Ricardo Piglia builds the foundation for his literary voice at the intersection of crime fiction, history, political debate, and the diverse landscape of literature. Recently, two books have emerged that offer fresh perspectives on his life and work: Ricardo Piglia a la intemperie, by Mauro Libertella, edited by Leila Guerriero, published by Ediciones Universidad Diego Portales, and Ricardo Piglia, introducción a la crítica de mí mismo. This latter book features conversations with Horacio Tarcus and a preface by María Moreno, available from Siglo XXI Editores.
Piglia’s literary breath is infused with a passion for short stories, novels, and essays. His short story collections include Nombre falso (1975), Prisión perpetua (1988), and Cuentos morales (1995). In 2021, Anagrama published his Cuentos completos. His novels gained momentum with Respiración artificial (1980), which brought him international recognition, followed by works like La ciudad ausente (1992), Plata quemada (1997), and El camino de Ida (2013). Notable essays include Crítica y ficción (1986) and El último lector (2005), as well as several pieces focusing on Macedonio Fernández, American literature, and Argentine novels. Piglia also ventured into screenwriting and compiled his thoughts in the Diario de Emilio Renzi (2015-2017).
For authoritarian figures, the practice of professional and critical journalism can be a thorn in their side, as it undermines their belief in their monopoly on truth.
As an academic and writer, Piglia’s role as a literary critic reflects deep engagement with authors like Brecht, Benjamin, Tiniánov, Shklovski, and Bakhtin, alongside Argentine giants like Macedonio Fernández, Borges, Arlt, Walsh, Saer, and Puig. He drew inspiration from American authors such as Fitzgerald and Faulkner, and collaborated with composer Gerardo Gandini to create the opera La ciudad ausente, based on his novel of the same name, which premiered at Teatro Colón in 1995.
Piglia lived in the United States for fifteen years, teaching at Harvard, UC Davis, and Princeton. He returned to Buenos Aires in 2011 and continues to teach in both Argentina and the United States.
Born in Adrogué in 1941, Piglia moved with his family to Mar del Plata after Perón’s fall in 1955, where he fell in love with literature near the ocean. In Buenos Aires, he immersed himself in crime fiction, influenced by authors like Hammett and Chandler. During the 1970s, he studied history at the National University of La Plata, where he befriended philosopher José Sazbón, who introduced him to the Marxist Sartre of Critique of Dialectical Reason. Together, they read Das Kapital by Marx.
In 1961, Piglia began his involvement with the magazine Liberación, the first of many. At the age of 31, he received an invitation from Mao’s China for a trip that lasted over two months. He visited China during the onset of the Cultural Revolution in 1966, a period marked by purges of so-called bourgeois elements. His travels were closely monitored, providing him with a limited and curated view of the reality there. Interestingly, this experience did not significantly influence his later literary works.
Piglia places particular significance on the year 1964, which he considers "perhaps the most important year" of his life as it marked his emergence as a teacher and writer. Living in various accommodations across Buenos Aires, he expressed the transient nature of his existence in the literary world, stating, “There is no private property in literature. Writing, I say comically, comes from that place. I am a man of no place.”
This nomadic ethos, infused with ascetic undertones, accompanied his growth as a celebrated author. In 1997, he won the Planeta Prize for Plata quemada, a decision that stirred controversy. Piglia later distanced himself from the event, suggesting that awards are merely products of market logic, determining which book is “better” based on promotional considerations, contrasting sharply with the fluidity of literature.
Piglia’s literary landscape featured tensions with fellow writers, notably César Aira. Libertella notes that "Aira and Piglia maintained a cold war throughout their lives," exchanging barbs in interviews and social gatherings. In a review after Respiración artificial‘s publication, Aira labeled it one of the worst novels of their generation, reducing Piglia to "a prestigious, cultured, and intelligent professor." Conversely, Alan Pauls remarked that Piglia believed Aira was the pseudonym under which all Argentine writers published their lesser works.
While Piglia’s relationships were complex, he enjoyed a positive rapport with Carlos Altamirano, a prominent essayist, sharing cultural insights in the magazine Puntos de Vista, which also included contributions from Beatriz Sarlo, a notable figure in literary theory during the 1980s and 90s. Piglia also had a private, unacknowledged relationship with Josefina Ludmer, author of El género gauchesco.
His rich dialogues began when Horacio Tarcus invited him to the CeDinCi (Center for the Research of Leftist Culture). Surrounded by shelves of Argentine cultural magazines from the 1960s and 1970s, Piglia remarked that this was where one could find Argentina’s cultural wealth. A series of conversations ensued over the next four years, culminating in Ricardo Piglia. Introducción general a la crítica de mí mismo, which captures Piglia’s spontaneous thoughts.
Piglia’s fertile period coincided with the rise of the Contorno Generation, surrounding the eponymous literary magazine founded in 1953, a symbol of leftist intellectualism. This era was fraught with political and literary intersections spanning Marxist, Maoist, Trotskyist, Peronist, and conservative viewpoints, all while Argentina plunged into dictatorship in the 1970s. Although Piglia aligned with leftist thought, he retained critical independence. Sazbón inspired his belief that being Marxist meant pursuing intellectual freedom, not blind obedience, asserting that “politics, practice, is, in my view, one of the solutions… to the sense of futility that literature can produce.”
Amidst the tension between literature and politics, Piglia felt an increasing urgency for action. The prospect of societal progress overwhelmed him with feelings of insignificance and failure, leading him to grapple with literature’s perceived elitism. He identified with a longstanding tradition of debate between literature and politics in Argentina, recognizing the impact of figures like Roberto Arlt. He acknowledged that “all critics write from a convention of literature… and often their efforts mask the web of interests sustaining their analysis.”
The magazines that fueled this discourse, where Piglia participated as a contributor or advisory board member, include El Escarabajo de Oro, Puntos de Vista, Literatura y Sociedad, and others where he published works reflecting on social issues and criticism of political literature.
For Piglia, a pivotal novel can define a writer’s path, and Respiración artificial, released when he was 39 in 1980, serves as a cornerstone. Its lengthy and visceral development over ten years allowed Piglia to refine each chapter, exploring themes of unresolved family drama through the character Emilio Renzi. The novel emerged in the ominous shadow of Argentina’s military dictatorship, hinting at the pressing climate of oppression with the statement on its back cover: “Dark times in which men seem to need artificial air to survive.”
The work resonates with various interpretations: as a historical novel, metafiction, political critique, or postmodern text. Packed with history, theories, politics, and literary threads, it challenges conventional critique. Piglia argues that contemporary fiction often blurs the lines between philosophy, literature, and criticism, satisfying academic curiosity while inviting nuanced discussion on literary politics.
In El último lector, Piglia draws on Borges’ iconic image of a reader analyzing the text closely, presenting a portrait of the "last reader"—one who has sacrificed their eyesight in pursuit of understanding. This idea extends beyond the act of reading books; it encapsulates the emotional bonds formed through literature. As Libertella observes, this essay also serves as a manual for stealing time from a fast-paced world to embrace reading. In an age that rejects slow, deliberate reading, the dedicated reader seeks to carve out moments for new books.
Piglia’s views on storytelling assert that classic short stories reveal two narratives within one—where a hidden tale only emerges at the end. In contrast, modern stories by authors like Chekhov and Mansfield present an enduring tension through multiple storylines that dilute surprise. His novel La ciudad ausente embodies this complexity, intertwining various narratives within a fictional Buenos Aires shaped by Macedonio Fernández’s concept of a storytelling machine.
Piglia’s exploration of language reflects the fluidity of meaning, as in his essay "La isla de Finnegan," where language evolves alongside reality. The changing words mirror life’s transient nature, presenting a continuously shifting landscape of expression.
In terms of his literary legacy, Piglia passed away on January 6, 2017, following a battle with ALS that began in 2013. Though he departed, his work remains, depicting a unique form of “reading backward” where he finds connections between disparate authors. He believed that the intersection of literature and politics must not be dogmatic, as he cautioned against prescriptive notions of popular literature, which can constrain creative freedom.
Ultimately, for Piglia, the vastness of literature encompassed history, political currents, literary criticism, and the nuances of language itself. This interconnectedness informed his understanding of existence, as he recognized an inherent gap between perception and expression—an idea echoed by Renzi’s musings within his stories. Through Piglia’s writings, language becomes a means to probe and articulate the complexities that lie just beyond the surface of life.
Source: https://www.perfil.com/noticias/domingo/piglia-recargado.phtml
