Hector Abad Fasolins: “I’M A Failed Writer, Drunk, So I Like Failed Writers Very Much.”

2021-02-14   |   by CusiGO

Hector abad faciolince (62, Medellin, Colombia) murdered his father in Medellin when he was 27, on August 25, 1987. Some time later, he came to Spain and introduced some of his early books (garbage, sad women’s cooking attempts…). That cloud lasted for one day, and one day it became a book, and we would be forgotten (alfaguara, 2006), where the boy hurt by Medellin’s memory of that day overturned everything, until then, it all aroused indelible memories.

The story is now also a movie directed by Fernando truba, which is coming soon. When he filmed the greatest story of his life, he gave his publisher a diary (1985-2006), which has been restricted to Spain because of the epidemic, because it had to be submitted a year ago, and we talked to him about these diaries (whether in Alfa guara or in Alfa guara) at the commercial cafe in Madrid.

Questions. What’s the weather like these years?

answer. I remember when I was 18, most people. I think it’s huge. When I was 54 years old, I said at home that I would not have another birthday. Every October 1, they would say to me, “happy 54 years old.” My dad was killed when he was 66, and I was 27. I don’t know how much that moment interrupted my life. Hamlet said he would forget, erase everything from his memory and remember only one murder. In my old photos, I didn’t look like my first child, not 20 years old, not even 10 years old. Everything has changed for me. Over time, it’s hard to maintain identity. It’s strange. Forgetting is forgetting what happened. It combines the past (such as Irene varejiao’s book waiting for your past) with the future that has not yet happened. When what happened in the past suddenly comes back and dominates the whole present?

Q. More importantly, so far, the diary has been limited by the epidemic…

A. No matter what happens, this is the strangest year of our lives. This newspaper will never be in Colombia, because when we first tried, there was national unemployment. It will be held in Madrid on March 14, 2020, when it’s all over. My friend Gonzalo C รณ rdoba, the producer of truba films, didn’t want me to publish it because it wasn’t for me. When he knew that no one would find him, he said, “this is the best thing that happened to you. You don’t want them to see your diary.” He knew that I was telling the truth there, and somehow Gonzalo wanted to protect me from being mistaken for the forgotten protagonist we were going to be, and let many people infer that I had the kindness of Dr. Hector abad Gomez, because this role brought me a lot of friends, and he thought I was obviously not here. I think so, too. In this book, you can see that we are two people, one in the newspaper and one in the book; from the cover, you can see that I am two people. I am not a bright person, but a person with a complicated life, with a bright side; I am not a good doctor fighting for others, but a very closed person, struggling with writing and his own destiny, but at the same time dominated by my father. Before he was killed, I heard him say to his friends, “I’ll be remembered because I’m Hector Joaquin’s father.” that’s my name. It became a blessing and a condemnation after the murder: my job is to make my father remembered. The words of your parents or someone you love are like blessings or curses. My destiny as a writer is a bit like that.

“This book is a portrait of Colombia, not just a self portrait of a person,” his friend Carlos gavilia told him as he read the newspaper.

I’m not a sociologist, a political scientist or an anthropologist. I’m just a storyteller, usually close. But this story often permeates into intimate stories, especially in this case, it’s intertwined with my life. If not, then cruel, I would be another writer, perhaps unfortunately more frivolous. After my father’s death, I wrote two more frivolous books; perhaps to find an inevitable one. I wanted to be the author of many books, but I realized more and more that I was a writer. I don’t know if it would be better if I only wrote one book and then devoted myself to drinking and never wrote again.

Twenty years ago, he wrote in his diary, “yes, I’m going to write a book about my father.” He was a writer at the time, and he met other people, like Garcia Marquez or Vargas Llosa. He is already an old man. What do you think of life?

A. I’m fascinated by two types of Writers: failure and success. You mentioned two successful people who have failed at some point in their lives. A failed writer like Irene Vallejo, she wants to leave the writing industry, because she can’t do it any more, she can’t make a living by writing… I am a failed writer, drunk, so I like this failed writer very much. There are no great unknown books, only great posthumous books, like Mongoose, says Umberto echo. Joseph Roth’s book succeeded because he had died of delirium in Paris and was penniless. You don’t know who those guys I told you are. For me, life makes me a loser in all my books and a successful writer in all my books. I don’t know which one I like best! [laughter]

P. In his diary, he tells about his different experiences with Garcia Marquez…

A. I was lucky to meet Borges in an interview, and I met Garcia Marquez, yes. With you two, I have a feeling that I am standing in front of two great talents of Latin America’s golden age. I think that if Homer really exists, those who see him in Homer’s literary paradise will feel my feelings for them both. When I first met Garcia Marquez, he was a very successful writer, and he was very aware that he was a successful writer, because he was always poor, and always on the eve of becoming a failed writer, and he was a little opposed, especially in Cuba, not in Mexico or Colombia. In Cuba, he was like a rich man, making a lot of money, suddenly put on white clothes, with the same color house and carriage. Fidel stood there, his shoes lifted up and looked like 1.90, so there would be no taller people in the meeting. I only know Fidel… My dad has a lot of sympathy and respect for him. I didn’t: he was brave, but in my opinion, he was still an arrogant man, avenging the past. However, Garcia Marquez is right in my heart.

P. Write this sentence in his diary: “I have a perfect father. He can give me everything I give, but I can’t give any more. He will forgive me. I won’t forgive myself.” Time has passed. When you were 62 years old, what would you do today?

A. As children and teenagers, they teach us a lot about obedience and forgiveness. What we should learn in life is to disobey and forgive ourselves. Contrary to what I wrote in the newspaper, I think I’m learning to forgive myself for not following the eternal lessons of remorse and criticism, very Catholic, to forgive myself.