“…We ambled awkwardly alongside Marina’s memory, always parallel, always tired, always hungry, but the urgency of our desire wasn’t enough to bring it to life and then we tired of trying, and desire turned to rage against that girl who seemed too old…
Last year when I read Argentinean author Samantha
Schweblin’s novella Fever Dream I was haunted for days by its eerie, foreboding
mood & the images and questions it evoked. It’s a surrealistic tale that’s
part political & eco critique and part intimate study of broken souls. I am
still at a loss of words to describe the feeling this unconventional yet
dazzling short novel kindled within me which was exemplarily translated by
Megan McDowell. Spanish author Andres Barba’s 2008 novella Such Small Hands
also withholds such ferocious intensity, its perplexing tone mesmerizingly
translated by Lisa Dillman. Such Small Hands is a journey into the creepy and
incredibly complex inner world of orphaned children. Barba dismantles the
typical societal notions of childhood innocence and purity to showcase how
callousness and grim curiosity are also part of a child’s world, which is
firmly rooted inside the traumatized and isolated kids characters of Barba.
Both Fever Dream and Such Small Hands take a genre story and
make it a chilling experiment in literary form.
Edmund White in the afterword of Such Small Hands befittingly writes, “Every once in a while a novel does not
record reality but creates a whole new reality, one that casts a light on our
darkest feelings.” The novella pulls us into its grimly fascinating world
through its focus on the minutiae and in the manner Barba inventively discerns the
coarser emotions of traumatized children. On the outset, Such Small Hands tells
a very simple tale of a seven-year old Marina who ends in an orphanage after
suddenly losing her parents in an automobile accident. When Marina enters the
orphanage, clutching her only source of comfort – a toy doll – she immediately
becomes both an object of intrigue and an outcast.
Divided into three parts, each small chapters alternates
between the perspective of Marina and the voice of other girls who all speak as
one. Trapped in the claustrophobic world of orphaned children, we the readers
become a doll as the children susurrate their darker inner most thoughts that forebode
a tragic conclusion. When Marina realizes that she is ‘different’ (from the
scar across the midriff to her quiet defiance while carrying out a hunger
strike, Marina is doomed to not be a part of the ‘collective’) she seeks to
wrest control from her tormentors by teaching them a game. Under Barba’s
pristinely arranged prose, the intention and results profoundly unsettles us.
The overall events in Such Small Hands is said to be based
on a chilling real-life incident that took place in Brazil in the 1960s. Girls
in an orphanage at Rio de Janeiro killed a child and played with her body parts
for a week. In the interview to Granta, Barba states that this episode had a
powerful impact on him, “not because it is particularly sinister but because it
seems to hide in its interior a story of love and fascination.” Consequently,
Barba isn’t trying to chronicle the grim tale of killer kids, but deploys the
written word to create a powerful mood and accesses the unconscious mind in a way
that’s extremely complex and yet flows smoothly.
Such Small Hands and Fever Dream (and I’m on the hunt for
similar novellas) clearly can’t be reduced to its plot points. Its atmospheric
creepiness can only be felt; the depiction of unforeseeable cruelties in a
mundane reality which sets out to violently infiltrate our subconscious. As I
mentioned earlier, Barba’s fascination with minutiae leads to grotesque as well
as magical images. For instance, the trail of words used to describe the
portentous act of severing the caterpillar which is juxtaposed with Marina
talking to her psychologist. It remains as a testament to Barba’s power to
transport us to unseen, darker dimensions within the everyday normality (which
brings to mind the adjective ‘Lynchian’).
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