Carolina Sarmiento, born in Asturias in 1981, has long shaped her world from letters. She published her first poetry collection Ikiru in 2018, followed by the short stories in Stinging Animals in 2020, then a novel titled Tarada. Now Vrësno (Pez de Plata) arrives, and she will present it in Oviedo tomorrow.
How do her books resemble each other, and in what ways do they diverge?
She explains that her obsession with precise language, her trust in imagination, and her habit of probing emotions through irony and a touch of hooliganism thread through her work, particularly in the stories gathered in Stinging Animals. Tarada and the other pieces lean toward darker, more serious turns, as seen in Vrësno. Readers have helped her realize an affinity for escape narratives, a habit she now recognizes as a narrative engine that she uses to propel her storytelling.
What unique coordinates guide the world of Vrësno?
Intimacy forms a central, mysterious axis of Vrësno, and it resonates with the creator’s fragility and doubts. The novel also engages themes that matter deeply to her: the magnetism of mountains, the pull of legends, the tension between nature’s desire and its fear, and questions about identity and the future that feels uncertain.
The protagonist Stanis Otief emerges through a retrospective lens as Feito. This insight came from a story first drafted years ago when a friend and family relocated to a town. The name Feito appeared as a clue, and a deliberate reversal hid its origin to keep the fiction safe. The choice preserves a sense of cowboy frontier ethics that echo through Otief, a character whose life of songs and self-discovery mirrors the rugged boundaries of the fictional world. The narrative uses guitar and song as a vehicle to reveal what remains hidden and to reveal what he cannot fully articulate.
Is it inherently uncomfortable to delve into the lives of parents?
The author finds it very difficult to meet them; fatherhood and motherhood carry enormous responsibility, and the spark of early life can fade. When one grows up, the flaws, disappointments, and pasts that shaped one’s childhood become visible. Parents, once idealized, reveal their imperfections and histories, much like the rest of adult life. The result is a sense of imperfect aliens—people who loved unconditionally yet carried a past that shaped their children in ways neither could fully predict.
Do the secrets of Vrësno intimidate the author?
She felt a pull toward the inhabitants, called Zaleas, and wrote from a distance, wary of hurt. The writing dips into dark territory, and the author acknowledges the danger of probing the most primal fears embedded in the place and its people.
How might the novel be perceived as infringing on boundaries?
This is a delicate issue. The author writes with a commitment to freedom and does not intend to infringe. The risk lies in the subtle ambiguity among the manuscript, the reader, and the protagonist’s own voice. She holds the belief that exploration should trump breach, and seeks to trade any perceived transgression for discovery.
Is there a landscape metaphor in the book?
To reveal the landscape too plainly would deprive the reader of personal reflection, a sacred act the author respects. The mountains, rivers, and forests of Vrësno form a living backdrop, with the wildness of thought matching the wildness of the land. An early title considered for the work was Animal Mountain, underscoring this link between inner and outer terrain.
Some readers wondered how Vrësno came to life on the screen of the internet and why the title exists at all.
The places in the novel are fictional, and the author intentionally invented the geography to suit the legend at the heart of the tale. The story also features other towns along Stanis’ journey, such as Trualla, Cozul, and Méligo, all imaginary. The absence of a real Vrësno underscores the mythic quality of the narrative, inviting readers to decide whether the legend holds truth for them.
Why does Stanis feel compelled to understand his family more deeply? Deep down, is he searching for himself?
Stanis seeks to grasp why he did not act when his intuition warned him something was wrong in Vrësno. He wants to understand where his difficulty in relating comes from and how the distance to his parents shaped his childhood. Above all, he desires clarity about guilt—whether he bears responsibility for a disappearance or not.
Does a family-only town conceal more than it reveals?
In a place where the clan dominates, suspicion grows. The Zaleas harbor secrets, and the story hints at hidden truths that challenge the surface of the community.
Does writing offer genuine freedom?
Yes. The author notes that freedom feels scarce in daily life, yet fiction lets her ride a dragon, disappear into a cave, or escape in other imaginative ways. Writing becomes a way to exercise agency when reality feels constrained.
Are there secrets a mother would keep from her son?
There are small, embarrassed truths tucked away, and if given a chance, the author would share them. The larger secrets are those kept from herself—things she hasn’t yet acknowledged, even to this day.
The main character is a singer-songwriter; what music accompanies the reading?
Nick Drake served as a constant companion during the writing process. His voice, melodies, and sensitivity helped set the tone, making the novel feel like a song. The spirit of Antonio Vega and Nacho Vegas resonates through lines that read like lyric fragments. Songs such as Monstruo de papel and La fi, among others, echo the emotional rhythm of Stanis. Christina Rosenvinge’s Silver Romance also threads through the atmosphere, offering a haunting line that foreshadows the opening of the book.
What did traveling to Vrësno teach the author about herself?
She discovered her own capability and resolve. Writing a novel proved to be a formidable challenge, and she learned that patience and time matter. She took unpaid leave to devote herself to the project and found Vrësno to be a debut of sorts, even though it appeared after Tarada. Revisions continued long after the initial draft. The place retains a dark, totemic silhouette in her memory, a reminder that the mountains are not easy to escape. She does not claim to have learned the risks of creative obsession, but the experience left its mark nonetheless.