The Feast of Insignificance

I devotedly follow the translations that Alba Dedeu provides us with loyal fidelity and astonishing expressive beauty. Not only do I think she's one of the best translators we have, she's also a gifted prose writer: one of the best stories I've ever read is included in her collection. Summer never ends, a simple yet captivating story about two extremely mysterious readers. And I won't say any more, because Dedeu's work is based on the wonder of the enigma, on the grandeur that arises from subtlety, on the portentousness of ellipses, and on the meticulous investigation of the possible wonders hidden in the strict everyday, the kind that isn't usually the object of study. Well, the fact is that with her first novel, The conformistAlba Dedeu once again confirms that she is one of the most praiseworthy authors on the current Catalan-language scene.

The conformist explains, through a voice that divides its elements into a series of monologues that delve into different moments in the life of Eva and her humble family. A pretext as good as any to paint a raw, unadorned portrait of the mediocrity, the banality, the dullness that obscenely surrounds us, exemplifying some of the many ills of the 21st century. Because The conformist This is it: the description, made with a surgical precision that in its objectivity even becomes cruel, of a life devoid of meaning, that is, of most lives in the world today. It is a condensed and brutal literary work that generates an enormous tension from minimal elements, synthetic to the utmost, and it is due to the treatment of the subject and the sharp writing. Indeed, it is a fascinating proposal that sometimes makes one think about Elementary particles, by Michel Houellebecq, and in A wonderful woman, by Joan Jordi Miralles.

What stands out, above all, are the sensory details, such as the pivot that represents the obsession with smells, but also simple and effective symbols such as the roast chicken, a nourishing Sisyphus in chains that functions as a metaphor for the work in panoramic terms. If the protagonists of the films Paterson, by Jim Jarmusch, and by Perfect Days, of Wim Wenders, find a path of asceticism and redemption in compulsive repetition and in the municipal everyday facts, we cannot say the same of the main victim of The conformist Alba Dedeu's, oblivious to the paths leading to the beacon of transcendence. Such existential emptiness generates chills and prompts urgent reflection.