Alejo Carpentier, In the Kingdom of Writing

A glory of Cuban, Latin American, and universal literature, Alejo Carpentier (December 26, 1904 – April 24, 1980) is once again remembered on our pages, this time on the 121st anniversary of his birth.

The work of this man—considered in his lifetime one of the most extraordinary authors of our language—is so valuable, his personality so captivating, that not only should he never be forgotten, but it is the task of intellectuals, educators, and cultural institutions to disseminate his legacy to new generations.

He is remembered once more, and we ask ourselves from which angle we might approach him this time. Perhaps from his natural simplicity, hand in hand with colossal erudition, free from all pretension? From his condition as a Cuban in love with his homeland, capable of universalizing it in his writings, who chose to deposit all his papers in the National Library of Cuba rather than accept the request to place his manuscripts and documents at the prestigious University of Boston?

Do we evoke him through the monumentality of his novels, chronicles, and essays, or through his brilliant music criticism? Or from the years of his youth in his own country, where he suffered imprisonment and exile, or through his involvement in the revolutionary process after 1959?

Much can always be said about Carpentier… Let us think of him today through the pleasure his writing leaves in the reader, from where Latin American reality emerges—with its history, civilizations, beauty, pain, and culture—crafted with loving care and intellectual responsibility.

Let us recall, mentioning just two of his novels, the effect left on the reader by a work like The Kingdom of This World, published in 1949. From its prologue, the author shares the motivations and sources that led him to write it, as well as confessions of his reflections during his stay in Haiti, “finding myself in daily contact with something we might call the marvelous real. I walked on a land where thousands of men, eager for freedom, believed in the lycanthropic powers of Mackandal, to the point that this collective faith produced a miracle on the day of his execution. (...) At every step, I found the marvelous real. But I also thought that this presence and vitality of the marvelous real was not Haiti’s unique privilege, but the heritage of all of America (...)”, he explains.

As one begins reading the book, pride starts to take root in the reader from our region; and in those from other parts of the world, curiosity to unravel the mystery announced by the author in the preliminary words of a work reflecting the Haitian independence process.

Soon, seduction takes hold, and page by page, one reaches the end of a narrative that leaves one thinking and embracing the thesis that “the greatness of man lies precisely in his desire to improve what he is. In imposing Tasks upon himself,” and that he can only find his greatness, his fullest measure, in the kingdom of this world.

Let us speak of The Lost Steps, published in 1953, the second of the novels forming the American cycle in Carpentier’s narrative, where he poured his impressions of the Venezuelan Orinoquia, describing beautiful episodes of this setting.

Regarding its impact, biobibliographer Araceli García Carranza—who has compiled the writer’s bibliography since 1972—assures us that the work, translated into French two years later, won one of France’s most important distinctions: The Best Foreign Book. “French criticism considered this work as an essentially poetic book that entailed ‘a revitalization of myths’ (...) and pointed out that The Lost Steps gave a new dimension to the American novel.”

Translated into English and also published in London and New York, the publisher Gollancz asserted that it would be one of the few works of the era to be read for many decades to come, continues García Carranza. Among other generous allusions to its great reception, she recalls that it was soon translated into eight languages, while “the Cuban press exalted the work of the great writer and claimed that Carpentier had rewritten Don Quixote.”

Well-known is his stay in Paris between 1928 and 1939, in exile after being imprisoned in Havana during the Machado dictatorship for being accused of communism after signing the Manifesto of the Minority Group; equally known is his residence in Caracas between 1945 and 1959, all years of prolific journalistic and literary creation.

The triumph of the Cuban Revolution was decisive for his return to the island, where he would see his ideals of justice realized and the proper course to address his social concerns. In service of the new society, he would be tasked with guiding the new destiny of books in Cuba and assumed the executive directorship of the National Editorial.

He was responsible for organizing the first three book festivals held on the island and also worked in the Literacy Campaign. During that time, he published articles in the pages of this newspaper as a contributor.

Having assumed important responsibilities in the country’s cultural institutions, such as the deputy directorship of Culture and the vice presidency of the Union of Cuban Writers and Artists (UNEAC), he returned to Paris in 1966 after being elected minister-counselor at the Embassy of Cuba in France.

CERVANTES IN HIS LIFE AND THROUGH HIS WORK

The first Latin American intellectual to receive the Cervantes Prize, the most important literary award for writers in the Spanish language, was Alejo Carpentier, who earned it in 1978. But long before the laurel forever linked him to the One-Handed Man of Lepanto, the author of Don Quixote was a presence in the life of the universal Cuban.

It turns out that Don Quixote was the most-read book for him; and in his writings, the Cervantine influence is visible through the use of archaisms found in the great Spanish novel. Moreover, various Carpentier chronicles are inspired by thematic elements of its plot.

Regarding the mass printing of Don Quixote—a title that headed the list requested by Commander in Chief Fidel Castro Ruz from Carpentier to publish in print runs of 100,000 copies—the author of Explosion in a Cathedral would write: “Thus Don Quixote has once again taken to the road to undo grievances, right wrongs, amend injustices, improve abuses, and settle debts. Debts that will be paid by the National Printing House, dedicated to publishing the highest writings that have illuminated the already long journey of man in the kingdoms of this world.”