Justo Navarro, Gran Granada [Big Granada], 2015, 256 p.
1963: a lawyer appears dead in a hotel, in the big, grey Granada of the year of the flood, and the suicides threaten to snatch away the police’s monopoly on violent death. If reality was less real than cinematographic, one would talk about the case of the single suicides. How does he see it through his thirteen diopters glasses, the old commissar Polo, telecommunications engineer, visionary of vigilance, prophet of TV and telephone espionage? A good man, he greets the future transformation of the police state into a police society. As he likes to know it all, he knows that from a certain limit it is better believing than finding out, and he investigates a few deaths that are impossible to be assassinations: the head of state and his carousel of hierarchs are about to disembark in the flooded province.
There are two women. There are two intimate friends, belonging to what the cleverer of the two calls the homosexual circle: the world of only one gender, exclusively male and patriarchal, of those who govern the cryptic city. These are the happy years of the electronic Anglo-Americanization and the Soviet-American conquest of space, of the pinball and the jukebox, the future’s origin, and the guarantors of the law don’t doubt in using crime to save order.
21 years ago, Justo Navarro published an extraordinary, criminal and damned novel at Anagrama: La casa del padre [The father’s house], set in the years of World War II. He returns now to the same world where also 21 years have passed: it is already 1963 and life and death have been modernized.
Sounds somewhat strange, doesn’t it? It showed up among La Vanguardia‘s summer reading recommendations. Navarro has got quite a few novels to his name, none of them translated into English; the Wikipedia article names him as the translator of Paul Auster and F. Scott Fitzgerald, but it must be of minor works or articles as amazon.es lists other translators…
SOURCE: Anagrama (publisher)