From the moment you enter this book, it feels as if it barely lets anything slip away, inviting readers to push through danger and difficulty with an almost personal pace. It reads as if the reader is co-authoring the text as you move through it. That sense of immediacy defines the work Strange by Guillermo Arriaga.
The reading rhythm accompanies you as if you were composing it yourself, continuing until the final breath, and that closing moment stands as one of the most striking sections in contemporary prose in Spanish. Skipping ahead to see that ending would miss a crucial part of the novel’s value, a masterful achievement in modern literary craftsmanship.
The author has already shown his distinctive voice in cinema through screenplays for Amores Perros and 21 Grams, and in literature with works such as Save the Fire, which received the Alfaguara award in 2020, together with other acclaimed titles. Strange, published by Alfaguara, emerges from a Mexican origin and travels to Spain, underscoring the work’s impact on readers and its resonance with science and medicine in earlier centuries, a period when anti-progress factions viewed doctors as mere servants of ignorance. Yet the book’s entries themselves signal this very dialogue. To attempt a summary would do a disservice to the artful density of Arriaga’s literature, and a mere outline could never capture the breadth of what this novel accomplishes.
In Madrid on his sixty-fifth birthday, the author speaks with a quiet cadence, his mature beard and hair touched by age. He speaks softly, as if pausing to highlight themes that might blossom into new novels one day. He is not a talkative figure by nature, but listening to him is like continuing a reading of Strange long after the last page. The novel investigates the sense of strangeness that has haunted centuries, a theme in which people were treated as less than human and sometimes worse, an issue that persists even today.
Q. Reading this book makes the reader feel like they are participating in the article.
R. The opposite happens to me: it feels as if I am writing while I read. I write as a reader because I do not know where I am headed or which characters will appear. Yet I appreciate how you experience it. My aim was to reproduce an eighteenth century cadence to discover a rhythm distinct from contemporary prose. I had to stretch punctuation and pace because I realized the breath behind the sentences mattered just as much as the words themselves.
Q. Is a musical mind needed to catch that rhythm, right?
R. Rhythm has always fascinated me, but in the novel the breath itself must be created. I experimented with pacing before, yet this project demanded a longer, deeper rhythm. When the audiobook arrived, actor Javier Poza remarked that reading aloud without long pauses would be nearly impossible, a comic aside that reminded us of the breath behind every line. The actor joked that he was running out of air.
Q. Does the same hold true when one is swimming through a narrative?
R. Exactly. The goal is to immerse the reader from the very first pages, to invite them to begin a journey so immersive that it feels like crossing a vast sea in one breathless motion.
What about the character Guillermo, who aspires to be a physician and hails from a noble Irish family?
R. He comes from a background of privilege that clashes with his ambitions. For Burton, social rank becomes a constraint, a form of prison where lineage can overwhelm merit. The novel treats authority as something that can suffocate individual potential, echoing tensions seen in modern discussions of power and status.
“I think the aristocracy wears a difficult corset. Authority and lineage press hard.”
S. The work examines authority, showing how paternal and maternal pressures shape Burton alike.
R. The idea came to mind after readings about royal expectations. The aristocracy, with its fixed norms, becomes a challenge that characters must navigate. The author reflects on how such a social frame constrains personal freedom and marks the contrasts between tradition and individual growth.
Q. And on a social scale, how do settings like Spain and Mexico illuminate the story? We come from a world where service is a given and hierarchies are visible.
R. The author grew up in a liberal household that did not emphasize rigid authority, yet he recognizes how those contexts influence literary creation. The aristocratic world persists, a social relic that still demands understanding, even as its relevance is questioned by many readers today. The discussion about monarchy in contemporary life remains a puzzle for some readers and critics alike.
Q. What role does science play in the book?
R. The aim was to tell the story with scientific ideas embedded in a way that feels integral, not didactic. Personal experiences volunteering with disability projects and documentary work inform the narrative, lending authenticity to the portrayal of obstacles in rural settings and the lives of those with disabilities.
Q. How did this novel originate?
R. The idea appeared during a road trip, sparked by a video of strangers whose lives intersected in unexpected ways. The initial plan explored various historical settings—from Mongolia in the year 900 to Norway in 1400 and England in 1781—before locking onto an English-speaking stage that ultimately shaped the manuscript. The project then shifted toward contemporary Mexico, revealing the way historical curiosity can illuminate modern conditions.
“Is a great scientist necessarily rational, or is adventure the driving force behind progress?”
Q. How did the characters confront the violence of their times and the dangers of life in that era?
R. The eighteenth century is portrayed as a time of bold exploration. Scientists were risk-takers, sometimes acting on impulses that bordered on the romantic. Some experiments crossed borders that ethics would later condemn. In one case a scientist inoculates himself against infection, and in another instance he experiments with tooth transplants from corpses. The underlying question remains: can progress survive without risk and imagination? The answer, for the author, is nuanced and honest about the costs of human curiosity.
Q. The book suggests science and poetry share a frontier—do you agree?
R. Yes, the era’s scientists were often poets in their own right. Great advances came from minds that trusted imagination as much as logic. Even Einstein’s famous line about imagination surpassing knowledge resonates here, a reminder that creative thinking often leads discovery. Knowledge grows, but imagination fuels the journey.
Q. Is it a historical novel?
R. Not strictly. It uses a historical lens to shape a story that remains firmly contemporary in tone and intention. The opening clarifies this approach; the narrative seeks to interpret rather than reproduce past events, capturing an essence, a pulse that transcends dates and places.
Q. How does the author view suffering then and now?
R. The novel aims to reveal essences rather than exhaustive histories. Even the most faithful chronicle can miss what matters most, and myth often reworks reality to convey truth. The work collects the core experiences and feelings of its people, letting legend hold sway over precise facts.
Q. Do scenes of cruelty appear only in the eighteenth century?
R. They recur. The author recalls witnessing harsh treatment of a child with disabilities and reflecting on how cruelty persists in varying forms. The point remains that empathy is essential for recognizing the humanity in those who diverge from the norm.
“Since growing up in a godless home, the author has tried to understand believers, and even the most devout question faith at times.”
Q. Is faith a theme in the novel?
R. The absence of a divine frame in the book invites readers to consider belief from multiple angles. The author speaks of a father who questions why a child with a disability was given life, while the work itself remains a drama that blends irony with heartfelt reflection. Writing becomes a path to healing, marked by the pain of loss but also by a chance for renewal through art.
Q. Where does the author place himself within the narrative?
R. He is present in every character, bearing something of himself and something he learned from others. The process of writing this book, like the persons it portrays, is a journey that continues to evolve with each new reader. The author believes a book cannot alter an author’s life, but it can shape the reader’s understanding. The closing pages carry a strong emotional charge, and the hope is that readers will feel that surge as they reach the final sections.