Roberto Bolano: The Last Interview and Other Conversations

Novelist, poet, and essayist, Juan Goytisolo (b. 1931) is one of the foremost modern Spanish authors.

One of contemporary Spain’s most important writers, Eduardo Mendoza (b. 1943) has enjoyed mainstream success since the publication of his first novel The Truth About the Savolta Case , 1992.

Spanish poet, essayist, translator, and professor Olvido García Valdés (b. 1950) is one of the preeminent figures in Spanish intellectual life.

Spanish poet and novelist Álvaro Pombo (b. 1939) was awarded the 2006 Premio Planeta for his novel La fortuna de Matilda Turpin . His novels The Hero of the Big House , 1988, and The Resemblance , 1989, are available in English.

Chilean novelist, Diamela Eltit (b. 1949) is a former cultural attaché at the Chilean embassy in Mexico. Several of her novels are available in English, including Custody of the Eyes , 2005.

MM:Do you regret having criticized the menu served by Diamela Eltit?

RB:I never criticized her menu. If anything, I would have criticized her sense of humor, that of a vegetarian, or better still, her sense of humor on a diet.

MM:Does it hurt that she considers you a bad person since the story of that spoiled dinner came out?

RB:No, poor thing. Diamela doesn’t hurt me. Other things hurt me.

MM:Have you shed one tear about the widespread criticism you’ve drawn from your enemies?

RB:Lots and lots. Every time I read that someone has spoken badly of me I begin to cry, I drag myself across the floor, I scratch myself, I stop writing indefinitely, I lose my appetite, I smoke less, I engage in sport, I go for walks on the edge of the sea, which by the way is less than 30 meters from my house, and I ask the seagulls, whose ancestors ate the fish who ate Ulysses: Why me? Why? I’ve done you no harm.

MM:With regard to your work, whose opinion do you value most?

RB:My books are read by Carolina [wife], then [Jorge] Herralde [editor of Anagrama] , and then I endeavor to forget them forever.

MM:What things did you buy with the prize money from the Rómulo Gallegos award?

RB:Not much, a suitcase as far as I can remember.

MM:During the time when you lived on literary competitions, was there a prize you couldn’t claim?

RB:None. Spanish city halls, in this respect, are decent and beyond reproach.

MM:Were you a good waiter, or a better costume jewelry vendor?

RB:I have best redeemed myself as the night watchman of a campsite near Barcelona. Nobody ever stole while I was there. I stopped some fights that could have ended badly, and I prevented a lynching — although on second thought, I should have lynched or strangled the guy myself.

MM:Have you experienced fierce hunger, bone-chilling cold, breathtaking heat?

RB:As Vittorio Gassmansays in a film, “Modestly, yes.”

An Italian film and stage actor, Vittorio Gassman (1922–2000) appeared in dozens of movies and theatrical productions.

MM:Have you stolen a book you later didn’t like?

RB:Never. The good thing about stealing books — unlike safes — is that one can carefully examine their contents before perpetrating the crime.

MM:Have you ever walked in the middle of the desert?

RB:Yes, and one of those times on the arm of my grandmother. The elderly woman was tireless, and I didn’t think we would make it.

MM:Have you seen colorful fish underwater?

RB:Of course. Without going further than Acapulco, in 1974 or 1975.

MM:Have you ever burned your skin with a cigarette?

RB:Never voluntarily.

MM:Have you ever carved the name of your beloved in the trunk of a tree?

RB:I have committed greater abuses, but let’s draw the veil at that.

MM:Have you seen the most beautiful woman in the world?

RB:Yes, sometime around 1984 when I worked at a store. The store was empty and in came a Hindu woman. She looked like a princess and well could have been one. She bought some hanging costume jewelry from me. I was at the point of fainting. She had copper skin, long red hair, and the rest of her was perfect. A timeless beauty. When I had to charge her, I felt embarrassed. As if saying she understood and not to worry, she smiled at me. Then she disappeared and I have never again seen anyone like her. Sometimes I get the impression that she was the goddess Kali, the patron saint of thieves and goldsmiths, except Kali was also the goddess of murderers, and this Hindu woman was not only the most beautiful woman on earth, but she seemed also to be a good person — very sweet and considerate.

MM:Do you like dogs or cats?

RB:Female dogs, but I don’t have any more pets.

MM:What do you remember of your childhood?

RB:Everything. I don’t have one bad memory.

MM:Did you collect figurines?

RB:Yes, of soccer players and Hollywood actors and actresses.

MM:Did you have a scooter?

RB:My parents made the mistake of giving me a pair of roller skates when we lived in Valparaiso, a city made up of hills. The result was disastrous. Every time I put the skates on it was as if I was trying to commit suicide.

MM:What is your favorite soccer team?

RB:None right now. The ones who fall to second tier, then third consecutively, then regional until they’ve disappeared. The phantom teams.

MM:Which historical character would you have liked to resemble?

RB:Sherlock Holmes. Captain Nemo. Julien Sorel, our father. Prince Mishkin, our uncle. Alicia, our professor. And Houdini, who is a mix between Alicia, Sorel and Mishkin.

MM:Did you fall in love with older neighbors when you were young?

RB:Of course.

MM:Did the girls in your school pay any attention to you?

RB:I don’t think so. At least I was convinced they did not.

MM:What do you owe the women in your life?

RB:Ever so much. A sense of defiance and high risk. For the sake of decency, I’ll keep quiet about the other things.

MM:Do they owe you anything?

RB:Nothing.

MM:Have you suffered much for love?

RB:Very much the first time, then I learned to take things with a bit more humor.

MM:And what about hate?

RB:Even if I sound somewhat pretentious, I’ve never hated anyone. At least I’m certain I am incapable of sustained hatred. And if the hatred is not sustained, it’s not hatred, is it?

MM:How did you win the affection of your wife?

RB:Cooking rice for her. I was very poor at that time and my diet basically consisted of rice, so I learned to cook it in many different ways.

MM:Describe the day you became a father for the first time.

RB:It was night, a little before midnight. I was alone, and because you couldn’t smoke in the hospital, I smoked a cigarette virtually perched on the cornice of the fourth floor. No one saw me from the street, only the moon, as Amado Nervowould have said. When I came back in, a nurse told me my son had just been born. He was very big, almost all bald, with open eyes as if asking himself who the devil had him in his arms.