Juan Eduardo Zúñiga It reaches 100 years and what its century contains is one of the most powerful and secret works of our contemporary literature. We can encrypt that content between what it supposed The coral and the waters, a novel completely alien to the realistic tastes of the sixties narrative, given its allegorical status, and the recent Ironic Fables that culminate a line of apologists very current and illuminating, always from the lucidity of who owns a world very committed to the historical time that he has to live.
That historical time has a center that radiates in the tragic Spain, the one of the Civil War and the postwar period, and that reaches a literary plenitude in the trilogy to her dedicated, composed by Long November of Madrid, Capital of glory Y The earth will be a paradise.
Nobody has written about that war as Zúñiga, so much so that we could almost talk about the Zúñiga War, so internalized and subordinated to the content of emotions and feelings that invade the privacy of its characters, preferably female with perceptions as secret as mysterious. It is about privacy deprived by the siege and the war routine, the disorder and misfortune that, for example, in the besieged Madrid of Capital of glory, they lead some unforgettable characters to the moral destruction that encourages urban destruction itself. It is convenient, in this sense, to draw attention to one of the most moving and shocking stories written in our language, 'Rosa de Madrid', and that could serve very well to demonstrate the exemplariness of a writing, the encouragement of a author whose secret is knowing how to count up to the last lonely heartbeat of a human being abandoned in the streets, the tremor that breathes in the hiding place of the night.
Disgrace and desire, loneliness and delirium make up the irremediable contradiction of vitalistic beings hit by adversity. There is a common thread, in the line of a tragic time, that directs the destruction of those intimacies exposed to historical violence, and it is very frequent in Zúñiga's narrative the spur of desire, the inner power of a vital affirmation that ends up breaking unforeseeable barriers, even at the risk of loss and dementia.
We could almost talk about the Zúñiga War, so internalized and subject to emotions and feelings
Zúñiga already demonstrated in Coral and waters his identity as a different writer, and probably that identity guided a personal determination of discreet and secret writer, someone oblivious to any particular whimsy and could be at best a kind of "cult writer", not very appropriate option and quite unfair for the necessary recognition of such an extraordinary work.
That distant discovery of a different writer whose style obtained the constancy of an expressive freedom without complexes, infected by the poetic bias of symbolism and the taste for the popular patrimonies of the mythical and the legendary, also related to the great Russian literature, a of his declared admirations. In his book From the snowy forests it pays homage and recounts the debits with the great authors of a land where the contradictions between good and goodness are so evident, what the Russian soul reflects in solidarity and suffering.
The real has Zúñiga the nuance of memory and, of course, the imagination, and the halo with which a writing appropriates the density that develops the naturalness of the story, never conventional, with the metaphorical revelation that transcends it to enrich it in its meaning and its meanings. It is a use of writing as a tool for stylization and look that, in its extreme, manages to decant the symbol, the value and ambiguity of the metaphor, which in the perception of the elements of reality conforms to the essentiality of the themselves, so that the atmospheres themselves distil a mysterious point in the images and words.
The century of Zúñiga has in his life and in his work many sleepless nights and experiences, not in vain is a century of a country as contradictory, as loved and spoiled as his city is, of which few like him knew how to tell a story. conflagration and a siege, the parallel life of those who inhabit it in a literary eternity.