Cristina
Feijóo. Afuera. Madrid: Editorial Punto
y Aparte, 2008, 155 pp. ISBN:
978-84-936748-1-6
As the title of Cristina Feijóo’s most recent work succinctly implies, Afuera (First Finalist for the
prestigious Certamen Narrativa
Universal Award in 2008) offers an introspective and sobering
reflection on a multiplicity of exile experiences. Nine closely
interwoven short stories chronicle various states of alienation that
result when one perceives oneself as an outsider. The tales, all but
the last of which are recounted through first person narrative voices,
feature a remarkable mixture of displaced Argentineans who share at
least one commonality: they have each, for reasons that are not made
explicit, taken up residence in Sweden. Directly
linked through this intimate cast of interconnected characters, the
stories collectively convey themes of separation, isolation, loneliness
and loss. This is not a text of intricate plot twists. Rather, the
protagonists slowly live out their somewhat directionless and rather
mundane daily lives; they focus on (often difficult) interpersonal
relationships, employment concerns, day-to-day monetary issues, and
ways to wile away the time. At the same time, in the face of perceived
exclusion, the émigrés forge bonds of solidarity and interdependence,
effectively creating a supportive, tight-knit community. Ultimately, a
few come to embrace the foreign land as home.
Professor and literary
critic Fernando Reati, himself a former
leftist militant and political exile much like Feijóo,
opens the volume with informative prefatory remarks that contextualize
the fictional work. Reati outlines Argentina’s
unstable political landscape up through the turbulent 1970s and 1980s
that gave rise to the emigration of 200,000 citizens. An expert in the
field, Reati then offers an overview of
the many forms of memory work that continue to proliferate in
repudiation of the country’s last dictatorship; literary responses
receive special attention. The prologue concludes with a brief but
insightful analysis of both the content and style of Afuera. Of particular benefit to
the reader already familiar with these political and cultural contexts
but perhaps not as well versed in the writings of Cristina Feijóo, is a detailed discussion of her most
recent work within the framework of the author’s own impressively
wide-ranging narrative production. Reati
specifically cites militancy, political imprisonment, exile and trauma
as common denominators in her literary trajectory, an oeuvre that he
describes as “una literatura
personal.” (12)
While I would not suggest
that Afuera be read as an
autobiographical text, it certainly bears mentioning that Cristina Feijóo, a former political prisoner, lived in
exile in Sweden
for many years before returning to Buenos Aires where she currently
resides. The fictional vignettes that
comprise Afuera are set in
an exotic—albeit a rather inhospitable—Stockholm,
a place that, seemingly, could not be further removed from the
protagonists’ native Argentina.
As Reati notes, images of long, dark, cold
winter nights (that, in a bewildering and further disorienting fashion,
begin around four in the afternoon) abound. Even as the characters
struggle to adapt to extreme differences in climate, they face even
more overwhelming cultural challenges including linguistic barriers and
economic disparity. What remains seemingly insurmountable, however, is
the unremitting anxiety of simply not fitting in. Eddy, the principal
unifying character, laments being seen as a (poor) foreigner (“mi identidad de extranjero
pobre,” 45) or, what it is worse, to not be
seen at all and thus become “el hombre invisible” or the invisible man
(44). As a result of such alienation, numerous characters suffer from
varying degrees of alcohol abuse and drug addiction. This allows for
occasional dramatic interludes in what are otherwise rather static
plots while simultaneously permitting stylistic experimentation.
In fact, temporal
dislocation accompanies geographic displacement and cultural
differences. Time plays a significant role, both thematically and
stylistically, throughout the narratives. The stories do not adhere to
a strictly logical, linear or chronological order—neither as a
collection (for example, the illness and death of a cat is mentioned in
passing in an early tale, then directly narrated in a subsequent story
only for the animal to casually reappear, alive and well, later in the
book) nor within individual tales. Numerous
stories employ frequent shifts between the protagonists’ external
realities and internal monologues, nostalgic flashbacks, and altered
dream (or drug-induced) states. Characters often reminisce about “la otra vida,” that
is, their other (pre-exile) life. In this way, Afuera establishes a sense of inertia together
with an additional degree of absence in presence.
Intermittent allusions to
individual character’s traumatic pasts—time spent in prison, the
violent appearance of military personnel into one’s private
home—suggest that political circumstances have motivated the
characters’ current situations of exile and illuminate their emotional
states. In the prologue, Reati correctly
observes that “las referencias
al pasado y las
razones por las que los personajes están en Suecia son
mínimas, casi crípticas” (“references to the past and the
reasons why the characters are in Sweden are minimal,
almost cryptic,” 17). Nevertheless, despite the text’s trend toward
temporal ambiguity and circumlocution of politics, the book references
one specific date: a letter written July 30, 1982, unmistakably places
narrative events during Argentina’s so-called dirty
war. What is more, Feijóo’s measured
incorporation of metafictional
devices—such as this grief-stricken missive ostensibly addressed to the
character’s mother who has just passed away or the frustrated attempts
of another character to write fiction–result in overtly self-conscious
musings on the unhappiness and loneliness of exile.
Afuera will be of particular
interest to those who specialize in diaspora
studies, post-dictatorship literary production, contemporary Argentine
literature, or Latin American (women’s) narrative more generally. At
the same time, this collection of intricately related short stories
will appeal to anyone who appreciates a beautifully constructed,
lyrical narration on themes of separation, alienation, loss and death.
Janis Breckenridge
Whitman College