[lit-ideas] The Dirty War -- and What Was That Made It Dirty
- From: Jlsperanza@xxxxxxx
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Mon, 19 Nov 2007 18:11:20 EST
Thanks to L. K. Helm for excerpts, link, and comment on the Bolaño novel
You are right, and this enigmatic man of letters, Alberto Ruiz Tagle, looks
like, shall I say, 'interesting' character.
-----
I suppose the Argentines have their own brand of what the Daily Telegraph
link you sent referred to as 'dictator-novel'.
In Argentina, it wasn't necessarily ONE dictator -- as Pinochet was in Chile
-- but had a string of them, as polo players are said to have _strings of
horses_. One worse than the other.
In any case, I think the string-factor makes a difference in collective
consciousness (and it started as early as 1930 in Argentina -- so _that_ may be
one clash of a civilisation that Huntington thinks 'Latin America' may be prone
to affecting.
The literature of the 1970s in Argentina is 'rich' in dictator novels. I am
reminded of a rather boring novel by whom I call the Argentine second literary
giant -- after Borges and before Puig -- Julio Cortazar. The novel is called
"The book of Manuel", and it tends to horribly depict the cruel deaths as
you mention the Garmendia Sisters in the Bolaño novel.
Most of those thugs (I recall one called Captain Astiz -- or "The Angel of
Death" --) were paramilitary, and in general the Air Force was not involved but
mainly the Army and the Navy ("La Armada") -- and the centre of detention
was pretty much down town Buenos Aires -- La Escuela de Mecanica de la
Armada".
Yes, Armada, as in Old Spanish, "The Spanish Armada" for some reason means
just navy, not 'army', as if the army were not armed, too.
Interesting the Daily Telegraph thing mentions the Che Guevara, as we have
our own mythology about him too. The recent film, "Motorcycle Diaries", as it
retells the early years of Che in Buenos Aires -- as he leaves his
middle-class Buenos Aires neighbourhood and pays a farewell to his 'novia' in
the
seaside estancia -- is an interesting view.
Little as to where he got his ideology though. They could have shown a
little bit of the underpriviledged _in_ Buenos Aires (greater urban 'shanty
towns', for example -- if there were any _then_) than engage him in what I saw
as
_provincial_ testimonials in countries _other_ than Argentina.
Personally, I could not read "Libro de Manuel". The descriptions of the
tortures were too realistic (they were actually taken from military journals or
things like that), and it takes away the pleasure of engaging oneself in
literature.
If the Garmendias were 'slightly involved in subversive activities -- but
then anyone was', it's even more macabre to read of victims who had nothing to
do with subversion at all -- well, other than being the daughter of Ongania,
or other people who were bombed to death in the City.
There was _indeed_ a time that owning any Marx, or, Althusser, got you into
problems. And being in the _address book_ of a subversive was sometimes all
the evidence these paramilitary thugs needed.
There has been perhaps an overwhelming of that trend -- in literature -- in
Argentina, starting with the film success of "La historia oficial" and other
minor films depicting other incidents like "The night of the pencils" -- la
noche de los lapices -- which is set in a high-school.
Borges himself was said to be involved in some kind of pro-militaristic
propaganda that, they say, never gotten the Oscar of Literature (the Nobel) for
him. Namely, his accepting an award from Pinochet in the (I think) 70s, and he
describing Galtieri (and other members of the Junta during the Malvinas
conflict) as 'gentlemen'. He did not need any help from others to get him into
trouble!
I was amused to read a book of interviews to Borges early in the 1960s. In
one of them, the interviewer is constantly referring to Peron -- whom Borges
hated --, but Borges perhaps unintentionally misunderstands him, and keeps
talking about Rozas -- a nineteenth century 'Buenos Aires' caudillo. "Well,
once
you've seen one barbarian, you've seen them all", he would quip.
Comically, too, when Peron became President, Borges was demoted from his job
as librarian -- and assigned as "Officer in the Poultry Market" (Inspector
de Aves). In his biography of Borges, Woodall refers to the fact that 'ave' was
metonymic for 'coward', or antipatriotic. Borges resigned the post. I always
found the episode funny -- but it was true! in a Ripley sort of way!
So, yes, you can add a pinch of salt -- and blood -- to the history of this
part of the world. Being slightly country-centric, I'm not too familiar with
dictators or dictatorships across the Andes, but I _heard_ of them, too.
Regards (Cheers sounds too frivolous for this :-()
J. L. Speranza
author of "The Dirty War of Argentina -- and What Was That Made It
*Dirty*.
Buenos Aires, Argentina
----
From the link provided by Helm:
"Latin-American "dictator novel''. It opens in 1973 on the eve of Pinochet's
overthrow of President Allende. In the Chilean city of Concepción, due east
of Santiago, a group of left-leaning idealists discuss Pablo Neruda and the
hallowed Che Guevara. Among them is Alberto Ruiz-Tagle, an enigmatic man of
letters and (it turns out) political thug. Women find him attractive but men
regard him as suspect. After the coup, indeed, Alberto is revealed as a
Pinochet
supporter and a Chilean airforce pilot. His real name is Carlos Wieder and
he has German blood. Throughout this brief novel, Bolaño provides a chilling
portrait of Wieder and his depredations as he eliminates opponents of the
junta. His most theatrical gesture in support of Pinochet is to steer an old
Messerschmitt over Concepción and, for all to see, trace pro-junta slogans in
smoke-lettering across the sky. These daring skywriting exercises are repeated
over numerous Chilean cities; before long Wieder has become a poet-aviator
hero to the nation. By the 1980s, having devoted the best years of his life to
Pinochet, Wieder unaccountably vanishes. Lord Lucan-like sightings of the
assassin serve only to encourage a legend of Wieder as an exotic escapist. Some
say Wieder has become a Rosicrucian; others, a film cameraman. Eventually, the
Wieder mystery is solved by a disgruntled policeman. Bolaño's great
story-telling gifts, together with his caustic intelligence and precisely
modulated
prose, make for a transfixingly good novel. If parts of Distant Star –
beautifully translated by Chris Andrews – appear to be in narrative disarray,
the
plot skittering about confusedly, Bolaño's artful interstitching of plots and
his surreal, sun-dazed images make up for that. It is sad to learn that the
author died at only 50, a bright new presence in South American literature
extinguished.{
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