. .. 
C.: While the novel Seven crazy just rebound Belfond The translation of the novel portena etchings, published by all young editions Asphalt is a boon to the potential reader of Arlt, as well as for the unconditional Argentina.
This raises an rediscovered late retrospective: to understand how a work so important, so powerful, having left his mark an epoch in South America, could go unnoticed for so long on the Old Continent . Unlike that of his contemporaries, Borges and Bioy Casares, who are interested in literary themes substantially less rooted in their century, writing Roberto Arlt impulsive wife jolts Argentine society undergoing a revolution at different points of view. Could be found in the specificity of his art the grounds of breach of the French public against him.
AF.: You mean reaction ... In fact there is one word that struck me in the book, which is used repeatedly: "idiosyncrasy" , that is to say, the idea that man sometimes react without thinking to its environment, to society, that this reaction, this adaptation is epidermal in some way: there is therefore a possible interaction between a place, a city, and the man who moves there.
I noticed a phrase that seems to be a kind of shorthand of the spirit of the book:
" And you find something that is not happiness but its equivalent. The emotion. " (p. 198).
It appears in a chapter that does not initially enchanted me, I tended to consider as a bit preachy, and then this phrase struck me summarize what I '... had read
C.: Certainly we're dealing with a peerless observer approaching the mystery hidden behind the actions of his peers, earning a formidable acuity the peculiarities of its environment. A qualification immutable, he prefers the description of the moment.
AF.: Yes, exactly. That's why this world has something amazing, both moving and yet always consistent and true to himself. A question of emotion, exactly. And I know that sometimes reading, I could not help but smile (which happens very rarely when I read, especially since I do not necessarily smiling fun things). You must think me mad.
C: So, so say, I must be crazy too. Above all, I admit I was shocked by the sight of Roberto Arlt visionary, all the more striking in these etchings, which spring from the caustic sketch taken from life, conciseness, acidity journalist associated with the mood of vagrant. Like no other, he seems to sense the imperceptible changes in society, as if he could intercept it in its irreversibility.
AF.: Yes. The look is Arlt of original, disturbing, almost. But what I like in this book is that the author introduces an open dialogue with the player (when he addresses a "you" anonymous, I could not help but feel directly concerned, although, unlike some - nameless - I've never set foot in Buenos Aires). What I like is the constant back and forth between popular literature (the sketches that you evoked) and references to the "great" literature (I think this time to Foma, the hero of a novella by Dostoyevsky, The village and its people Stépanchikovo to Quevedo, other ...)
C: Actually, this approach is quite atypical in the works of Roberto Arlt. Keep in mind that this is primarily intended to chronicle newspaper El Mundo. The author draws from these images captured during the day the material to revive in familiar situations heart of his people, stressing its voluntary nature, enhancing the flavor and aroma characteristic of the moment. They stress the entertainment, and Arlt affix their reflective power.
AF.: I think you're absolutely right. What is surprising, also in this book is that these texts were not supposed to form a whole, and that their juxtaposition arises a world that I find extremely strong, with a true unity in diversity (although are recurring themes - marriage or engagement, finding a job, lazy and all their variations - that, I loved it ...).
C.: Yes, these notes can be read over water or independently of each other. They are sort of the literary bent of Palermo, Recoleta, Flores, neighborhoods of Buenos Aires. Micro-cited disparate Motley everything seems to oppose and which are carried by a common love of his countrymen.
Over time, there arise here or there, the community changes, generating behaviors and habits picturesque symptomatic of modern society. One of the major Arlt talent is being able to seize on the ongoing development, capture, without knowing it can be a photograph of gestation.
AF.: Yes, and I do not know if you agree with that, but I think there is a character that condenses quite the idea, and found several times: the man on the threshold (no wonder I like it, is not it?).
In fact, it is neither inside nor outside, this is not a perfect husband or a husband fickle, it does not really work but does not drag either - he does not know where place, does not place itself, as you say it is an individual who can not register any kind of stability.
C. The man is a threshold to be residing on the platform of the company, somewhat undecided on what direction to take, skeptical about the destination to follow. He is absorbed in a typical nonchalance Argentina the citizen who has attended so many upheavals in his country than it is with caution and perplexity he scans the outside world, hidden from view.
AF.: Actually, this man of the threshold, do you think it could be a kind of allegory of the Argentine man? It is at the threshold of so many things (from different cultures, social changes, as you said: it is a bit on the edge of everything, and dare not stay at home or out). So, it is a witness, just as elsewhere Arlt himself, reflecting does it participates.
C.: You are not wrong, it represents to me the epitome of Argentine meditative, the ancestor of the gaucho somewhat melancholy has spawned an entire segment of the country's literature. He is a man on the edge of an era and become a bygone era.
At the same time, I told myself that Arlt was equally disappointed lover of the national specificity. These etchings are bathed in a sense empathy. The author gives way to this gallery of eloquent enough to feed the reader's imagination, and that it substitutes the author himself, he surreptitiously interfering in the streets of Buenos Aires, he undergoes the charm of those directly and quadras esquinas, their timeless atmosphere.
AF.: Yes it's true, so much so that the author seems sometimes splitting and treat as a character, like the silhouettes cross the streets of Buenos Aires. And you're right, it's a book atmosphere. Me, I have not had the chance to go there, but I feel I know some of those streets as the book is bursting ...
C: Going back to what you said Anne-Francoise, I would point out that certain ingredients of everyday life, lunfardo, mate or Tango plunge these etchings in an atmosphere recognizable. It has often been treated as the founder Arlt of "urban literature". Even if it is representative of its proximity with citizens, I find the term somewhat pejorative.
Obviously the Lunfardo, the slang of the streets of the capital, a major part in these texts. Here it is nuanced, explained several times, giving rise to chronic for less crispy. The arltien glossary, found at the end of the book, we also offer a brief overview
As such, do not miss this column offers a sensational plea the jargons being undermined by reactionary mired in outdated and use of foul language. Arlt displayed his ardent defender of modernity, proclaiming loudly that it must be equipped with all the tumult of people employing them, all the impetuosity of porteños. Must emerge between language and the one that appropriates a substantial collusion.
AF. Yes, the chronicle of which you speak is just after the question on the sincerity as an alternative to happiness, as I mentioned before, I think you're better than me to even comment.
I thought before when we were talking about the threshold language Arlt is also a language of the threshold ... earlier I had a sentence under the eyes, which seemed quite representative.
C.: I hope you can, before the tavern closes its doors, we do enjoy that memory does not betray thee point. That said, parties like us, may impose a result of our conversation.
In my humble opinion, the language of Arlt would not be as dramatic without the feat of the translator, Antonia García Castro, who performed the feat of returning all the immediacy of the language of the author, without obscure the latent poetry. When I read this, I am reminded of the slogan of the editions of The Last Drop which you evoked the recent work on your Blog :
"The last drop like the verb, words which smack , which fuse , which slap and claw and bite . Tales cruel, dialogues acids. "
For myself, I must say that I like words that smack ...
AF. : "The plate pushes a sumptuous mouth" ... Here it is, this sentence slap!
You know, Christopher, I do not speak English. But what is really obvious here is that there is a very special language which I manage, I think, to grasp the rhythm, between nostalgia for a past that is no, anxiety about a future that does emerges not really (as in this island of Maciel whose contours seem to have disappeared).
I sense a rhythm to both slow and swaying, sad, beautiful and sensual
"You were sitting at a café table. You take your foot and do nothing. Your soul was brimming with equanimity upgradeable to the humblest creatures of the earth, and absolutely cushy, you said: "We can do nothing, life is beautiful".
... "This was worth another half ".
I love the combination: "equanimity" with "cushy"
C: And a "half" with "cushy" is a nice walk nose too.
AF.: The publisher moved playlist Translator flap on the inside back cover: I definitely should the listening ...
C: It will take, the One of these days together in the shade of a patio, a cedar or eucalyptus, sipping maté, or enjoy a good booze Cafayate. A chorus of Cuarteto Cedron, or a verse of the French duo that has taken over the name of Argentina, then invited us to relive one of those scenes referred to in these etchings. Why not one of sadness Saturday holiday, the narrative imagination of those windows still lit at three o'clock in the morning, or history, melancholy desire, Don Juan and the ten cents which are sorely lacking?
AF.: I dream ... It's true!
Have you also thought that what is striking in style, it is this juxtaposition of a highly refined language with a language very popular: it is also a language in these texts very scholarly, sensitive, that of a scholar ... and references to works that are far from being serialized novels. The surprise is in every sentence ...
C.: Every syntactic esquina so to speak. And indeed, this collection is teeming with references to historical, popular, literary, musical, burlesque ... The mixture of all these, associated with the tampering, the tampering of these various vocables only serves absolutely no consistency in the set. Being aware of the difficulty under the translation of a particular author, it is no exaggeration to speak of prowess beneficial for the language. And yet, god knows we have a common misconception that just as wrong, accused the son of Prussian immigrants, abusing the syntax in every sense of the term. Pushed to its climax, the sincerity of his writing is sometimes likened to virulence. Unquestionably, it is part of those authors who have a pressing need to do, through their prose, their rage explode. A palpable urgency that led to a speech delivered without frills or mannerism. Art by Arlt gross ...
AF.: It goes back to the idea of etching (I wonder if there is no link between this etching process and vitriol? The vitriol is sulfuric acid, the etching is etched with nitric acid. I am a little confused ...). But it is a language that has all the features of the world she wants to create. This idea is developed in preface by the translator offered . That's why for me, Arlt is a great writer is what makes the richness of these texts together. Personally, I feel I'll read at times, enjoy them again, the grind, the mix in every sense ... Anyway, the syntax should be triturated, mixed, tortured to become interesting ...
C.: I appreciate your comparison anatomical syntax, if I may say so. It makes me think somewhat as the preface September crazy of his translators, and Isabelle Antoine Berman, who pay homage to the idea of invention, so dear to the novelist:
The originality of this writing (which) must be located in what Arlt himself called a "prose polyfacétique. Prose made of coagulation, the stirring, mixing, fusion of several "languages" heterogeneous: the talk of Buenos Aires of the 30s, Argentine slang, lunfardo, English classical, glossary of translations (...) and all the literature of second hand formed by the serial novels, popular magazines, etc..
The academy and the sacrosanct tradition of subjecting a descent (we talked about recently) is perhaps precisely what entangles European literature. Conversely, the youth of Argentine literature (and a fortiori, South American) can encourage emulation by diversity, by the invention. In a continent where ideas flow, creation is considered in its original sense, not as part of a mold complacent infringing language demanding, requiring them to reproduce a route over and over borrowed.
AF.: For me, words are as real as flesh. This may sound strange and I can not explain it ... But back-to Arlt and you are absolutely right when you mention the essential link between the vibrancy of a literature and its relation to tradition, the way she also uses words like a paste (it reminds me of the paint, everything) - I was thinking about a column that I find beautiful, that called "contemplative life" (p. 215). I think it is a synthesis of many things we have said tonight.
In fact, this relation of man to action - he chose not inaction, but is swayed by the weariness that made him an actor rather than but again the man of the threshold, which will be a witness, but few involved ... The end of the column is extraordinary in both humor and reason, with this idea of eternal afternoon ... that is to say there still will-the one you mentioned above-namely that capture something of freezing time, and suddenly, this lazy - this "fiacún" is perhaps the only one to escape this perpetual motion.
It's a bit like children who are born old (I think it's one of the first texts) - Time is what goes against us, and try some porteños of Arlt share of escape time.
C: You put your finger on a key point for me: the fiacún is not a nihilist, or any lazy. Despite his nonchalant approach, it strives to cultivate a spirit
philosophical well deeper than it seems.
Moreover, it is futile to point out that this column Arlt concludes by stating that:
"In India, these would be the perfect lazy followers of Buddha, they are the only ones who know the secrets and delights of the contemplative life. "
AF. Yes, I love this - that perfectly illustrates what we have said, First with this flip style (strong language after language rather "green") and this philosophical spin
.
C.: From my side, I must say I was very touched by many texts, but particularly by the cranes Maciel , you evoked earlier.
Through this tangle and Urban inform humanity seems to have been eradicated, as if we were witnessing the description of a post-apocalyptic world. Incidentally, this text is reminiscent of an extract Flamethrower (following September Fools ) , during which there is powerless to describe a city swamped by the proliferation advertising posters, oppressed by the erection of a whole armada of skyscrapers to be hideous. The final appearance here is poignant and consider leaving an island of left-to-day, citizens engulfed by a sprawling machinery. The city in the work of Roberto Arlt is beating like a wild beast, it insinuates itself as a presence devouring beast somehow. At this point, I recommend you to go for a ride on the blog ioro the .
AF.: But I want to tell you why I'm glad that you speak of cranes abandoned ... You know how I'm obsessed with this idea of a threshold. Well, I noticed, reading this column, it almost made this idea practical. It affected me a lot too, because this island is a place where all mix and nothing more consistency own, it seems.
You know the "Stalker" Tarkovsky, the intermediary between two worlds ... I asked myself while reading this column if Tarkovsky knew her, which seems highly unlikely. But there are some strange kinship between very different worlds behind ...
C., Alas, I have not had time to discover Russian filmmaker, apart from Ivan's Childhood, a film and photography itself staggering. But who knows?
I also must say that I like to invent affiliations between artists unsuspected distant by distance, by time, more than anything close by a timeless genius. And besides, sometimes, by being aware of all these artists that I have not had time to explore the work, I'm dizzy.
Cranes, for they symbolize to me the workings of a failing company and unstoppable momentum at a rapid pace, progress towards which she imagines the scope but it is not capable of measuring what it offers. They embody the transition of that company, in hopes that they bring, and in despair they relate.
By Christophe (Edwood) and Anne-Francoise (interview to follow ...)
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