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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...

THE OLD JUSTICE   My grandfather was a construction worker, a travel agent; I knew him as a sea-captain, his wink like an eye-patch,   the gap in his teeth a keyhole I might peer into But all I could pick in the whistle of air was a shanty,   sweet on his breath, whiskey foaming on his upper lip, and his blood salivating, a kind of poison he survived on   Auntie was the dark green storm of a glass bottle She made herself dizzy, swatting the air like lightning,   drunk on those unspeakable nights she went below deck with the man who set us on the voyage;   his bad eye sliding over each plank, moving low to the ground, like a crocodile sculling in the shallows, or an island   sinking back into the ocean When they told me he died, I retched, thinking of his seasick corpse, the hollow flush   of a minute hand passing time at a funeral cut down by rain and my absence, the echo of it heaving in a toilet bowl   That night, I imagine surfing on his coffin, taking a sharp nail to his heart and pulling up a rusted square of flesh   In the dead air, I creep into auntie’s flat, slip the quiet pulse in the panel behind the grandfather clock where the wax nativity   slow roasts by the fire, her living room crowded with vials, auntie, the mad concocter, weighing his deeds like a wine glass       SOST GULCHA after Gemoraw & Meron Getnet   The small fire that smiles between three stones in winter thinks itself a hearth,   even as it burns a kitchen’s pitted belly, even as it dies,   the stones leavened, once a ripened fruit, now bloated for the flies to come       BEDTIME after billy woods   I put my finger to the wind and don’t get it back / low light snatches me from the front step / the courtyard dervishes with my feet / thinking of that empty house as the shadows stretched / fists punch up through the ground / scatter milk teeth / bloom into hyenas / there are no rules in these hours / this is where magic lives / the blue in green / where time shrugs like a sieve / all the other houses yawn in their sleep / I am delirious

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...

READ NEXT

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July 2011

Herat

Sam Duerden

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July 2011

At Kabul airport, a man I mistook for a foreigner.   A security guard, red-haired with blue eyes and...

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September 2013

Outside the Uniform

Kaya Genç

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September 2013

I.   The first time I had to wear a uniform I looked like a madman struggling against a...

Art

Issue No. 10

Patterns

Christian Newby

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Issue No. 10

 

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