Tag Archives: Spanish

The Winterlings by Cristina Sanchez-Andrade

Choosing a novel by a woman in translation can be tricky, with so few reviews in newspapers and on blogs. I chose this one for three reasons. It won an award from English Pen who support writing in translation. And it is in Spanish, and I haven’t reviewed a book originally in Spanish for some time. And when it arrived, with two other possibilities, I liked the cover so much that my choice was made.

The story of The Winterlings

It is soon after the end of the war in the 1950s in the Spanish countryside. Two sisters, the Winterlings of the title, reappear in the remote village in which they grew up decades before. They move into their grandfather’s house, bringing a cow, some sheep and chickens and settle into life there. Where have they been? Their grandfather sent them away shortly before he was killed during the Civil War, and they spent time in England, doing domestic work, learning to be seamstresses and going to the cinema. Before their return one of them had briefly been married.

They came past one morning like the thrumming of a hornet, swifter than an instant.

The women.

The Winterlings.

The men bent over the earth straightened up to watch. The women stilled their brooms. The children stopped playing; two women with big, tired bones, as thought worn down by life, were crossing the town square.

Two women followed by four sheep and a cow with swinging gait, pulled a covered wagon filled with provisions and utensils. (3)

Much remains unchanged in the village, but there is a sense that change is on its way. The villagers remember everything. The grandfather had bought the brains of many inhabitants (as a way of putting money in their pocket perhaps), and now they want the ownership of their brains returned and the receipts cancelled. Then news arrives that Eva Gardner is in Spain to make films and one of the sisters goes to be her body double. The other sister has her teeth renewed, but falls ill and gradually dies. The remaining Winterling moves on.

There are so many mysteries in this village, especially concerning the two women. What happened to their grandfather and to the brief husband? What is the dental technician’s source of teeth? He has another secret – he’s a cross dresser. What was the role of their grandfather and the greedy priest during the Civil War? And why does the priest, who is also smelly, go up the mountain every day to read the last rites to a woman who is taking forever to die? How has the return of the Winterlings upset the villagers? What is wrong with the chickens?

The writing of The Winterlings

The novel is written in a naïve style, spare, almost primitive. The author herself says it derives from the oral tradition and many of the stories come from her own experiences or those of her family. Nothing is presented as strange, or with very much explanation or description. It has the air of a fable, of turning back the corner of a peep show. There is not so much a plot as a sense of place, with all its stories.

There is no explanation in the novel for the title, although it is an elision of winter and siblings. The author tells of how she drove past a sign to Las Inviernas and how that road sign sparked the novel’s origins.

You can read what Cristina Sanchez-Andrade says about writing the novel on the English Pen website. Here is the link.

The Winterlings by Cristina Sanchez-Andrade, first published in Spanish as Las Inviernas in 2014, and in English translation by Samuel Rutter in 2016 by Scribe. 249pp. Winner English Pen Award

Women in translation series

Every month I review a book by a woman in translation on this blog. Here are some recent posts with links.

Memoirs of a Polar Bear by Yoko Tawada, translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky.

Dance by the Canal by Kerstin Hensel, translated from the German by Jen Calleja.

Go, Went, Gone by Jenny Erpenbeck, translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky.

Mirror, Shoulder, Signal by Dorthe Nors, translated from the Danish by Misha Hoekstra.

I came across these recent recommendations for 12 essential Spanish language female authors.

Over to you

Do you have any recommendations of novels by women in translation?

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Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin

A dark tale, inventively told, chilling because the reader is prevented from pausing. The pages must be turned, the end must be encountered. Fever Dream is my choice for September’s Women in Translation, written by the Argentinian writer Samanta Schweblin and translated from the Spanish by Megan McDowell. It was also chosen for the short list of the Man Booker International Prize in 2017.

Disturbing

The framing of this novel requires the reader’s attention in order to make sense of what is happening. Amanda is lying in bed in a clinic, and she is dying. Beside her is David, a young boy. The narrative is told through their conversation. David’s contributions are in Italics. Here is the opening paragraph.

They’re like worms.

What kind of worms?

Like worms, all over.

It’s the boy who’s talking, murmuring into my ear. I am the one asking questions.

Worms in the body?

Yes, in the body.

Earthworms?

No, another kind of worms.

It’s dark and I can’t see. The sheets are rough, they bunch under my body. I can’t move, but I’m talking.

It’s the worms. You have to be patient and wait. And while we wait, we have to find the exact moment when the worms came into being.

Why?

Because it’s important, it’s very important for all of us. (1-2)

So Amanda retells the story of how she came to be in the emergency clinic, prompted by the boy, who frequently draws attention to the important thing.

The story begins when Amanda met David’s mother, Carla. But she must report what Carla told her about what happened to David before that. The reader must follow these strands, the conversation at the bedside, and the story of how Amanda became ill and Carla’s story about David. And there is another player, Nina. Nina is Amanda’s daughter, and in danger.

Concentrating hard, the reader discovers that Amanda and her daughter Nina were on holiday in the area when they were befriended by Carla. But Carla has a dark story about her son David and the reader must stay in this complex narration to find out about the important thing.

There is transmigration, unexplained events involving horses, plastic liquid containers, sandals, pools and streams, witches …

Rescue Distance

It’s a disturbing story, playing on one’s fears as a parent. Amanda is always aware of what she calls her rescue distance from Nina.

I always imagine the worst-case scenario. Right now, for instance, I’m calculating how long it would take me to jump out of the car and reach Nina if she suddenly ran and leapt into the pool. I call it the “rescue distance”: that’s what I’ve named the variable distance separating me from my daughter, and I spend half the day calculating it, though I always risk more than I should. (16)

The concept is well known in Argentina. Indeed the title of the novel in Spanish is Distanca de Rescate. I think it would be a better English title as well: Rescue Distance. Fever Dream implies an ending that goes, and then I woke up and it was all just a terrible dream.

Amanda is not able to stay within rescue distance of her daughter for, as she tells David, the sequence of events result in the condition that brings her to the clinic. The anxieties, fears, terrors of being a parent drive this novella.

The darker secret is not the monstrous child, the woman with healing powers in the green house, the horse that escapes or the husbands. The frequent mention of water is the clue.

The important thing is that David was poisoned by the water in the stream and Amanda and Nina were soaked while they watched men unload water in plastic drums. As David says,

It’s a very bad thing. (73)

The world is being poisoned. Here is Amanda’s husband returning to the city, and the final sentences of the novella.

He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t see the soy field, the streams that crisscross the dry plots of land, the miles of open fields empty of livestock, the tenements and factories as he reaches the city. He doesn’t notice that the return trip has grown slower and slower. That there are too many cars, cars and more cars covering every asphalt nerve. Or that the transit is stalled, paralysed for hours, smoking and effervenescent. He doesn’t see the important thing: the rope finally slack, like a lit fuse, somewhere; the motionless scourge about to erupt. (151)

Reading this novel is not a pleasant experience. But its twisted narration when unpicked reveals a brutal truth, an inconvenient truth as Al Gore called it, that we may not be able escape.

Some links to reviewers’ comments

Here’s a review in the New Yorker by Jia Tolentino from January this year: The Sick Thrill of “Fever Dream”.

And here’s a review on the blog Lizzy’s Literary Life.

The Guardian review of Fever Dreams, by Chris Power, expressed admiration for the craft of the writer in cranking up the tension and its clever structure.

Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin, published by Oneworld Publication in 2017. 151pp. Translated from the Spanish by Megan McDowell.

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