On Love and Death in Buenos Aires

Can I write about them?

One could reasonably ask how it is that I think I can write an entire novel that takes place in Argentina, the characters of which are all Argentine, all of them purportedly speaking the kind of Spanish spoken only in the city of Buenos Aires. I am, after all, a North American gringo, a native English-speaker who learned Spanish while an adult…although, I should add, one who has spent considerable time in that city.

The novel, by the way, is titled The Last of Martín Sombra, and is being shopped now.

My answer begins with a recounting of my love of novels and the understanding I have of them and the people who write them. (I myself have written seven, all of which are available on order from bookstores and, right away, online.)

No novel is ever a rote-recitation of the author’s very own life occurrences. A few of those occurrences may be used in a particular novel, may even be the basis for much of the novel. But the finished piece is only a version of the occurrences, since fiction writing itself…all writing… is an imaginative journey that presents a completely idiosyncratic version of events, unique to the writer’s heart or experience. But it is never the only possible version. The art in the writing so particularizes the experiences that the author’s memory of them becomes just the gesture showing the way up the inspired story-telling path. Art takes over the experiences and makes them unique to the novel itself…no longer the actual occurrences that inspired the novel.

The novel is its own being, separate and distinct finally from the writer’s personal history.

The actual events will remain in the author’s recollection, of course. Maybe essential to the author’s very being. But they are not the novel she/he has written…although, of course, thank heavens the author had the temerity and talent to write her/his version of the recollections down. What matters most in the writing of that fiction is the author’s pure imagination and how well she/he writes.  

So…Buenos Aires! My preparation for placing a novel in that city came from two extended studies I’ve made. One of them is the Spanish language itself, which I learned to speak as an adult. My most important instructors in that endeavor have been Argentines, so that I’ve also become accustomed to the very unique way that porteños, as the citizens of the city of Buenos Aires are called, speak the language.

It is a unique adventure, I can tell you.

Secondly, in 1998 I watched Nora Olivera dance Argentine tango. I had never seen such a dance in my life and was smitten with it right away. I’ve been studying tango with Nora ever since, and although she speaks fine English, our own conversations are almost always in porteño Spanish. These two endeavors have been strengthened by my several long visits to Buenos Aires itself.

Photo: Kevin Carrel Footer

My late love, writer and storyteller Beatrice Bowles, and I went to Buenos Aires frequently to study tango with a few important masters. Bea, who became herself an accomplished dancer of tango, read large sections of The Last of Martín Sombra, and her advice added very much to what I was trying to do. She breathed detailed authenticity into the character and experiences of Martín’s great love, Lara Faustino. Bea, given her deep experience as a tanguera and a student of Buenos Aires, understood Lara’s wishes as I was drawing them. She also had the great importance, like Lara, of being a woman. Her readings of Lara’s character, and her advice to me about that character, were essential.

It's possible The Last of Martín Sombra would have been more “authentic” had it been written by a porteño. But I think not.

© Copyright 2023. Terence Clarke. All rights reserved.