At some point in the novel, Luis Landero reflects on the light that once bathed his workplace in Madrid’s Olavide neighborhood. That glow, which seems to travel from his Extremadura birthplace of Alburquerque, keeps him feeling like a happy child inside his own home. The same light lingers from his early years in Extremadura, a reminder that happiness can coexist with memory.
With that spirit and light, Landero crafted a vivid tale titled The Last Function. The book opens as a lively fiction, as if spoken aloud to ensure the memory remains intact. Landero, known for Coming of Age Plays, debuted with that work at Tusquets in 1990, and since then his prose has grown in confidence, maturing without ever losing the joyous spark of those early years.
These early chapters touch on youth and maturity, inviting readers into a present moment where a friend, a musician and manager who becomes the book’s central figure, reviews the years that shaped his life. The interviewer visits Landero at his home, where the familiar Extremaduran light seems to be hanging in the air once again. [cite: Interview for context]
Luis Landero. José Luis Roca
From the very title, the novel hints at an ending, a final curtain call: The Last Function. The author explains how the title came to life with the help of friends who suggested names close to his heart. A theater obsession drives much of the book, which unfolds in two acts. A friend who lived in the square nearby and shared that love of the stage serves as a real person and anchor for the story. Landero’s fondness for Federico García Lorca, a poet held in the highest esteem by his circle, arose as he accompanied this friend on tours to New York, Bordeaux and Morocco. [cite: Literary discussion]
When asked about the relation between cover imagery and narrative, Landero confirms that the two stories within the book are intertwined. The first tale follows Tito, or Ernesto, a veteran artist who cannot find lasting success in the big city or the wider world, choosing instead to return to his hometown and establish himself there. The second, entirely fictional, follows a woman who boards the wrong train, and both arcs converge in the end. The author notes that he preserves choruses and echoes to give readers a closed, recognizable world, as long as the arrangement serves the story. [cite: Author discussion]
Writers have long inspired Landero, and he openly admits envy for certain masters. Cervantes’s simplicity, Valle Inclán’s evocative power, Borges’s concise and thought-provoking style, Gabriel García Márquez’s capacity to surprise, Alejo Carpentier’s polish, Pío Baroja’s raw mood and rhythm, and Unamuno’s emotional depth all hold a place in his imagination. He emphasizes that every writer writes in a way that mirrors his own character and worldview, and he often wishes to write like all of them. [cite: Personal reflection]
In a 2022 accomplishment Landero received a national prize for Spanish letters, a milestone he acknowledges with quiet pride. The photograph accompanying the interview shows him in the same square where these memories feel close at hand. [cite: Award reference]
Regarding the End Function’s narrative birth, Landero insists the structure was planned. A theater show set in the town, directed by Tito, features Paula and two intertwined plots about failure in love and in art. He believes culture and art ultimately save the protagonists from a merely ordinary life. Paula remains a fictional figure, while Tito mirrors people and experiences from the author’s life. The writing is guided by a clear architecture, and the author stresses that one must earn a living sentence by sentence from these life materials. [cite: Plot planning]
Occasionally, life itself supplies material that becomes literature. Landero notes that the town and Extremadura roots, along with the experiences of his childhood, exert a strong pull. The autobiographical tone mixes with invented elements, but the impulse to tell the truth of a life remains central. The author adds that imagination always rests on something real, and the novel exists because of that starting point. The craft demands careful construction, and the writer must invest in the process, line by line. [cite: Craft insight]
The two narratives begin separately and later meet around page 200, finally converging around page 150, he explains. The narrators function like a chorus, shaping a musical texture that binds old stories to new ones. It feels like a detective novel in its precision: every detail is weighed so nothing is wasted, and the colloquial voice is balanced with a touch of cultivated music. The result is both spontaneous and meticulously planned. [cite: Structural note]
Landero reflects on a childhood marked by happiness amid tension. He recalls a father who cast a long shadow, a difficult projection of what life would become. Yet overall, the countryside and town life offered a joyful baseline. He believes childhoods are blessings that language cannot fully capture, a time when inspiration flows endlessly. Like Paula, Landero notes, childhood ends when fear of the future begins to loom and the burden of work and endurance becomes real. That moment marks a shift from carefree days to the dawning of responsibility. [cite: Personal reflection]
When asked about the inevitability of readers falling in love with The Last Function, Landero responds with warmth. He recalls discovering his own loves in literature from ages twenty to thirty, including Kafka, García Márquez, Borges, Valle-Inclán, Machado, Neruda and many others. Being moved by a book is the highest compliment a writer can receive, he says, and that love would accompany him long after the final page. [cite: Literary reflection]