A particularly harsh novel is your last, a bitter portrait of today’s society. Are we that bad, Mr. Chirbes?

The truth is that all this gives the finishing touch to an era. The cycle that began with the century of lights is over. The triumph of no reason and individualism has been as complete as the triumph of the African Eszipion in Carthage and, after the victory, the fields have been sown with salt so that nothing more is born. From those ideals of the twentieth century, words have not remained: the class struggle, the working class, the revolution, we are made prehistoric. Now we don’t know what our discomfort is or, consequently, how to name it. We see an injustice, but no one seems guilty. The one who feels exploited is called unadapted, or the word mobbing is mentioned. Instead of going to the barricades and/or the cell meeting, we go to the psychologist now.

Set on the coast of the Levant, the novel describes the reality that you know up close. Was it the perfect setting to tell what you wanted? Or, inevitably, just one?

It is an ideal scenario, as it brings together a lot of contradictions from this period, but it is not the only one. Everywhere, the mechanics are the same, more or less.

Among the characters you have collected in the novel we find everything: the builder who has become gold, the former revolutionary who works as a peasant, the writer who has bestowed his best, the little ones here and there... and it seems that you do not save any of them.

As it is said in the citation of St. Paul that opens the book, no one lives for himself, no one dies for himself. Without a collective project, no one can aspire to find meaning in their own lives. And, in this race to save one's own ass, no scene of greatness comes in. In wars, the great escapes that take place in front of the enemy are an example of unworthiness, anyone is oppressed, anyone is surrendered for saving oneself. Have you read this wonderful novel by Irene Nemirovsky, Suite française, about how she escapes from Paris in the face of the German threat? Well, something like that, but in times of so-called social peace.

Throughout the book you can see the effort in terms of form, the voice of the narrator along with the dialogues between the characters, the 50-page paragraphs... there is the story, yes, but also the formal bet?

Yes, I am one of those who think that what is counted and how it is counted goes hand in hand. We are fascinated by old models, but they do not serve us. Every novel has to look for its own style, its own language, its own breathing, and I didn’t want to make a police novel, not one of those corruption whistleblowing novels. I wanted to tell about the state of the soul of our time, this world abandoned by the gods, and the search for this topic has marked the style of this book that wants to do a groundbreaking work in the reader.

Has it been hard to write Crematorio?

It’s ugly to say, because many people go through hard situations at work, and it’s a bit embarrassing to say that writing is hard, but I’d be lying if I didn’t confess. The book came out of a dark pit or put me in a dark pit. I ended up not knowing where I was. Each book is, in part or in part, a kind of psychoanalysis, an autopsy, and the fact that I saw all these characters inside that gave me the work, the fact that I saw myself inside.

“Representing pain takes it away from you: or rather, turns it into something else” can be read in the novel. Has something similar happened to you?

A
year after I finished, I can say that Crematorio has begun to be something else; and that, in the end, he has helped me move forward rather than sink, rather than crush. Now I can read and laugh with the vivid sense of humor and genius underneath that hasn’t happened to me in the three long years I’ve needed to write and the months to come. I didn't even have the strength to make amends. It infected my disappointment, or I infected mine into the book.

The different awards, including the Critique, the media critics, have highlighted your latest novel, and how (“The Best of Chirbes and One of the Best of Spanish Literature in This Century”). Did you expect something like that? What importance do you give to such things?

It confuses me. You say: everything is a disaster and you get a reward. And you don't know where to get in. Some awards speed up the expansion of the book, or the author’s, and let’s say that it’s good for your “literary career.” In addition, public acceptance helps you get rid of that idea of what you’re crazy about, and you’re grateful; for the rest, no one but you will fulfill the next white folio. If the rewards make you proud, that's your problem, too. I guess you can get drunk when you're 20 and with your first novel. After 60 years and counting almost everything that has to be told – I hope it’s not all – in eight books, you look at the prizes and the balacas with a different skepticism: you know, as a writer, your weaknesses, your fragility, better than anyone else.

You have been made famous by those who don’t like the literary world too much.

What is the “literary world”? I don't even know if it exists. I'm not interested in that cauldron. I don’t like to talk about my life or that of other writers: I’m interested in their books. Some of them are genuine and yet I’m interested in their mediocre work, and on the contrary, there are people I don’t like very much, but their work excites me. That is why I do not think it is good - with the exception of honourable exceptions - to go often with critics and writers, which, whether you like it or not, deprives you of a great deal of freedom. It forces you to confuse friendship with literary tastes, which is really bad. Since you’re kind, you seem to be forced to tell people you like that their books are wonderful, and it’s not good for them or for you. When someone asks me for an opinion on what I have done, I try to give it to them and, of course, it is often unpleasant. But I can't stand anyone saying that he liked one of my books when he didn't like it. My friends know it, and they talk to me – I think – with complete freedom. To avoid this labyrinth of passions, it is best to read books and escape from the authors. You can freely explain love or affliction, it is a vital thing for the mental health of an author.

I read that you read a lot. But what is it? Do you also dare with contemporary writers?

I’m working more and more on what to read among what is published, and I read and reread old books more than novelties – the night is coming, we have to prove it. Among the new things, I try to read what people I trust recommend to me, and there are some young people I’m interested in. I think that people like Andrés Barba, Ricardo Menéndez Salmon have very personal voices and face with great courage the contradictions of our time. Also in my hands are young writers in favor of fireworks and witty jokes, followers of the school of post-torrentism that has captured all the areas. Otherwise, great writers are alive: Álvaro Pombo, Ramiro Pinilla... you may or may not agree with Pinilla, but what a work of his saga! It is appalling that someone has made such a solitary effort.

Is there anything that comes out of it?

Unfortunately, I don’t know very well what is written in this language, only what is translated into Spanish, and it’s not much. The same thing happens – although more accessible – with those who write in Catalan and Galician, the domestic seems to arouse less interest than the external.