It began as a novel, but it couldn’t, due to my shortness of breath, my laziness, my fear of large structures, my inability to finish. I was happy about the lack of borders between the genres, I read Piglia who gave me ideas: …freeing the novelist from the need to devise a plot… The future of the narrative will not depend on the construction of a map of the facts but on the combination of autobiography, observation and reflection.
Nor is it daily, because it began to be written in 2000 and talks about childhood; because the newspapers record the events as they happen, they remember nothing. Few pages, barely recognized as their own, were rescued from youthful years, transformed, made up, transvestite. The poet, only distanced from the facts, becomes a giver of meaning.
A fragmentary work, assembled from pieces, its chronological order has nothing to do with that of writing. Pieces rearranged with various criteria are strung together inspired by a leitmotiv : How many muffins, Marcel , how many to evoke an entire life. Madeleines, memory, time are combined in an exquisite gourmet dish. No fondness for time gained, time for efficiency, for practical things, we go instead for lost, evanescent, elusive time.
Narrating itself as a way of ordering experience and giving meaning, autofiction is sustained by distance, seeing itself as strange, as other. The figure of the double appears. Perhaps Ariadna, who is my double, has Ivana Matus as a double…. and Omar Olivas in the masculine, and thus chains of doubles are interwoven that add to the problem of who is speaking. At times I find that it is not me but my doubles who interfere fighting for the scene and repeat and question me as «six characters in search of an author.» The life of others as a stage where I transcribe mine to discover other possible lives, what is potentially mine.
Writing as a goldsmith’s task that is pleased to return and correct; not only the style but the sense of what has been lived, its hidden meanings, lights of the unconscious. Sometimes I narrate to understand my feelings, both past and present, and I don’t care about the differences; I celebrate both being the same and being another, perhaps that unique mixture of being everything at the same time me and the other.