This is how our interview started. Borja Beautiful (San Sebastián, 1963), in an interview with the recently deceased writer Antonio Gala, in August 2012: “With his arsenal of misfortune—pain, fear, sadness, and from that moment on—not even the hideous frenzy of cancer has been alleviated. This unbridled linguist man’s savage act and his gesture, cult to anger, a perfect point at times, genuinely compassionate though in his own way, always with tenderness that overflows the rim of the glass …”.
Having just published this and many other interviews he did for the newspaper ‘El País’, Borja said personally, at work, serious, introvertedIn addition to the questions that Gala asks when she encounters characters such as Javier Marías , Juan Marsé, among others (Siruela, 2023) in the book that compiled them, Fernando Arrabal, George Steiner, Nuccio Ordine, Clara Janes, as if he had a thousand questions in his throat. , Fernando Savater or Irene Vallejo.
yours quick questions that require equally quick answersand likewise, we asked him to tell us how he dealt with questions within himself or the questions that accompanied his life as an interviewer with others. So let’s start with the first question of your life.
Do you remember the first time you asked a question?
The truth is, no. But… I remember one day at a hat shop, when I was five years old, I asked my mother why she was so heavy looking for the best… I can’t forget that.
And what did he answer?
He told me that first of all he wanted me to be handsome. But it’s funny: I don’t forget that question.
What should a question contain?
Sincerity, curiosity… But the most important thing for me is what should not be: arrogance and invading the other.
what are the limits?
Common sense. This tells you what not to do. But of course you want to be the headline and you have to work. Embarrassingly, yes.
Do you keep quiet about questions you won’t accept?
I just don’t think so. What I do is constantly put myself in the other person’s shoes. I think this is a very useful tool. This helped me a lot, for example in my interview with Clara Janes.
What happened to him?
I was nervous because it was about him. But the thing is… I always go to interviews nervously. I’m nervous until you ask the first question. I had read a lot about Clara Janes and came to her house and saw her still wearing a mask even though it was very closed, not common anymore, and it gave me the feeling that I was invading her space.
Did the answers of any of the people you interviewed change the questions you had?
Yes, and that sounds terrible to me. Because you’re talking to people who’ve already come a long way and you have to get out of the script before they can tell you something very important, but you’re groping as if you’re improvising. You get nervous but… that’s how it is. You’re afraid, but that’s the case.
What are the things you find most difficult to accept in journalism today?
Noisy. Noise that sometimes has sound and sometimes doesn’t. This mess… journalists like it sometimes, but you don’t have to stay in it all the time.
He went to meet many people. How did you feel when they saw you? How does the wise see a journalist?
Each of them belongs to his father and mother. They are very different. They are people who have strong ideas and can express them powerfully. Frankly, I would like to think that although they do accept me as a journalist, they do not accept me as a journalist. I say this because I would like each of them to think they’re accepting a person to talk to rather than answering a series of questions.
When did you get this?
Repeatedly. When I went to see Steiner, Inma Puig, Savater… With Habermas, who is very important in this respect.
And what happened to Jurgen Habermas?
Otherwise. Habermas was a complex character. He asked me for a preliminary questionnaire and I sent it to him, he answered some questions and I said to him: it’s about my seeing him. He said yes and went. But… it wasn’t a friendly and fluent conversation like the others. He just wanted to talk about some things, and I wanted to talk about others, and it was hard to get him out of there. He also suddenly started asking me various questions. The time has come when the roles have changed and it is he who is asking. But he seemed really interested in knowing, huh. First of all, he asked me about Catalonia and the independence movement.
At what point does an interviewer realize that questions are working?
During the interview, in any case. Yes, when you turn off the recorder and have a drink with the interviewee and continue the conversation more comfortably. There, the interviewer and the interviewer release the accumulated tension. Then you transcribe the interview and figure out if something worked there.
Who was the most difficult of the characters you encountered?
Antonio Gala… maybe. I interviewed him at the Pimpi bar in Malaga, 38 degrees, where all the people there were like chickens out of the oven, and he had that spotless coat and scarf and impenetrable face. It’s… it’s scary, huh. The beginning of the interview with Pascal Bruckner was also very difficult. I met him with the “Look kid, nothing you ask me is going to be interesting” attitude. But… in the end, the opposite happened.
What do you think when a writer gives an interview, the boss looks at him and finally says “You escaped alive”?
is a valid expression. It may be brutal, but…okay. Because there are people who escaped from you alive. Because you don’t have the necessary expertise or because you don’t have the day. Many escaped me alive: Rafael Chirbes, Milan Kundera, who is not in this book and therefore escaped me alive. And what happened… I don’t have that feeling. They’re here because I think I’ve accomplished my mission.
Why would someone “run away alive”?
Because you don’t know how to get into the character’s bunker, or maybe because he doesn’t have the day and isn’t interested in opening up.
What should a journalist do when what he heard hurts him?
The ideal is to pretend it doesn’t affect you. But… you are a human being before you are an interviewer. And look, I think that helps a lot in an interview.
What are your limits in an interview?
The rules of good behavior and training you have been taught. There are things that cannot be done, that’s how it is.
Tell me about your experiences meeting with Juan Marsé and Xavier Marias.
Javier Marías seemed very much to me with the tone of his columns: angry, grumpy, sane, slow… And I liked that very much. So kind, so cold… And Marsé: just the opposite. He was a fascinating wit. I like it a lot. I thought he was a worthy gentleman. Being like this and speaking like this… it reflected itself as it was.
And Fernando Arrabal?
Total delirium. I am very fond of him. I think he has an important job in this country that hasn’t been taken into account. Maybe because they didn’t forgive him for getting drunk here on the Sánchez Dragó show. But he has great books, games, great chess knowledge…
Have you ever felt fear in front of any person you interviewed?
Yes, when I interviewed Irene Vallejo.
Because? He’s cute.
Because he told me unpredictable things. I was scared when he told me about his son and … I associated it with my children and was afraid to publish something that was so intimate to him.
What about Roberto Saviano, who was sentenced to death by the Neapolitan mafia?
Saviano was an abandoned dog. And that he was with his four bodyguards. He had a black appearance. The threats from the mafia were very recent when I interviewed him. He was hunched over and staring at the ground… Terrible.
To finish, answer a famous line from the German poet Michael Krüger: “Sometimes childhood / sends me a postcard. Do you remember?” What postcard does your childhood send you?
Being with my family and brothers in a rural hotel in the north of Navarra. I am what my family gave me. I had a great time with them! And they gave me great value. And this is something that will serve you for life.