The covid-19 pandemic is entering its third year and still feels new in the realm of fiction. In Spain, only a handful of writers have tackled it yet, including Reyes Calderón, Lorenzo Silva, Noemí Trujillo, and Eugenio Fuentes.
In the 2022 Netflix series Intimacy, a scene shows a character approaching Bego (played by Patricia López Arnaiz) and feigning two kisses. “I’ve lost my habit,” he says, stepping back. It is a phrase that might have puzzled readers five years ago, yet by mid-2023 people understood why such a greeting had fallen away from everyday life.
The pandemic pushed society and social relations into unfamiliar dimensions. People hesitated to hug close friends, avoided family gatherings to reduce risk, steered clear of travel or activities out of caution or fear, and faced new boundaries that shaped daily life.
Returning to what felt normal proved difficult. For months, survival dominated thought. Some authors refused to reference the stage of life brought on by masks, social distancing, and curfews in fiction. Yet in recent times others embraced this era as part of our history, sometimes choosing to place it within a crime or detective narrative that might seem surprising at first glance.
In Reyes Calderón’s play about perfect crimes (Planeta, 2022), the opening scene depicts the Ice Palace in Madrid filled with coffins and a stark death toll. It centers on the theme of toilets under a tense crime plot. The pandemic stretches the system to the breaking point, yet there is a resilience found in situations where power is scarce. A doctor, after years of training and retraining, moves between social classes as the focus shifts to the costs and responsibilities that accompany salary and status. The narrative notes that the pen can honor memory longer than the self-serving memory of a society, a nod to how literature preserves moments that might otherwise fade.
Noemí Trujillo and Lorenzo Silva present A Rebel Forge (Destiny, 2022) as a two-handed exploration of motherhood and fatherhood in isolation, highlighting family tensions and a spectrum of emotional moments. Trujillo recalls reading Michael Ende’s The Neverending Story with her daughter when schools closed, and how that shared experience sparked reflection on whether everyone is part of an endless story that can be found in books. The realization grew that literature needed to capture the pandemic, translating lived experience into fiction.
Meanwhile, Silva describes reading Corazón by Edmondo de Amicis and Colmillo Blanco by Jack London with his daughter during the hardest days of the outbreak. Works that probe what sustains people through loneliness and illness become anchors for identity. The pandemic, in his view, underscored human vulnerability and prompted questions about who we really are. Whatever paths authors chose, these narratives offered a meaningful way to process collective distress without losing sight of imagination’s value.
Across the canon, the trend involves compassionate storytelling that moves away from brutality toward empathy. In Dogs Looking at the Sky (Tusquets, 2022), an emphasis on hopeful perception echoes this approach. The author notes that the pandemic itself shaped the book’s trajectory, becoming a powerful topic that altered lives and emotions. The aim was to balance light with shadow, ensuring that the bright parts of human nature remained visible even amid hardship.
literary subcategory
This work can be seen as a subgenre within the broader noir category, one that studies extraordinary circumstances such as wars or epidemics. Investigating the causes of a death can be controversial, given the dozens of unexplained events that unfold daily. Is one life more valuable than another? Does fiction serve to restore order when chaos prevails?
Calderón offers a day-in-history snapshot: on March 31, 2020, Spain faced one of the darkest days, with 849 deaths and ICU occupancy above capacity, yet autopsy procedures were limited and the virus was deemed a variable in deaths. The scene invites readers to question whether such conditions could conceal a murder, a provocative prompt that challenges assumptions about truth and responsibility.
Fuentes frames a different detective approach that doubts the role of a guardian of order amid chaos, pressing the need to reveal truth even when circumstances are emotionally charged. In moments of intensity, characters reveal their true selves, and the pandemic exposes both heroism and misery, making the human element the central line of inquiry.
Trujillo notes that literature addressing the pandemic remains rare but meaningful within noir, capable of serving as a flexible mirror that reflects reality. Silva suggests that, even amid disorder, literature offers solace through the pursuit of justice for victims. Each death carries weight, and examining it through crime fiction provides a way to reckon with wide-ranging losses while tracing how communities respond to trauma.
A common question arises: is it necessary to capture COVID-19 experiences in fiction? The consensus is firm. The pandemic left marks that deserve examination, and the act of writing about it is a form of memory and learning rather than escape. Calderón emphasizes empathy and cautions against erasing difficult moments, arguing that forgetting would erase essential lessons about human connection.
Trujillo recalls writing during the early days of the Forge of a Rebel promotion, wearing masks for interviews and feeling the drama firsthand as life affected half a million families who lost loved ones. Personal loss sharpened the need to tell these stories and share the pain, turning memory into narrative that can support others through shared experience.
Silva reflects on the impact of loss, noting that many Spaniards have endured bereavement on a mass scale. The resilience of Spanish society is tied to a generation that carried the weight of these experiences forward, and the choice to turn away from literature risks dulling the sense of humanity that literature preserves. Whether one continues writing or chooses to pause, the decision carries implications for cultural memory and collective healing.
Each creator follows a path shaped by personal time and circumstances. The urge to ignore a globally shared event is understandable but not productive. Silence can compound pain, and history teaches that literature can illuminate hearts and minds in ways that remain relevant long after the crisis subsides. It is hoped that a generation of novelists will keep recording what lives in the heart.
outside our borders
Disaster writing can take many forms: some works emphasize resilience and humanity, while others portray the starkest possibilities. The pandemic remains at the threshold of literary treatment, with only a few authors choosing to engage with it openly. Yet fiction helps readers understand themselves, ground emotions, and process the upheaval that many carry inside.
Ana Paula Maia, in de cada quincientos un alma (Eterna Cadencia, 2022), presents an apocalyptic vision that echoes contemporary concerns: a disease ravages a population, the dead multiply, and a discovery about a military plan casts doubt on the idea of a final solution. The narrative invites readers to question whether public health was ever prioritized over economic interests, and whether privilege shaped the response to the crisis.
Petros Márkaris addresses quarantine in Cuarentena (Tusquets, 2022). Jaritos confronts near-contact isolation while considering who truly knows the people they share a life with. The story also examines homelessness during a health emergency, underscoring the humane side of survival and the enduring need to remember painful moments rather than erase them.