About nationality issues and literature as a cure

Every writer has its own personal obsession: mine is the subject stated on the title of this article. Nationality: what the hell is that, how does it enter our lives, and how can it define us?

Let me start by saying that I am Venezuelan until the fifth generation downwards, from both sides of my family tree.  You could say I’m almost a pure blooded-Venezuelan. Nevertheless, my peers have accused me all my life of having a weird accent, and of being different. –which is quite a tricky adjective, I have discovered.-  Socially, I’ve always felt like Nick Caraway in the Great Gatsby; making his own words mine, in the Venezuelan society, I feel like  I am within and without at the same time. I’m this curious observer that wanders around the borders of the outcasts, being neither an outcast nor an insider.

Since my adolescence I’ve dedicated myself to read as much Latin-American literature as I can bear: Mario Vargas Llosa, Cortázar, Ernesto Sábato, Benedetti, García Márquez , Isabel Allende. .. (Notice the sad absence of Venezuelan names…) But for a change, the last book that I read was a novel written by a Venezuelan author, Eduardo Sánchez Rugeles, titled Etiqueta Azul/Blue Label.

 Now this was something new: the author is not dead nor a senior citizen like the rest of the authors that I have read, he’s in his 30’s; and even more interesting: the main character of the novel, Eugenia Blanc, is a girl my age, she was born the same year as I was, and lives in the same area of Caracas as I do, and grows up in the same social environment as I did. I had never read something so recent, so close to my reality. I must admit that for some moments I did feel a bit awkward about it. But Rugeles portrays so truthfully the lifestyle of this reduced part of our society that it is hard to refuse to turn to the next page once you’ve read the first.

Eugenia and I belong to a so called disenchanted generation, a group of disappointed youngsters that grew up within an era of permanent crisis. Through the eyes of my generation, there are three ways of seeing my country, Venezuela: there’s the people that are used to having close to nothing, and now what they call their country is no more than a bunch of fake promises, just an illusion of a country; secondly, there’s a small group of stubborn and overly-optimist people that insist on the fact that we have the best country in the entire world, and that now we have to stand up for it and save it; and last but not least, there’s some people like the girl from the book, Eugenia Blanc, that have never felt the slightest connection with Venezuela, know absolutely nothing about it, and don’t want to, and they would do anything to change their current nationality. (I, once more, don’t fit into any of these categories.) But the spectrum is never so black and white, I do believe that there is also a group of people that are not radicals in any way, that do feel some bond with this land but they just can’t see a way out our current problems and say, with a sad gloom, that if they want to have a good life, they must leave their country.

As you can see, for my generation, there’s no easy way to face our nationality, it is all very complicated.

But difficult times awaken the minds of many, making their creativity burst out as if from a newly discovered fountain of ideas and motives. The novel Etiqueta Azul/Blue Label is an example of that. I confess that I started reading its pages with a huge load of skepticism and distrust, especially because I had heard so many good comments about it; but now that I read it, I must say, that in my humble opinion, it is quite a valuable piece of literature. It is witty and funny, it is one of those rare easy-to-read novels that deal with very transcendent issues. It is also an extremely regional story, especially considering the language-or should I say slang- in which it is written, but somehow you get the feeling that the story and the worries of the characters are quite universal.

 If you’re Venezuelan and you’re brave enough to take this book into your hands, I must warn you: you’re going to feel ashamed of your country, you’re possibly going to cry for it too, for my generation, and you’re also going to laugh a lot, but in the end, you will have one more piece of the incredibly difficult puzzle that our society is, and that’s exactly why, you have to read it.

I strongly believe that literature can be part of the cure to the nationality issues that my generation is facing, and if I would have to make a recipe to give it to any of my peers that are suffering from the same issues as I am, it would be something like this:

Recipe to cure nationality issues with literature

Ingredients:

-País portátil, Adriano Gonzáles León

-Cuando quiero Llorar no lloro, Miguel Otero Silva

-Mi padre, el inmigrante, Vicente Gerbasi

-Etiqueta Azul/Blue Label, Eduardo Sánchez Rugeles

Instructions: Compromise, read them all, and prepare to cry.

Note: some of you may be wondering, why the hell did I write about this in English and not in Spanish, my mother language? The only answer I can give you is this: I don’t really know, this is how it came out, and I already told you, I have nationality issues, I am searching for a cure.