Speed, the liveliness in the eyes, and the sudden flashes of sadness that appear there—these elements, combined with a mood of melancholy and courage, leave a distinctive mark on the prose and, in turn, on the writer’s own soul. The novel reads like a work of autofiction, yet it asserts itself most clearly as a testament that this journalist, widely regarded as one of the finest contemporary voices in the language, is also a poet and a novelist, grounded in a relentless writing passion and the talent shared by many great writers. For those who resist any single label, the description remains deliberately open-ended.
Mirafiori (Alfaguara) unfolds as a love story tangled with dissatisfaction and constant struggle, where people care deeply for one another yet true affection remains elusive. It is described by the author as his darkest novel and a personal confession of sorts about the shadows that accompany desire.
Born in 1978 in Sanxenxo, Galicia, the author has long carried the energy of a young writer who started contributing to the press at an early age. He has led a major newspaper for some time and is among the swiftest voices on this side of the Atlantic. The novel itself often evokes the mood of a bolero, occasionally inviting comparisons to some of Guillermo Cabrera Infante’s most acclaimed works.
Reading it is like listening to the author speak: the progression feels natural and easy to follow.
One might assume that speaking comes easily to everyone, but writing it down is another matter. The challenge lies in shaping thoughts for the page; conversations with others often reveal how hard it can be to translate spoken cadence into written form.
What questions might arise for the reader within this book?
A writer friend recently told me she read the book in the author’s voice, yet finished in her own. The voice seems personal, unmistakable, and inescapable. Everything in the book appears to come through a singular, intimate register, one that invites readers to locate themselves within the cadence and the feelings expressed. In this sense, the reader’s experience closely mirrors the author’s own admission of voice—a voice that resonates long after turning the last page.
Initially, the narrative unfolds with the rhythms of a bolero, but the deeper current carries love, pain, and music across its entire span. How does the ending compare?
The ending arises slowly, with a sense of letting go rather than rushing toward resolution. A moment of inspiration—captured during a solitary birthday trip to the Malaga coast—shapes the final pages. The author feels that the pages written there are among the strongest he has produced, a peak that, in his view, may be surpassed only in a future work. Happiness accompanies the sense of accomplishment, even as the time limit to perfect the ending is felt acutely by those who collaborated on the project.
There is a strong sense of musicality in the text.
As with earlier books, Mirafiori houses a constellation of landscapes and leitmotifs that together form a cohesive corpus. There are echoes to writers the author admires, along with passages featuring music that nod respectfully to those influences.
A recurring feature is the presence of the author as a literary figure. What surprised some readers was the appearance of obituaries as a focal point, as seen in this work.
The novel engages with death, examining it from various angles. A journalist character becomes immersed in the obituary world, traveling to Madrid to seek out actors, facing obstacles to publication, and discovering how the act of chronicling the dead opens doors of opportunity in the living world. Being a journalist provides a ready-made space for the writer to explore events and voices, even when the material is fictional.
The book is populated with ghosts. Where do these come from?
They exist as part of the author’s imagination—figures that move through journalism, through hustle, bringing versatility to writing, reading, and play. The author relishes crafting characters that resemble ghosts, finding joy in those creations and allowing himself to drift between pages and styles, much like wandering through a spectral gallery.
Has the journalist-figure ever overshadowed other aspects of the writing?
The author notes that the character does not overshadow the work; rather, it blends with the exploration of themes it represents. Writing about a tribute journalist was an exercise in imagining a real professional pursuing a specific field with passion and accuracy, even within a fictional frame.
What about the balance of dreams, risks, romance, fear, and secrets? How do these elements accumulate into Mirafiori?
The novel is cast as the author’s darkest work to date, yet light persists in abundance. The characters become nearly translucent as the narrative delves into night scenes that reveal more about them. It is a darker exploration than the earlier works Malaherba and Miss Marte, yet it also functions as a summation of those volumes, even while deepening the existential mood. A common thread from the outset is the idea that beauty resides at the core of horror, and the most poignant moments are often couched in intimate exchanges where forgiveness, confrontation, and self-justification collide. The opening and closing chapters bookend these conversations with a shared, somber glow, even as the drama unfolds with a quiet intensity.
Is the book deeply personal, given its title and tone?
The book is not a straightforward personal manifesto, but it is emotionally intimate. It draws on real characters rather than real events, and its most autobiographical aspect lies in the emotional landscape and the presence of the ghosts that haunt the narrative. The author emphasizes that while the material is not a direct diary, the emotional core is unmistakably personal.
Finally, does the book suggest that beauty and terror coexist within love and memory?
Indeed, beauty flourishes in the moment of two people discovering one another, an almost miraculous alignment of feeling and fate. Yet separation can emerge not as a failure but as the conclusion of a preceding victory—a lingering mystery that adds depth to the story. The book treats love and loss with reverence, recognizing that the most tender moments often carry the seeds of sorrow, and that the human capacity to feel deeply is what makes the narrative so powerful and moving.