Javier Marías | Dark Back of Time / 2001

the time that has yet to exist

by Douglas Messerli

 

Javier Marías Dark Back of Time, translated from the Spanish by Esther Allen (New York: New Directions, 2001)

 

Although Javier Marías characterizes his own fiction as a "false novel," the work has little to do with the traditional roman, concerned with a hero and his life (although the author, his characters, and his friends are featured in the work), choosing instead to focus on the debris at the edges of life, the incredible accidents and coincidences that occur at the borders of Marías' writing activities.

   The book first focuses on a previous Marías fiction, published in English as All Souls (in Spanish, Todas las almas), broadly based upon his tenure as a guest professor at Oxford in 1983-1985. Although Marías goes to some lengths to insist that all but one of the figures of the work were fictional—as with almost all writers, he admits to stealing small characteristics of the people he knew, but argues that he combined them in ways that resembled no one he'd met—many of the professors with whom he worked specifically identify others and themselves as characters in the fiction, determining that his work is a roman à clef, and going so far as to rechristen the characters of All Souls with the real names of their colleagues.

     Marías is quite horrified by that fact, afraid of offending individuals who he hardly knew (a woman acquaintance is identified by his friends as a female he portrays as having an affair in his work) and possibly even being sued. The British publisher, delaying the contract, is quite afraid of slander, and it apparently does not matter in British law that all the characters are fictional, for even if one imagines that he or she is being portrayed a lawsuit is allowed to go forward. At one point in this hilarious conundrum, Marías reiterates the fears of all writers; after the British publisher explains that "All that it would take (for a lawsuit) was for someone's circle of acquaintances...to believe they recognized that person in a character in a novel 'with resultant hatred, disdain, discredit or derision,' and the real individual would be able to file suit against the book's author and publishing house and have the suit accepted for consideration," Marías responds:

 

"But how can that be avoided when it depends on the way readers read the book and not the way the writer wrote it? Any lunatic can believe anything he wants, can't he? Any paranoid could recognize himself, couldn't he?.... How can it ever be known if the arbitrary identification has caused hatred or derision?... It can't be known with any certainty, since that depends, above all, on the perception of the injured party."

 

In short, almost any writer using fictional figures might possibly— according to British law at least—be liable to a suit. But the problem Marías identifies is perhaps even more disconcerting than a lawsuit. Since interpreting a fiction or other literary work is also dependent upon the reader, how can any fiction be separated from reality? Or how, to turn the equation on its head, can reality be separated from fiction? How can anyone possibly ever determine the truth, however one might want to define that? And if there is no way to determine "truth," how do we function as a moral society?

     The rest of Marías' brilliant work explores that question in various ways, using events and accidents related to his writing of All Souls and other works, and employing, in Dark Back of Time presumably "real" histories and facts that seem as fabulous as the events of fiction. One of those figures, John Gawsworth (whose real name is Ian Fytton Armstrong), a poet, who appeared as the only character drawn from life in All Souls—although some readers of that book may have felt that the self-proclaimed King of Redonda was too far-fetched to be believed. By chance Marías is named literary executor of Gawsworth and his mentor-friend M.P. Shiel, and so gains the rights to Redonda.

      To support Marías' claim of Gawsworth's authenticity, he published two photographs of Gawsworth in All Souls and reproduces them in Dark Back of Time, one representing a handsome younger man, the second a death mask of the poet by someone named Hugh Oloff de Wet (who, so I later discovered, also did busts of British poets Louis McNeice and Dylan Thomas).

     Gawsworth, a man connected with a group of writers in early 20th century England, including figures such as Shiel, Arthur Machen, Lawrence Durrell, Richard Middleton and Hubert Crackanthorpe—the last two who committed suicide at an early age—gave them various roles in his uninhabited kingdom of Redonda.

    Gawsworth's own literary achievements were devoted primarily to anthologies of "mystery and terror," of which Marías mentions eight volumes between 1932 and 1937, many of them containing writings by his circle and work by younger authors whom Gawsworth promoted, including Wilfrid Herbert Gore Ewart (1892-1922). He attracts Marías' attention, the author going so far as to translate one of Ewart's stories and publish it in an anthology of rare tales of fear appearing the same year as All Souls. Although Marías is able to find names of several books Ewart published, he is unable to locate copies, and knows little about the author except for his "strange" death in Mexico.

     Soon after, Marías receives two mysterious letters: one from a Mexican essayist, Sergio González Rodríguez, on the death of Ewart, and another in 1990 from a man named Rafael Muñoz Saldaña, who claims to have tracked down the facts of Ewart's Mexican death. Through a bit of further research, with help from Marías' novelist friend Juan Benet, the author gathers together information on Ewart's service in World War I, his quick rise to literary success, and his breakdown recounted by a close friend of Ewart's, Stephen Graham.

     That story takes the character on a voyage from England to the US and eventually to Mexico, ending in Ewart's "accidental" shooting on New Year's Eve on the balcony of his Mexico City hotel. But the pieces of the tale are stranger even than fiction, and several contradictions arise even in Graham's telling of the story and through other bits of information, including the revelation that the hotel in which Ewart stayed on the 5th floor did not have a balcony at that level. Marías reveals these strange facts with all the eagerness of a great fiction writer and amateur detective. Yet his methods of gathering information are strangely passive. He insists that he only seeks out books through bookdealers and will not move forward unless someone sends him information. Marías claims that he does not use a computer and uses only materials that have "sought him out."

     So the plot thickens when Marías receives a book edited by Stephen Graham, the narrator of Ewart's death, signed by John Gawsworth. More significantly, another correspondent writes him that, coincidentally, his first poem was published in a magazine edited by John Gawsworth and that, years later, he met Hugh Oloff de Wet in Madrid and was entertained in a local café for several weeks by de Wet's wonderful stories. Thus the photographer of Gawsworth's death mask and the mysterious poet King Juan I of Redonda are magically brought together as Marías now recounts an equally fabulous tale of de Wet, interweaving the two with various other real figures from Sir Conan Doyle to Ödön von Horvath (the Austria-Hungary writer who spent a life in fear of being struck by lightning and died, oddly enough, in Paris of the effects of a lightning bolt) that interconnects the figures he has mentioned with war, their literary activities, their somewhat insane actions, and their deaths, which Marías brilliantly reflects back upon his own life and activities.

     In a strange way, accordingly, Dark Back of Time is almost like a reverse image of a fiction, as if Marías were challenging those Oxford professors who confused imagination with everyday reality; but it is almost certain that many of the characters of this book, who are all real (I found substantial entries for all on the internet, and had previously read works by Machen, Durell, and von Horvath) will be thought of as imaginary given the outrageousness of their lives wherein events, as the author himself admits, were "random and absurd."

     Just as the author learned to write as a child—he is left-handed and learned to write backwards so that his name XAVIER read to others as REIVAX—the strange worlds Marías relates in this fiction, are visions of existences where the past is the future, worlds of times that do not yet exist. Thankfully he promises us at least one more future journey to that "Dark Back of Time."

    

Los Angeles, June 7-9, 2009