Theatre of War by Andrea Jeftanovic (tr. Frances Riddle)
Review by Cath Barton
To associate the literature of Latin America with magical realism is to fail to recognise the distinctive voices of contemporary writers from that part of the world. Theatre of War is the debut novel (first published in Spanish in 2000 as Escenario de Guerra) of the Chilean novelist Andrea Jeftanovic, now published in English for the first time by Charco Press. Jeftanovic, one of the most prominent writers from her country, is of Jewish and Serbian ancestry and grew up during the oppressive regime of Augusto Pinochet. It is no wonder that she has been attracted to write about characters who are exploring and attempting to make sense of their identity.
Tamara, the narrator of Theatre of War, is nine years old at the start of the book: the same age her father was when war broke out in his home country. Her mother and father have a volatile relationship, and she has two siblings who have a different father. The family move house frequently — Tamara says she keeps ‘a glass jar of dirt from all the yards I’ve played in’ — and the family unit splits and reforms several times. Using the theatre as a metaphor, Jeftanovic explores how people relate to one another during such disruption; Tamara creates scenes of her life on stage, observing how she stands in relation to the other members of her family. The book is divided into three Acts, as in the conventional narrative structure of the European novel, but Jeftanovic’s narrative is not conventional or chronological. As Tamara cycles through memories, both her own and those of her father, Jeftanovic conveys her desolation at not knowing where she is from in precise prose and strong images: ‘I founded my own country in a blue notebook where I’m not a minority.’
The expression ‘theatre of war’ is an accurate title for this book, for it deals with not just conflict between individuals, but the wars in Tamara’s father’s homeland — both when he was a child and then again as an adult. It is so poignant to read of him watching the present-day conflict on TV: ‘That afternoon Dad watches as his childhood home is destroyed, thousands of miles from where he lives now.’ We know now how psychologically damaging war is, and for how long the damage persists. Tamara’s Dad is tormented by the smell of excrement, so strong was it in the streets of his childhood.
Tamara’s mother is an enigmatic and unreliable character who flits in and out, on and off the stage. She takes refuge in knitting ‘deformed creations: a neckless sweater, a too-short scarf, a four-fingered glove.’ For years, she forgets that Tamara exists.
At the beginning of Act II, Tamara feels that she is merely a supporting actor on the stage of the lives of her family, but she gets a scholarship and walks onto her own stage. There she meets Franz. Neither of them is able to talk of their past, people or places; they communicate in shared exploration of their bodies, but he does not bring Tamara the stability she craves.
When Tamara returns after university to the city of her own childhood, she recognises the flickering streetlamps and wanders in search of other familiar sights and smells: ‘exhaust fumes, mildewed basements...,’ but the geography of the streets is unreliable and her loneliness in the midst of ‘the urban dance’ is palpable. All credit here to Frances Riddle, the translator of this novel, for her skill in finding the precise English words to convey so strongly the internal sense of a narrative steeped in sadness and yearning.
Death stalks the pages of Theatre of War and one of its great sadnesses is that the actors on its stage never get to say goodbye to one another. If it seems an extreme coincidence that Tamara’s father dies, and in dramatic circumstances, on the very day that the new conflict in his home country ends, this fits within the sense of heightened reality with which Jeftanovic and Riddle embue Tamara’s world.
The structure of the book, with short, flash-length chapters within its three Acts, provides a counter-balance to the constant movement in the lives of Tamara and her family, firmly anchoring the reader. I do hope that Charco Press, who are dedicated to publishing English translations of contemporary Latin-American literature, works which would otherwise be inaccessible to many of us, will bring us more from Andrea Jeftanovic.
Theatre of War is published by Charco Press, 10th November 2020