Empar Moliner: "At this point in my life, all I want is to be with happy people."

BarcelonaIn the new novel by Empar Moliner (Santa Eulalia de Ronçana, 1966), Instructions for living without her (Column), death, journalism, and literature are invoked from its very first pages. If a Dear (Columna, 2022; Ramon Llull Prize) The writer, who dissected the ravages of time, now explores the end of life through Claudia Pruna, a highly productive and successful author who is the breadwinner for her entire family. Allied with a librarian who is a fanatic of her work, the protagonist throws herself into writing articles and recording radio segments so that the income doesn't stop when she's gone. With a bittersweet sense of humor—at times tinged with cynicism, at others full of tenderness—Moliner has written a novel that revolves around honesty and is, ultimately, a literary invitation to enjoy life.

Is it a novel about a world that is ending?

— I've been writing since 1999, and back then the Catalan language was already dying. Journalism, or literature in a newspaper, whatever you want to call it, has also been said to be dying for some time now. We've chosen tools that are perhaps obsolete, and we insist on continuing to use them. I could have changed languages ​​if I'd wanted, but when I started out, I wanted to be like the writers I admired in New York. I wanted to do the same with that language. And I still do. I use Catalan, but nobody should tell me what to do. Since the patient is terminally ill, we'll eat whatever we want.

And what about journalism?

— When the internet came out, I promised I would never read an online newspaper. But now I am, and when I read a physical copy, I miss the readers' comments. What's the point of writing to tell people about what's happening? It has everything and it doesn't. What's the point of wanting to read about what's happening, and not seeing it? What can we do about this? Esther [Vera, director of ARA] always says: "Journalism and more journalism." And with our work, the work of the quillsWhat can we do? Literature and more literature. The protagonist is very happy writing articles; she considers it essential and important. She approaches it like I do, as if her life depended on it. And then she sees how everything around her is crumbling.

The novel's protagonist is a very demanding and critical woman when it comes to literature. She fights against clichés, easy phrases, and pre-packaged texts.

— The novel contains many puns and wordplay that Claudia would never use in an article because she finds them cheap. This comes from me. When I see an opinion writer put together an article and end the sentence with a paragraph break, unnecessarily, like a "ta-da!" in the movies, I think they're treating the reader like an idiot. Some are, let's not kid ourselves, but I aspire to an intelligent reader. People who don't regularly read fiction are very different from those who do. A person who reads fiction has a different perspective, one that differs from the bovine view of people who don't read fiction.

Through Claudia, you talk about the end of life. Is this the most direct way you've addressed death?

— I talk about death and the shitty thing that is dying, but also about the beauty of life. I find it very difficult to live in a world where there is willful destruction. I'm here and I think, "What a delicious hazelnut." And meanwhile, someone is bombing and a child has died. This contradiction between how hard it is to sustain life and how easy it is to destroy it disturbs me.

Is it a feeling that intensifies over time?

— When my daughter, now 18, was born, I thought, "Now I see the evil in the world." Before, I didn't find it equally intolerable to see a child suffer, but the concrete reality is what causes the greatest pain. People who work or read a newspaper are hooked on information. You want it all, here and there, you can't stop. Since your body can't handle so many causes, you have to focus on one thing: concentrate on just one, because otherwise the pain is too immense. And, at the same time, the desire for fleeting and simple happiness also intensifies with age.

But Claudia does not approach her end from a tragic perspective, but from a purely economic one.

— It's her only concern. She says people die in peace, but she'll die fighting if she doesn't get her affairs in order. She wanted to nurture, she enjoyed it, but she's turned all her loved ones into house cats. They're demanding, ungrateful, endearing, but in reality, she's neutered them. She takes care of her daughter's son. Everyone would say it's an act of generosity, but it's really because the character wanted to nurture.

The baby, the daughter's son, is the most vulnerable and defenseless character. He is surely also the one who evokes the most sadness and tenderness. She takes him everywhere, feeds him, and keeps him safe, knowing that soon he will be gone, that he will be the only person she has to look up to.

— When I see women in their 60s or 70s having children through assisted reproduction, I think, "What a disaster, what a disaster." I know some grandmothers who care for babies due to difficult circumstances, and I see the dichotomy: she's enjoying it, but she's doing it because she has no other choice.

We get to know the protagonist through the librarian's voice. He tells her story. Why did you choose this literary device?

— The first person has many advantages. With the third person, the narrator is omniscient, knows what's happening, and is inside the heads of all the characters, but must be more neutral, offering few opinions. When there's humor, the third person is more complicated because it can't be a joke. Dorothy Parker does it. She has a story, Horse faceA very tender, horrifying, and heartbreaking story about a nanny who is very ugly and takes care of the baby of a wealthy family. The husband is having dinner with her and doesn't know what to say to her; it distresses him. And the narrator says, "She had such a horse-like face that you felt like offering her an apple." It's a cruel joke that seriously undermines plausibility, but what Parker does is write in the third person and filter it through the perspective of the character interacting with her. As you read it, you can see what he's thinking.

In your case, the first-person narrator makes everything subjective. How does this affect the story?

— He's recounting what she's told him and what he sees. He's a character who admires him, but he's quite neutral, and that's why he's the one narrating. With the first person, everything is more grounded; I have to give the reader a lovingly wrapped mess. The librarian writes in a torrent, and the reader sees everything from below, just like him. For the reader to buy into this idea and keep going until the end, I have to lay the characters bare. I have to be very honest; the details can't be taken lightly. The enjoyment is twofold, because you're looking right through their eyes, but so is the risk. The Kingdom (Anagrama, 2014), Emmanuel Carrère masterfully dissected the Gospels. What did he do to make the reader, Christian or not, follow him? He recounted that he belonged to a sect that washed each other's feet. And having said that, now that we've seen him naked, well, let's unveil other things. To unveil, you must be naked.

Ultimately, it's a novel about living and writing honestly, isn't it? From the truth and against artifice.

— That's exactly it. Whatever we do, we do it with radical honesty and against imposters. When historical novels became fashionable, popping up everywhere, I noticed that those writers hadn't read Marguerite Yourcenar. But, of course, neither had her readers. It was like starting all over again.

At one point in the story, you write: "All writers with good sales, good reviews, or both at the same time, pretend they don't know how to go it alone in the world [...]. This uselessness is partly a luxury they can afford, an exaggeration that looks good, and partly the quality of a certain type of person who lives above all else... they have a long-term vision." How do you live with this reality?

— Very well, because there are many readers and many books. It doesn't matter if someone owns a good restaurant alongside others that are second-rate. I, too, want a greasy burger someday. It's the dose that makes the poison. With each book I write, I aspire to be a best-sellerBut above all, I want to be a long-sellerI like occasional readers, but I especially like regular readers. Those who read constantly and about everything. Like with movies and food.

Disgust is very present in the plot, especially linked to the protagonist's relationship with her husband. He's a man who only sleeps and plays on his phone on the sofa, who doesn't touch her and looks at her with apprehension. What did you want to reflect with that relationship?

— There's a moment when the protagonist is naked in the bathroom, in a very intimate act. Her husband sees her in the mirror and says, "Disgusting." It slips out, without any malice. She realizes that they're no longer like chimpanzees, in the sense that when there's absolute trust in a sexual or marital union, you see both partners with their bodies completely uninhibited, picking lice. They've stopped being chimpanzees; the idea of ​​the dreadful marital routine has been shattered. In reality, I'm simply portraying, in different ways, the dreadful and amusing union of marriage.

Is this the saddest book you've ever written?

— Perhaps so. In short stories, I can have no pity whatsoever for a character. Here, I have a certain amount of pity for both protagonists. If I didn't, I wouldn't have any pity for any of us or for our profession either.

Claudia lives life intensely, enjoying every moment of it. But then you write that "those who are madly in love with life are the ones who end up dying sooner, because they drink and eat beyond their means." Do you really think that?

— I thought about it with Ramón Sampedro. He was the boy who jumped highest off the cliff, because he was the bravest, and he's the one who ended up a quadriplegic. He paid a heavy price for it.

Should we aspire to a tedious life in order to fight against that?

— No, but we shouldn't take any pleasure for granted. Going out to dinner with a friend is a pleasure. That conversation is a pleasure. Going outside, seeing the sun, laughing is a pleasure. I've realized that, at this point in my life, all I want is to be with happy people. I don't want to be around angry people who scold me. I'd like to never lose the curiosity of cats, who see a fly and can't help but go after it. Our profession is about playing. In a serious way, but playing nonetheless. I have a friend of mine who's a beautician, whom I've known for many years. One day, while we were talking, I said to her, "Wow, what a job you have, waxing butts." And she said, "No way! Can't you see I play with dolls? And I love it."