At the start of 2022, a journalist sat down with Luis Landero in his Madrid home, a space that mirrors the openness and honesty found in his novels. The award of the National Prize for Literature, recognizing his work since Juegos de la edad tardía (Tusquets, 1989), prompted the decision to publish excerpts from that conversation. It felt fitting to mark not only the author’s latest triumph but also the sense of farewell that often accompanies literary milestones. The interviewer returned to the house that feels like Landero and his wife Coté’s shared spirit, continuing a dialogue that now closes the year of his birth with thoughtful reflection.
What memories come to mind when receiving a prize like the National Prize for Literature?
Landero recalls his father. It is a familiar refrain, yet it remains powerful. He often says that if his father could have seen him, he would have been proud to see a son who worked for him. He remembers that his wife witnessed the moment when the call came, and she was more exuberant than he was. The award brings happiness, but it also prompts questions about others who might have deserved recognition. Still, the prize does not dominate his self-perception—emotion is present, yet measured, and he finds it hard to explain fully.
What about literary pleasure itself?
There is joy in writing and in being recognized, a happiness that grows when loved ones reach out with messages. Writing is a daily source of satisfaction, a quiet illumination that lights a solitary workspace. When an award arrives and loved ones celebrate, another layer of joy fills the moment, making the craft feel vividly alive.
Which mountains were hardest to climb, yet brought the greatest joy in writing?
Landero remembers the moment he found the rhythm for his first novel, a turning point when he began to feel like a writer. He started writing at fifteen, though health and confidence were fragile. In his late thirties, the Late Age Games emerged with characters who felt solid and true. The subsequent novels were not quite as joyful, though their value remains a matter of taste and memory.
After the Late Age, Rafael Conte, a critic of the era, asked, “Who is Luis Landero?” Who is Luis Landero?
There is a sense of continuity in Landero’s view of himself: he sees himself as the same person, someone who carries a portion of childhood forward into adulthood. He began writing early and continues with the same impulse, conviction, and uncertainty that defined his youth. Literature has provided coherence to his life, shaping its center and its direction. What he writes aims to answer the questions asked of him, and he has already written many books, with no intention of stopping the introspective journey that defines his inner world.
Luis Landero’s works include a ridiculous story from Tusquets, a testament to his enduring presence in literature. The price of pages and the emotional resonance of his stories remain a fixed point in his career, a marker of commitment rather than market success.
Conte’s question marked Landero’s entry into the literary world. What was it like to become a writer, and how did those early feelings shape him?
It was October 29, 1989. While attending a wedding, Landero read a review with such intensity that he felt nearly overwhelmed. Beatriz de Moura’s decision to publish one of the happiest days of his life, his novel, raised expectations about sales and critical reception. The review came at a time when the author was still finding his footing; a friend from the period notes that Landero, a high school teacher at the time, embodied a deep passion for literature.
Then came Lluvia Fina, a significant turning point. Landero did not foresee the impact of that book, which contrasted with earlier ease and risked nothing in terms of ambition. A café conversation confirmed its success, and the book’s reception felt earned rather than anticipated. The episode reinforced the idea that value does not always align with effort, a notion that has recurred in his career.
Has writing taught Landero to write itself?
Yes. Writing is learned by doing, and its path shifts with age and experience. It functions like a flashlight, guiding the writer through the night, revealing new ways of saying things and new themes. Sometimes detours are taken, but the main road is always the destination. In short, writing shapes the journey itself.
What about the standing of the writer in Spain today?
Landero notes that the 1980s and 1990s were a peak period when writers could gain broad recognition. The rise of the internet and social media has altered visibility; writers can become secondary figures in the public eye. Nevertheless, when respected figures like Julio Llamazares, Antonio Muñoz Molina, and Javier Marías were celebrated, society, media, and scholars gave the writer a certain cultural prestige. Later generations lost some of that aura.
What about the cultural ecosystem now?
He describes a trend where culture is increasingly swayed by entertainment and online platforms. Social networks claim a large share of cultural space, and this shift has tangible effects on how writing is perceived and valued.
How has this changed writing itself?
Writing has become cheaper in the eyes of the market. The author notes a shift toward quick outputs, trending genres, and faster gratification. Short sentences and digestible themes often dominate, and the grand, complex novels of the past face a new pressure to conform. Yet Landero emphasizes that true pride in writing comes from the craft itself, regardless of market demand, and that readers will decide what resonates. The danger now lies in a market-driven approach that risks diluting a writer’s inner world.
Today’s question is about corporate recognition. Landero has just received corporate awards and remains with his long-time publisher. What is his commitment to Tusquets?
Tusquets is his home base. The arrangement offers space for quiet creation and the stability to write without distraction. Movement to another publisher would disrupt the rhythm, he explains. Money matters exist, but his primary desire is solitude and calm, allowing the work to continue in peace, with the publisher handling the rest.
Writer Luis Landero continues to contribute to the literary landscape with honesty and a persistent curiosity. His reflections reveal a writer who is deeply attached to the craft, who measures success by the vitality of his inner world and the quiet resonance of his pages.