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Enrique Vila-Matas
Enrique Vila-Matas was born in Barcelona in 1948. His works include Bartleby & Co, Montano, Never Any End to Paris, The Vertical Journey, winner of the Premio Romulo Gallegos, and Dublinesque, which was shortlisted for the 2013 Independent Foreign Fiction Prize. 'February 2008' is an excerpt from his novel Dietario Voluble, published by Anagrama in 2008.

Articles Available Online


Writers from the Old Days

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Issue No. 13

Enrique Vila-Matas

TR. J. S. Tennant

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Issue No. 13

Augusto Monterroso wrote that sooner or later the Latin American writer faces three possible fates: exile, imprisonment or burial.   I met Roberto Bolaño...

poetry

January 2015

Litanies of an Audacious Rosary

Enrique Vila-Matas

TR. Rosalind Harvey

poetry

January 2015

FEBRUARY 2008   * I’m outraged, but I’ve learned a way of reasoning that quickly defuses my exasperation. This...

VISA GODS   In this story, Eurydice is dark & deadly & has lived all her life in Hades In this story, Orpheus plays the drums   A semester-at-sea program  Tamil refugee solidarity group makes them meet Orpheus is ensnared watching the way she talks with her hands and laughs with her eyes and speaks with an accent he has never taken to bed Skin sun-kissed as cinnamon stick, long hair that anchors storms, a mouth filled with the coarsest curses on land Gossip says it was the spice in her meals, it may well have been the sex   For the sake of this story, Orpheus has to bring her into the first world In his contract with the overlords there’s no clause about looking back, about trust, about hearing the footsteps of the loved one before walking ahead— that is not a white people thing at all   Here, Orpheus must leave Eurydice must follow   In other words, Eurydice, to smuggle their love, must screw her way into Europe   Eurydice must cross the seas, pass through border controls, fight for a Schengen, chant prayers for her visa, borrow recklessly with her bank, get her passport stamped She must do this six hundred times over a lifetime   Hostage to nation-state, our man Orpheus must wait, must will himself to live for a woman who weeps when she is away, weeps when it’s time to leave, weeps when she cannot come, who weeps in his arms because their love story is not in their hands   Orpheus no longer plays the drums   Now, there is no music in his life— only the silence at parting, the white noise of waiting     A CAT CLOSING HER EYES   Poonai kanmoodi kondaal, Poolokam irundu vidaathu When a cat shuts its eyes, the world does not turn dark   It is said that mothers have a proverb for every occasion— amma recycled the same one to see me through everything   To tackle my teenage tantrums Poonai kanmoodi kondaal Your sulking does not affect me, girl!   To combat my depression Poonai kanmoodi kondaal Just stop wallowing in your sorrows, girl!   To stop me giving up Poonai kanmoodi kondaal The world will move on without you, girl!   Most of all, to put me together, heartbreak after heartbreak Poonai kanmoodi kondaal He doesn’t see you, girl, you are beautiful, men will find you, and you will find love!     INDIA IS MY COUNTRY   Like the fascist who led us to this ruin, death has also learnt to wear a different disguise these days   No heavy as sorrow

Contributor

August 2014

Enrique Vila-Matas

Contributor

August 2014

Enrique Vila-Matas was born in Barcelona in 1948. His works include Bartleby & Co, Montano, Never Any End to...

Leaving Theories Behind

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Issue No. 9

Enrique Vila-Matas

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Issue No. 9

I. I went to Lyon because an organisation called Villa Fondebrider invited me to give a talk on the relationship between fiction and reality as...

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Interview

Issue No. 1

Interview with Marina Warner

Elizabeth Dearnley

Interview

Issue No. 1

At the beginning of From the Beast to the Blonde, her study of fairy tales and their tellers, Marina...

Interview

August 2016

Interview with Daniel Sinsel

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Interview

August 2016

In the decade after leaving Chelsea School of Art in 2002, Daniel Sinsel made a name for himself with...

poetry

October 2013

Steam

Jon Stone

poetry

October 2013

Steam in the changing rooms, stripping off after the race, breathes like an engine. The air is filled up...

 

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