Gioconda Belli sits with a quiet smile outside a Madrid café, the Plaza de la Paja offering its familiar bustle around her. The scene captures a woman whose hair and style feel as natural as air, a figure who speaks of home even as exile threads through her life. The interview traces a path from Managua to Madrid, from a country that denied her to a place that now welcomes her, despite the laws that would keep her out. The conversation revolves around how life, literature, and memory intertwine for a writer who has spent years shaping her voice against a backdrop of political upheaval.
In Madrid, by the place she calls home, Belli radiates enthusiasm for life and for the works she has just completed. She speaks about the two books that shaped her recent reading: a novelistic exploration of women and a work about a certain madness, both fueling her own writing. The talk extends to the experiences of Mexican readers who engage with her mother’s stories and the idea of moving to a new house. Belli, born in Managua in 1948, now finds herself with no country in the traditional sense, yet Spain opens its doors to her, even as the process comes with complexities. The interview candidly acknowledges how difficult it is to fully capture the essence of her journey within a survey meant to map the life of a migrant writer. Spain becomes a reluctant, gracious homeland, a place where Belli can continue to write and reflect.
The discussion turns toward what literature means to Belli. Her answer is succinct and vibrant: literature is the life source, the nourishment that sustains her. She recalls discovering reading at a young age through her grandfather, a man who valued knowledge and who introduced her to authors from Jules Verne to Lope de Vega, expanding her horizons and planting a lifelong habit. Reading became her most cherished pastime, a portal to imagination and understanding that has persisted through the years.
When asked how writing began, Belli explains that imagination led the way before any concrete craft. She remembers a sea she would speak to, a playful relationship with the waves that felt like a pact with nature. The fantasy persisted, evolving into a lifelong commitment to exploring freedom, justice, and the worlds she creates on the page. These inventions form part of her autobiography, a narrative intertwined with the work she did in advertising, where she met poets and writers who gave her life new directions and energy. Out of a sense of restlessness and a desire for joy, she found a calling in storytelling, aided by the supportive environment of a home near the edge of Managua and the memory of Chamorro’s era under Somoza’s regime. The longing to escape and to discover happiness shines through in her recollections.
“Poets and writers gave meaning to my life in the agency”
Joy, for Belli, is fundamental, yet it is accompanied by a melancholic awareness. She describes herself as naturally cheerful but acknowledges a deeper, reflective side. She speaks of life as a gift and of how every experience strengthens the spirit, aligning with Aristotle’s idea of developing one’s potential. Being born is, to her, a profound privilege, a sentiment that underscores her approach to both writing and living.
Memory plays a crucial role in shaping her identity as a writer. Her mother stands out as a key influence, a woman who shaped her daughter into a woman who understands the world. The moment she was told about menstruation became a vivid marker of independence and strength, and she recalls a mother who guided, taught, and encouraged curiosity about museums, literature, and life itself. Her father contributed a different energy: a fierce work ethic, practical wisdom, and a philosophy that education is the most valuable inheritance. He managed an electrical shop and later faced personal revelations about his lineage, yet his insistence on hard work and the importance of dressing with care left a lasting impression. The conversations about sex, taught openly by her mother, shaped Belli’s view of sexuality as a natural, joyful force rather than a sin, a perspective that fed into the themes of her work like Infinity in the Palm and other novels that highlight female agency.
In discussing joy and sexuality, Belli emphasizes that her writing is not a prayer but a declaration of joy. Her books, she notes, reflect a strong, positive stance toward sexuality and female empowerment, with many works centering on women and their perspectives. The choice to tell certain ancestral stories in The Fire of Memory arises from a desire to illuminate lineage and resilience, even as she acknowledges how family histories sometimes intersect with difficult truths. The drive to write has roots in letters she began composing during boarding school, a habit that grew into poetry and beyond. The impulse to capture life on the page stems from a sense of mission and curiosity about how language can shape reality.
When asked about the reasons behind her artistic success, Belli points to a long-standing relationship with writing that began in earnest when Living Woman gained recognition in 1988. She describes how this breakthrough transformed her life, steering her toward a focused commitment to writing as a vocation. The new Spain-based novel explores a mother-daughter relationship set during the pandemic, portraying a Nicaraguan woman who arrives in Madrid at the moment of quarantine and confronts the complexities of exile, family ties, and a sense of belonging. It is a story of disappointment and resilience, told through a lens shaped by firsthand experience of displacement and adaptation.
The interview touches on a famous moment when Belli read a poem called I Have Nowhere to Live in Cadiz. The piece resonated with audiences, who felt the raw immediacy of being uprooted. The poem’s origin lies in the author’s own sense of displacement and the longing to find a place to rest, a sentiment echoing the broader experience of refugees and migrants. Living in the United States for a time deepened her connection to Nicaragua even as she sought new roots in Spain. Her current plan is to live fully in the present, embracing life with vigor and intent, a stance that mirrors the expressive energy of her poetry and prose. The overarching message remains clear: a woman who has faced exile can still choose to live intensely, to write boldly, and to claim a future that honors both memory and possibility.