The city at night becomes a vast void where a figure known as Vagalume writes in anonymity. After his death, his family uncovers him amid layers of mystery and deception. He entrusts his words to a friend, the narrator, who may either read them with awe or keep them hidden forever. Vagalume has the uncanny ability to reach the core of writing, loneliness, pain, and emptiness. In this work, Llamazares captures the intimate memory and desolation of both the author and his kin, showing how much can be expressed without laying bare the self. Mystery operates like poetry here, as a writer from a submerged town revisits themes of water and oblivion, allowing a concealed novelist to help explain what literature can reveal about grief born from nothingness or death. The interview takes place in Madrid, away from public stage, yet the repercussions of the secret hometown always color the prose and poetry.
The secret lives of people fascinated me
What does the word vagalume mean to you, and how do you live with yourself?
It has become a part of daily life. There is a struggle: a novel does not exist until a title appears. The title feels like the spirit of the work. The title changed three times. Then, at a moment of clarity, the novel came together. Oddly, vagalume shows up in many moments—on Ponzano Street a restaurant named Vagalume; a friend who traveled to Galicia found a Vagalume bar; someone sent a poem by Manuel Rivas titled Vagalume. In truth, that word is now part of the writer’s inner world.
The secret lives of people fascinated me
Vagalume and loneliness?
Vagalume represents the night’s light, the answer to the mystery. A journalist called to discuss the book’s publication said it reads like a tale of the urge to write and the impulse to live. Writing happens at night, the window becomes a frame for waking lights, and there is a sense that someone else is busy while most sleep. In the end, fiction often weighs more than reality, and that is the core insight shaping this novel.
What about its sound and poetry?
The comparison between two kinds of writers—those with a map and those with a compass—rings true. I favor the compass, drawn to people’s hidden lives. On the subway, a glimpse of a stranger invites speculation about their secret life. This fascination with secret writers runs through the book. It recalls authors who wrote to earn a living, or publishers who discovered forgotten manuscripts in drawers after family deaths. There is always an editor who also writes. The mystery is heightened by those who refuse to be writers yet feel compelled to tell stories.
How does journalism mingle with literature in this work? Do the events mirror the author’s life?
Yes. The characters act as masks of their authors. The novel is autobiographical in spirit, not as a diary of deeds but as a portrayal of a deep commitment to storytelling. Every character feels like a facet of the author’s own experience. All of them belong to him.
Is this book a modern urban reading of Yellow Rain?
Perhaps. It reads as urban by nature, a lonely life rendered in city texture. As Fernando Pessoa suggested, writing is a way to be alone. The novel invites a move away from noise to reflect on life—one’s own and others’. Life can be imagined as a novel with a known ending, offering two paths: to leave life or to live with unbridled enthusiasm.
Has that tension touched the author personally?
There is a love for living and for the pleasures of life.
Was leaving the hometown part of the story?
Indeed. There was a moment when departure became necessary to pursue a greater purpose. If not, perhaps another writer’s fate could have echoed mine. Centralism in Spain has always been a strong force, and in smaller cities, even a rich inner life can be overwhelmed by the wider world.
Does the book sit between La lluvia amarilla and La Comala by Juan Rulfo?
It echoes those moods. The author has long drawn inspiration from provincial towns, places that can be both nurturing and confining due to social oversight. Realities become literary landscapes, and once told, they may lose their concreteness.
There’s a poetic note urging journalism here as well.
Journalism is a form of literature. A story should burn with the same passion as a novel. Journalism is a living form, literature a form of memory. The core instrument is language.
Some characters liken journalists to computer mice. Is that an apt metaphor?
Journalism reflects societal change. Today, technology and the virtual realm gain reverence, yet journalism remains the same at heart. Reporters rarely step out onto the street; the newsroom is increasingly external in spirit, even if the screen remains close at hand.
Are you a writer among writers in the sense of focusing on one’s craft?
The work examines a writer who studies another writer who wrote about his father, also a writer. The book reflects a lifelong devotion to writing. Vagalume becomes a study of the mystery of writing and how writers can resemble fireflies in the night.
What is the degree of self-involvement in the writing process?
During the composition, it felt like a conversation with the self. The characters spoke, and so did the author. The process was intimate and immersive.
What role does literature play in publishing today?
One does not determine value by trend. Writers resemble radio stations, broadcasting on distinct frequencies. If one chooses FM, readers tune to that; if medium wave, a different audience follows. The aim is clarity and purpose, not merely popularity. Literature should retain its dignity amid commercial pressures.
War shadows and postwar echoes surface in the book as in the author’s previous works.
Those shadows persist in Spain today, woven into the human psyche. The landscape may be modern and bright, yet digging beneath reveals remains. The unresolved handling of the dead shows the ongoing impact of the war and its aftermath.
Are moles referenced in the narrative?
Yes. In the postwar era, moles hide to stay safe, while some betray others after gathering information.
There is also a stark winter mood—snow—and the central tension remains concealment and truth, and how to face life’s lies and mysteries.
The sense of cold and snow fades into the larger truth: the mystery of life and the choice to keep living, even when reality seems to blur with fiction.