The Time of the Doves [Plaça del Diamant]
by Mercè Rodoreda
I must say that at the beginning I was a little bit baffled with this book. I mean when G.G. Márquez says how I’m holding “The most beautiful novel published in Spain since the Civil War.” I expected I’d be blown away from the page 1. I expected novel profound as an ocean and equally demanding to sail thru… so I was floating page after page after page waiting for a storm and in my expectations ignoring the landscape that has been enfolding before me… until I finally notice that because of the tree I don’t see the forest.
This one beautiful story about a simple girl during a horrible time; story about Natalia [Colometa], a girl who works in a pastry shop and loves her job; I dare to say not very bright girl; quite naïve; girl who doesn’t have ability to articulate her feelings in the that profound way I was expecting before opening this book. Even when she talks about unimaginable things; you have a feeling that behind each word is an entire abyss; you can sense its depth but never see it. You expect scream every second but don’t hear it; you feel the horrors but yet Colometa is playing her role of a cork perfectly:
“To me a cork was like a stopper…I was like a cork myself. Not because I was born that way but because I had to be. And to make my heart like stone. I had to be like a cork to keep going because if instead of being a cork with a heart of stone I’d been like before, made of flesh that hurts when you pinch it, I’d never have gotten across such a high, narrow, long bridge.”
On the backstage of the novel is Spanish Civil War and of course its horror can bee seen everywhere but this is not story about the war. It’s story about simple little things of ordinary people; about their everyday struggle to survive; about their sacrifices; about they ways to turn yourself into a cork to stay alive yes, but much more to stay sane.
When I started to read this novel I talked with my dear friend José Antonio (his BLOGS) from Barcelona and he said that “Rodoreda is considered by many as the best writer in Catalan ever and her “Plaça del Diamant” [the original title of the novel] is a symbol (also against Franco’s regime) with its Colometa and her fight to survive during such a horrible time” oh and he also reminded me that Plaça del Diamant actually exist in Barcelona (it’s in the barrio de Gracia de Barcelona).
Speaking about Franco and Spanish Civil War there is a great Translator’s (David Rosenthal) Note where he wrote small history about Rodoreda and her destiny as a writer who writes in Catalan during Franco’s regime. Of course I knew that then all other languages except Castellano (known as Spanish) were forbidden: Catalan, Gallego, Euskadi. What really stricken me is that Catalan, and probably books in other languages, were burned, newspapers suppressed and offices were hung with signs saying: NO LADRES, HABLA EL IDIOMA DEL IMPERIO ESPAÑOL which means: “Don’t bark, speak the language of the Spanish empire”Of course Rodoreda has left Spain and moved to France.
Another curious thing is that shortly after I finished reading this novel I meet two new friend from Barcelona and just like José Antonio, they were full of admiration toward Mrs. Rodoreda and her work But then in the same time I’ve met two more friends from Spain, but they were from Madrid. They never heard about Rodoreda nor about the book.
How strange (and sad) that something which means so much to so many in one part means nothing in the other part of the same country.
March 31, 2010 at 6:16 am
I love your book reviews, Milan, as well as your ability to tie in books you’ve read with a ton of local history that I know nothing about. I learn something new everytime I read a new review of yours. Gracias, senor.
April 1, 2010 at 1:40 pm
De nada guapa 😉
I’m glad you like my reviews. Once my friend told me I live books I’m reading. It seems that’s not far away from the truth.
Thank you for picking such a great books for me.
Un abrazo
April 5, 2010 at 4:14 pm
Chapeau!, not only for your comment about the book but your exposition of the situation that involves it. I have a lot of friends that live out of Catalonia, and I always claim against their education because they know nothing about catalonian culture while we have the same knowledge about spanish culture that them. Why this? because Spain refuses all that comes from euskera, catalan or gallego. It’s sad but true. Only writers who write in castellano are known, like Ildefons Falcones (La catedral del mar) or Carlos Ruiz Zafon (The shadow of the wind), real bestsellers here and out of our borders. Thanks for your references about me 🙂
April 5, 2010 at 5:09 pm
Thanks for your comment. And I’m glad you like my review.
Now about “Castellano vs Catalan/Euskera/Gallego” I don’t know whether is the same situation now. Of course you must know better but also as a Catalan you might see things from different perspective. As an outsider I do have impression that nowadays Spanish government treasures multilingualism of the country. At the Instituto Cervantes there are language courses in Catalan and Gallego (I think so far there’s no Euskera). So luckily the things are changed.
Castellano has to be the “main” language of all which are in use in the country because of the obvious reason: the number of citizens who speak/understand Castellano is much bigger than with other languages; and looking from the global perspective even more: Latin and South America; Guinea Equatorial, Philippines they all have Castellano as an official language. So for economical reasons as well: writers who write in Castellano have enormously huge market unlike the ones who writes in Catalan/Gallego/Euskera. Look your blogs as well; YOU are writing mostly in Castellano (and I’m very grateful cause otherwise cause I wouldn’t understand your stories) and you are Catalan.
Other curious thing is that folks from Madrid I met were really OK with Catalan and they showed interest in the book while guys from Barcelona where quite anti-Spanish. I remember I said how I like “Sevillanas” because they’re very specific, they aren’t touching each other while dancing etc. and he said something like “Oh I don’t like it, It’s Spanish; I like only Catalan music/dance/culture” I was really unpleasantly surprised with such comment. A priori refusing something without even considering knowing what is all about. And I’ve seen that many times while I was in Barcelona.
Of course there is horrible history behind it but still I think that’s equally sad, maybe even worse than the ignorance of those in Madrid because it’s intentional.
April 6, 2010 at 11:05 am
You’re right Milan. There are a lot of people who refuses spanish culture because they think it represents an enemy, and it’s also true that there is an unknowledge about spanish culture in other languages (music, literature). It’s very complicated to talk about it, i think is a problem of both sides. My situation is very special, because my parents are from Leon (north of Spain, near to Galicia), so my mother tongue is castellano, and i takes what i like of both cultures. In my opinion, the problem is that we must understand Spain like a multicultural puzzle. I’ve never been in a “plaza de toros” and i don’t like sevillanas, but i love a lot of other things about Spain. I would like to explain it in a better way, maybe i can make a tale about it 🙂
Greetings
April 26, 2010 at 9:56 am
Please could you help me with how religion is portrayed and shown in the book and how it is in relation to the war. Thank you
October 1, 2011 at 7:08 pm
Thank you for this review that you wrote quite a while ago. It was perfect, right on point. And your observation about how Rodoreda is not recognized just a few hundred miles away, in Madrid, is incisive. Anyway, thanks. In case of interest, I co-direct a New York-Barcelona literary platform and small press http://escritorial.org and write about teaching Latin American literature in English http://marianaromo-carmona.blogspot.com
October 19, 2012 at 5:33 pm
Is there place we can find a chapter summary so I can learn more about it?
Gracias!
y milan eres guapo jaja.
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