Eider Rodríguez: "We have deconstructed many things and now we don't know if we are looking at ruins or buildings under construction."

BarcelonaThe writer Eider Rodríguez (Errenteria, 1977) burst onto the Catalan bookstores scene in 2019 with A heart too big (Periscope / Random House), a collection of short stories that served as the gateway, for many readers in our country, to one of the most important contemporary literary voices in the Basque Country. Seven years later and an autofictional novel in between— Building materials (Periscope / Random House, 2023)—, Rodríguez returns to short stories with It was all the same hole (Periscope / Random House), six seemingly everyday stories that gradually move toward increasingly uncomfortable situations, reflecting the collective unease of the present. All three books have been translated from Basque into Catalan by Pau Joan Hernàndez.

His previous book, Building materialsIt was also her first novel. Now she presents a new volume of short stories. Why has she returned to that genre, with which she debuted?

— I've just finished writing two novels, Building materials And another one I haven't published yet. I don't find the intensity of short stories in any other genre, and that's why I was so eager to reconnect with that risk. I feel like I'm taking a gamble with every paragraph. Besides, I had many stories I wanted to write that fit this form perfectly.

He also came from a strongly autobiographical book, and now he has gone to the other extreme, to absolute fiction.

— It's simply because I felt like it. Building materials It was quite easy for me to write because I worked with autobiographical material. I had to adapt it to a structure that functioned as a literary device, but I didn't have to invent anything. With fiction, the great challenge is imagining everything: the rules, the characters, the way they speak, how they dress. I love that challenge.

In the first story, the protagonist is a middle-aged woman who feels empty and escapes a claustrophobic domestic life through a lover. In the third, the emptiness becomes physical: it explains how a couple begins to excavate their basement to gain space. What did you find in the idea of ​​the hole to encompass all the stories?

— I wanted to capture that idea of ​​emptiness, of void, of uncertainty—a feeling that recurs in all the stories. I also wanted to reflect the Basque Country at this very moment, from different perspectives within society. How are we doing, apart from what the news reports? It's not a picture of abundance, but neither is it one of defeat. I'm talking about disoriented people who feel empty and are searching. Along this path, they find small and large things they didn't expect, things that lead them in different directions. I like to lift the rug and see what's underneath, but without focusing solely on the ugly, dark, and dirty. There's light in the cracks, too.

"Beneath the rage, something else was growing [...]. A fossilized sadness, a stony sadness buried under layers of all kinds, which was trying to emerge from his body piece by piece," he writes in the fifth story, SubmarinersWhat led you to capture the unease and discomfort that affects all the protagonists?

— We're all feeling a bit like that, aren't we? Tired, hurt, lost, unsure of where to channel our anger socially. Many truths have been diluted, we've deconstructed so much, and now we don't know if we're looking at ruins or buildings under construction. What do we do? Living in this society is difficult. We're under tremendous pressure—at work, financially, and from expectations.

But it doesn't approach it from the perspective of its impact on the collective, but rather takes it to the intimate level.

— Delving into the private lives of any couple or family is fascinating, even through fiction. Writing allows me to do so. And, moreover, I'm convinced that everything happening to us on a personal level has its roots in society and politics.

All the stories explore the everyday lives of their characters, but they do so from a narrative tension characteristic of the thrillersHow have you managed the pacing and movement of the plot to maintain the pulse of each story?

— Everyday life can be a great mystery, and that's what I've tried to portray. I wanted to tell the story of a character who has breakfast, showers, and goes to work, all while anticipating what will happen next. Stylistically, I've slowed things down considerably and taken the time to calmly observe the details. I was interested in savoring the stillness. If you slow a car down significantly, it can become something else entirely; changing gears allows you to see the world in a completely different way.

Is this approach a consequence of her maturity as a writer?

— Most likely, yes. Over time, I've gained peace of mind and I feel like I'm not playing games anymore, that I write because I want to, and I'm incredibly lucky to find people on the other side who read me. I wrote my first book in the early 2000s, with complete innocence. Then I published it and the nerves kicked in, the press... I hadn't planned for it. The second book was the worst; it was a disaster. After that, I didn't write for a while because I didn't think it was worth going through so much pain.

But he came back.

— I managed to move the writing to another spot, and I haven't moved from there since. Now I feel like it's a mission, and I'm having a great time. With A heart too bigWith my fourth book, I solidified that feeling that writing is worthwhile and that I can also live through literature.