Empty Houses began as an online novel, then found real-world publication with Sexto Piso. It went on to win the Tigre Juan Award, reach international readers, inspire translations, and even secure audiovisual rights. The question remains: what perspective does the latest edition offer, and what was the journey like through all those stages?
The creator notes that the saga of Empty Houses lingers in the mind. Comments arrive every day, a constant weight that sometimes makes the author feel detached from the work. Yet there is an awareness that the book must defend itself, and a sense that a later work, Ceniza en la boca, explores literary concerns from a more distanced vantage point. The goal is to talk about literature itself, not to be framed solely as an expert on gender violence from prior experiences.
In a world where house cleaners and caregivers often appear as minor or background figures in fiction, their voices are foregrounded here. Was that the central aim of this novel? The narrator explains that the core event is the suicide of a boy who leaps from a fifth-floor Madrid apartment. The discussion of caregiving touches a broader point: skill and formal training aren’t prerequisites for having a clear, personal view of the world. Writers can inhabit unreal situations while still making them feel real. The author finds it natural to give a voice to a cleaning lady and even to an astronaut who, despite technical prowess, has ordinary needs like washing dishes. The process begins with a draft and then unfolds through self-readings, allowing new connections to surface as the text evolves. Ultimately, the novel circles back to central concerns about women’s care and their standing in society.
When feminism was fractured in 8-M, the heroine embodies a split within the movement, particularly between student groups of young white women from middle-class backgrounds and the workers who housed the protagonist, described as cousins, immigrants, and economically precarious women. What drew the writer to this tension? The response emphasizes that such divisions are not new. The narrative aligns with real movements where cleaners, caregivers, and similar workers claim rights and recognition. The author reflects on personal observations in Barcelona, where performances by cleaning staff, many from Hispanic or Latino backgrounds, often felt lonely and misrepresented. The text questions whose rights are defended in public life and who is allowed to speak for whom, especially when the voices of vulnerable groups are at stake.
There is a stark contrast between immigrants and those born in Spain: immigrants are frequently not asked to share their own version of events, their stories told for them. In the novel, the lives of these groups run in parallel realities, intersecting only at moments. What shift is needed to alter that dynamic? One of the most painful scenes to write—yet essential—depicts Diego being chased home with a stick. This kind of violence is not exclusive to immigrants or the poor; it reflects a broader, harmful pattern where the vulnerable are seen as threats while the powerful claim civilization and order. The point is not to condemn anger but to recognize that lasting change comes when those who hold power stop reacting with hostility to the existence and visibility of marginal communities. The narrative argues that resolving this tension requires a sustained commitment to dignity and equal voice for everyone, especially the marginalized, so that daily life can move beyond attacks and the streets can reflect genuine humanity.