Scatterbrain: a letter from the content mines
When it rain it pours; reading Pedro Lemebel in English; swanning around London
Returning to an old manuscript is like returning to an old lover
Hello there, from here — the depths of the content mines. I hear it’s sunny outside, but I wouldn’t want to miss my weekly rendez-vous with you.
Life got in the way these past few days, and writing was an uphill struggle. Most of my output this week involved the manic repetition of the C word, in order to accurately portray the scumbag who found my mobile phone when it fell out of my pocket while cycling, switched it off, kept it; it was a relatively new phone too. One day I will narrate my heroic albeit failed attempts to retrieve it from the stinking record shop from where it is still pinging its location, but for the time being, since this is now a police matter, I will make no further comments. Other distracting events this week include a family member having emergency surgery (now recovering), the death of an aunt (the prospect of a recovery are here low to none), Leyton Orient losing 0-1 against a team in the relegation zone, and having a puncture whilst cycling back home from the aforementioned appalling game, the only time in the past year that I’ve cycled somewhere without taking my bike tools with me. Shakespeare —who coincidentally turns 460 today — writes “one woe doth tread upon another’s heel”, which is a less elegant way of saying “when it rains, it pours”, which is a less elegant way of saying “what a turd of a week.” Alas, the content mining must go on.
Before life got in the way, I had been working on an old manuscript — an as yet unnamed collection of three novellas. As I have said here before, many times, I never throw any writing away, as I strongly believe that given enough time a manuscript that isn’t going anywhere will start to make sense. Sadly I can’t say this about this manuscript, not yet. When I recommenced my work on it I was reminded of a tango that details the impressions of two former lovers who meet after twenty years apart. I can’t recall the name of the tango now, nor the lyrics verbatim, but the overall idea is that sometimes it’s better to leave the past behind, because reconnecting with someone you haven’t seen in twenty years — considering the cruel way in which time manifests itself in the human body — is the fastest way to stare death in the face. Well, I’m not sure I stared death in the face, but what I found was a voice I didn’t recognise anymore. It might have been the voice of a younger writer, but this was a writer I didn’t like.
Should I keep trying to finish these three novellas from the past? Should I give up? To keep insisting feels unwise; to quit feels cowardly. Only time will tell what will happen with this book. In the meantime I’ll shove these pages where they belong: in the folder called “Failures”.
Pedro Lemebel is larger than Mary Magdalene
The kind people at Pushkin Press recently sent me an advanced review copy of Pedro Lemebel’s A Last Supper of Queer Apostles — a collection of some of his best crónicas and essays, translated by Gwendolyn Harper. Back in 2020 I chose one of Lemebel’s pieces, for a list of my ten favourite Latin American short stories for The Guardian.1 This is what I had to say then, regarding Pedro and his “Las amapolas también tienen espinas”:
Criminally underpublished in English, Lemebel, is one of Chile’s most singular voices. Gay, mestizo, working class and communist, it would be hard to find a more unlikely survivor of the Pinochet years. His crónicas of the Santiago of the 70s, 80s, and 90s, are brutal yet endearing documents of lives lived in the margins. In this story from his La esquina es mi corazón (The Corner is My Heart) Lemebel tells a tale of desire, class and violent homophobia. And he does so endearingly, honestly, and with characteristic dark humour. Lemebel as a transvestite flâneur is an exceptional guide to the Latin American city.
If you haven’t read Lemebel, or only read his fiction thanks to Katherine Silver’s translation of Tengo miedo torero, this is your opportunity to acquaint yourself with one of the most unique literary voices in Latin America, through his non-fiction work. I’m working on a proper review of the book, and I hope to have it published eventually, if I can get a reviews editor to respond to my emails. In case I don’t manage this, I’ll give you a brief of the things I’d say: this translation of Lemebel’s crónicas into English remedies an act of literary injustice — that of barring the Anglophone public from one of our best kept non-secrets. Harper’s translation is intelligent, departing from the premise that translating Lemebel without loss is impossible — she has prioritised communicating his ideas over juggling language (in order to try to mimic Lemebel’s linguistic richness).2
Lemebel’s characters — who in Spanish would be classed as “travestis” or “locas” — occupy a voluntary liminal place, or in Pedro’s words, a place of difference. That is, these gender-hackers don’t demand to be accepted but to be allowed to exist in that place, and in that indeterminate state, because they understand that here lies their progressive potential. It would be very interesting to consider this position against the background of many contemporary discussions around gender identity and queerness. I’m not sure I’m the right person for this, but I hope the book is read and discussed along these lines too.
A Last Supper of Queer Apostles is out in May. Pre-ordering would be a good idea, because it’s incredibly good.
Swanning around London…
As a rule I never respond to or share negative reviews of my work, but what follows is rather amusing, it isn’t necessarily a review, and I can’t let it pass.