Sunday Business Post interview
08 December 2008
1. What previous experience did you have of Spain before you moved here?
Spain had entered my imagination as a boy after I stumbled across some photographs of the Alhambra in a book. I simply thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and immediately wanted to know more about the culture that had been able to create such a masterpiece. For a while I got distracted – living in my late teens and early twenties in Italy and then studying Arabic at university – but Spain, or a vision of Spain, was always there inside me. Finally, when I’d finished my degree and suddenly found myself with no ties, I realised the time had come, and I hopped on a plane south. It was the first time I’d been to Spain and I fell in love with it straight away.
2. From my knowledge Lorca introduced Duende in reference to Flamenco in the 1920s. How has Lorca been an influence in your life?
Lorca is one of the giants of 20th century Spain, as much for his life and death as for his writings. He was central to the revival of ‘deep’ flamenco in the 1920s, while his murder on the outskirts of Granada at the start of the Civil War has an emblematic, almost mythological aspect to it which means he has come to represent much of the tragedy of what happened during those dark years of Spanish history. Lorca had a deeply intuitive understanding of Spain – as well as other things – and I think it is this that makes him stand out so. Spain, perhaps more than any other European country, cannot be fully understood by the intellect alone: another, more subtle kind of sense has to be applied to appreciate the place, and this for me is where Lorca’s ultimate importance lies, as he personifies this other, less ‘rational’ approach. It is obviously an integral part of being a poet, but with him you feel it goes that much deeper.
3. In Duende you exposed a nasty underbelly of the Flamenco movement. Do you feel that only the tortured can truly make this music fly?
No, not at all. This is a fallacy which has led many flamenco performers into serious drug abuse, as though only by pushing themselves to the edge emotionally and psychologically can they produce the strange ‘magic’ of flamenco that people often call duende. True flamenco has a kind of power that might be described as morally neutral: it can be used to explore darker aspects of existence, or it can be totally life-affirming. The choice depends much on the performers themselves. But that power comes from something within the person, perhaps a deeper and more intense connection to life than the norm. On the surface the flamenco singer or dancer may appear fairly ordinary, but underneath – if they’re good – there’s something special about them that may only become apparent when they’re performing.
4. Do you still play or watch Flamenco?
Flamenco plays a much smaller part in my life these days. My partner is a flamenco dancer, so I’m still connected to it through her, but I haven’t picked up a guitar for three or four years.
5. In a world where there is such conflict between the West and Islam, how did your book Andalus address some of these issues?
There are so many lessons for our society to learn from the Spanish experience of living with large Muslim communities that it’s scandalous mainstream culture doesn’t pay more attention to this. A very similar situation to the one that exists today in many European countries already existed hundreds of years ago, right here. There were good times when the mixture of Christian, Muslim and Jewish cultures worked very well – and created an environment of intellectual and artistic exploration and innovation that was a direct influence on the development of the European Renaissance. And then there were some very bad times: inter-communal violence, early attempts at brain-washing and ultimately the expulsion, first of the Jewish community, and then of the remaining Muslims, or Moriscos, in 1609. This last expulsion – and we’re talking of at the very least 300,000 people, a huge number at the time – was largely driven by a fear of Moriscos acting as a fifth column for outside attacks from Muslim countries, particularly Turkey. The echoes with our own times, with al-Qa’ida and ‘home-grown’ bombers from British cities couldn’t be more striking. We need to learn what went right, what worked for Spain in its past experience, and what went wrong. Otherwise we’re very likely to end up making the same mistakes.
6. Living in Spain I now realise that what was once Moorish is sometimes referred to as Roman. Do you think that this denial of the past set the stage for the aftermath of the Civil War?
Spanish history is a minefield. Ask an ordinary Spaniard a few basic questions about the country’s past and from his answers you’ll probably be able to gauge his opinions on pretty much any other subject. There is a huge denial of the country’s Moorish history in some quarters of society, but this can be for different reasons. For some it’s a rejection of anything ‘Arab’ or ‘North African’ – a kind of racism, really. For others it’s all about rejecting the image of La España profunda, or ‘Darkest Spain’: a hodge-podge of aspects of Spanish culture that can include anything from bullfighting to the Moors, flamenco, or the Spanish Inquisition – all the peculiar elements of the country that mark it as something different, or ‘other’ (or ‘backward’ depending on your point of view). A large proportion of Spaniards want nothing more than to fit squarely into modern, ‘Enlightened’ Europe, and so reject anything that stands in the way of that. This said, however, attitudes are changing and it has recently become more fashionable for people to admit to the Moorish influence in Spanish culture, or even to claim light-heartedly to be ‘half-Moorish’, or ‘half-Jewish’ in reference to the high levels of intermarriage between the different peoples at one stage.
What’s important to point out is that denial of the country’s history, or concentrating on some aspects over others (for example ‘Roman’ over ‘Moorish’) is all part of a deep Spanish malaise that is often referred to in terms of las dos Españas – ‘the two Spains’. Throughout its history the country has been involved in a kind of dualistic conflict, often resulting in actual war: Moor-Christian, Liberal-Carlist, Anarchist-Fascist, Left-Right. The Spanish Civil War of the 1930s was in many ways a continuation of this. Franco and his supporters often referred to their opponents as ‘anti-Spain’ and when they came to power they did all they could to wipe it out.
7. For me all your books have touched on controversial subjects. Is this based on your personal politics?
If I have a political position I honestly can’t say what it is. Right? Left? Perhaps ‘anti-authoritarian’ is as close as I can come. I’ve never written a book with a political view or idea in mind. In fact it’s probably the last thing I’m thinking of. I’m simply trying to feel my way around, and so far in Spain I find an intensity of colour in everyday life that gives me a real buzz. My most ‘political’ book, I suppose, was my third – Guerra – but only because I was exploring an overtly political topic. In fact what drove me to write it was far more to do with something personal – a need to explore the darker aspects of a country I have made my home in order to understand it better.
8. Coming from Northern Ireland I am only too well aware of the effects of conflict. In your opinion, how has Franco and forty years of dictatorship affected the philosophy of the Spanish people?
Things are changing in Spain very rapidly. If you’d asked me this question 13 or 14 years ago, when I first arrived, I’d have said Franco was very much a presence, and you felt you only had to scratch the surface to see him staring you in the face. That’s now very much less so, although you still find quite powerful reminders that this country was under a dictatorship until 1975. The Church still swaggers about as though it had a God-given (!) right to involve itself in everyday affairs – a direct hangover from the ‘National-Catholicism’ of Franco’s rule. But it’s important to realise that the best of Spanish life and culture doesn’t come from its leaders or from the top echelons of society: this is very much a grass-roots kind of place, and whereas the average Spaniard is noble, kind and compassionate, the men and women who enter into politics here (as, perhaps, elsewhere) are a second-rate lot. The King enjoys an almost universal respect, but few others. The Spanish share a characteristic common to many Mediterranean peoples: you get on with your life, sneering at the politicians and the authorities, while avoiding them as best you can.
9. Four books and many years living in Spain. Do you now feel you know yourself or the country best?
That’s a very difficult question. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell how well I ‘know’ myself: I just try to keep going. As for Spain, it’s similar really, while obviously being something tangible, outside myself. I feel you could spend a lifetime here exploring and getting to know the place. Spain is a vast, complex and fascinating country; I see it more and more as a kind of mini sub-continent. And the wonderful thing is there is no ‘definitive’ account of what Spain means or is all about. It is there to be discovered and enjoyed, and everyone’s experience will be different. If I can encourage people with my books to go out and find their ‘own’ Spain, then I‘m happy. It’s not an exercise in ‘telling it how it is’.
10. Can you share with us your plans for future projects?
I’m constantly working on several things at once – films, documentaries, new books. At the moment I’m doing a lot of work on some land my partner and I have bought north of Valencia. I’m planting a lot of trees there in an attempt to recreate an autochthonous forest with local, sometimes endangered species. There’s a lot to be done and the local area is fascinating: you feel you can still access an ancient, almost mythological Spain that is coming increasingly under threat.