Antonio Orlando Rodríguez—No Small Feat

by Aída Bardales -- Críticas, 7/15/2008

Antonio Orlando Rodríguez, the Cuban novelist who won this year’s Premio Alfaguara de Novela, has been traveling nonstop. His book tour brought him to New York City this past May, where he met with reporters eager to interview him on his latest accomplishment. Then, an event at the Instituto Cervantes. (The event was moderated by his friend and translator, the author Ernesto Mestre-Reed.) Rodríguez kept his audience mesmerized with stories and pictures of the real Espiridiona Cenda, the tiny, turn-of-the-century woman who inspired his award-winning novel, Chiquita (Alfaguara). Not surprisingly, after the evening wrapped up, all those present immediately lined up to greet the author and have him sign their books.

While on a break from his tour, Rodríguez took a few moments to talk to Críticas about the book, his career, and the effects of winning the prize.

What is Chiquita?

Chiquita is many things, but mostly, the imaginary biography of a real person. It is a novel that tries to incorporate the spirit of the adventure stories of old. What’s more adventurous than the tale of a tiny woman who succeeded and made herself be respected in a world that was made for giants? Even though this book has a historical background, in its pages I favored fantasy, humor, parody, and the absurd. While writing it, I included several satirical illusions or small “tributes” to different literary genres, such as erotica, supernatural fiction, thrillers, and even those popular novels featuring secret cults. But they are only that—strokes of humor that I hope the readers are able to understand and appreciate.

How did you hear about the “real” Chiquita and what engaged you enough to write a novel about her?

A friend sent me an e-mail with a picture of Espiridiona Cenda and it was a sort of “love at first sight.” I was amazed to learn that, toward the end of the 19th century, a Cuban woman who was only 26 inches tall had conquered the Unites States with her singing and dancing, to the point that, in 1901, President McKinley invited her to visit him at the White House. (Contrary to what some critic has erroneously said, she went to chat with him and not to act.) Then, as I continued to research this extraordinary artist, I realized that she had all the ingredients of a novel’s heroine: independence, dignity, character, beauty, tempestuous love affairs, and a life full of challenges, trips and hardships. However, I did not follow everything I was able to find out about her life exactly—I decided to reinvent facts to my liking, because I was writing a novel and not a strict biography. When she became the protagonist of my novel, Espiridiona Cenda became a fictional character.

Tells us about the process writing Chiquita. What part of it did you enjoy the most?

I am a pretty intuitive writer. I study the time period in which my novel will be set, but when I sit down to write I don’t usually do outlines or plan time frames for the plot. For me, the writing process is a creative adventure full of surprises. The only thing I know is where I am leaving from and where I’d like to go. Writing this book took me five years and was a difficult, very painful process, plagued by doubts and uncertainty. What I enjoyed the most was the challenge of plunging into a time period full of political and social changes, and striving to recreate it. There were some entertaining moments, though. For example, when I had to imagine Chiquita’s erotic adventures in Paris during the Belle Epoque, her incursion into the world of Chicago’s anarchists, the magical powers of the great Duque Alejo of Romanov’s talisman, and the headaches it caused director Tod Browning during the shooting of the movie Freaks.

Who is your favorite character and why?

Chiquita is the heroine and, therefore, the character I worked on the most as the success of the story depended on her. She had to be a contradictory, edgy, human, believable character; otherwise, the novel would have fallen apart. That said, I must recognize that the character I enjoyed creating the most, and with whom I also developed a great complicity, is Rústica, the black servant. I love her loyalty, irony, and critical eyes—the way in which she judges Chiquita and the world that surrounds them. There are also episodic characters I was very attracted to, such as the Romantic Cuban poet José Jacinto Milanés, the intrepid reporter Nelly Bly, and the famous Chinese magician Ching Ling Foo—any of them could have been the protagonist of a fascinating novel.

Tells us about Cándido Olazábal, the narrator. Who is that character based on and why did you choose that way to tell Chiquita’s story?

Cándido Olazábal is a character through whom I tried to reproduce the colloquial speech, the confidence, and the humor of a Cuban man from decades ago. When I began writing the novel, I discovered that if Chiquita’s life was told through only one omniscient character—as was my original intention—both the protagonist and the plot would run the risk of being too structured and monotonous. So I decided to enhance the book’s structure by introducing the first-person, very subjective account of Cándido. With his ironic and critical vision of Chiquita and her life, he established the healthy counterpoint to the idyllic, narcissistic tone of the memories of the “Living Doll.” Cándido is at times very “politically incorrect,” but sincere, genuine, and extremely noble. Creating him and listening to him throughout the story was a delight.

Established writers typically submit their books to the prize pseudonymously; what pseudonym did you use?

I chose the pseudonym Lemuel Gulliver because I found it appropriate for a novel that explores the complex relationships that have always existed between “Lilliputians” and giants, be it human beings or nations.

What did you learn about “Lilliputians,” a term from Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels that was used to describe “little people,” including performers?

When I began researching to write this book, I discovered that Chiquita was not the only famous Lilliputian of her time. During the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries, there were dozens of legendary Lilliputians in the United States and Europe. In those times, there were companies of comedy, opera, dance, and acrobats formed entirely by minute men and women who were perfectly proportioned. The public was fascinated by them and preferred them to all the other individuals who were cruelly cataloged as “freaks of nature.” I am not aware that secret societies formed by Lilliputians and midgets have existed (those types of brotherhoods were supposed to be invisible and avoided any type of publicity); but I thought it was a good idea to include them in my novel and ask myself: What would our planet’s fate have been, had the “big ones” given the “small ones” the opportunity to rule it?

Why did you include footnotes and how can we figure out which ones are true?

I included footnotes to make the story I wanted to write more believable. The role of these notes is to instill in the reader the feeling of authenticity. Some of them contain real information; others are pure fiction. What matters is not that they are true, but they ring true. They are part of the game proposed by the novel.

Where were you when you were informed that you had won the Alfaguara Prize? Has your life changed since then?

I was in bed because they called me at 6:00 a.m. from Madrid to tell me I was the winner. My life has changed since then: I went from being a sort of hermit who spent most of his time writing at home, to having to travel nonstop through Spain, the United States, and Latin America, and having to give countless interviews.

Even though the promotional tour is very intense and exhausting, there’s a pleasant side to it—it has allowed me to meet many of my readers, who are quite different from one another. They have shared with me their opinions and interpretations of the book: some see in Chiquita a metaphor of the island of Cuba; others, a pioneer in human rights. Some see the novel as a reflection on exile and there are those who consider it a celebration of the differences between humans and a warning about the dangerous tendency to “homogenize” that the modern world tries to impose on us.

I find all these interpretations valid and respectable, and they are very stimulating for me as the creator of the book. I hope that, once I fulfill my commitments with this long tour, I can go back to my quiet and peaceful life and write again.

What book are you reading now?

I usually read two or three books at a time. Right now, on my night table I have Kioto (Kyoto) by Yasunari Kawabata and La mujer justa (“A Just Woman”) by Sandor Márai, two wonderful writers. I am also rereading Cuentos completos (Complete Stories) by Virgilio Piñera.

Who are your favorite contemporary authors?

The list could be endless, so I will only mention a few authors who are now alive: Fernando Vallejo, Paul Auster, Marina Colasanti, Haruki Murakami... Among the Cubans, I really like the work of such writers as Daína Chaviano, Eliseo Alberto, Abilio Estévez, Chely Lima, Yanitzia Canetti, Reynaldo González and María Elena Llana, and others. A recent “discovery” is Gina Picart, an outstanding writer who lives and publishes her books in La Habana.

What are you working on next?

It will be another novel set in La Habana at the beginning of the 20th century. It is a time period that I am very drawn to, because the world was going through big political and social changes and people were still easily surprised. In this new project, the protagonist will be a man and, unlike Chiquita, I’d like the book to be more psychological, condensed, and darker. But I am not sure whether that will be the final result or not because, right now, there are only premises and intuitive thoughts in my head. I will begin working on the story after the Guadalajara Book Fair in November, when the Alfaguara Prize tour has ended.

Books by Antonio Orlando Rodríguez