The place that writers occupy in future generations is capricious and often overdue. Often prestige reappears when the echoes of one’s own biography fade, and one can plunge into the work without the weight of the author’s life events. However, there are writers who get to the podium almost instantly. Another example is that of Roberto Bolaño, whose posthumous work with a size of 2666 boosted his prestige and gave him immense worldwide recognition. Another example is that of Jorge Luis Borges, who has never ceased to be the great reference of Argentine literature. There are many of these names, who enjoyed enormous prestige in life and who, after their death, retain their full significance in full and without a solution of continuity.
There are others that require the passage of time to be right. That would be the case of Manuel Chaves Nogales, whose tireless efforts by some intellectuals and Don Quixote-like editorial skills—narrative and journalism—had paved the way for him, such as that of the Seville State Council, which published all his works. Become a frequently cited, well-edited and widely read author today. But not everyone is that lucky. Even writers as respected as Manuel Vázquez Montalbán have failed to alleviate the slow and unjustified decline in his memory, despite repeated attempts to recover and claim them, including new editions. Similarly, the posthumous career of Francisco Umbral, who is everywhere in the cultural and journalistic life of our country, has foundations and awards, but whose name has lost weight rapidly over the years, is similar.
There is another case in which the case of Terenci Moix (Barcelona, 1942-2003) is even more obvious. His immense popularity, blatant frivolity, and profile on television meant that while he was already alive, the intelligentsia of his time was not generous or gave him his reach. The million-selling author’s case responds to the author’s hateful cliché swallowed by character, but it’s more limited to the public profile than the author. It’s true that the popular smasher forgot what they had praised before, and this is common to nearly all cathodic vowels, but Terenci was not a socialite at heart, no matter how many people read about her who knew nothing about her. even the fact that they have never read a book; At a gray moment in our country’s social, political, and literary history, he was a risk-taking and modern writer with great narrative power, a window of fresh and almost whirlwind air.
However, the reason why many of his colleagues and critics have shown no interest in Terenci’s work cannot be attributed solely to his snobbery of the cultural scene or his contempt for the commercial success typical of our writers. Nor is it because their extreme cinematographic mythomania, their eccentricity, and their Alexandrian passions don’t seem to fit the canons of a setup writer.
in anyone’s crops
Terenci lived between two literary cultures, Catalan and Spanish, and neither claimed it as their own. Juan Bonilla’s excellent book about the author and his work, Time is a popular dream, is said to be on a list of fifty works of the 20th century, in a poll conducted in a newspaper dedicated to Catalonia for the 2007 Frankfurt Fair. There was no Terenician period. And this is despite the fact that Father Gimferrer says The Genus of Angels is one of the main novels of modern Catalan literature and the main contribution of his generation to the Catalan language culture. And that he won the Critic’s Serra d’Or twice, with Víctor Català (name changed to Mercè Rodoreda) and the Lletra d’Or. This discontent with their peers is partly due to the feeling that some authors and some of their works may have a condescending, if not negative, view without reading their texts. And neither the Catalan nor the Spanish culture accepted as their own culture to remain in the no-man’s land.
The extreme standard of living (Bonilla describes Luis Antonio de Villena’s surprise when he saw Terenci’s economic excesses in an Empordà summer) forced him to win numerous business awards in both Catalan and Spanish. So Planet, Fernando Lara, Ramon Lllul and Josep Pla. This accumulation of food prizes did not help him regain recognition, although other writers were pardoned for this voraciousness of well-paid prizes.
Barcelona novelist.
However, if we examine their work, we see several important authors together. On one side is the storyteller Terenci. At his death, Seix Barral compiled his stories into a single work, and includes his first 1967 fiction book, The Tower of Capital Mengenes (La Torre dels Vicis Capitals). Although she didn’t see herself that way until The Day Marilyn Died, these stories ooze freedom and show her early skill. It was censored and some stories could not be included. As for the story of el temps de una cigarreta, he was finally able to publish it in a journal, but with one important change: the homosexual relationship had to mutate into a heterosexual relationship. Selecta even pressured him to change the cover image, but in the end the author was able to impose his own criteria. The book was a success, despite the publisher’s reluctance to republish it, and received praise from well-known authors of the time, such as critics Rafael Conte and Llorenç Vilallonga.
Then came his first and true beginning in the novel. A novel that suffers from the typical shortcomings of a novice novelist, suffers from excessive monologues and some very slow passages, but is filled with glimmers of talent that sometimes seems like it wasn’t. Already here, Terenci uses his own somewhat messy but fascinating biography to build the story. This book threw him off and marked the beginning of his best novel, The Day Marilyn Died. The novel, which had a curious life, was initially written in Spanish and presented to Nadal, but did not win. The winner was the young writer Alfonso Martínez Garrido, who later became the press correspondent of some celebrities. Future generations don’t seem to have treated him well either. The novel that did not win the award was originally called El desorden. Translated, modified and expanded. In fact, it had been the subject of improvements for years until the last edition was found, perhaps he knew that it was this work that he would admire over time.
Echo and applause at the end
The characters and events in The Day Marilyn Died are very similar to the characters the author will describe in his memoirs. But the nuances are important. For example, his gay and wealthy cousin Cornelio appears with great affection in the memories, while Marilyn, who turns into Arturu, is somewhat boring, and the novelist mocks and humiliates her. That immoral father, who is very similar to the brothel-loving father you presented to us in your memorial texts, also appears in Marilyn. Reflecting the flavored post-war era for children and the unrealized class development of a family, this two-generation piece has more in common, such as the sins of the sick brother and mother. This torrential novel is one of Barcelona’s best, covered in literature profusely in the past century, and is a compelling fresco of difficult and frustrating family life in the gray years. And here he managed to get echoes and applause. Bonilla garners such reactions as in La Vanguardia: “A wonderful novel, especially devoted to those born and educated in the sad and difficult 40s. Terenci Moix’s work has witnessed and will witness his generation.”
The production of Terenci was rounded off by extensive work, which featured, among others, Món macho (Món mascle) and the award-winning Don’t say don’t say it’s a narrative dream and the two-volume memoir El peso de paja (El peso de paja). recently republished). In addition, his cinematographic and comic book knowledge was transferred to many books. But praise dwindled as the character exploded in popular culture. And I agree with those who say that Terenci is our native Truman Capote, perhaps without the scope of a work like In Cold Blood, but with the books and talent to justify it much more strongly. This April 2nd is the 20th anniversary of his death. I hope the anniversary serves to place this runaway writer where he should never have left.
Author of two languages
Living between two cultures and two languages, Terenci Moix did not receive the appreciation he deserved from either of them. He began to write in Catalan, but claimed to write in English with an unbelievable degree. When editor Josep Vergés appeared for Nadal and did not win, he justified the jury’s decision with a linguistic question: “His novel has a fundamental flaw: it is unknown in what language it was written. Neither Spanish nor Catalan, the decision has to be made, and given the world it depicts and the characters it uses, it would gain a lot if I wrote it in Catalan». He did so, and it became the language of much of his work. However, non-regulatory Catalan was criticized. And yet, despite always having Jacint Verdaguer’s L’Atlàntida among his favorite books, he had read very little in his native language and was completely ignorant of Catalan culture.
After paying attention to Vergés, he presented the book to Francesc Vallverdú of Edicions 62, who did not publish it due to its length (500 pages) and grammatical errors. He also unsuccessfully tried to win Sant Jordi. Many of the publisher’s readers also argued that the book was written in Barcelona and that this punished the book. But he came up with success stories and things turned around. Up to five publishers were interested in the novel. When published, critics reiterated that it was the best Catalan novel of the decade. This may indicate the editors’ inexperience or over-caution, but it really tells us how Terenci always reluctantly entered the Catalan cultural establishment. He entered when it was already inevitable, and was immediately cornered in the shadow of oblivion.
Spanish culture hasn’t treated him any better, either. It’s hard to find someone who is crushed by her volatile image and who ignores her literary contributions and takes care of her. It doesn’t even have a prominent place in gay literature, of which I can think of several higher examples.