Luisa Valenzuela

Este libro llegó a mí por una broma del librero que me lo mostró en la FED, porque habíamos notado que la feria estaba llena de libros con gatos en la portada y yo tenía uno de esos dioses egipcios estampado en mi remera (y en mi alma). Cuando se lo compré me miró con cara de "ah, pero vos sos idiota", sin saber que yo leo casi cualquier cosa y que me encanta encarar lecturas desde la sorpresa absoluta.

"El gato eficaz" es muchas cosas. Una alegoría de la pasión cotidiana show more desenfrenada, con un tono constante de sensualidad mortuoria. Es uno de los libros más juveniles, eróticos, thanáticos y femeninos que haya leído.

Esto lo explica la propia autora en retrospectiva durante el prólogo de la edición 2023, como si no nos hubiéramos dado cuenta de quién era entre 1969 y 1971: "No se trata de la edad, sino de cargas: yo era una caldera a punto de estallar, y estallé en palabras en las que por primera vez descubrí un orden y concierto interior muchísimo más sabio que la propia caldera".

Es un libro para seguir con largo aliento, que te exige leerlo con atención palabra por palabra. Te lo exige en serio, porque la propia voz narrativa varias veces dice, directamente, que por favor se la lea de esa manera. Y a menudo traiciona, porque cuando cumplimos con nuestra parte del pacto y acompañamos a Luisa letra a letra, nos mete frases con sentidos partidos como quien te dice algo inesperado para cortar una discusión y dejarte pensando.

Dicho esto, en cierto punto se me volvió repetitivo y casi casi llegó a pecar de chanta. Eso último no está nada mal, ojo.

La reseñita de Cortázar que viene en la contratapa explica también de dónde viene todo esto: la Luisa de fines de los 60' es Johny de El Perseguidor. Es alguien que escribe con el dolor por el goce de Clarice Lispector. Frasea sin miedo al ridículo como una adolescente que descubre el mundo, y deja una obra de arte bellísima en el camino. show less

All About Suicide — 4/5
Li solto noutra Antologia

‘‘Ismael grabbed the gun and slowly rubbed it across his face. Then he pulled the trigger and there was a shot. Bang. One more person dead in the city. It's getting to be a vice. First he grabbed the revolver that was in a desk drawer, rubbed it gently across his face, put it to his temple, and pulled the trigger. Without saying a word. Bang. Dead.’’

É difícil falar desse conto sem estragar a surpresa para quem vai lê-lo. Basta show more dizer que eu li sem esperar muita coisa… e acabei nocauteado — alá dizia o amigo do Córtazar. Grogue e induzido a voltar ao início.

A autora argentina te engana de muitas maneiras; e de uma muito específica que só vi aqui: pelos pronomes. Depois dessa cena inicial — o suicídio —, o personagem saí andando, revigorado. A narrativa ganha tons absurdos, meio fantástico, meio realismo sujo.

Mas lá no final tudo vai fazer sentido. Há, além da interessante narrativa, uma crítica aos tempos turbulentos vividos pela autora, amarrado e indissociável à forma. É uma aula, por exemplo, para a Nelida Piñon — cito-a somente pela narrativa dela estar fresca na minha memória —, que ao falar da ditadura em um conto o faz pelo modo mais prosaico possível: uma personagem lembrando. Podia muito bem ser um artigo, uma memória, uma auto ficção.

Este aqui, impossível. Não podia ser outra coisa. O tema está chapado (de chapa) dentro da forma do conto. A trama te despista completamente. E por isso ele é, diferente do da Nelida, prazeroso e magnetizante — é um conto, mas também é mais. Não o olhe de lado por ser "desconhecido". É muito bom.

No meu caso, ela me pegou já na abertura. Já abre na loucura, e entra um narrador do tipo onisciente e intrusão, que depois da cena inicial, começa a “rebobinar a fita” para colocar na mesa as possíveis razões daquela cena inicial. Tem uma coisa no narrador, também, que usa palavras do tipo ‘‘trivialidade’’, ‘‘prazer’’ e ‘‘sensualidade’’ para falar daquela leva de “suicídios” que vem acontecendo na cidade.

E ele vai te levando assim: para entender o ato que põe o conto em movimento não devemos retornar a Ismael (o protagonista) sozinho no bar, na noite anterior, bebendo, pensando no ato e nas consequências, “devemos voltar até o berço, com Ismael chorando por estar sujo de merda e ainda não apareceu ninguém para limpá-lo” (…) "Não, não tão longe. Voltamos demais a fita". Ismael no fundamental; Ismael ministro.

A gente volta até que a fita re-rebobine (?) outra vez e a gente torne à cena inicial; agora, porém, temos um contexto, sabemos mais. E tudo muda completamente. Um giro de 360 graus [sic]. Como também muda quando chegarmos à conclusão. É um contasso par excellence, na definição consagrada: nocauteante e circular. Entre no ringue com essa autora "menor" argentina mas não espere um alvo fácil por conta da estatura; deixo-o avisado.

TLDR: é o texto perfeito para servir de exemplo ao termo: ''ele foi suicidado.''

Traduzido pro Inglês pela Helen Lane
Incluso nesta Antologia.
(Recomendo o Original! Li em inglês por comodidade
(não sabia se valeria a pena). show less

Open Door – 32 short stories as sticks of literary dynamite from Argentinian author Luisa Valenzuela. These stories are simply too hot to handle for any generalization. To provide a sample of their explosiveness, I will focus on one of my very favorites. Spoiler Alert: my analysis covers the complete story, beginning to end.

PAPITO’S STORY
Estrangement: “A thin wall has always separated us. Now the time has come for the wall to unite us.” Julio lives in an apartment building next to a show more man he never really paid attention to, either in the elevator or along the hallway to their adjacent apartments. This neighbor of his was always so self-absorbed, shouldering the burdens of a harried office worker and jostled commuter, the round of daily living (if you call this living!) in the modern world: performing unending tasks at an office, plodding to and from the train, maintaining half-conscious awareness of the mass of urban humanity in other apartments. With such frightful alienation, Julio’s words: “Now the time has come for the wall to unite us” take on a charged meaning. Great foreshadowing, Luisa!

Urban Algebra: Sure, a few times his neighbor halfheartedly answered Julio’s questions and comments but, in truth, no real in-depth human connection, just stooped shoulders, ashen face and wrinkled suit. But perhaps this way of responding wasn’t such a bad thing, since Julio actually enjoys the freedom he was given to orchestrate their dialogue in a manner to his own liking. Very telling about how we construct our little world, the algebra of our compartmentalized society: you nod and grunt and I’ll fill in all the gaps.

Midnight Shock: Julio judges his neighbor responsible for the uproar that startled him out of a sound sleep one night. What the hell! Who’s doing all the banging on my door at this hour? Open-the-door-you-son-of-a-bitch! Ah, who’s shouting at me? I mean, what do the police want with me? We’ll smash down your door. There’s no escape, we’ve got you surrounded. Goodness, Julio, who’s doing all the shouting and banging? In a police state like the Argentina of this story, the midnight knock at your door to take you off for interrogation, torture or prison is very real for everyone, no exceptions. Julio’s first reaction makes perfect sense since our first thought is always "It’s all about me.”

Truth Comes To Light: Julio moves to his living room and realizes his own door is perfectly fine. The police are banging and shouting one door over, the door of his neighbor. Whew, what a relief! So that’s it - his stooped shouldered little neighbor with his wrinkled suit and bland routine is having his one moment of revolt, his one moment of glory. At this point, Julio dare not open his door – too much risk since, from the sounds of it, the cop doing the pounding and shouting must be foaming at the mouth. Poor, Julio, torn between his curiosity of witnessing the big showdown between the police and his neighbor and the safety and protection of his own skin. A police showdown? Does it ever get any more exciting than this?

The Big Ear: Julio swings into action, sort of. He offers his neighbor his support by gluing his ear against their common apartment wall. But then Julio has mixed feelings: his neighbor isn’t alone after all; there’s a woman also in his apartment, a woman in a hysterical voice asking about her own skin, saying he must give himself up. He replies: I’m not giving up. The hysterical woman, in turn, says the police will knock down the door and kill both of them. He scoffs: Screw them; we’ll kill ourselves first; come on, babe, kill yourself with me. She says, Papito, you’re crazy; don’t dare say I should kill myself with you. I was always good to you so you be good to me now. Oh, my goodness. Imagine this drama unfolding in an apartment near you – the most memorable neighborhood event, ever!

Bad News: Julio begins to cough as tear gas fills his apartment. Julio quickly runs to open the window and just as quickly returns to once again press his ear to the wall. What intensity! Julio hears the back and forth between Papito and the police. Papito says there’s a woman in here; to let her go or I’ll shoot. Bam! Papito fires his gun just to let them know he’s serious. The cops tell him to let the woman come out. The woman comes out without a word, no good-bye, no wish of good luck for her Papito. Who can blame her? She has more important things to think about – like saving her own skin.

Beyond Terror: At this point, we read: “There’s a deafening nothingness in there, chez Papito. Even I can hear it, though it’s hard to hear things that make no sound. I hear the nothingness and Papito’s breathing isn’t part of it, nor is his terror, nothing. Papito’s terror must be immeasurable, though its waves don’t reach me – how strange – as do those of the gas they are using to drown him.” As in the Luisa Valenzuela quote above – she was the kind of child always poking around wherever there was fear. No doubt about the author using this scene to explore what kind of creature fear really is.

Big Bad Wolf: The police order Papito to come out by the count of three or else they’re breaking the door down. Ear still pressed against the wall, Julio thinks the count of three is nothing, no more time than the trinity, Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Very true, Julio. It’s always the count of three, even going back to the story of The Three Little Pigs. Is the author connecting the police with the big bad wolf? I wouldn’t be surprised.

The Fear That Unites: Julio senses Papito’s terror as if his own. Papito must be running in circles, thinking a powerful telescopic lens is set on his head through the window. Meanwhile, Julio doesn’t turn on his lights – just in case. Papito threatens the police: don’t break the door down or I’ll kill myself. The next thing Julio registers is a shot from inside the apartment, a shot from Papito’s gun that almost obliterates his hearing the cops’ count of three. Reading this section, it’s as if the word “FEAR” blinks on the page between the lines.

Finis: Minutes pass; Julio opens his door, pokes his nose out and managers to sneak into the next apartment unnoticed. Papito is a little rag on the bare floor the police nudge with their boots. They toss him on a stretcher, cover him with a blanket and take him away. Oh, Papito; you are so near, yet so far away. Alone in the apartment, Julio speaks to the remaining blood as if the blood was alive, as if the blood was a red splash of Papito, as if the blood was Papito. Julio tell Papito to shout his name and that he can get him a good lawyer. As per usual, Julio got no answer. For me, this tale underscores how thick the wall of alienation and isolation can be for those living in the grip of a police state. If you are attracted to such tales, Luisa Valenzuela is your author. show less

Open Door – 32 short stories as sticks of literary dynamite from Argentinian author Luisa Valenzuela. These stories are simply too hot to handle for any generalization. To provide a sample of their explosiveness, I will focus on one of my very favorites. Spoiler Alert: my analysis covers the complete story, beginning to end.

PAPITO’S STORY
Estrangement: “A thin wall has always separated us. Now the time has come for the wall to unite us.” Julio lives in an apartment building next to a show more man he never really paid attention to, either in the elevator or along the hallway to their adjacent apartments. This neighbor of his was always so self-absorbed, shouldering the burdens of a harried office worker and jostled commuter, the round of daily living (if you call this living!) in the modern world: performing unending tasks at an office, plodding to and from the train, maintaining half-conscious awareness of the mass of urban humanity in other apartments. With such frightful alienation, Julio’s words: “Now the time has come for the wall to unite us” take on a charged meaning. Great foreshadowing, Luisa!

Urban Algebra: Sure, a few times his neighbor halfheartedly answered Julio’s questions and comments but, in truth, no real in-depth human connection, just stooped shoulders, ashen face and wrinkled suit. But perhaps this way of responding wasn’t such a bad thing, since Julio actually enjoys the freedom he was given to orchestrate their dialogue in a manner to his own liking. Very telling about how we construct our little world, the algebra of our compartmentalized society: you nod and grunt and I’ll fill in all the gaps.

Midnight Shock: Julio judges his neighbor responsible for the uproar that startled him out of a sound sleep one night. What the hell! Who’s doing all the banging on my door at this hour? Open-the-door-you-son-of-a-bitch! Ah, who’s shouting at me? I mean, what do the police want with me? We’ll smash down your door. There’s no escape, we’ve got you surrounded. Goodness, Julio, who’s doing all the shouting and banging? In a police state like the Argentina of this story, the midnight knock at your door to take you off for interrogation, torture or prison is very real for everyone, no exceptions. Julio’s first reaction makes perfect sense since our first thought is always "It’s all about me.”

Truth Comes To Light: Julio moves to his living room and realizes his own door is perfectly fine. The police are banging and shouting one door over, the door of his neighbor. Whew, what a relief! So that’s it - his stooped shouldered little neighbor with his wrinkled suit and bland routine is having his one moment of revolt, his one moment of glory. At this point, Julio dare not open his door – too much risk since, from the sounds of it, the cop doing the pounding and shouting must be foaming at the mouth. Poor, Julio, torn between his curiosity of witnessing the big showdown between the police and his neighbor and the safety and protection of his own skin. A police showdown? Does it ever get any more exciting than this?

The Big Ear: Julio swings into action, sort of. He offers his neighbor his support by gluing his ear against their common apartment wall. But then Julio has mixed feelings: his neighbor isn’t alone after all; there’s a woman also in his apartment, a woman in a hysterical voice asking about her own skin, saying he must give himself up. He replies: I’m not giving up. The hysterical woman, in turn, says the police will knock down the door and kill both of them. He scoffs: Screw them; we’ll kill ourselves first; come on, babe, kill yourself with me. She says, Papito, you’re crazy; don’t dare say I should kill myself with you. I was always good to you so you be good to me now. Oh, my goodness. Imagine this drama unfolding in an apartment near you – the most memorable neighborhood event, ever!

Bad News: Julio begins to cough as tear gas fills his apartment. Julio quickly runs to open the window and just as quickly returns to once again press his ear to the wall. What intensity! Julio hears the back and forth between Papito and the police. Papito says there’s a woman in here; to let her go or I’ll shoot. Bam! Papito fires his gun just to let them know he’s serious. The cops tell him to let the woman come out. The woman comes out without a word, no good-bye, no wish of good luck for her Papito. Who can blame her? She has more important things to think about – like saving her own skin.

Beyond Terror: At this point, we read: “There’s a deafening nothingness in there, chez Papito. Even I can hear it, though it’s hard to hear things that make no sound. I hear the nothingness and Papito’s breathing isn’t part of it, nor is his terror, nothing. Papito’s terror must be immeasurable, though its waves don’t reach me – how strange – as do those of the gas they are using to drown him.” As in the Luisa Valenzuela quote above – she was the kind of child always poking around wherever there was fear. No doubt about the author using this scene to explore what kind of creature fear really is.

Big Bad Wolf: The police order Papito to come out by the count of three or else they’re breaking the door down. Ear still pressed against the wall, Julio thinks the count of three is nothing, no more time than the trinity, Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Very true, Julio. It’s always the count of three, even going back to the story of The Three Little Pigs. Is the author connecting the police with the big bad wolf? I wouldn’t be surprised.

The Fear That Unites: Julio senses Papito’s terror as if his own. Papito must be running in circles, thinking a powerful telescopic lens is set on his head through the window. Meanwhile, Julio doesn’t turn on his lights – just in case. Papito threatens the police: don’t break the door down or I’ll kill myself. The next thing Julio registers is a shot from inside the apartment, a shot from Papito’s gun that almost obliterates his hearing the cops’ count of three. Reading this section, it’s as if the word “FEAR” blinks on the page between the lines.

Finis: Minutes pass; Julio opens his door, pokes his nose out and managers to sneak into the next apartment unnoticed. Papito is a little rag on the bare floor the police nudge with their boots. They toss him on a stretcher, cover him with a blanket and take him away. Oh, Papito; you are so near, yet so far away. Alone in the apartment, Julio speaks to the remaining blood as if the blood was alive, as if the blood was a red splash of Papito, as if the blood was Papito. Julio tell Papito to shout his name and that he can get him a good lawyer. As per usual, Julio got no answer. For me, this tale underscores how thick the wall of alienation and isolation can be for those living in the grip of a police state. If you are attracted to such tales, Luisa Valenzuela is your author. show less