It is not frequent that our creative literature offers works of clear and studied intellectual roots and the truth is that the few authors who have frequented it have encountered that double condition of being an object of worship by a few happy few and, on the other, the almost absolute indifference on the part of the majority.
To give examples taken at a glance, it is worth highlighting the work, in poetry, of Juan Larrea, who apparently wrote part of his work in French, and who emerged from the limbo of the righteous of exile thanks to the interest of Pere Gimferrer and Carlos Barral, who published his Versión celeste, and his generation companions such as Gerardo Diego or Luis Felipe Vivanco or, in the case of narrative, Julián Ríos, ascribed to the fascination of Joyce, who in the United Kingdom and France has had more impact than in Spain. And Miguel Espinosa, almost a rare bird because, in addition, he lived in Murcia, which is supposed to be a place far from the literary melee of Madrid and Barcelona and if it is not for readers like Tierno Galván who drew attention to his figure, the truth is that the author of Asklepios, Tribad or School of Mandarins would not even have achieved that rare status, which is a state prior to oblivion.
The Captive Image, a novel by José Luís de Juan (Palma de Mallorca, 1956), in addition to being fascinating, has enjoyed this condition since he published El apicultor de Bonaparte, which was followed, among others, by Este latente mundo, Kaleidoscopio and La dancing flame
His suggestive style, with a beauty that could remind me of Miguel Villalonga, is typical of the condition of a high-quality memoirist. The novel, written in the first person, immerses the reader in a calm rhythm that envelops anyone who wants to let themselves be carried away by the special music of the text, which does not falter at any time, in the manner of the basso continuo: “For a few years I had had my sculpture studio in a semi-basement in front of the Jesuit church, which is located a slingshot from the house I am talking about. There I had carved several large pieces of wood and once I had injured my hand sharpening the ax and had to ask for help to stop the bleeding from the baker who was in front of the house in question and in whose oven the new synanoga was said to have been. of the Jewish quarter.”
This way of narrating, where the hum of style is equally valid to describe everyday life as it is to discern art: “It reminds me of Rouault, said my uncle when he saw what I was painting in my grandparents' house, said Ralf, sitting under the small skylight that projected a diffuse light on the open pad..."
It is, in short, a dialogue between a writer and a painter, friends since childhood on the island where they are from, in an attic full of books and paintings. At a certain moment, the writer-narrator shows Ralf, the painter, an oil painting that Ralf gave him, a painting with an Arcadian theme that is about a nap in a forest. From that refuge in Korea, the writer then begins to unfold memories, about the various Ralfs of which Ralf's personality is composed to the various lives lived by a Hungarian he knew...
A kaleidoscope of brilliant experiences that try to unravel the relationship between image and word in a long-lasting dialogue about painting and literature. At a certain point it is said that it is sometimes better not to know everything that artists show or write. This is what happens in this vibrant and full narrative.
José Luis de Juan The captivating image Ed. del Subsuelo 261 pages 19 euros
