New Novel by a Prominent Spanish Writer Unveiled in Two Parts
A well-known Spanish author returns to the literary scene with a monumental novel, Mil ojos esconde la noche, published by Espasa. The work unfolds in installments: the first, titled The City Without Light, appeared in a second edition less than two months after the original release; the second part is planned for release the following year in spring. The author revisits a character from an earlier work, a fascist figure who is embittered and decidedly unlikable, turning him into the central figure of a story described by the writer as esperpantic and hallucinatory. The narrative is unsparing in its portrayal of Spanish exile in Nazi-occupied France. Tonight, at 7:30 p.m., the author presents the work in Oviedo, where his political ties run through family, at the Matadero Uno bookshop on Plaza del Riego.
The novel is described as monumental in more than one sense. It is published in two volumes, each around 800 pages, totaling over 1,600 pages. Beyond its length, it is a sprawling, multi-voiced work in which every character has their own story within a larger polyphonic tapestry. The author undertook extensive research, drawing on a wide range of painters and writers who lived in Paris during the era—many of whom kept their experiences hidden or recounted distorted memories. The decade proved difficult, and not all figures behaved heroically.
When asked about the documentation behind the novel, the author explains that the research relied heavily on French official archives, as well as Catalan sources, since many exiles were Catalan, and on the General Archive of Administration, which houses the Falangist records in Paris.
The interviewer notes that the exile experience is not depicted as wholly flattering.
According to the author, the cast includes people who fought for survival, sometimes reducing themselves to acts they would rather not admit. Many painters earned a living by forging works, journalists wrote under pressure, and notable figures endured compromised language in a new Spain. It was a dangerous, murky period.
Asked about the narrator’s stance in Mil ojos esconde la noche, the author replies that the chosen voice—belonging to a bitter and cunning Falangist—imparts a corrosive, almost grotesque universe. Yet even this character reveals certain frailties and moments of self-pity, making him a vividly vitriolic presence.
The discussion turns to the European exile in the Americas, which has been widely written about, contrasted with the less-examined experience of those who fled to France and other parts of Europe. The author notes that in America the welcome was warmer, while the Franco-French exile is often concealed and distorted because France shaped the narrative to its advantage. The portrayal highlights the brutal treatment meted out to Spaniards, including forced labor, harsh camps, and deprivations suffered when war broke out and France aligned with Germany. The French public memory, the author argues, has often minimized these chapters of history.
When asked if France has concealed its actions, the author asserts that the nation presented itself as a beacon of human rights while tolerating, or even collaborating with, oppressive acts during the occupation. France is painted as a country that committed numerous crimes, though its public image remains the defender of rights. There is also discussion of a silence among exiled Spaniards about their own misdeeds, with many artists engaging with Falangist cultural activities out of necessity rather than loyalty. The interview frames the era as grotesque and filled with archetypes, where ordinary people endured fear and did what was necessary to survive. In the 1940s and early 1941, it seemed that Germany might win, and totalitarian forces appeared likely to dominate Europe. Yet attitudes shifted as democracy and new political dynamic took hold elsewhere. The exiles began to show caution and distance themselves from Falangist or collaboratorist leanings, while some cartographers and Catalan artists recounted past compromises in memoirs. One painter, Fontserè, described collaborating with antisemitic journals and presenting projects to the Nazis, not out of conviction but as a survival strategy.
On the question of whether heroes exist, the author muses that true heroism often resides in small, daily acts rather than grand, public feats. Heroes, if they exist, are those who live somewhat detached from the earthly realm, willing to risk everything for what matters most.
The conversation turns to the broader role of historical writing, which often celebrated grand achievements and heroes, sometimes at the expense of truth. People tend to crave myths that distract from human vulnerability, and stories are sometimes used as political instruments. The author recalls the poet León Felipe, who warned that people like to be lulled by comforting fables instead of facing harsh reality.
Asked whether the book connects to current events, the author replies that history does not repeat itself, though each era has its own features. Europe now faces a period of fatigue with the postwar political order, and the question of rising extremism emerges as a recurring concern. On the rise of the far right in France, the author admits limited political insight into France’s contemporary landscape but notes a broader trend: electorates growing tired of partisan politics. This sentiment has appeared in several countries, including Spain, and resonates through contemporary political shifts, such as the emergence of new, distrustful political movements.
In sum, Mil ojos esconde la noche examines a perilous moment in history through a voice both caustic and revealing, painting a panorama that challenges readers to reflect on moral ambiguity, survival, and the fragile boundaries between truth and myth.
— This article is based on a contemporary interview and compiles essential insights about the novel, its research, and its historical frame. Citations accompany key quotes from published sources to acknowledge context and attribution.