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The dead bee that stings

Juan Marsé, who died aged 87 on July 18, was widely considered Spain’s finest contemporary novelist. His great subject was the defeated Barcelona of his 1940s childhood. “No post-war ever had a better poet,” wrote Manuel Vázquez Montalbán.

Marsé made his name with Últimas tardes con Teresa, still his best-known book MARSÉ’S DIRECT, REALIST STYLE HAS FEW GLITTERING METAPHORS
A native Catalan speaker, he wrote in Spanish, language of his schooling HE WON MULTIPLE PRIZES, INCLUDING THE PLANETA AND THE CERVANTES

Many of his 16 nov­els chron­i­cle the blighted lives of chil­dren in the bar­ren land­scape after the Span­ish Civil War. In Si te dicen que caí (1973, trans­lated to Eng­lish as The Fallen), trau­ma­tised ado­les­cents are ob­sessed by vi­o­lence in a morally and so­cially de­graded city. The kids play at de­tec­tives, fol­low­ing strangers and re­turn­ing to their hide-out to tell what they had seen and then in­vent the rest. Marsé does not just show the sor­did re­al­ism of the epoch, but the imag­i­na­tion of these chil­dren. He is nos­tal­gic for their fu­ture, lost be­fore it ar­rives. Banned in Spain by the Franco dic­ta­tor­ship, Si te dicen que caí was first pub­lished in Mex­ico.

Bro­ken by de­feat

Ronda del Guinardó (1984), El em­brujo de Shang­hai (1993, trans­lated as Shang­hai Nights), Rabos de La­gar­tija (2000, trans­lated as Lizard Tails), win­ner of the Na­tional Nar­ra­tive Prize, Caligrafía de los sueños (2011, trans­lated as The Cal­lig­ra­phy of Dreams) and Esa puta tan dis­tin­guida (2016, trans­lated as The Snares of Mem­ory just last year) all re­turn to this post-war pe­riod. The chil­dren fan­ta­sise with es­cape from poverty to glam­orous worlds glimpsed in the neigh­bour­hood cin­ema: beau­ti­ful men and women, for­eign ad­ven­tures and large cars. In re­al­ity, moth­ers are dri­ven to pros­ti­tu­tion and ex-an­ar­chist fa­thers are ab­sent, ei­ther in jail or shad­owy fig­ures flit­ting be­tween Toulouse exile and Barcelona, un­able to trust any­one and them­selves no longer trust­wor­thy.

In one of his best nov­els, Un día volveré (1982), Jan Juliv­ert re­turns home after 12 years in jail. Bro­ken by de­feat, he just wants to live in peace, but the kids idolise the for­mer an­ar­chist, dream­ing he’s going to dig up his buried pis­tol, set­tle old scores and put the world back on its axis.

Marsé made his name with Últi­mas tardes con Teresa (1965), still his best-known book. He in­vented the iconic Manolo the Pi­joa­parte (un­trans­lat­able, but some­thing like the ’Far-from-posh guy’), a petty thief liv­ing pre­car­i­ously in a Carmel slum. The novel, with Marsé’s ha­bit­ual mix of sar­donic hu­mour and tragedy, ex­plains the clash of the Pi­joa­parte, a mi­grant from south­ern Spain, and the upper-class stu­dent Teresa, whom he meets after gate-crash­ing a Mid­sum­mer Night’s party. The re­bel­lious Teresa is drawn to the ’ex­otic’ im­mi­grant; while the Pi­joa­parte wants sex, money and a bet­ter life. Dif­fer­ent so­cial classes and dif­fer­ent na­tional back­grounds (Span­ish and Cata­lan) meet on ex­cit­ing rides up the coast on stolen mo­tor­bikes, but in re­al­ity these two par­al­lel worlds brush to­gether with­out re­ally meet­ing.

Vi­sual mem­ory

Marsé’s di­rect, re­al­ist style has few glit­ter­ing metaphors or pur­ple patches. His re­al­ism, though, is not nar­row, for it in­cludes his char­ac­ters’ dreams and de­sires. His “vi­sual mem­ory” (phrase coined by his great friend, the writer and pub­lisher Car­los Bar­ral) en­abled him to ac­cu­mu­late lay­ers of de­tail that cre­ate in­ten­sity. Mem­ory is “the dead bee that stings” as he wrote, mem­o­rably, in Noti­cias fe­lices en aviones de papel (2014).

A na­tive Cata­lan speaker, Marsé wrote in Span­ish, the lan­guage of his school­ing, though his prose is spat­tered with Cata­lanisms. These con­tribute to the dense, local taste of his books. He won mul­ti­ple prizes, in­clud­ing the Plan­eta in 1978 for La muchacha de las bra­gas de oro, about an old fas­cist who after Franco’s death pre­tends to have been a life-long de­mo­c­rat. In 2008 he was awarded the Cer­vantes, the first Cata­lan to re­ceive Spain’s an­nual prize for a life­time’s body of work. Eight of his nov­els have been filmed. Sev­eral crit­ics com­pare him with his ad­mired Faulkner and the com­par­i­son is not en­tirely in­flated, as it sug­gests not just lit­er­ary qual­ity, but pro­found im­mer­sion in a local area, in Marsé’s case the Barcelona neigh­bour­hoods of Guinardó, Carmel and Gràcia, and the strug­gle for dig­nity after de­feat in war.

Wicked

In the mid-70s he be­came one of the ed­i­tors of the anti-Franco satir­i­cal mag­a­zine, Por favor. Com­bat­ive against in­jus­tice and pre­ten­sion, the quick-tongued Marsé was known for his lethally frank com­ments. The three main tar­gets of his wit and rhetoric were the church (“this gang of shame­less thieves”), so­cial-climb­ing in­tel­lec­tu­als and na­tion­al­ists of all stripes, whether Cata­lan or Span­ish (“I don’t need any flag. I’m happy enough with my gar­den”). His ve­he­mence may make him seem loud-mouthed, but in fact he was a la­conic man. It was just that, when some­one asked him what he thought, he replied sin­cerely. His trans­la­tor to Eng­lish, Nick Cais­tor, told me: “He was quick-tem­pered but very gen­er­ous, with a wicked sense of hu­mour.”

In­evitably, Marsé’s provoca­tive crit­i­cisms of Cata­lan na­tion­al­ists led to pub­lic spats. He at­tacked writ­ers like Bal­tasar Por­cel whom he saw as earn­ing good money by be­com­ing of­fi­cially backed spokes­peo­ple for Cata­lan cul­ture. And he crit­i­cised na­tion­al­ist politi­cians like Jordi Pujol for hid­ing their de­fi­cien­cies and cor­rup­tion under a flag. Some read­ers will dif­fer, but I have al­ways en­joyed the “wicked sense of hu­mour” of these at­tacks on a rul­ing class.

Yet, his crit­i­cisms of the Cata­lan nor­mal­i­sa­tion pro­gramme and on in­sti­tu­tional sup­port for Cata­lan, which led him to sign the Foro Babel man­i­festo in the 1990s, are surely mis­placed. De­spite his re­jec­tion of Franco and Span­ish na­tion­al­ism, he was al­ly­ing him­self with Span­ish na­tion­al­ists who falsely as­sert that Cata­lan schools dis­crim­i­nate against Castil­ian. And his re­cent at­tacks on the in­de­pen­dence process placed him along­side the Span­ish right. A ref­er­en­dum on in­de­pen­dence is a de­mo­c­ra­tic right.

We have these great nov­els: es­sen­tial read­ing for any­one who wants to un­der­stand Cat­alo­nia.

obit­u­ary

Combative

Juan Marsé was adopted by Pep Marsé and Berta Carbó, small farmers from southern Catalonia, after the death postpartum of his biological mother. Both his biological and adoptive fathers were members of Estat Català, a right-wing independentist group – a historical irony, for Marsé was to be leftist and a fierce opponent of Catalan separatism. He spent his early years, often with his grandparents, in the village of Sant Jaume dels Domenys, near Tarragona. Though he never wrote much about the country-side, his ideal of the good life was to sit on a bench in a garden. In later years he had a house at Calafell where he tended his orange trees.

In Gràcia after the war, his father worked sporadically and his mother struggled financially. At the age of 13, Marsé was apprenticed to a jeweller. In the mid-50s, nurtured by an epistolary relationship with a Catalan writer resident in Sevilla, Paulina Crusat, he began to submit stories and articles to literary and film magazines and in 1960 his first published novel, Encerrados con un solo juguete, brought him into contact with the upper-class anti-Franco circles.

He was for many of them the rough diamond, the worker auto-didact, a role he rejected. With some, he formed friendships that lasted all their lives: with Vázquez Montalbán, also from a poor background, with the aristocratic poet Jaime Gil de Biedma, and with Carlos Barral.

He had written much of his first novel on military service in Ceuta, after which he spent three years in Paris from 1959. The germ, he said, for Últimas tardes con Teresa came from these classes, for the young upper-class women were extremely interested in his stories (“I exaggerated them,” Marsé said) of immigrants and petty criminals in the slums. Back in Barcelona, he joined the underground Communist Party in 1962, but left four years later.

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