The Bind Between Neopolicial
and Antipolicial:
The study of detective
fiction in
The hard-boiled school
received
little exposure in
Most
literary historians and critics coincide with Simpson
and identify the transition between Boom and Post-Boom in the 1960s and
1970s
as the moment when detective fiction writers in
Persephone
Braham opens his recent study of detective fiction
in
I want
to suggest that the literary history of detective
fiction in
By this definition, then, parody is
repetition, but
repetition that includes difference (Deleuze 1968); it is imitation
with
critical ironic distance, whose irony can cut both ways. Ironic
versions of
“trans-contextualization” and inversions are its major formal
operatives, and the range of pragmatic ethos is from scornful ridicule
to
reverential homage. (37)
In contrast to other
ideologically
charged definitions of parody, Hutcheon’s definition provides a conceptualization of parody
that allows
for a non-restrictive study of the multiple possibilities derived from
(post)
modern parodic texts. She underlines the mimetic aspect of parody, or
the
existence and recognition -directly or indirectly- of a pre-text which
is
“repeated”, as well as the repetition of the pre-text as
productive and as a transgression (repetition with difference).
The
author argues that parody is fundamentally doubled, divided and
characterized
by a central paradox that I see as key in the Latin American context:
“its ambivalence stems from the dual drives of conservative and
revolutionary forces that are inherit in its nature as authorized
transgression” (26). The two aspects of Hutcheon’s definition
outlined above are always found in a contact zone where the
possibilities of
the collision between the pre-text and the parodic text need to be
explored and
argued. If parody, even with critical difference, reinforces the model
or
pre-text, as Hutcheon concludes, then the task of the historian,
reader, critic
or writer can be seen as an attempt to negotiate this central paradox.
What is
distinctive about
Neopolicial
Critics like Braham,
and writers
such as Paco Ignacio Taibo II and Leonardo Padura Fuentes, promote the
notion
of the neopoliciaco. This concept refers
to the self-conscious appropriation of structures and elements from the
detective genre and to how these appropriations can lead to the
creation of
original detective stories rather than literary parodies. The neopoliciaco focuses on political and
social criticism of the State and society, organized in part around the
events
of 1968 in
While traditional classics, as
well as more conventional and commercial duros continue to
appear in the
seventies, detective literature of the period is generally
characterized by the
use of the hard-boiled model to depict a fragmented and menacing new
social
order. Many of these recent works are formally innovative, integrating
the novela
dura with the focus on verbal reality […]. (54)
Paco
Ignacio Taibo II, considered the father of the neopolicial,
defines it in similar
terms, as a mechanism of denunciation and reflection about social and
political
problems. He is the author of a serial featuring Héctor
Belascoarán Shayne, a leftist intellectual who turns detective
after
spending several years working for General Electric. Belascoarán
Shayne’s philosophical and social concerns emphasize the corruption of
the political system in
Cuban
Leonardo Padura is another key author and spokesperson
for the neopolicial turn and its
identification with marginal or secondary figures. His narrations move
away
from the rational and positivistic solution of crimes or the marked
centrality
of the detective. The socialist detective novel began to develop in
La proliferación de textos que aportan una vuelta de tuerca a la fórmula policial por medio de la transgresión de la misma debe considerarse en el marco de la evolución literaria. Visto desde la perspectiva diacrónica, el distanciamiento paródico de los autores latinoamericanos frente a la formula policial puede explicarse, primeramente por el carácter “prestado” de este modelo. Si bien podría plantearse lo mismo con respecto a la mayoría de las fórmulas literarias transplantadas al nuevo mundo, la rigidez formulaica es, indudablemente, un factor adicional que favorece la parodia. Según Fernando Savater, las prescripciones y proscripciones de la fórmula “se cumplen aun cuando son violadas por inversión o innovación del autor, cuya originalidad cuenta precisamente con el conocimiento previo por parte del lector de la ‘normalidad’ transgredida. (118)
Opposing Sklodowska’s
attention
to relating to the model is Padura’s distancing from the formula, and
his
suggestion that the detective genre does not exist anymore. He can only
acknowledge a género negro, a
genre that according to Padura represents crime, chaos and alienation,
without
relying on the detective fiction of the past:
Tal
voluntad de violar cánones, estilos, recursos estereotipados,
permite a la obra no sólo escapar de los límites
habituales en
los que se mueve el género, sino realizar una más
profunda
indagación en una época y un modo de ser […]. (149)
Por eso, lejos al fin de la mimesis y la parodia fácil, el género posee ya carta de ciudadanía en varios países de la lengua y hoy por hoy, en los umbrales del siglo XXI, es una de las modalidades literarias con mayores aptitudes para reflejar ese lado oscuro de la sociedad que es cada vez mayor, como si la oscuridad fuera su destino. Y a un destino negro bien le viene una novela negra. (157)
The impulse to separate
his fiction
from the model or genre adopted, together with an emphasis on the
examination
of regionally localized social struggles, move Taibo II, Padura and
their work
closer to what is not an independent new form of the genre, but the
modality
practiced by writers such as Chester Himes and Michael Nava, although
in a
different period of time. These writers extend the boundaries of the
detection
genre to emphasize socio-political realities in specific racial
contexts, as in
lo neopolicial, but without negating
or minimizing its relation with the model. This
relation to the model is instead overexposed via criticism, expansion,
and the
reworking of its conventions. In Himes’ case, it is the study of the
social and political conditions of African Americans in the chaotic
Padura’s neopoliciaco
is also characterized by its questioning of the notion
of objective reality/truth proposed by the State and the social
literary
theorists in the 1970s. Such questioning allowed his writing to stay
away from
the official ideological mandate and from the dimensional characters
and novels
that dominated the 1970s década
negra and the 1980s in
In Adiós
Mario Conde
comes out of retirement from the police force and now, as a private
detective,
investigates the events surrounding the discovery of a body in Ernest
Hemingway’s property. As in previous detective novels and the latest, La neblina de ayer, Conde’s
investigation and the characters around him investigate the crisis
experienced
by Cuban society: “Esto es lo que tú vas a averiguar. Si puedes… Mira, Conde, yo estoy
hasta aquí de trabajo -e indicó a la altura de las
cejas-. Esto
se está poniendo cabrón: cada día hay más
robos,
malversaciones, asaltos, prostitutas, pornografía…” (25).
Conde’s investigations also lead him to a more hybrid investigation that deals with his own writing
struggles, with the
recreation of a crime and Cuba’s present, with the reconstruction of
Hemingway’s persona during his last years. As the novel progresses,
Conde’s and Hemingway’s identities and their struggles as writers
become the real purpose of the investigation. Conde becomes a
biographer
obsessed with the American writer and especially with his experiences
while
living in the
Conde se preguntó qué buscaba allí. Sabía que no se trataba de alguna pista capaz de aclararle la identidad del muerto aparecido en el patio, y muchos menos la evidencia física de alguna culpabilidad asesina. Buscaba algo más distante, ya perseguido por él alguna vez y que, unos años atrás, había dejado de buscar: la verdad –o quizás la mentira verdadera- de un hombre llamado Ernest Millar Hemingway. (emphasis added 48)
The
novel teases key aspects of the antipolicial or antidetective
fiction by providing a double end and questioning the task of the
detective.
Towards the end, Mario Conde has narrowed down the possible killers of
the FBI
agent found dead in Hemingway’s property to Hemingway and its two main
employees, but antidetection
uncertainties
remain in his mind about the American writer persona and the origin of
the shot
that killed the FBI agent. Conde also rejects Manolo’s -the police
officer in charge of the investigation- offer to tell him the official
decision
of how to interpret and process the case findings. The detective
chooses to
imagine the rest of the story and Hemingway’s persona. These
semi-dislocations
of the mystery are also negated by a simultaneous claim to have found
the true
Hemingway: “Ese es el verdadero Hemingway, Manolo. Ese es el mismo tipo
que escribió ‘El gran río de los corazones’”,
(173) by his decision to join a club of “free” Hemingway’s
followers, which seemingly solves his love-hate relationship with the
writer,
and by the narrator’s previous disclosure via a simultaneous narration
of
the structure and resolution of the crime. The latter overweighs any
possible
ontological disintegration or antidetection gestures by providing
narrative
closure. In addition, Conde’s decision to join the “hemingwayanos
cubanos” at the end also reemphasizes the neopolicial
aesthetics and politics of the narrative, by alluding
to the restrictions and impositions of the State and closing the novel
with a
highly critical, although subtle, note:
-Bueno para
que lo sepan-siguió el Conde-, voy a pedir mi entrada en los
hemingwayanos cubanos.
-¿Y
qué cosa es eso?- quiso saber el Conejo.
-Una de las
dos mil maneras posibles y certificadas de comer mierda, pero me gusta:
no hay
jefes, ni reglas, ni nadie que te vigile, y uno entra y sale cuando le
da la
gana.
-Si es así a mí también me gusta […] ¡Vivan los Hemingwayanos cubanos!
To
underline this neopolicial
critique of the restrictions in Cuban society during the last few
paragraphs,
Conde drinks with his friends in front of the sea and sends a nostalgic
message
in a bottle, along with the bloomer of Ava Gardner stolen from
Hemingway’s museum, to his friend Andrés who now lives in some
place up north: “Siete años son muchos años. No sé
por qué no quiere venir todavía” (178). The political
comment reinforces the novel’s critical approach to the
The fact that Adiós tries to transgress the detective fiction genre is unquestionable. What remains to be seen, instead of forcing premature conclusions about “the independence of this neopolicial model”, is if these can lead to new independent conceptualization of the genre. Padura’s fiction focuses on lo neopolicial, as described above, but in Adiós he makes an interesting but partial transition towards antidetective fiction that is consistent with other recent adaptations of the detective genre in the Latin American context. I read Adiós as a transition from both the parameters set by the State during the black decade and the precepts of the neopolicial that dominate Padura’s adaptation of the genre.
Antipolicial
Paul
Auster’s antidetective novels, The New York Trilogy, are
well-known
examples of writers searching for writers and slippery identities as
seen in
Padura’s Adios. Auster follows
the tradition of anti-detective narratives written by authors such as
Thomas
Pynchon or Jorge Luis Borges. In the third part of the trilogy, The Locked
Room (1988), the narrator/character embarks into an investigation
of the
whereabouts and identity of a childhood friend who becomes a successful
writer
thanks to the role of the narrator/character as his literary executor.
His
search ends with and acceptance of Fanshawe’s history and identity as a
locked room, a metaphor for the impossibility of truth and certainties
that
proliferate in antidetection. All three parts of the trilogy start as a
detection exercise, but each of them gradually
unravels, leaving only traces of the crime and the detective. The
antidetective
genre indicts the detective’s lack of ability in solving the crime and
also casts uncertainties on the very nature of the criminal
activity and the categories of right or wrong. At the core of
antidetective
fiction or antipolicial there is a
questioning of the methodology of detection and the hermeneutic
enterprise, or
an impulse to frustrate the detection process. This is achieved by
emphasizing
ontological dilemmas and by embracing the defamiliarization of the
world in
question, as opposed to the linear progression towards a final solution
and the
revelation or exposition of society’s one-dimensional darkness found in
more traditional detective fiction. Often considered as antipolicial
are Borges’ “The Garden of Forking
Paths”; Robbe-Grillet’s The
Erasers; Thomas Pynchon’s The
Crying of
It is, therefore, no accident that the postmodern literary imagination at large insists in disorienting the mystery, the ominous and threatening uncanniness of being that resists naming, and that the paradigmatic archetype it has discovery is the anti-detective story (and its antipsychoanalytical analogue), the formal purpose of which is to evoke the impulse to “detect” or to psychoanalyze – to track down the secret cause- in order to violently frustrate this impulse by refusing to solve the crime (or find the cause of the neurosis). (24-25)
While Spanos’ essay established the notion of antidetection and its links to ontological concerns, Stefano Tani’s The Doomed Detective (1984) is the most comprehensive study of the postmodern trangressions to the detective formula. His taxonomy of the anti-detective novel distinguishes between deconstructive, innovative and metaphysical variations of the antidetective theme. The prefix “anti”, as well as the adjective metaphysical (which is often used as synonym of antidetection), point to the way in which postmodern authors have reconciled the postmodern lack of conclusiveness, closure and ontological certainties with a literary model that traditionally relies on the restoration of order and rational explanation of reality. The “anti” emphasizes distortion of the detective formula without rejecting or negating it in order to shift its emphasis from epistemological concerns (whodunit) to ontological ones (the riddle of being and the mystery of identity).
Simpson’s study of Latin American detective fiction defines antidective fiction in a similar way, as a form that demonstrates the inadequacies of the genre. She also emphasizes the function of antidetective fiction as a narrative form that parodies the genre’s conventions to express not affirmation of order, but instead doubt and menace (156). Her examples of “investigations without solutions” or decentered investigations include the philosophical and aesthetic themes typically associated with antidective fiction, although these antidetective features, as she points out, are secondary to social concerns in the Latin American context and in the texts that she discusses: Ricardo Piglia’s “La loca y el relato del crimen” (1975); Vicente Leñero’s Los albañiles (1963); Juan Pablo Feinmann’s Ultimos días de la víctima (1979) (156). Simpson describes the analyses of these texts as pointless if divorced from their social context. This neopolicial and sociological understanding of literature remains suspicious of the philosophical or theoretical commitments to actual places, to the local, as they appear in antidective fiction. In other words, while there is room for philosophical and theoretical meditations as those found in Taibo’s Nietzschean considerations or Conde’s meditations on writing and identity, Simpson views Latin American antidetective fiction as independent from the metaphysical concerns that predominate the broader understanding of the concept, although her approach retains the common negation of the solution as key for antidetection. What Simpson describes as antidetective fiction with a sociological essence is therefore closer to the transitional space occupied by the neopolicial in Padura’s Adiós. This conflict presented here in relation to post-1980s detective fiction is a variant of the old debate in Latin American studies between Eurocentric models and local or domestic models.
The neopolicial and sociopolitical concerns and realities emphasized by Padura, Taibo, Braham and Simpson are not neglected or less productive when thought in reference to texts considered antidetective fiction. On the contrary, post-1980s antidetective fiction calls for a double movement between itself and lo neopolicial, for an intersection between both models. Antidetective fiction and its philosophical and aesthetical focus on disorienting the mystery are not blind to the sociolocal realities emphasized by the neopolicial. Instead, Latin American antidetective fiction allows the critic or writer to perform the primordial task of dealing with the blurring overexposure of reality presented by the denunciatory neopolicial.
In Héctor Aguilar Camín’s antidetection novel, Morir en el golfo (1988), the unnamed narrator searches for the true story (historia) behind a series of politically motivated murders. As a political journalist and amateur detective, the narrator tries to help old friends Rojano and Anabela with an investigation about the murders of collective land owners (ejeditarios) and the motivations behind the crimes. As a couple, Rojano and Anabela take advantage of the long and known love of the narrator for Anabela in order to improve their chances of investing in land with potential petroleum supply in the Gulf Coast. The prospect of the federal investment in the area motivates Rojano’s run for the municipal presidency and interest in the territory. As a couple, they turn the narrator against Rojano’s political rival and oil boss Lázaro Pizarro, supposedly responsible for the murders. Pizarro is also the union leader of the petroleum workers and represents the main obstacle for the acquisition of land. The first impulse of the narrator/detective is to direct his efforts against Pizarro by publishing articles that question his integrity, while also maintaining an adulterous relation with Anabela. He later discovers, as any good detective, the machinations of the femme fatale, that Anabela and Rojano had been manipulating him and that some pictures incriminating Pizarro had been altered. After the discovery, the narrator abandons his investigation. He only returns to action when Rojano is assassinated or lynched by inhabitants of his town for which Pizarro is suspected. The narrator returns to write articles critical of the state-run Oil Corporation and Pizarro, until these are effective and negotiations are made in order to pacify Pizarro and control the narrator’s attempts at denunciation. Then Anabela, now living with the narrator in a domestic routine, disturbs the “peace” by ordering a murder attempt against Pizarro. The oil boss apparently dies, although not directly by the attempt ordered by Anabela. Each of these events recounted here and at the end of the novel lead to a more complex overexposure of corruption that undermines any possibility of solving the mystery and rather complicate the situation even more. The narrator’s moral impulses to help his friends become shattered and disoriented by a complex web of relations and versions of reality. The detective is aware that Pizarro is not innocent, but also that there are many non-innocents, and that the State, Anabela and Rojano are also corrupt.
The novel focuses on how different groups fabricate their own version of the truth and justice. “All” information available, including folders, newspapers, pictures, memorandums and many other documents related to the case are presented in the first chapter, “El archivo de Rojano.” The second chapter, “El archivo de Pizarro”, is also presented as a possible source for answers, but turns out to be quite the opposite. The attempts to find those answers to the questions fail when the credibility of every single character, including the narrator/detective, together with their archival material, are undermined by what Roberto González Echevarría describes as a novel-archive that “unleashes a ghostly procession of figures of negation” (32).
This
basic paradigm is followed by most recent texts that
deal with the antidetection processes and the multiplicity of
information
available in order to find out a particular version of the truth. Instead of employing detection to provide
answers
to: Who? What? How? When? Where? Morir en el golfo investigates how
truth is constructed or how the official history of an event is
legitimized or
overexposed. The antidetection process in these texts does not
defend
private property or the State by reestablishing the law, as in the
dominant
variants of typical detective stories from the classical period and the
1920s
hard-boiled variant, but instead it questions the way in which a
particular
historical moment produces knowledge. “El archivo de Rojano”, for
example, does not contain the truth but a particular version of the
event that
the narrator constantly questions. The archive is not the accumulation
of
documents related to the case, but a particular configuration and a
particular
order that produces truth and maintains the detective in an undecidable
situation or facing, as Alberto Moreiras puts it in his analysis of Morir, an “uncontainable
reality”:
The
truth of that which the detective ascertains is excessive with respect
to the
truth-the truth exceeds itself by casting aside an uncontainable
reality with
respect to which any construction of subjectivity is false or illusory.
The
detective “traverses his fantasy,” and he renounces not only the
object of his desire, but more profoundly, his pathological will; but
now he
has no recourse to any moral law that lies outside of pathology. The
detective
has lost the place of honor, and with it everything else. (77)
Antidetection fiction in contemporary Latin American fiction displaces the detective from that “place of honor” that still seems possible in the neopolicial as discussed above. Even if the detective of the neopolicial fails to solve the case, he retains the honor of having pointed out a sociological reality of the oppressed and the oppressor. Mario Conde and Belascoarán Shayne face many doubts that remain unsolved in their cases, but they constantly manage to provide an ethical and sociological version of reality which is essential for the neopolicial even if it involves leaving some loose ends. Antidetection as narrative device in Morir en el golfo functions as a critique of truth, ethics and politics that recognizes and leaves open the dispersive quality of the novel-archive. Moreiras reads Morir as carrying out a process of infrapolitical affirmation: “The infrapolitical is the political interruption of all ethical sovereignty and simultaneously the ethical interruption of all political sovereignty” (77). The actions of Rojano, Annabela, Pizzaro and the narrator always fail to secure a solid ground and remain trapped in the double movement between political and ethical interruptions that properly defines antidetection narratives within a sociopolitical and ethical framework.
Knowledge in Morir en el golfo is always postponed. Aguilar Camín, a historian and journalist, creates a history/novel where knowledge is part of a constant reading of the past, in the present and for the future. The narrator’s attempt to speak for and represent those murdered to turn his stance against violence and corruption into a positive effect for the affected community fails. There is an impossibility, as Moreiras explains, of obtaining a clear narrative and an impossibility of believing that is sufficient to be in opposition to violence and corruption in order to defeat and minimize violence and corruption (78). The overexposure of reality, as addressed in antidetective fiction, is not concerned with denunciation or showing the truth, which is already evident, but with the analysis of the relation of intersecting discourses and versions of reality. Antidetection testifies to this overexposure of reality as shown in Morir en el Golfo and also to the bind between the readable exposures of lo social in the neopolicial and the blurring overexposure of the same.
Antidetective novels in the context of Latin American detective fiction destruct and reconstruct the received structure of the model they address, without negating the model to the point of elimination, but to the point of exhaustion and mutual transformation.
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