Reseña: Messages from Chaos, de Susan Johnson

Susan Johnson, Messages from Chaos (Artarmon: Harper & Row, 1987). 163 páginas.

¿Por qué, en el día de su veintinueve cumpleaños, en la conservadora Brisbane de los años 80, Anna Lawrence se ha encerrado en su casa, en la que normalmente vive sola? Hoy, sin embargo, tiene con ella al pequeño Adam, el hijo del hombre al que se ha entregado en cuerpo y espíritu desde que tuvo, por así decirlo, uso de razón.

Esta corta novela data de 1987, pero no deja de tener actualidad. Para empezar, algo que me sorprendió muy gratamente en una obra literaria de la década de los 80, una narradora que se declara poco fiable en la primera oración de su narración en primera persona: “Si hubiera de ser honesta, que no lo soy, podría revelar que desde siempre me he considerado especial. Siempre imaginé que mi vida sería, de algún modo, altamente sofisticada; que me ocurriría algo que me señalaría como diferente, separada de ese mundo del montón, el de las cuatro semanas anuales de vacaciones y las sempiternas esperanzas de ganar la Loto.” (p. 1, mi traducción)

Con el trasfondo de la liberación feminista del siglo pasado – en gran medida, una asignatura todavía no superada por la sociedad occidental – Messages from Chaos está construida como una narración de tipo confesional. Anna Lawrence cuenta su propia historia, en cierto modo una Bildungsroman de dificultades y conflictos, algunos de ellos meramente internos. Hay también algunos pasajes escritos en tercera persona, que añaden una cierta distancia y equilibrio.

Brisbane. Fotografía de Troy Keith.

Atractiva es asimismo la estructura narrativa, que alterna entre el pasado de Anna y el presente, encerrada en su casa con Adam. Naturalmente, se producen huecos que, antes que causar perplejidad, ayudan al lector a crearse una mejor idea de la caracterización de los personajes.

La muchacha de 19 años que fue Anna Lawrence se enamora de Jimmy West, hombre casado, muy seguro de sí mismo. Un verdadero don Juan, un conquistador irreprimible que dicta los términos de las muchas relaciones que irá manteniendo a lo largo de los años en los que forma parte de la vida de Anna. Esta vive siempre con la secreta esperanza de que algún día ella sea la elegida, la que consiga el botín, el premio de una vida “normal” con Jimmy.

Cuando ocurre el previsible embarazo, Jimmy se niega a hacerse cargo y, más o menos, la obliga a abortar. Estos son quizás los momentos más duros para Anna, que no sabe ver la indiferencia, la insensibilidad que definen a West. Transcurridos unos meses, Anna toma la decisión de marcharse de Australia. Jimmy no quiere renunciar a ella, pero tampoco consigue disuadirla. En Grecia, Anna podrá encontrar refugio y vivir una vida enriquecedora para su espíritu, entablando una profunda amistad con otra Anna.

Las cartas de Jimmy se vuelven cada vez más esporádicas y ridículas. Pero cuando su mujer, Ros, se queda embarazada, Jimmy le escribe varias cartas a Anna, y con la última de ellas la convence para regresar a Brisbane:

“Ros ha tenido un niño. Quiere llamarlo Adam, que supongo que es un poco mejor que Trent, o Nathan, y solo ligeramente peor que Alexander, o Joshua. ¿Y por qué no Cliff, o Percy, o Norm? A la clase media le gusta marcar a sus hijos temprano, ¿no? […] El parto fue asqueroso, Ros dijo ‘A la mierda con el parto natural, denme drogas’. Intenté que me las dieran a mí también, pero nadie lo permitió. Esto ha terminado de confirmar todos mis prejuicios contra los bebés, estoy intentando convencer a Ros de que se lo dé a alguna pareja ambiciosa que no tenga niños de un barrio bien. ¿Cuándo piensas venir a casa a librarme de todo esto? Estoy rodeado de mujeres lactantes, nunca más podré mirar una teta sin pensar en la puta leche. Te extraño, Anna. ¿Piensas en mí a veces?” (p. 134, mi traducción)

Anna regresará finalmente a Brisbane. ¿Conseguirá que Jimmy la reconozca como objeto de sus deseos y renuncie al egoísmo y la cicatería que lo han caracterizado durante una década? ¿O volverá Jimmy a las andadas, relegándola al papel de amante segundona a la que dedicar días fijos de la semana?

Con un desenlace sorprendente, Messages from Chaos resulta ser una excelente primera novela de una autora australiana que nunca ha alcanzado la fama que probablemente merecería. Más sorprendente es, sin embargo, que nadie se haya decidido a llevarla al cine: con este excelente texto y unos personajes muy bien dibujados se podría haber hecho una buena película, no me cabe ninguna duda.

Jaume Cabré's Jo confesso: A Review

Jaume Cabré, Jo confesso (Barcelona: Proa, 2009). 1,005 pages.
It is becoming increasingly rare to come across good novels that exceed the 900-page mark. And even rarer that such novels may capture the reader’s imagination to such an extent as Jaume Cabré’s Jo confesso. This is undoubtedly an ambitious work, very much within the traditionally European line of the all-encompassing novel with a profoundly intellectual substratum.

The protagonist is Adrià Ardèvol, born into an upper-class Catalan family. He is the only child of a powerful antiques dealer, Félix Ardèvol. The father, a very strict figure, is bent on forcing Adrià to learn more than ten languages before he turns 18; as if that were not enough, the violin is also one of the extracurricular subjects the young Adrià will have to learn. How about some affection instead of so much knowledge? It is not to be: Adrià’s mother appears to have little interest in him, and shows hardly any warmth.

However, in the generally busy Ardèvols’ department of his childhood, Adrià finds nooks and corners where he can hide and listen, or as Hamlet would put it, be seeing unseen. Two action-hero toys of the 50s, Sheriff Carson and Black Eagle, the great Arapahoe Chief, accompany Adrià in his adventures and offer him advice on adult situations he does not comprehend and odd explanations of words he has never heard before.

The thing is, Adrià is something of a genius. He is enrolled in an elite religious school despite not having been baptised. It might sound like a paradox, but it makes perfect sense when we learn of the murky dealings Félix Ardèvol carried out during the Second World War, obtaining highly valuable objects from fleeing Holocaust victims first, and later from ex-Nazi officers. When need is so pressing, the basest offer sometimes will do.

Modest Urgell, Paisatge. 1655

Jo confesso, however, is much more than the above. It is also a long story about the nature of human evil, to which the young Adrià will be exposed very early in his life, when his father is murdered in mysterious circumstances. When Adrià grows up, he ends up being a distinguished professor who writes many a treatise on the problem of evil and the history of Western thought, among other subjects. But Cabré not only intersperses the narrative with lucid reflections on evil – he interweaves numerous narratives within the main plot led by Adrià. He deserves recognition for the fact that the mingling narrative lines do not confuse. It is after all a literary game Cabré plays with flair, although perhaps towards the end it might be a little overdone. Personally, I would have preferred a more open ending.

But Jo confesso is first and foremost the story of a man’s life. As Adrià grows up his world becomes populated with interesting characters. There is his friendship with professional violinist and would-be novelist Bernat, with whom he will share many a confidence. And there is the love story of his relationship with Jewish French artist Sara Voltes-Epstein. When they were still in their twenties, their two mothers conspire to break them apart, for reasons unknown to Adrià. It is only towards the end of the novel that it becomes clear that all of it was attributable to his father’s murky past. It is then that the novel’s first sentences make sense: “Until last night, while walking on the wet streets of Vallcarca, I had never understood that being born into that family of mine had been an unforgivable mistake. Suddenly I understood that I had always been alone, that I had never been able to rely upon my parents or upon a God to whom to ask to find solutions, even though as I grew up I had got accustomed to depend on imprecise beliefs and various readings for the burden of my thoughts and the responsibility of my actions.” (p. 13, my translation).

Confessions: Of how a musical instrument can awaken the most revolting passions in a human being.

One might think that all these plots and subplots should already be enough to construct a novel, but there’s more. There is one more piece in this puzzle: a genuine Storioni, made from the best wood available. The musical instrument becomes the centrepiece in Cabré’s journey through the centuries. The violin illustrates the point the author wants to make: how can a beautifully crafted instrument become an object of greed, malice, ill-will and bring about the death of so many? Since evil cannot reside in immaterial objects, where can it come from other than from within humans?

The Storioni, bought illicitly by Adrià’s father at the end of the Second World War, is obscurely linked with Sara’s family. It will become the bone of contention between the lovers, and ultimately it will be Bernat who finds out what happened to the one thing owned by Adrià he would have wished to own for good.

Cabré’s narrative is anything but conventional. Adrià’s story is written in the first and the third persons simultaneously, which provides for interesting angles. The novel is, therefore, not only a confession but also a self-assessment, where impartiality can only be an aspiration rather than a matter of fact. Towards the end, Bernat brings in another narrative voice allowing Cabré to tie up a few loose ends.

Jo confesso has been a huge editorial success beyond Catalonia, with translations published in fourteen languages. The English language edition was published by Arcadia Books and translated by Mara Faye Lethem. This grand novel provides a uniquely candid view of post-war Barcelona. An enriching, recommendable book.