"I Tell the Madness That Doesn't Appear in the Press and May Seem Fantastical"

Rodrigo Blanco Calderón's latest collection of short stories shares a common theme, often subtly, of migration. People leaving or returning. In 'Venecos' (Páginas de Espuma), there is nostalgia, expectations, and always the sense of a discovery to come. "The migration process has been one of the most complex experiences I've lived," says Blanco Calderón (Venezuela, 1981), who works as a critic for ABC and has lived in Málaga since 2018. "In that respect, life and literature went hand in hand."

–What was the most difficult part of your migration process?

–From a personal standpoint, the hardest part is being away from my family. Other difficulties relate to the professional space and human relationships. It's very different to migrate as a child or teenager, quickly integrating into a shared dynamic, than arriving at 30. I've struggled to establish lasting connections internally. From the start, I felt very welcomed here, but in my mind, I'm like those street vendors ready to run because the police might come. Never knowing when I might have to leave again.

–Has that feeling changed for you? Does it affect you?

–When you arrive in other countries and cultures, whether you like it or not, you assume a role. You can't be as you normally are, because there are different codes that are hard to assimilate. There are moments when you get a bit tired of playing that role.

–How does that internal repression influence your literature?

–In my stories, they emerge at very specific moments, in moods that result from the trauma of migration. Many viewpoints arise that aren't necessarily mine, and I can express them through characters. There's a lot of violence, humour, scepticism, distant concern for the country, fear. Loneliness is very present in the characters of these stories.

–What is a short story?

–It has the wonderful mix of a secret and the possibility of its revelation. It's telling a stranger things that have sometimes happened to me.

–And is the inspiration as diverse as the stories themselves?

–I emphasise everyday life, which can happen in a character's normal life, but with enough intrigue to write about it, accompanied by context.

–'Veneco' is a word used to refer to Venezuelan emigrants, sometimes derogatory and sometimes reclaiming. How many interpretations can be made?

–I tell the madness that doesn't appear in the press, which may seem exotic or fantastical to those who aren't from that place and have a natural distance and ignorance.

–Is there a message for the Spanish reader?

–No, although what I write is often linked to the current political context. I don't try to convince anyone or denounce anything with my literature. In my creative process, stories come to me, and my concern is strictly technical and sonic. But that doesn't mean I don't have a political stance or ideological marks.

–Which are what?

–In Venezuela, I am in direct opposition to Chavismo, and as an emigrant, I am quite allergic to any kind of extremism. I feel completely distanced from Pedro Sánchez and the radical elements he allies with, as well as parties like Vox. I also don't understand the PP, which at times reminds me of a certain "opposition" in Venezuela. I would like to think that the possibility of a centre could exist.

–What drove you out of Venezuela?

–Despair. When, after Chávez's death, I saw how Capriles (the opposition candidate) reacted so cowardly, so complicit, so pusillanimous to what was a fraud.

–And what would drive you out of Spain?

–Damn, I don't want to think about that, but basically the same reason.