igual. Lo importante son
los galones que lleva, el puesto que ocupa, si manda o si obedece, y todo
lo demás que ustedes conocen mejor que yo, porque ustedes son de aquí y
yo afortunadamente soy de fuera, donde las cosas son de otra manera. Yo
soy nacido en un pueblo de la Huerta, pero me crié en la Capital, y tengo
la mentalidad de allí. A mí todo eso de los cuadros, de los civiles y los
militares, me cae un poco por fuera. Para mí un hombre es, ante todo,
inteligente o burro. Después puede venir lo demás. (100)
In addition, there is gossip that Ansúrez’s fiancée, Elisa Pérez, has had tawdry sexual
encounters with the President of the bank where she and Ansúrez work in order to ensure
her employment, and later her advancement. Through narration, the reader also learns
that Ansúrez has been having an affair with the maid at the piso he shares with his
mother, further implying a shift in attitudes toward sexuality at the time during which the
novel takes place. Yet, near the end of the novel, another narrative explains to the reader
that Elisa still has her virginity intact, as she must visit her gynecologist for “una simple
incisión de bisturí [que] le evitase al mismo tiempo el dolor y la hemorragia” (154)
during their wedding night. 32
Though much of the intrigue in La novela de Pepe Ansúrez may be disregarded
by readers, it nevertheless serves as a reminder of some of the closed-minded attitudes
which still exist and flourish during the Democracia which has succeeded the Franco
dictatorship. At the same time, the novel can be read as a meditation on the process of
literary creation.
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La boda de Chon Recalde portrays the postwar era, but from the woman’s
perspective. Sisters Cristina and Chon Recalde arrive in their provincial hometown at the
end of the Spanish Civil War. Their grandfathers were decorated naval officers, and
highly respected among the townsfolk. However, their father had sided with the
Republicans during the Civil War, only to be apprehended and executed for his legitimate
actions during the war. Cristina and Chon’s mother has died, unable to bear the news of
her husband’s execution, forcing Cristina and Chon to leave Madrid, where they enjoyed
a quality education and urban life, and return to their hometown to live much more
limited lives with their remaining family. They experience difficulties adapting to the
close-knit society, especially since the local people suspect and fear they have the same
anti-Franco ideas for which their father died. The two sisters are remarkably selfsufficient: they are proficient at their jobs and can take care of themselves. Chon in
particular has more than her fair share of would-be suitors from which to choose. This
further aggravates the townspeople, who support more traditional (if not overtly
Francoist) values requiring women to focus solely on getting married and having
children. Then, a rumor is started involving Chon and one or more men with whom she
supposedly has had illicit affairs in the past, further complicating her chances at finding
happiness.
As with Pepe Ansúrez, Torrente creates in Chon Recalde a vivid representation of
a small Spanish port city, this time during the immediate aftermath of the Spanish Civil
War. Characters from various different spheres appear in the novel (also as in Pepe
Ansúrez), creating a micro-society upon which Torrente projects some of the attitudes of
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that time. Some of the most visible depictions of that particular era are the sirens the
town uses for curfew and other times during the day, as well as speculation on the
possible outcome of World War II. However, the main story of Chon Recalde focuses on
the title character and her sister, and the attitudes they face as they leave formerly
Republican-occupied Madrid to live with their provincial aunt, la tía Rosa.
Several characters express mixed emotions upon the arrival of the Recalde sisters
at the beginning of Chon Recalde. Their father, who had formerly led a distinguished
naval career, has been executed for being a Republican sympathizer. Following his
execution, the girls’ mother died of a heart attack out of grief relating to the father’s
death. It is stated that “nadie dudaba que el cadáver, o más bien los restos del capitán de
navío Recalde serían llevados un día al panteón de Marinos ilustres” (Chon Recalde 15).
Furthermore, one officer informs the sisters that “su padre es un héroe para nosotros y
que cuando cambie la situación, si cambia algún día, le pondremos una placa en la casa
en que nació” (68). Later on, another officer would echo this sentiment, saying:
La señorita Chon Recalde es la hija menor de un ilustre marino. Su padre
no sólo sabía de estrategia y de táctica sino también de física y
matemáticas. Todos hemos aprendido algo de él, y todos le recordamos
con respeto. El fusilamiento fue un accidente desgraciado, pero sólo un
accidente. (94)
However, not everyone shares this high opinion on the deceased, and they are skeptical
about receiving the daughters—the elder of which they suspect shares her late father’s
alleged radical political ideologies—bringing them into their small town. Upon learning
that the older sister, Cristina, is to work in translation and interpreting with the señor
Maquieira, someone remarks, “Por cierto, que se entenderá bien con el señor Maquieira,
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que es un rojo camuflado. Dios los cría y ellos se juntan” (21). It is even remarked that
“La mayor [Cristina], que era secretaria de su padre, debió ser fusilada con él. En cuanto
a la pequeña [Chon], dio mucho que hablar durante los años de guerra” (123). These and
numerous similar exchanges illustrate the kinds of malicious but uninformed gossip that
in previous centuries led to people being imprisoned and tortured by the Inquisition, and
in the postwar era often sufficed to cause individuals and even entire groups imprisoned
and executed by the vengeful regime.
One of the matrons of the community, Doña Paulita, is quick to invite Cristina
and Chon to have tea with her, if only in an effort to feel the two out. Paulita has a habit
of reminding everyone in town that her husband died a hero in battle, and this has
inspired the disdain some of her fellow townspeople. Maquieira, for one, notes the irony
with which Paulita has only found respect for her husband after his death: “No le hizo
caso de vivo, pero lo compensa con el caso que le hace de muerto. De él dicen que buscó
la muerte en el frente por librarse de ella” (37). When Cristina visits her daughter,
Pauliña, and her, she sees that Paulita has gone to great lengths to make it seem she is not
suffering economically: “Cristina se sentó en el lugar que le indicaban: un sillón frailero,
poco apropiado para el comedor, de estilo español antiguo, hecho bastantes años antes.
Encima de la mesa brillaban el cristal de Bohemia y la vajilla de Limoges. Había lonchas
de jamón, pasteles y bizcochos” (39). Paulita then offers her apology, saying, “Tiene
usted que perdonar la modestia de esta merienda, ya sabe usted lo poco que dan con la
cartilla, aunque, claro, conmigo tienen cierta consideración” (39). Paulita wastes no time
informing Cristina that, “Mi marido, ya lo sabrá, murió heroicamente en el Escamplero.
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Le dieron la medalla militar cuando él merecía la Laureada. Por un muerto, sólo por un
muerto. Uno más y se la hubieran dado. Ya ve usted lo que son las cosas” (40). This
explains what Maquieira had already told Cristina about Paulita previously. Paulita takes
great pride in taking the moral high ground, reminding all who are willing to listen that
her husband died for the “right” reasons—and in doing so here, she casts her husband’s
“glorious” death in battle in a steep contrast to that Cristina’s father, executed as a traitor.
However, Cristina rebukes her in responding, “Pues ya lo sabía. En este pueblo todo se
sabe. Nada más decir que venía a su casa y ¡zas!, me colocaron toda la historia” (40).
Paulita likewise fails to ingratiate herself upon Chon. She invites the younger Recalde
sister to participate in a talent show, for which Chon should sing a song while dressed as
a (male) soldier. Chon politely turns down the role, insisting that Pauliña take it instead,
though this does not sit well with Paulita. As someone more attuned to the pace of life in
a small, provincial town, who is used to having her finger on the pulse of the community
(or her nose in everyone’s business), Paulita can not understand why the Recalde sisters
act so independently.
The difficulty Cristina and Chon experience in their adjustment to life in this
small town owes partly to the fact that they have lived not only in Madrid, but also in
London for a time, thanks to their father’s naval assignments (he was the “agregado
naval” to the Spanish Embassy in London, 182). They are used to a more worldly,
cosmopolitan atmosphere, unlike the small closed-minded town in which they now find
themselves. Maquieira observes that, “Mala cosa es ésa, la de pensar, en este pueblo: en
este pueblo nos dan el pensamiento y, o se sigue, o se sitúa uno enfrente, con la peor
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calificación” (66). Furthermore, the two sisters possess good looks, which only causes
others to become jealous of them. Whereas other young women aspire only to marry
naval officers to ascend in the local hierarchy, it is commented that the Recalde sisters are
in control of their destiny:
las hijas de aquella hermosa señorita [the mother of Cristina and Chon]
están a punto de celebrar dos matrimonios morganáticos. Si [la madre de
ellas] se hubiera casado con el escribiente de la Armada, y no con el
alférez de navío, las hijas, tan guapas como son, habrían estado al alcance
de cualquiera. Claro está que entonces no hubiéramos hablado de ellas
como lo estoy haciendo ahora. Serían dos chicas guapas, pero del montón,
de las que quieren subir a toda costa y casarse con uno de esos jóvenes
marinos, que se encandilan con un buen culo y un par de tetas, se casan sin
saber lo que hacen, y después viene lo que viene: ellas un hijo cada año,
ellos a divertirse en Cartagena siempre que pueden. Éstas lo harán al
revés. (80)
Clearly, this is not the typical way of life for women of a small town during the
immediate postwar, considering that under Franco women were little more than the
property of their fathers until the point when they married, henceforth becoming property
of their husbands, or what has been referred to as “el ángel del hogar.” 33 That the regime
would not allow women to vote, and would only admit them to work certain jobs (such as
grade school teacher or nurse), would mean Cristina and Chon working on their own
would at the very least be frowned upon by members of the small community. The ill
will some of them feel towards the sisters leads to the main problem posited by the novel.
Chon begins dating one of the military men she has met on the train from Madrid.
However, he quickly stops seeing her after his family reminds him that her questionable
social status (as daughter of a man executed for being on the “wrong side” of the war, and
whose own political ideology is questionable) will be detrimental to his ability to ascend
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in the military ranks. Chon then starts dating another person, and the two seem happy
together. It is at this point that a letter arrives from Madrid, calling into question Chon’s
integrity by accusing her of having had sexual relations with various soldiers, including a
Russian. In it the accuser says, “Yo no daría un real por la decencia de Chon. Sin que
sea levantarle calumnias, nadie fue más toqueteada que ella, y por manos internacionales.
De esto no conviene hablar porque no hay nada seguro, pero seguridad moral la tenemos
todas” (123-24). Considering Spanish-Soviet relations were not friendly during World
War II (Spain provided aid to the Soviets’ enemies, Germany and Italy, during the war),
this would be tantamount to sleeping with the enemy.
Notwithstanding, the social customs in Francoist Spain were particularly
oppressive for women even on the victorious side. 34 Particularly in the case of a small
town the likes of which the Recalde sisters live in Chon Recalde, such a thing as a young
woman losing her virginity before marrying would be considered scandalous. Maquieira
explains the town’s collective opinion on this subject:
Para entenderlo, necesita usted entender primero algo muy propio de este
pueblo… no sé si de alguno más o de todos, pero yo sólo conozco lo de
aquí y de lo de aquí voy a hablarle. Las chicas de este pueblo, las que son
como usted o andan cerca de usted, aunque no le lleguen, son guapas y
pobres. Fíjese bien: guapas y pobres. La más rica de todas va a heredar
diez mil duros y un piano, o alrededor de eso, no ni siquiera eso. [. . .]
Pues esas señoritas a que me vengo refiriendo no suelen llevar consigo
otra dote que su virginidad. Y de tal manera se ha hecho de esto una
especie de mito, que la presunción de su falta o la certeza, salvo en el caso
de las viudas, lleva consigo una especie de castigo social. [. . .] O dicho de
manera más clara: todos están de acuerdo en que la virginidad es la
condición indispensable, y que sin ella no hay reputación ni hay
matrimonio. Todo lo cual se aplica al caso de su hermana, cuya virtud, en
esa carta, se pone en tela de juicio. (144-45)
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Thus, even going along with the conservative values and marrying might not be an option
for Chon, leaving her to become something of a pariah in the town.
Time passes between Part II and Part III of Chon Recalde, allowing for Cristina to
leave for the United States (though finally settling in London) and Pauliña to become
married. Chon and Cristina’s guardian, la tía Rosa, her health failing, asks that Regino
take care of Chon upon her death. Once la tía Rosa dies, and with Cristina in England
(and eventually expecting), Chon is left with no one. She rents out la tía Rosa’s piso to
Pauliña and Pepe. Pauliña gives birth to her child there, and Chon’s impromptu
assistance in the birthing process has the unexpected result that, “por primera vez sintió
envidia por Pauliña” (203). Chon helps look after the baby when Pauliña and Pepe are
away from home, quickly bonds with it, prompting many women in town to conclude that
“lo que Chon necesitaba era tener un hijo, y antes casarse, claro, porque tener un hijo por
las buenas estaba mal visto” (205). Chon considers her prospects and realizes that
Regino is the only one who is still around to spend time with her. She then asks Regino
to marry her, which probably was not a common occurrence during the time. The irony
in this is that Regino is some 15 or 20 years older than Chon, and had previously courted
Chon’s mother from afar before she eventually married Chon’s father. In addition,
Regino has been unable to serve in the military in any capacity, thanks to Regino’s
missing a hand. Even settling for a solution which seems a compromise or claudication
like this brings difficulties for Chon, thanks to their initial choice of Regino’s aunt for
madrina at the wedding: “La tía Matilde dijo que sí al principio, pero se volvió
inmediatamente atrás cuando supo que la novia era Chon. La tía Matilde era muy del
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régimen y Chon, al fin y al cabo, la hija de un fusilado” (209). Nevertheless, the two
succeed in finding a replacement madrina.
Despite inclement weather (principally rain, supposedly an evil omen according
to popular superstition), the two wed, leading to a bittersweet ending to Chon Recalde.
Yet, the narrative voice offers a bit of redemption: Regino contemplates Chon, who “iba
a ser su esposa según todas las leyes, a pesar de la manquedad y de lo que se había dicho
de ella años atrás, y que los hechos iban a demostrar que era falso” (213). The
conventional ending to La boda de Chon Recalde makes the novel seem anti-climactic,
though the title character’s circumstances lead even that to be a defiant act. The subtext
of the novel is precisely about the lack of alternatives available to women during the
immediate post-war period of Twentieth Century Spain. Considering that most of
Torrente’s protagonists are male, the fact that the two principal characters in Chon
Recalde are women makes it a singular novelty among Torrente’s final literary works.
In both La novela de Pepe Ansúrez and La boda de Chon Recalde, the characters
must contend with provincial attitudes which bring the female protagonists’ honor into
question. In each novel the problems boil down to allegations of sexual misconduct, and
make it seem that the action described in the novels’ titles (Pepe’s novel and Chon’s
wedding) will not occur. The different time period of each of the novels yields slightly
different results. In Pepe Ansúrez, the title character accepts that the Bank will not fund
the publication of his novel. Despite gossip regarding his fiancée, he still marries her and
the two are happy together at the close of the novel. In Chon Recalde, however, the same
gossip causes the title character to suffer various setbacks, preventing the possibility of
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her having a meaningful relationship with either of two young suitors. Chon is forced to
accept what is clearly considered a compromise which will allow her to have a male
protector, a respectable if “imperfect” older man who will allow her to achieve the
motherhood she has come to desire, as well as the only socially acceptable situation for a
woman under “el nacionalcatolicismo” and the Franco dictatorship. By no means a fairytale ending, it is nonetheless a “tolerable” solution for Chon and far better than
attempting to live out her days as a spinster under a regime which demonized unmarried
women. However, through narrative in both La novela de Pepe Ansúrez and La boda de
Chon Recalde, the reader discovers that rumors about each of the women’s lack of
virginity were unfounded, thus affording some vindication to them.
1
Janet Pérez, ““Text, Context, and Subtext in Torrente Ballester’s Filomeno, a mi
pesar,” Letras Peninsulares 2.3 (Winter 1989): 341-362.
2
See discussion of La muerte del Decano later in this chapter.
3
Francisca and Stephen Miller, “Lo político-literario en Gonzalo Torrente
Ballester: entrevista con el escritor en Salamanca el 20 de junio de 1987,” in Critical
Studies on Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, eds. Janet Pérez and Stephen Miller (Boulder,
CO: Society of Spanish and Spanish American Studies, 1988) 179-193.
4
See Carmen Becerra, “Juegos de la autoficción en Los años indecisos,” La Tabla
Redonda 4 (2006): 73-89.
5
See Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, “Encuentro el ‘el viejo almacén,’” Cotufas del
golfo (Barcelona: Destino, 1986) 375-378.
6
Janet Pérez, “Writing, Writers and the Writer in the Novels of Torrente Ballester
as Exemplified in Los años indecisos,” Confluencia 16.2 (Spring 2001): 61-70.
7
See Alicia Molero de la Iglesia, “Figuras y significados de la autonovelación,”
Espéculo: Revista de estudios literarios 33 (July-Oct. 2006): n. pag. Web. 18 Sept. 2011.
<http://www.ucm.es/info/especulo/numero33/autonove.html>.
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8
See “Juegos de la autoficción” 83-87
9
See “Juegos de la autoficción” 81-83.
10
Richard Curry, “Un caso de fidelidad intertextual: El rey pasmado en novela y
en cine,” La Tabla Redonda 5 (2007): 13-26.
11
Gonzalo Navajas, “La historia anti-épica en Crónica del rey pasmado de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester,” La Tabla Redonda 5 (2007): 1-11.
12
Mechthild Albert, “Iglesia e Inquisición en Crónica del rey pasmado de
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester y Limpieza de sangre de Arturo Pérez-Reverte,” La Tabla
Redonda, Número extraordinario (2010): 1-23.
13
Janet Pérez has astutely commented on the ongoing motif of the “impotence of
power.” Far from limited to an overwhelming lack of financial freedom, “the supposedly
all-powerful monarch must contend with limitation of his personal movements by
protocol and those functionaries for whom protocol has become an end in itself and/ or
instrument of control or power (and abuse thereof).” See “The Impotence of Power in
Recent Novels of Torrente,” 167.
14
This perhaps is meant to be a commentary on the Church’s tendency towards
bureaucracy and red tape.
15
See Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, Don Juan (Barcelona: Destino, 1963, 5th ed. in
Destinolibro, 1989), 278-279.
16
See Seymour Menton, Latin America’s New Historical Novel (Austin: U of
Austin P, 1993) 22-24.
17
See Janet Pérez, “The Impotence of Power in Recent Novels of Torrente,”
Revista Hispánica Moderna 48.1 (June 1995): 160-170.
18
See José Miranda Ogando, “Entrevista: ‘Todos los dictadores eran bajitos,’”
Cambio 16 1197 (31 Oct. 1994): 80-83. Cited in Stephen Miller, “El último estilo
creativo de Torrente Ballester: la narración esquemática (1989-1999),” La Tabla Redonda
5 (2007): iii.
19
See Tzvetan Todorov, The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary
Genre, trans. Richard Howard (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1975), originally Introduction á
la littérature fantastique (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1970). Todorov defines the Fantastic
as “that hesitation experienced by a person who knows only the laws of nature,
confronting an apparently supernatural event” (25).
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20
“La editorial Espasa Calpe tenía previsto originalmente la publicación de este
libro en su colección Espasa Juvenil. En homenaje a Gonzalo Torrente Ballester ha
decidido que la primera edición de Doménica, su última obra, se edite en un formato y
colección especial para todos sus lectores jóvenes y adultos.”
21
The following analysis was first delivered as a much more brief presentation at
the 63 Annual Kentucky Foreign Language Conference, University of Kentucky,
Lexington, KY: April 15-17, 2010.
rd
22
See Janet Pérez, “The Impotence of Power in Recent Novels of Torrente,”
Revista Hispánica Moderna 48.1 (June 1995): 160-170.
23
“Y el doctor, que era un viejecito mariquita con cara muy inteligente, me fue
presentado como el profesor Martín, sin más, aunque luego pude colegir que era el
decano perpetuo de la Facultad de Ciencias Políticas, en la Universidad” (61-62).
24
Colmeiro posits 1948 as the exact year. See José Colmeiro, “Historia y
metaficción en La muerte del Decano de Torrente Ballester: Crónica posmoderna de una
muerte anunciada,” La Tabla Redonda 2 (2004): 140. This is supported in the novel. See
La muerte 139.
25
Genaro Pérez considers the various clues in La muerte del Decano, as well as
possible causes of death of the Dean. See “La muerte del Decano: ¿Suicidio, asesinato,
accidente?” Hispanófila 135 (2002): 61-71.
26
The reader should note the thinnest of connections between this hypothesis and
the actions of the Detective in Las islas extraordinarias. In both cases, Torrente presents
the notion of killing as a form of protection: in Las islas, it is the Detective who kills the
Dictator to protect Gina (albeit as a result of a grave misunderstanding). In La muerte,
although the Dean’s death is ultimately ruled a suicide, Francisca says she thought Don
Enrique could only be capable of killing the Dean to keep her from doing the deed
herself.
27
There is a reference to the growing use of computers in the workplace in Pepe
Ansúrez, as well as the need to hire someone to teach the employees how to use it. See
Pepe Ansúrez 36.
28
María Luis Gamallo, “Sobre la recepción en Francia de Crónica del rey
pasmado, La novela de Pepe Ansúrez y La boda de Chon Recalde,” La Tabla Redonda 5
(2007): 27-32.
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29
See José Miranda Ogando, “Entrevista: ‘Todos los dictadores eran bajitos,’”
Cambio 16 1197 (31 Oct 1994): 80-83. Cited in Stephen Miller, “El último estilo
creativo de Torrente Ballester: la narración esquemática (1989-1999),” La Tabla Redonda
5 (2007): iii.
30
José A. Ponte Far has dedicated much work to the presence of Galicia in
Torrente’s writings, maintaining that:
a Ferrol le dedica Torrente muchas páginas en su obra literaria. La
mayoría, en sus novelas, bien cuando alude directamente a la ciudad,
tomándola como escenario de los hechos narrados [. . .]. Y no sólo recurre
a Ferrol para escenario real o imaginario de sus novelas, sino que utiliza
con gran profusión materiales de todo tipo—anécdotas, vivencias,
personajes, etc.—de procedencia ferrolana. (182)
See José A. Ponte Far, “Galicia en los cuadernos de trabajo de Torrente Ballester
(Cuadernos de la Romana, Nuevos cuadernos de la Romana, Los cuadernos de un vate
vago),” La creación literaria de Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, ed. Ángel Abuín, Carmen
Becerra, et al. (Vigo, Pontevedra: Tambre, 1997) 175-192.
31
See Frieda Blackwell, “Narrative Perspective in La novela de Pepe Ansúrez by
Torrente Ballester,” La Tabla Redonda 5 (2007): 67-80.
32
This question will return in Torrente’s next novel, La boda de Chon Recalde,
and will prove to be one of the most important elements of that novel and the outcome of
its eponymous character.
33
See Bridget Alderaca, El ángel del hogar: Galdós and the Ideology of
Domesticity in Spain (Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 1991).
34
Carmen Martín Gaite offers excellent insight into conditions for women in
postwar Spain. See Usos amorosos de la postguerra española (Barcelona: Anagrama,
1987).
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CHAPTER VI
SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS
The intent of the present study has been to illustrate the importance of considering
the novels Torrente published during the final decade of his life, as well as his one
posthumous novel, as crucial final components to studies of the Galician’s literature.
Torrente’s final novels are typically shorter and more synoptic, owing largely to the
pressure the Galician felt to publish his ideas before his approaching death. Some of the
storylines, deceptively simple at first glance, belie a thought process much deeper, a
characteristic found in most of Torrente’s works. One important commonality in
Torrente’s final novels (with the exception of his posthumous novel, Doménica) is their
tendency not only to represent the Spain in which Torrente lived, but also to contradict or
subvert many of the national myths created and maintained by the Franco regime
following the Spanish Civil War. As a historian and a history teacher, Torrente always
dedicated his energies to reflecting a faithful representation of the world around him, at
the same time as he rejected versions of history which he knew were false. Thus, the
themes and ideas presented in Torrente’s final novels are a continuation, and at times
refinements, of those found in his earlier literary and critical works.
This study has sought to perform a deeper investigation of these novels to
demonstrate their relevance to overall Torrente studies, rather than enforcing incipient
presumptions that they were weak and irrelevant, addenda to a previously illustrious
literary career. First, it was important to include a section highlighting key events in
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Torrente’s life, as this helped to form a foundation for understanding why he made
certain decisions and did some of the things that he did. Next, a review of the relevant
criticism published on Torrente during the last three decades—beginning after the
publication of the final installment of the “fantastic trilogy,” La isla de los jacintos
cortados (1980)—helps one to appreciate the growing number of publications examining
the Galician writer during this time. Much of the criticism published on Torrente still
focuses on a core group of his literary works, including the “fantastic trilogy,” Don Juan,
and a few others. It is refreshing to see that more recent studies have become more wellrounded, lending critical insight to Torrente’s previously-untouched or insufficiently
studied novels, short stories, theatre, and essays.
Following the review of the criticism, the present study then provided a
theoretical frame within which to consider Torrente’s final novels. This theoretical frame
emphasized theories of Hayden White pertaining to the New Historicism, as well as
others of Seymour Menton and Fernando Aínsa concerning the New Historical Novel.
While the latter, with its requirement that the time period involved not be personally
experienced by the author, limits its use in the present study to only one novel (Crónica
del rey pasmado), the former proves invaluable with its expanded versatility, broader
applicability and freedom to work in the present, including even the authors’ lifetimes.
The New Historicism operated as a reaction to the theories of New Criticism. Where
New Criticism insisted that the text itself held all the answers to its interpretation, New
Historicism maintained that literary interpretation must not be performed in a vacuum.
Furthermore, New Historicism treats historical texts much like literature: rather than as a
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more scientific, purely objective form of writing, historical texts are thought to be
subjective, influenced by a wide variety of factors. Most importantly, as the saying goes,
“history is written by the victors.” Thus, the representation of historical events is often
skewed in favor of those in power. At the same time, New Historicism reevaluates
literature and other publications in terms of their historical value. This goes hand in hand
with Torrente’s extensive implementation of New Historicism’s mottoes that “history is
fiction” and “fiction is history.”
Having established and outlined the essential theoretical frame, this study
proceeded to the analysis of Torrente’s final works. The eight novels were divided into
four pairs, thereby facilitating a comparison and contrast of one or two themes found to
be particularly important in each pair. In the case of Filomeno, a mi pesar (1988) and
Los años indecisos (1997), the analysis focused on certain apparent autobiographical
aspects as well as Torrente’s careful representation of some of the most important events
in Spain during the first half Twentieth-Century. It also took note of the changes in
Torrente’s writing style which occurred with the publication of Filomeno, as well as the
fact that this novel directly and openly represented Spain during the Twentieth Century,
in contrast to the allegorical manner in which several of Torrente’s works had prudently
referred to modern-day Spain during the decades of the Franco dictatorship.
For Crónica del rey pasmado (1989) and Doménica (1999), discussion centered
on aspects of folklore, the supernatural, and superstition, present to varying extents in
both. These two novels do not initially appear to share common traits sufficient to allow
comparison, since the first portrays the Spanish court of centuries past and the second
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appears to be a fairy tale meant solely to entertain children. However, Torrente’s
extensive parodies of the Franco regime make it seem at times as though the Franco
regime’s national myth of postwar Spain is just as much a fairy tale. Likewise, the
characters of Crónica represent a much less scientifically-enlightened time, during which
people would base their observations on superstition and beliefs in the existence of
magic, witchcraft, demons, and monsters rather than logic. Thus, in either of these
novels, the characters readily accept certain more fantastic elements to be the result of
magic, rather than inspecting them and trying to uncover their true meaning. The
problem in Crónica occurs when people in power (i.e., the Church and aristocracy) try to
exploit popular superstition and credulity to their advantage, pushing their own agenda
even when it means they must supplant the will of a very young and inexperienced King.
The section of the analysis chapter devoted to Las islas extraordinarias (1991) and
La muerte del Decano (1992) focuses largely on the spy and detective genres, as well as
the ways in which these novels do not adhere very closely to traditional models and
outcomes for the genre. In the typical spy novel, the good guys defeat the bad guys,
averting some kind of cataclysmic event such as a terrorist attack. Similarly, in the
detective novel, the sleuth must examine clues to a crime in order to discover the identity
of the person who committed that crime, ultimately bringing the criminal to justice.
Therefore, a typical ending would resolve the mystery in each case, i.e., clarify the
unknowns in the death of the Dean, especially who and how. Similarly, it would cast
light into the murky areas of Las islas, instead of leaving readers to wonder what forces
were behind the set-up which led the private investigator to assassinate the dictator whose
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life he had been hired to protect. Theorists have stressed the essentially epistemological
nature of those two closely related sub-genres, in that both involve a search for
knowledge, restoring order and satisfying the curiosity of the reader. However, in the
case of Las islas and La muerte, the reader is left with just as much uncertainty at the end
of the novels as when the novels began. Torrente parodies the process of criminal
investigation and detective work in each of the novels, as well as the “academic
detection” hinted at in La muerte. Torrente also finds a few moments to portray
university administrators in a humorous fashion in La muerte, along with parodying the
bumbling, bungling “sleuths” who only succeed in muddying the already murky waters.
Torrente thereby mocks and subverts the traditions of both sub-genres, along with reader
expectations, while having managed to create such unsympathetic “victims” the readers
remain indifferent to the apparent miscarriage of justice.
The final section of the analysis chapter is devoted to La novela de Pepe Ansúrez
(1994) and La novela de Chon Recalde (1995). As was the case with Las islas and La
muerte, Pepe Ansúrez and Chon Recalde were published one after the other; however, the
action of Pepe Ansúrez takes place in the Democracia, whereas Chon Recalde is set
during the immediate postwar era. In these novels, the focus centered on provincial
attitudes in small Spanish towns, something with which Torrente was all too familiar.
The title character of Pepe Ansúrez is an aspiring writer working for a bank and
preparing for his nuptials while contemplating writing a novel. The title character of
Chon Recalde has just been relocated from Madrid to the town of her birth following the
Falangist execution of her father as a traitor. Chon contemplates marriage as one of the
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only manners in which to cope with the increasingly hostile and stifling social climate.
Each novel posits a situation in which the main female character’s virginity is in doubt,
calling into question her honor. While the outcome is different corresponding to the
vastly different eras represented in these two novels, it is nevertheless important to
remember that the inhabitants of the small town in both novels operate based on
malicious gossip and closed-mindedness. This could indicate that, although Spain is a
Democracia no longer controlled by a fascist dictatorship, there remains much room for
improvement in what generations of writers in Spain have euphemistically referred to as
“women’s condition.” One important preoccupation appearing in both Pepe Ansúrez and
Chon Recalde is the need for intelligence rather than ignorance, open-mindedness rather
than closed-mindedness, and a willingness to accept people for their differences rather
than a blind rejection of them because they do not conform to stereotypes or
preconceived notions.
Gonzalo Torrente Ballester has belatedly assumed his rightful position as one of
the greatest and most highly respected figures of Twentieth Century Spanish literature.
Although critical attention paid to him and his literary work was quite uneven for much
of his life, it has notably accelerated following the Galician’s death and, a decade later,
critical attention has exploded with the celebrations marking the centennial of his birth.
Still, much of the criticism performed on Torrente’s literature continues to focus on only
a handful of his works, centering on only two decades of a six-decade writing career,
suggesting that earlier works and later works were judged not by their own merits but by
the standards set by such novels as Don Juan or the “fantastic trilogy;” i.e., not only in
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comparison with works written by Torrente in the apex of his literary talents, but at the
height of his popularity, which meant still more enthusiastic, favorable receptions for
those novels. But his later works, in particular those published during the 1990s, should
not so readily be dismissed as mere entertainments or weak rehashes of earlier work by a
man whose apex has come and gone. These works are the product of a prolific and
resourceful creator who successfully published several of his most important works in
spite of harsh censorship imposed and maintained by a fascist dictatorship. Those later
writings constitute a continuation and refinement of important themes found in Torrente’s
earlier works, exploring previously forbidden themes more openly than possible ever
before. More importantly, the final literary works Torrente published are an extension
and in some cases deepening of works he produced as a mature writer whose skills rival
those of the most lauded authors living in Spain during the Twentieth Century.
All of the novels studied here are solid literary achievements, and most if not all
deserve further critical attention in the future. The year-long centennial celebrations
might have come to a close, but Torrente’s literary works (as well as his essays and
literary criticism) will remain an important part of Twentieth Century Spanish literature,
having secured the Galician writer a rightful place of lasting prominence in Hispanic
letters. Much remains to be done by future scholars in the ongoing discussion of
Torrente’s life and works and their impact on Spanish literature, not the least of which
must be learning to read Torrente at an appropriate distance from the narrow ideological
disputes sullying many observers’ appreciations of Torrente’s breadth, his humor, and his
incredible humanity. Torrente has yet to benefit from the spirit behind the “Ley de
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Memoria Histórica,” receiving credit for the risks took and the ills he denounced in the
course of producing an irreplaceable testimony of his time which has yet to be fully
appreciated.
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