By Danny Thiemann dives into IBF in the DF.
MEXICO’S 12TH ANNUAL IBF recently concluded as Day of the Dead
celebrations got underway in Mexico City’s historic central plaza, El
Zócalo. 225 publishers and distributors attended the fair, including 75
independent book houses and 13 independent magazines. Editors,
publishers, and writers spoke about emerging literary trends in Mexico,
the ease and difficulty of publishing here, and how Mexico’s literature
is being shaped by foreign writers in the capital and Mexican authors
living abroad.
* * *
The cheapest way to travel to the IBF is by metro, which at this time
of year is full of vendors selling technicolor glow skulls, Creedence
Clearwater Revival blasting from strobe-lit backpacks, and toenail
filers. The crowd I was part of had the grace of a beached whale. After
bellying up out of the subway, we were bathed in the bladder’s perfume.
Visually, IBF visitors had much to confront as well. Book and
magazine covers ranged from the psychedelic to the profane. Chip Kidd,
who designs book jackets for publishers such as Alford A. Knopf,
recently gave a TED talk (see right) on how book covers should match the
content within. Kidd described his work for David Sedaris’ Naked,
where instead of a book cover, Kidd dressed the book in a pair of
shorts so readers could take Mr. Sedaris’ pants off without having to
talk to him — a move that Mr. Sedaris admittedly approved of. In the act
of pulling out a book, Kidd’s art allows readers to get a sense of the
story they’re getting into.
* * *
The festival had multiple stages, satellite cafés that hosted spoken
word slams, and music concerts where Steely Dan was reported to have
appeared on stage looking lost.
* * *
Moebius, Mexico’s Dead Poets Society, was born in the 1980s and
hosted one of the many satellite poetry events going on during IBF. One
of Mexico’s long-time resident poets, Leopoldo Ayala, gave a reading to
open the event. Leopoldo is a poet who mainly writes odes to the
revolutionary spirit of Cuba and performs as though it were something
the audience could hold. His use of baby talk, nostalgia for the past,
and rage, however, gloved the audience’s hands in hyperbole, depriving
his performance of that human touch he hoped to inspire.
During the performance, the electricity was cut. When the lights went
out, Leopoldo became more sincere. In Spanish he said, “Those of us
gathered today are not here to talk about whether we want more light or
no light in the world, we are here to talk about someone having the
heart to see either way.”
Leopoldo Ayala performing at the IBF
Car headlights illuminated a crowd as alive as the passengers on
board the Titanic, but the poets’ performances weren’t bad, being
commensurate with the depth that their audience seemed to be at rest.
The theme of Ayala’s talk was Cuba’s revolutionary spirit and its
place in modern-day Mexico. In one poem entitled “Carmen,” he talked
about revolutionary spirit and how “hope sweetens or ripens our Mexican
identity, but liberty tastes it.”
Traditional themes of “crime holding its vigil over us from the
North” appeared in his poems, but he also added a touch of imagination
that made these tired themes find new life: “Death is face down, but
what does the night sky see on its back?”
He concluded his performance with a talk about the importance of
social movements and referenced the momentous battle that has recently
been waged in Mexico’s capital over the historic overhauls to the
country’s labor law. He said, “Now is not the time to write poetry,”
instead saying it is time to expose and accuse. “[Going on] Strikes is
our only inheritance, to act together, and when we do, then it will be
time to write millions and millions of poems.”
* * *
Stepping up to the challenge, one of the most impressive young poets
was Rodlin Georges, from Haiti. A former chemistry student, and now a
student of philosophy, he writes in Creole, French, and Spanish. “We are
more animals than light,” he wrote. He writes about how people discover
themselves in a world like Haiti, or a world like Mexico City: “I
simply come undone,” he says, “then, I dress myself in the silence of
your lips.” He spoke of Haiti as “a place where everything is music.” It
is made of “laughs of the poor” mixing with those of the women, and
“the children singing with the drunks,” asking us, Is this so bad when everything is music? The answer, perhaps, is yes.
Poet Rodlin Georges reading at Café Las Brujas
Rodlin comes from Haiti’s border with the Dominican Republic, a town
called Ouanaminthe. His dad works in agriculture and his mother passed
away a year ago. He said, “Before, poetry in Haiti was focused on social
problems. Today, poetry is still critiquing the government, but I feel
more people are not critiquing so much as they are educating.”
He commented on the fact that he sees more themes being explored in
Haiti’s poetry today than in recent years. Although he grew up reading a
lot of books from France, quick to name-drop Victor Hugo and
Montesquieu, he says he now alternates between writing in his three
languages, often preferring Spanish. “Living abroad [here in Mexico
City] helps me write.”
* * *
But many Mexican authors have found their literary homes abroad,
writing in expatriate communities. Benjamin de Buen, for example, used
to work as a sports writer in Mexico before packing for the literary
scene in Melbourne. De Beun also shifts between writing in multiple
languages. His current working manuscript is in English and Spanish.
When asked what his literary influences were at an early age, he simply
responded “Super Fudge, Judy Bloom.”
“Mexican writing,” says de Buen, “is so much more internally reflective.” He points to other Latin American works, such as Niebla,
by Miguel de Unamuno. He says that he knew he wanted to be a writer
after reading the passage when the main character of the book visits the
author because he is thinking of suicide.
“That book showed me how many openings and holes there are in
writing.” He got on a flight to Melbourne, switched from journalism to
creative writing, and took a step through one. “Living abroad in
Melbourne helps me write,” he added.
When asked for an opinion about letting Spanish bleed into his
English manuscripts, he referenced Junot Diaz. “He [Diaz] uses so much
Spanish in his writing. But his Spanish is so full of attitude, I found
myself laughing out loud. But just putting Spanish in there to be
‘authentic’ is not worth it unless you have something to say.”
Book covers from the publisher Fridaura
“The danger of Mexico,” he says, is the seduction of its “vast
deserts, the landscapes in the north that are so big, so overwhelming,
that I often found myself trying to make stories work for the setting.
But that’s all backwards,” he said. “You’re trying to fit a circle into a
square and I learned that I have to detach myself from the things I
find interesting, like the landscapes of my home country, and focus on
making the scenery work for the story.”
He is currently working on a book called “The Scratch,” which is
about an amateur soccer team and their lives off the field in Mexico.
Although he was a sports writer, he’s not trying to make the book
autobiographical. “Not an alter ego,” he says. “One of me is enough.”
* * *
Independent book publishers in Mexico don’t seem to think so, as they
continue to expand their search for upcoming authors. Some notable
companies for interested writers in Mexico are Manda, Generación,
Proyecto Literal, and their “Limon Partido” series for unpublished
writers, La Piedra, and for those into erotic poetry, Fridaura.
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