Marks of Identity

Señas de identidad was the first of Goytisolo's books to break with realism (he later disowned the eight novels that preceded it). He deploys just about every modernist trick in the book: multi-page sentences; a narrator who switches freely between first, second and third persons; unpredictable scene-changes (the one I had to read three times before it made sense was when we switched from a piazza in Venice to a voodoo ceremony in Cuba in mid-sentence); inserted texts and documents; polyphony; language-switching (the book is written in Castilian, but he expects the reader to be able to negotiate quite lengthy passages of French and the occasional bit of Catalan dialogue; in the last chapter there are as many as five languages going on show more at once), etc., etc.

The multiple-voices thing is one of the most characteristic elements of the book, and Goytisolo builds it up gently from classic "now"/"then" alternation of the opening chapters to (apparently) unconnected narratives interleaved first paragraph-by-paragraph, then sentence-by-sentence, and ultimately moves on to multiple voices within the same sentence, so that the last chapter becomes as complicated to unpick as the final ensemble of a Mozart opera.

So there's a lot of virtuoso showing-off going on (and a few cheap tricks, like the way he gets the book to end on the words INSERT COIN in several different languages), but it isn't just about technique: Goytisolo wants to take the focus away from his disenchanted narrator, the exiled photographer Álvaro, and generalise his jaundiced view of the "menopausal society" of Francoist Spain into a much broader picture. Spain, as he sees it, is irredeemably damaged by centuries of (Catholic, feudal, monarchist) social control and exploitation. What money there is has been made on the backs of slaves (inter alia by Álvaro's family, who, like Goytisolo's, owned plantations in Cuba). The Civil War has left terrible scars on both sides, and Spain is being damaged further by rural poverty and emigration (we forget it now, but about two million Spanish workers migrated elsewhere in Europe in the 50s and 60s), whilst the recent opening up of the tourist trade is merely leaving scars on the landscape and putting money into a handful of greedy pockets. And the Spanish exiles in Paris are too damaged and divided to organise anything (they can't even manage to stage an orgy in an artist's studio...).

A fantastic, subtle, complicated and powerful book that it isn't possible to do justice to on a first reading... show less

This started out brilliantly: shattered memories of a pampered childhood in pre-civil war and civil-war Spain, and the early years of Franco, recalled by a man who, we later learn, will go on to rebel, emigrate, and obsess about Spain. But the longer it goes the less point there seems to be, and this for a number of very good and interesting reasons.

What makes the start so interesting and affecting is the way Goytisolo combines large scale history with individual experience. The fact that the experiences are those of a child makes it even more moving; the scene of young Alvaro and his Nanny dressed all in white trying to get to a church, which is burning down, so they can say prayers/quite possibly martyr themselves, is amazing.

But as show more the book goes on, the tension between history and character goes a bit slack. There are sections which are very obviously 'history' (Alvaro remembers interviewing the poor and the peasants; the book reproduces their stories, which aren't at all interesting or affecting), and sections which are very obviously 'character' (Alvaro hang out in Paris trying to get laid; this is slightly more interesting than the peasants' biographies). By the end, there's very little tension at all, the divergent styles are more irritating than interesting, and I didn't much care what happened to either Alvaro or Spain.

Goytisolo is clearly tremendously talented, and I'm fairly sure he recognized these problems, and that's what makes the book's flaws so instructive: it's just that hard to write a novel that combines the individual and the historical without being cheesy or cliched about it.

I'd also like to know how good/bad this translation is. There's some definite weirdness (e.g., repetition of the word 'anodynic,' when 'anodyne' would have done perfectly well; people always say 'Halt!' rather than, I don't know, 'Stop!'), and the language isn't at all attractive. Is his Spanish attractive enough to pull a reader through the more tedious bits and the later 'experimental' sections? I hope so. show less

"Marks of Identity" is not an easy work in many respects. Let's start with the plot. In the traditional sense, there isn't one. Yet there is most definitely a story. The fabric of the story is the Spanish Civil War and the impact of its brutality on both those who stayed and those who left. The story is presented not chronologically but through personal stories of pain and the struggle to hope.

Goytisolo's style is both powerful and complex. The glue that holds the work together is the beauty of his prose. The simplest scenes and events are driven into our memory by the simple yet powerful flow of his words.

Not an inspiring story nor an easy read but one that is, nonetheless, an important and memorable portrait of Spain in the early show more 20th century. show less

Now the 1001 Books list has its critics. But quite honestly, it’s books like Marks of Identity that reinforce my commitment to it. I’ve never heard of the title or the author and check out that front cover in the photo. Frankly, on the strength of a photo of a stuffed rabbit, some straw, a bit of rusty corrugated iron and a blue torso, I would never have picked this up. I did so simply because it was on the list.

Boy, I’m glad I did pick it up though. Goytisolo’s novel is the first one that has moved me with its writing in so many ways for a long time.

The ’story’ takes place while Alvaro Mendiola drinks in the night air in his apartment in Cuban exile. From beginning to end, this event must last no more than a couple of hours show more at the most. But as he drinks, Alvaro starts to recall his life from his childhood to his student days, to the Spanish Civil War and afterwards with self-imposed exile to Paris and, eventually, Cuba.

But these flashbacks are amazing. For each one, Goytisolo adopts some remarkable styles of writing. I was never sure what was coming next. Some of his sentences stretch on for pages and pages. But they’re not tough to read. I never had morbid fear as I turned a page like I have had with some books that just seem to go on and on and on. I was engaged throughout.

Goytisolo’s depiction of the messy war is very moving and intimate. He uses some great prose to conjure up vivid images and metaphors which reinforce this. And there’s a large cast of characters who play his associates and friends, his enemies and, above all, his lover who appears from time to time always with a tinge of melancholy.

This novel, as all good ones should, opened up a world to me and engaged me in it. Highly recommended. show less

A child during the civil war, Alvaro returns to Spain after ten years exile, mostly in Paris, disillusioned and alienated. The Spain he returns to is at peace but is overlain by a blanket of fascist repression that is ignored by the rest of Europe. The novelist is especially scathing about the effects of tourism on Spanish culture, the ignorance of most Europeans about Spain, and the self-regard of Spanish exiles. The story is told in a diffuse fashion with several different storylines that never quite converge, often told in the second person.

Una de les millors novel·les de Goytisolo.

Libreria Ramses. Lugar: Estanteria 4 (Arriba/Abajo) -
Posicion:Parte Derecha - 24 (Dcha a Izda)