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SEX, DRUGS, AND SELF DESTRUCTION:READING DECAJJENL‘E
AND IDENTITY IN SPAIN'S YOUTH NARRATIVE

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SEX, DRUGS, AND SELF DESTRUCTION: READING DECADENCE AND
IDENTITY IN SPAIN’S YOUTH NARRATIVE

By
Jason Edward Klodt

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Department of Spanish and Portuguese
2003

ABSTRACT

SEX, DRUGS, AND SELF DESTRUCTION: READING DECADENCE AND
IDENTITY IN SPAIN’S YOUTH NARRATIVE

BY
Jason Edward Klodt

The novels of young Spanish authors such as José Angel Matias, Lucia
Etxebarria, Ray Loriga, and Care Santos portray a hedonistic lifestyle of alcohol
and drug abuse, casual sex, random violence, and thrill seeking. This narrative's
sudden popularity and subsequent critical controversy pose the question of how
to approach Spain’s youth narrative of the 1990s, the so-called “Generation X.”
Due to its foundations in North American commodification, this thesis
problematizes the term “Generation X” and seeks to redefine Spain’s youth
narrative. This study proposes an alternate term, the Novels of Disaffection, to
more accurately reflect their origin in Madrid ’s “movida” of the late 19703, the
self-indulgence of contemporary Spanish youth, and its project of postmodern
identity (as defined by Zygmunt Bauman). Spain's Novels of Disaffection frame
identity as a liability, antithetical to youth’s immersion in simulacra and the culture
of spectacle. Youth’s identities are radically unstable which precipitates a
downward spiral Into self-destruction. Thus while the Novels of Disaffection
apparently celebrate youth’s hedonism-reflecting its popular and critical
perceptions as a risqué and subversive literature—simultaneously their portrayal
of protagonists” depravity, lack of communication, and interpersonal disconnect

serve to indict contemporary Spanish youth culture.

Copyright by
JASON EDWARD KLODT
2003

Dedicated to my mother and to Numa

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION ................................................................................. 1
CHAPTER 1

RECONSIDERING GENERATION X, OR “HERE WE ARE NOW, ENTERTAIN

US” ................................................................................................... 4
CHAPTER 2

SPAIN’S NOVELS OF DISAFFECTION: CONSIDERING YOUTH’S FLEETING
IDENTITIES, OR “I’LL BET YOU DON’T HATE US AS MUCH AS WE HATE

YOU” ................................................................................................ 57
CHAPTER 3

PUNKS, PILGRIMS, AND TOURISTS: DECADENCE AND IDENTITY IN JOSE
ANGEL MANAS’S KRONEN TETRALOGY ............................................... 83
CHAPTER 4

LUCiA ETXEBARRiA: "NO FUTURE. GENERATION x. HAY QUE JODERSE,"
OR THE DISTANCE FROM SEX TO INTIMACY ....................................... 115
CHAPTER 5

“NADA DE NADA DE NADA DE NADA”: RAY LORIGA AND THE PARADOX
OF SPAIN’S NOVELS OF DISAFFECTION ............................................. 156
CHAPTER 6

STRANGERS IN A STRANGE HOUSE: QkUPADA AND THE DYSTOPIA OF
SPAIN’S NOVELS OF DISAFFECTION .................................................. 164
CHAPTER 7

CONCLUSION: SPAIN’S NOVELS OF DISAFFECTION, OR THE
INSTRUCTION MANUAL WITH MISSING PAGES .................................... 189
WORKS CITED ................................................................................. 193

INTRODUCTION

“Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll,” while bordering on being a cliche, is a
slogan variously and internationally associated with hedonism, self-indulgence,
rebellion, and personal autonomy. In the 19905, a literature emerges in Spain
that appropriates the “sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll” motto and follows its call-to-
arms to destructive ends. This literature, commonly referred to as “Generacidn
X,” is written by, about, and ostensibly for young people. Its vivid depictions of
drug and alcohol abuse, meaningless sex, graphic violence, and thrill seeking
contribute to a narrative that is at once enormously popular and a point of debate
among critics. The portrayals of hedonism highlight youth's self-destructive
tendencies, which are subtextually posing a question of postmodern identity. This
thesis will examine this project of identity and self-destruction in Spain’s youth
novel of the 1990s.

A problem in approaching Spain’s youth narrative is the question of
terminology. Due to its sudden emergence and a relatively limited amount of
critical attention, “Generation X” emerges as the putative label that popular and
critical discourse attaches not only to Spain’s youth literature but also to Western
youth culture in general. However, surprisingly few critics have defined what
“Generation X” means or the implications of its usage in literature. Therefore,
Chapter 1 will study the origins of the term, its trajectory through North American
popular culture, and its applications to Douglas Coupland’s W,
Richard Linklater’s film Slacker, and Irvine Walsh’s Iminsmning. The meanings

that surface connect “Generation X” with North American commodification and
conspicuous consumption, which problematizes its application to Spain’s youth
literature of the 1990s.

Indeed, Spain’s narrative not only lacks a generational cohesion, but its
protagonists retreat into isolation and alienation. Their marks of identity are
personal, not collective. Therefore, following a consensus of international critics
that also question the reliance on “Generation X,” Chapter 2 will examine how
Spain's youth literature differs from the commodified narratives from North
America and will propose an alternate term—the Novels of Disaffection-to more
accurately describe Spain’s youth narrative. The Novels of Disaffection emerge
from the socio-cultural infrastructure of Madrid '5 “movida,” focus on youth’s self-
indulgence, and portray characters whose disaffection posits a project of
postmodern identity. Based on theories of Zygmunt Bauman, this identity project
frames identity as a liability; it must be disposable and ever changing to take
advantage of the present moment. This destabilization of the individual’s identity
precipitates a self-destruction, and this narrative's examination of the aftermath
of youth excess ultimately leads to social and self-criticism.

Subsequent chapters apply Bauman’s theoretical framework to the novels
of four representative Spanish authors whose novels, through the portrayal of
disaffection in Spain’s urban youth, pose a project of postmodern identity.
Chapter 3 will examine the Kronen tetralogy by Jose Angel Matias—Histamine!

ISLQnen. Mensaka. We, and Wm

tango—and the aesthetics and meanings it shares with the punk movement.

2

Mahas’s tetralogy contrasts its protagonists’ fleeting identities as postmodern
Tourists with the conceptualization of modern Pilgrims to Show the self-
destructlve consequences of their hedonism. Chapter 4 will study two novels by
Lucia Etxebarria, WW and W
celestes, which focus on the problems of fluctuating sexual identities.
Etxebarria’s novels explore the estranging effects of individual autonomy and the
failure of intimacy. Chapter 5 will examine Ray Loriga’s Lapistglajgmflmmano
and Heroes, and the narcissistic identities of protagonists numbed by simulacra.
These novels point up the paradox of characters’ simultaneous goal and curse of
the erasure of identity. And Chapter 6 will study Care Santos’s Qkupada, which,
through a reading of the theory of the Stranger, shows the disintegration of youth
communities and the failure of collective identity.

The estrangement portrayed in Spain’s Novels of Disaffection produce
radically unstable identities and, ultimately, underscore the consequences of their
characters’ depravity, lack of communication, and interpersonal disconnect. Thus
the “sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll” become a decadent, downward spiral of “sex, drugs,
and self destruction." This reading of postmodern identity points to the conclusion
that, despite their shock value and antiauthoritarlanism, the Novels of

Disaffection are cautionary tales for contemporary Spanish youth.

CHAPTER 1. RECONSIDERING GENERATION X, OR “HERE WE ARE NOW,
ENTERTAIN US”

Their story begins with a war. Armies of youth in their late teens and early
twenties are the willing combatants, waging their war on the streets and in the
nightclubs of Madrid. It is an undeclared war, without leaders or campaigns. And
it is a war from which no one emerges victorious; it only produces losers. It is a
war as described by Roger Wolfe:

Una guerra. Hace falta una buena guerra. Limpiar a media

humanidad. Que me toque a mi también, no me importa. Una

buena guerra. Espacio, aire, Iimpio o sucio, que mas da.

La profunda calma que sucede a los desastres.

Una guerra. No tenemos otra salvacicn. (Queue 34)
This untitled rant appears among hundreds of similar musings in the 1997
collection of “ensayc-ficcicn,” W, by Roger Wolfe. This Spanish
author with an English name‘ is a self-declared nihilist, curmudgeon, and
alcoholic ('Viendo” 68-73). Like a Spanish Kilgore Trout, Wolfe’s books of poetry,
essays, and narrative are scattered among nearly a dozen different publishers
and are mostly out of print. A confessed underachiever, Wolfe sardonlcally
claims that by becoming a writer he is left with a paltry 37,059 pesetas in his

bank account and a stack of unpaid bills (Guam 23). Yet this practically

 

’ In 1965, at age three, Wolfe and his family moved from England to GijOn, where
he has resided ever since.

unknown author unwittingly wrote the battle plans for a war and became the
literary progenitor of what is popularly known as Spain’s “Generacidn X.”

Wolfe, roughly 10 years older than most authors associated with
Generation X, is the model and the literary hero of a central figure of Spain’s
youth narrative, novelist José Angel Matias, and captures a disillusionment that
Matias and others—such as Lucia Etxebarria, Ray Loriga, Care Santos—
simultaneously develop in their writing. The passage quoted above is one of
hundreds expressing dejection, alienation, and disgust with humanity, and
establishes the subtext of Spain’s contemporary youth literature. Wolfe’s narrator
sees the worst in humanity and feels so disaffected that he exalts the practical
necessity of genocidal disaster. Redemption may come only from the elimination
of half of the world’s population (“limpiar media humanldad”), because apparently
they deserve to be cleansed from the face of the earth. The “profunda calma” is
merely a sarcastic afterthought. He fetishizes the spectacle of destruction, “una
buena guerra” (in contrast to a “bad” war, he craves a good one, a particularly
destructive war with lnnumerable casualties), a disaster for the purpose of
satisfying his sadistic impulse to simply watch it happen. Moreover, he is
seemingly so detached, unfazed, and uncaring that it does not matter if this war
includes his own death (“Que me toque a mi también, no me importa”). Were he
also eliminated, the “profunda calma“ would be irrelevant, of course, since he
would not be alive to enjoy what he ostensibly desires. Thus, it is tempting to
second-guess W’s apocalyptic vision. ls Wolfe’s narrator truly as

suicidal as he sounds or is he merely being hyperbolic? ls contemporary society

5

so incurably dysfunctional that the only remaining recourse is to call for the
wholesale destruction of the human race and start over? W’s
response does not call upon transcendence, the perseverance of the human
spirit, or the quest for universal truths. Rather, measured against his disgust for
everyone around him—he is so sick of humanity that he calls for
genocide—Wolfe’s narrator considers humanity as too unredeemable to be worth
caring about. In this war, his war, the battle cries are “I give up” and “I do not
care.”

Wolfe’s narrator admits that, “En realidad, uno de mis mayores problemas
es que no puedo soportar a casi nadie” (Guerra 129). In the context of 1990s
Spain, a decade characterized by increasing economic globalization,
instantaneous diffusion of information through mass media, and extensive
interpersonal connectivity through cell phones, pagers, and the intemet, Wolfe is
questioning why someone would want to talk to anyone else in the first place. If
humanity and contemporary society are unredeemable, there remains little hope
for the salvation of the individual. Thus, as he contemplates the spectacle of
destruction—“me aburre soberanamente todo aquello que no palpite con la
fuerza, el vigor y la pasidn de las ‘sensaciones fuertes’” (Guam 128)—he also
considers the benefits of self-destruction. This suicidal tendency posits a
fundamental question of identity: what has caused Wolfe’s narrator to have such
blatant disregard for his own life and well-being?

Wolfe’s nihilism, cynicism, and antisocialism resonate with the narrative of

a group of young Spanish novelists that are writing and publishing during the

19905. Like Roger Wolfe’s detached narrator, novelists Jose Angel Matias, Lucia
Etxebarria, Ray Loriga, and Care Santos introduce characters that also see their
surroundings in contemporary urban Spain without adornment and without
redemption. Etxebarria laments an “estado de animo de una juventud que no
conoce otro estado de animo que la desesperanza.” (Ema 131 ), and the
protagonist of Matias’s We, Kaiser, bemoans, "kl si la corrupcion, ki si
tenemos una socledad enferma, kon un kuartenta y clnko por ciento de paro
jubenil y una educacidn de mierda kon la ke kerian konbertimos a todos en
mano de obra barata” (143-144 [sic]). They, too, are attracted to wars, yet not on
the geOpolitIcal scale as framed by contemporary historiography or mass media.
They are indifferent to the international conflicts that punctuate the 19903-in war
zones such as the Balkans, Chechnya, Kuwait, Iraq, and Israel—and are
apathetic to the domestic conflicts that strike even closer to home. in response to
the terrorist aggression of ETA that occurs in Madrid during the 1990s, Spain’s
youth culture shrugs its shoulders in indifference. They refuse to acknowledge
global wars and refuse to let national conflicts affect them. Whereas during the
1950 and 1960s, leftists and intellectuals directed their rebellion against social
supra-structures and institutions like the Franco regime and the Catholic Church
(Manglni), in 19908 Spanish narrative, in contrast, youth simply do not care (Pao
249-250). Their conflicts and warfare take place elsewhere.

Surrounded by the international, the global, and the hegemonic, they turn
inward. Spanish youth are looking for their own personal disasters, mined from

their broken homes, internal conflicts, and decadent behavior. Like Wolfe’s

narrator toying with the idea of self—destruction (“Que me toque a mi también”),
youth culture’s pessimism and nihilism are catalysts driving their downward spiral
of drug abuse, alcoholism, sexual promiscuity, random violence, and ultimately,
self-destruction. And when youth do not find disasters, they create them. In the
19903, a narrative emerges which, at its essence, portrays youth going to war
against itself.

These internalized wars capture a snapshot of the much maligned and
often misunderstood youth culture of 1990s Spain. It is known popularly and
among scholars alike as “Generacién X,” an adaptation of the internationalized
North American buzzword, “Generation X.” Gathering youth culture—both within
the literary text and in society at large—under this catch-all, umbrella term poses
a fundamental problem for the study of contemporary Spanish youth narrative.
The term “Generation X” is used liberally, even reflexively, and oftentimes without
consideration to its definition or implications. Since “Generation X" is the de facto,
lntematlonal brand name that youth culture wears during the 1990s, both in
popular and critical discourse, the question of terminology is where an analysis of

this culturez, and later its literary manifestation, will begin. How can one define

 

2 In light of this study’s focus on youth narrative, references to “culture” and
“subculture“ will be in terms of youth. First, this study will define “youth“ according
to Hebdlge, as a series of struggles in the lives of young people that impact
identity formation (68-80). Second, according to Jonathan Epstein (4»21), “youth
culture” is essentially a space of identity formation in which young people
experience a tension between childhood and adulthood that produces alienation.
This alienation impacts contemporary youth culture in that youth experience a
downward mobility. Estranged from society, youth culture becomes apathetic to
its present and future, producing so-called “slackers.” This definition of youth
culture ties closely with the conceptualization of subcultures. Again based on the

8

youth culture and youth literature? And what does “Generation X” mean? The
answers to these questions will necessarily guide this discussion through an
examination of North American literature before returning to Spain. This detour is
important in contextuallzing Spain’s youth narrative of the 1990s and will suggest
an approach—disaffection and identity—to Spain’s youth narrative of the 19903
that will guide the rest of this study. Thus, to understand the war that Roger
Wolfe is describing and the corresponding aesthetic that a group of young
Spanish novelists have adopted, it is necessary to analyze the development of
Generation X (youth culture itself) and “Generation X” (the term) in its socio-
cultural context, examine its development in different Western countries, and how
it applies to Spanish narrative.

As a term “Generation X” is a mum-tasking workhorse. In popular
parlance, “Generation X” juggles a vast array of cultural phenomena, being the
buzzword noun to refer to youth of the 1990s in general and an adjective to

describe their tastes in music, film, television programs, video games,

 

theories of Hebdlge, “youth subcultures” consist of young people that feel
alienated on the individual level, not on the collective level. This individual
estrangement is based on the concept of meaningfulness. That is, the alienated
individual engages in a search for meaning, and thus is attracted to subcultures.
However, a key to subcultures is that subcultural resistance to hegemonic culture
affects only those engaged in the subculture, and has little if any effect on society
at large (Epstein 11). In terms of “popular culture,” which Kellner defines as the
site of the implosion of identity and the fragmentation of the subject (“Popular”
144), youth culture and popular culture do coincide. However, due to the
conceptualization of youth as alienated individuals, “popular culture” in this study
will be defined as the culture of mass consumption and consumerism
(Featherstone 21, McGuigan 83). Thus it should be recognized that youth
culture’s relationship (particularly as presented in Spain’s narrative of the 1990s)
with popular culture is at times contradictory: while youth feel alienated by the
hegemonies of popular culture, they are simultaneously participating in it.

9

magazines, literature, fashion, advertising, nightlife, drugs, and most significantly,
attitudes, as well as caricatures of all of the above. Vann Wesson identifies the
historical, social, and cultural phenomena that epitomize Generation X, such as
the breakup of the Soviet Union, the space shuttle Challenger explosion, grunge
music, MTV, the threat of AIDS, divorce rates over 50%, the popularity of
piercing and tattoos, gang violence, and the beginning of the intemet revolution
(xi). In addition, others cite more generalized characteristics of Generation X:
Littwin signals their sense of entitlement and frustration (22), while Epstein
considers them to be realistic in their status as a “generation who are without
hope and have no illusions about a brighter future” (18). Throughout the 19903,
the term “Generation X,” adhering to the elements of this wide cultural context,
gathered momentum in popular parlance throughout the Western world. Once
considered an underground or countercultural denomination, “Generation X”
became a widespread cultural buzzword (Barnard 10-19). Moreover, the context
of its usage is decidedly negative. Jonathan Epstein asserts that society implicitly
sees contemporary youth as a social problem (3). William Strauss and Neil Howe
note that Generation X breaks the traditional union of “youth” and “idealism” and
instead is a profoundly cynical group (327—8), which Diane Owens echoes,
referring to their general sense of “detachment and anomie” (87). Meredith
Bagby summarizes the American popular news media’s opinion of Generation X,
which perpetuates the myth that “we can afford not to work. As the story goes,

we are living in our parents’ basements, glued to MTV, and using our college

10

degrees as coasters” (11). The popular perception holds that Generation X, while
well educabd, is an insular culture that lacks the motivation to better themselves.
Furthermore, through its extensive usage “Generation X” has spawned
numerous permutations around the world. Vann Wesson identifies the
successors of Generation X as “Generation Y,” defined as those born between
1982 and 2003, who view technology as a way of life, have the immediacy of 24
hour a day news coverage, and feel that they are required to mature early (x).
“Generation Y” is often derisively referred to as “Generation Whine” (Lamm 22)
for their stereotypical proclivity to complain despite the social and economic
privilege that they often enjoy, a perception readily apparent in teen oriented
im chatrooms. At times in popular speech, “Generation Y” is synonymous
with “Generation 1” (Dignan) the technologically sawy, hyperlinked, “screen-
agers,” a term that Microsoft founder Bill Gates adopts to describe children that
grow up with the intemet (Bridis). in 1999, an Hispanocentric “Generacidn N”
denotes a roving series of rock concerts promoting “rock en espatlol” that toured
through Spain and Latin America (Jarque). The Pepsi Cola Corporation morphed
“Generation X” into a 1998 television commercial advertising slogan, “Generation
Next,” with an accompanying soundtrack by British pop group Spice Girls to
promote their soft drinks. The commercial featured the five scantily-clad Brits
singing the bafflingly meaningless lyrics, “It's over yeah [Cause it’s over I Cause
it's over I Yeah, yeah, yeah...Generation Next.” Aside from using the concept of
Generation X as a blatant marketing ploy, Pepsi obviously overlooked the fact

that among Generation X hipsters, Spice Girls were widely considered a musical

11

punchline. In another example of advertising, “Generation D,” the digital
generation, is a trademark and advertising slogan of the ethically challenged
multinational corporation WorldCom, which appropriates the Generation X
moniker to sell wireless data solutions to mobile professionals. And Meredith
Bagby notes a list of tangential labels that spring up in popular speech, such as
“the Doofus Generation, the New Lost, Grungers, New Petulants, Boomerang
(poverty stricken we return to our parents), Generation P (poor and pissed off),
the Scarce, Busters, tsers (the thirteenth generation born in America)” (2). This
alphabet soup of generations is indicative of the problem inherent in
understanding Generation X: since the late 19803, “Generation X” has acquired a
considerable amount of terminological mileage, and throughout Western cultures
the tenn’s usage has grown with little regard for Its meaning or the contexts in
which it appears.

As a literary denomination, “Generation X” is problematic because its
usage began outside of literature as a socio-cultural reference to describe North
America’s economically privileged yet indolent youth. Neither literary nor cultural
studies have embraced a commonly accepted definition of Generation X—as
seen in the string of rechrlstenlngs, like Holloway’s “The Free Generation,”
Littwin’s sociological approach “The Postponed Generation,” and Barnard,
Cosgrove and Welsh’s “The Nexus Generation”—nor have they codified an
approach to youth culture in the 19903. The multitude of uses complicates efforts
to standardize its usage. In fact, the dilemma of definitions has vexed the study

youth literature since it emerged on the critical radar in the 19903. The problem is

12

succinctly and paradoxically contained in the term itself: the “X” denotes an
unknown or unknowabie entity, as in an undefined element in mathematics, an X
factor. The letter hangs on the end of the term and at the fringes of popular
culture and literary studies, begging certain questions: What does X stand for?
Where did it come from? How far does it extend and what does it encompass?
Who are the Generation Xers? What is this X factor that thrusts itself into
contemporary literature and culture? In essence, what exactly does “Generation
X” mean?

From its inception, the term “Generation X” is inherently nebulous.
Although cultural critics, sociologists, literary scholars, and the mass media alike
refer to “Generation X,” to date surprisingly few have attempted to explicitly
define it (Rosen 171 ). James Annesley, for example, referring to the
manifestation of Generation X in the United States, resorts to describing a
pervasive feeling:

You might not be sure what it is, but you can be sure that it’s out
there. Turn on the TV and it’s there. Go to the movies and you’ll
see it. Open a magazine and it’ll be there. Flick through a rack of
CDs and you’ll find it. Turn the pages of a novel and you’ll read it.
You must have seen it, even if you’re unable to name it. It’s found
in the images of excess and Indulgence that dominate Larry Clark’s
“Kids” (1996). it's tangled up in the violence of Bret Easton Ellis’s
Amenmm (1991 )...You can hear It when Beck sings “I’m a

loser baby...why don’t you kill me?” Common sets of themes are

13

being articulated. There’s an emphasis on the extreme, the
marginal and the violent. There’s a sense of indifference and
indolence. The limits of the human body seem indistinct, blurred by
cosmetics, narcotics, disease, and brutality. (1)
Annesley’s observations are indicative of a critical consensus that indeed
“something is out there,” yet due to its fluctuating cultural manifestations, it is
inherently vague and intangible (Geoffrey Holtz, Vance Holloway). Since it points
to such a wide variety of youth culture phenomena, the term Is a shifting and
evolving entity and by itself inherently explains little. “Generation X” points to an
age group-the Mentysomethings—and their generally despondent and defiant
attitude—but tends to leave other details undefined. To approach a more specific
definition, one may say that Generation X is first and foremost a phenomenon of
youth, defined here as individuals between eighteen and thirty years old during

the 199OS—that ls, those born in the 19603 and 19703’—colloquially identified as

 

3 The question of age groups is a widely accepted common denominator for
Identifying Generaflon X, as well as its precursors and successors. Sociologists
and literary critics—such as those mentioned above—have posited a dizzying
array of birth years to identify generations throughout the later half of the
twentieth century. The distribution commonly falls along the lines of the Baby
Boomers (born 1943-1959), Generation X (1960-1980), Generation Y (1981 -
2000), and the Tweens (those currently aged 10-13). One should note that these
dates represent averages of the aforementioned critics and do not imply a critical
consensus. This study will define Generation X as those born around 1970 (Le,
from approximately 1965-1975), in general agreement with Epstein (18). This set
of dates limits the focus to youth in their late teens and twenties during the
decade of the 19903, since it is the average age of protagonists in the novels
written during this decade, internationally as well as in Spain. As will be
demonstrated later, other factors such as decadence, disaffection, and identity
are more important in defining youth culture, and particularly its literary
equivalent in Spain.

14

the indefinite “twentysomethings.” Second, in the broadest sense, “Generation X”
names an intersection; it attempts to identify the convergence of popular music,
film, literature, television, fashion, mass communications, marketing, alcohol,
drugs, nightlife, and most importantly, an attitude. These phenomena intersect in
the 19903 in the urban metropoli of Western nations which are experiencing not
only relative economic stability but typically robust prosperity. The economic
situation generates the Generation Xer’s increased disposable income and
leisure time, which of course funnels back into the consumption of the
aforementioned music, films, fashions, booze, and drugs. Generation X demands
absolute independence and unlimited freedom, a freedom that is “of” and “from”:
freedom of speech, action, movement, but also freedom from restrictions, rules,
relationships, and responsibilities.

To approach a definition—particularly one that will be useful in an
examination of literature—it is necessary to examine the brief yet diverse history
of “Generation X,” and to do so one must return to the punk rock subculture of
flie mid 19703. Simon Frith argues that through the experience and performance
of popular music one can understand cultural identity (109), and coincidentally, it
is in the musical subculture of 19703 London where “Generation X” is born.
During this decade local music scenes around England and the United States
were reacting to the pepularity of disco’s synthesized dance beats performed by
artists such as Gloria Gaynor (“I Will Survive”), The Trammps (“Disco Inferno”),
Lipps Inc. (“Funky Town”), The Village People (“YMCA”), ABBA (“Dancing

Queen”), and the superlative success of the Australian trio The Bee Gees

15

(“Stayin’ Alive,” “Night Fever,” “Jive Talkin’” “More Than a Woman”) as well as
the 1977 film W (T omlinson 196). Following the socially
consdous music and earnest protest songs of 19603 singer-songwriters such as
Bob Dylan and Joan Baez, disco is a depoliticized pop music that embraces the
comfort of middle class prosperity. Disco’s raison d’etre is to forget one’s
troubles, submit to the carefree atmosphere of disco dancing, and “boogy down”
under a shimmering mirror ball on a blinking dance floor. At the same time that
disco music is a staple of nightlife and radio in the 19703, musicians are
combining the intricate melodies and swirling crescendos of classical composers
with the volume of electric guitars and synthesizers in an experiment known as
symphonic rock. Songs such as “Nights in White Satin” by The Moody Blues,
“10538 Overture” by The Electric Light Orchestra, and “Shine On You Crazy
Diamond” by Pink Floyd are 10 to 15 minute opuses with complex
instrumentation and musical scores, with accompanying elaborate concert
performances that feature banks of fog rolling across the stage, laser lighting,
and in the case of Pink Floyd, even inflatable flying pigs.

In contrast to the porcine bloat of symphonic rock and the self-indulgence
of disco, a twenty one year old Londoner named WIIllam Michael Albert Broad
was challenging the stylized aesthetics of disco and the complexity of symphonic
rock with a rebel yell. William Broad adopted the stage name Billy Idol and in
1975 emerged on the club scene with the punk band Generation X. Their music
was a raw blend of atonal guitar chords and sneered lyrics, combined with a

tough image consisting of black leather jackets, spiked wristbands, dog collars,

16

and the trademark vertically spiked hair or mohawks. Generation X’s lyrics
covered such prototypical youth themes as debauchery, rejection, alienation, and
defiance of authority in songs such as “WIld Youth,” “Untouchables,” “One
Hundred Punks,” and “Kiss Me Deadly.” Thus the first popularized use of
“Generation X” entered the public consciousness though punk rock“. These
rowdy beginnings are revealing in that, as Generation X literature purports to
flout the limits of popular culture through an anti-aesthetic, similarly punk
embodied a desire to be ugly and offensive. Punk pioneers Johnny Rotten and
Siouxee Sioux, for example, relished the shock value of wearing swastika
armbands, and punks pierced their ears with safety pins and wore purposely
tattered clothes.

According to Craig O’Hara, a tenet of punk was the spirit of “D.I.Y.,” or “do
it yourself” (153-4). This philosophy springs from punk’s political rejection of
mass produced products, as In the aesthetic of tattered clothing, which translates
Into a music that is simple to perform: the punk does not need a developed
musical skill or even the ability to read musical notation. For example, The Sex
Pistols, The Ramones, and The Stooges perform such punk rock standards as
“Anarchy In the UK,” “I Wanna Be Sedated,” and “I Wanna Be Your Dog,”
respectively, entirely by hammering repetitive guitar chords. Punk rock takes

pride In Its musical amateurlsm and, in contrast to the intricate 15 minute

 

‘ While this thesis will ultimately argue against the use of the term “Generation X”
in Spanish literature, this early link with the rebellious roots of punk rock music
will become particularly relevant in studying the Spanish youth novel of the
19903, specifically in interpreting the narrative of José Angel Matias in Chapter 3.

17

symphonic rock songs, punk songs rarely use more than three guitar chords or
rarely exceed two minutes. More important than musical dexterity is that the punk
must have the attitude of defiance through which to express his/her energy and
rage. Thus in contrast to disco and symphonic rock, the production value of punk
is so deliberately low that, merely with the proper attitudes—disgust, frustration,
anger—anyone can perform it. Similar to punk, this concept emerges in the youth
literature of the 19903 in authors that reject formal training and the conventions of
literary writing, and seek to shock readers through their blunt portrayal of social
taboos such as masturbation, drug abuse, graphic violence, rape, and
alcoholism.

Following its noisy and rowdy beginnings in London’s punk scene, the
term “Generation X” lies dormant throughout the 19803 until it resurfaces in North
America in the early 19903. Social and political pundits begin to use the term to
describe the post baby-boom generation, the proverbial twentysomethings, those
between twenty and thirty years old. The term “Generation X” spreads quickly in
social discourse through the mass media, used derisively to describe an age
group that consistently fails to live up to the expectations of older generations
(Bagby 2). In North America, the popular image of Generation X is that youth is
generally well educated, as reflected in the increasing enrollment in universities,
but lack the motivation to apply their knowledge to middle class aspirations,
institutions, or stabllltles, such as a career, home, or family (Gaines 266). In

 

, political pundit Michael

Kinsley chides Generation X’s feelings of dejection in contrast to the enormous

18

privileges they enjoy: “These kids today. They’re soft. They don’t know how good
they have it. Not only did they never have to fight a war, like their grandparents,
they never even had to dodge one” (20)5. The “us versus them” argument typifies
political readings of Generation X, which polarize around either the financial
consequences that youth will have to bear as a result of the Baby Boomers’
overuse of social, governmental, and environmental resources, or around the
Baby Boomers’ chastisement of the insubordination of contemporary youth
culture (Craig 8-13). The popular image of Generation X highlights youth’s
tendency to drop out, to reject the middle class work ethic and gages of success
Indoctrinated by a middle class upbringing. It is paradoxical, then, that the
Generation Xer lives a “do it yourself” philosophy, especially in that most salient
of Generation X identifiers, music. Following the spirit of punk, Generation X
embraces an emerging musical sound from the American northwest— namely
Portland, Oregon, and Seattle, Washington—called Grunge (Santiago-Lucema
192). As its name implies, the music is dirty and unrefined. Grunge is frenetic
rock music with pounding drumbeats and chugging guitar rhythms. Rather than

editing out the imperfections from the recordings, guitar feedback and notes sung

 

5 Klnsley’s observation ls correct in the soclo-political sense of a lack of an
engaging, unifying international conflict. However, as Roger Wolfe posits and
numerous other young Spanish novelists echo in their works, the current war is
not external-spanning national borders with military hardware. Rather, they start
their own internal wars. Like Roger Wolfe’s call for war, it is not a politically
motivated war or the warfare of Marxist class struggle. Rather because these
“soft" kids live lives that are relatively free from conflict (Bagby 4), they create it.
Suubsequent chapters will examine how Spanish youth narrative portrays a
subculture that, in a hollow act of defiance, turns its aggression inward against
itself.

19

out of tune at times characterize entire albums, such as the Meat Puppets’ debut
record titled W. Grunge bases itself on angst and raw emotion rather
than the performer’s innate musical talent. Thus, as Santiago-Lucema (192) and
Morrell (48) point out, grunge is a contemporary manifestation of punk. Like
punk, grunge eschews popularity, reveling in its status as a peripheral and
underground cultural expression. The grunge aesthetic is anti-corporate and anti-
fashion; it boycotts name brands and expensive labels in favor of a working class
aesthetic. As such the grunge garb consists of utilitarian and day laborers’
clothes, such as torn blue jeans, faded tee shirts, industrial workers” boots, and
the ubiquitous lumberjacks’ flannel shirt, the traditional workers’ clothing of the
American northwest (Santiago-Lucerna 190-1). Grunge bands include
Mudhoney, Tad, Heatmiser, Green River, The Melvins, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam,
and the enormously influential Nirvana, whose singer and guitarist Kurt Cobain
unwittingly comes to epitomize Generation X. The unrefined yowl characteristic
of grunge “singers” (their atonality and penchant for screaming requires one to
use the term loosely) such as Eddie Vedder, Mark Arm, Chris Cornell, and
particularly Kurt Cobain, is a scream of rejection against consumerism,
materialism, bourgeois prosperity and the perceived loss of individuality and
personal independence that accompanies it. Nirvana’s seminal album Wind
(1991), the anthemic song “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and the violent, bumper—car
dancing it inspired—moshing-expresses an alienation and estrangement that
become the soundtrack associated with Generation X. For example, in “Smells

Like Teen Spirit,” Cobain sings, “I’m worse at what I do best lAnd for that gift I

20

feel blessed” and “I found it hard, it’s hard to find /Oh well, whatever,
Nevermind,” an ode to underachievement and a rejection of personal fulfillment.
Similarly in “Breed,” Nirvana’s message is more direct, “Get away, get away, get
away, get away, away, way from your home,” a command to young peOpIe to
disconnect from their families. Through grunge, Generation X establishes itself
as a term and a bona fide counterculture (Epstein 18-21). The “nothing-is-
special” aesthetlc of Generation X and the rejection of consumer culture of
grunge contrasts with the relative economic prosperity in Western nations
through the mid 19903. Youth feel left behind, and a segment of youth culture
simply drops out. Mark Renton, for example, mocks the optimistic and chlrpy
“Choose Life” slogan in a well-known passage from Irvine Welsh’s W09:
Choose us. Choose life. Choose mortgage payments; choose
washing machines; choose cars; choose sitting can a couch
watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing
fuckin junk food intae ylr mooth. Choose rotting away, pishing and
shiteing yersel in a home, a total fuckin embarrassment fee the
selfish, fucked-up brats ye’ve produced. Choose life.
Well, ah choose no tae choose life. If the cunts cannae
handle that, it’s thalr fuckin problem. (187-8)
When faced with the possibility of bourgeois comfort, and economic and career
successes, Generation X chooses not to choose. As reflected in Nirvana’s music
or Welsh’s Italnsmttlng. Generation X is founded on the idea of dropping out,

refusing to blindly accept the status quo that their suburbanite parents embrace.

21

However, Generation X’s disdain for hegemonic, consumer culture is
contradictory: the middle class prosperity and economic privileges they
purportedly reject also allow them to drop out comfortably. With the security of
middle class parents providing an economic safety net, youth can be slackers.
Thus youth’s rebellion is paradoxically founded on privilege and entitlement, and
these economic conditions have shaped Generation X In North America.
Generation Xers are astute diagnosticians. They criticize the consumer
culture (as they take part in it themselves) and lambaste the hypocrisles of
modern society (while indulging their own hypocrisies). As the Generation X band
and independent music icon Sebadoh sings, “It feels good I just to bitch about it”
(“Magnet’s Coil”). Youth does not propose an alternative, a radically new or
utopic vision of a better world as was common in the discourse of the 19603.
Generation X simply drops out, content to feel contempt for the system they
reject, without the gumption to create change. By refusing to act, they also avoid
responsibility. Countercultures consistently challenge hegemonies and the
slogan “sex, drugs, and rock and roll” is not original, of course. Yet whereas the
counterculture of the 19603 offered a pacifist “flower power,” and TImothy Leary
suggested a mind-expanding LSD trip of “tuning in, turning on, and dropping out”
to arrive at a higher level of consciousness (Calcutt 69-70), Generation x
embraces no such grandiloquent philosophies. They follow the path of least
resistance and drop out without suffering hardships (such as poverty, starvation,

22

or homelessness). They embrace a postmodern” vision to “lead an enjoyable life”
(Bauman “Pilgrim” 34). Generation Xers are postmodern rebels who are literally
without a cause; they bear no cumbersome ideology, politics, or social crusade to
keep them from having fun.

Part of the problem in reading Generation X—the culture and the
literature-resides in the fact that it is a new and understudied phenomenon, and
thus it is difficult to maintain a critical distance. Francisco Rico observes that “un
periodo se reconoce sclo cuando, al cerrarse, 3e descubre toda la complejidad
del juego de acclones y reacciones en que se mueve siempre la literature” (viii).

Thus, the immediacy of Generation X exacerbates the problem. The proximity of

 

° Selden and Widdowson identify two tenets to be characteristic (if It’s not
contradictory in and of itself to claim 30) of postmodernism:
first, the “grand narratives’ of historical progress initiated by the
enlightenment are discredited; and second, any political grounding
of these ideas in ‘history’ or ‘reality’ is no longer possible, since
both have become ‘textualised’ in the world of images and
simulations which characterise the contemporary age of mass
consumption and advanced technologies. (174—175)
Postmodemlsm distrusts ‘grand narratives’ (also called meta-narratives, macro
narratives, or universal philosophies), such as the life of the human Spirit, the
emancipation of humanity, or the accumulation of wealth (Lyotard 37). At the root
of this belief lies a fundamental skepticism In the ability to master a domain. In a
narrative, postmodernism sees a crisis of representation in this aforementioned
‘world of images and simulations,’ that is the inability of that narrative to legitimize
and adequately represent an object. Jean Francois Lyotard expresses a
fundamental skepticism towards the grand narratives of history. In his
consideration of language and the commodity of knowledge in W
Condition, Lyotard asserts that it is no longer possible to speak of totalizing
reason, for there is no one reason, but rather multiple reasons. Lyotard argues
that these master narratives, such as those in Selden and Widdowson’s
definition, no longer function in contemporary society. Linda Hutcheon echoes
this point in that “no narrative can be a natural ‘master’ narrative: there are no
natural hierarchies; there are only those we construct" (13). In contrast with an
overriding master narrative, Lyotard sees an inherent pluralism at work in

postmodemlsm.

23

degenerate youth, their lifestyle, and their literature tends to produce a
conceptual, critical, and cultural myopia: their immediate presence, literally on the
streets before the eyes of the Western world, affords little critical distance from
which to consider Generation X or their literature. Echoing James Annesley’s
affirmation that, “you might not be sure what it is, but you can be sure that it’s out
there” (1 ), similarly something is lurking in the dark corners of literary studies,
creeping into the canon, and appearing on reading lists of contemporary
literature courses in both Europe and North America. In the mid 19903 the
Generation X existing on the streets and in nightclubs begins appearing as
fictionalized representations in novels. The correspondence between narrative
and larger youth culture is inescapable: Western youth use drugs, dance at all
night raves, engage in casual sex, and (ostensibly) withdraw from hegemonic
culture. Thus as the literary correlation also explores the seamy underbelly of
society through this nocturnal subculture, the term “Generation X” by default
attaches itself to youth culture novels. The sudden appearance and subsequent
popularity of this literature creates a terminological vacuum, and “Generation X”
fills the void. The term begins to infiltrate armchair discussions of contemporary
literature by the mid 19903, and not long after, literary scholarship, as well.
However the application of “Generation X” to contemporary youth literature is not
homogeneous. Rather, its literary usage varies as much as its sociocultural
applications. In fact, the Generation X terminological problem escalates when its
focus narrows to literature. The wider cultural context outside the literary text

becomes inextricable from the so—called “Generation X literature.” When one

24

examines its evolution and its present day (mis)applications, it will become clear
that “Generation X” is a term of convenience; while it may fill a terminological
vacuum, as a literary term it explains very little. The widespread dispersion of
“Generation X” as a cultural buzzword throughout Western nations, and its
resulting indeterminacy and relativism, ultimately calls into question the term’s
usefulness when referring to the literature of the 19903. A survey of international
Generation X literature will, first, serve to contextualize the phenomena and,
second, will provide a segue to a discussion of youth literature that develops in
Spain In the 19903.

Generation X in literature originates in North America with Douglas
Coupland. This Canadian novelist definitively codifles the term into literature in
1991 with the publication of his first novel, mm
W, and as result it becomes the nucleus of the Generation X
literary conundrum. The novel appears at a time when “Generation X” was
gaining momentum as a term in social discourse, reemerging from its dormancy
since Billy Idol’s punk band of the late 19703. Conomtionx is a marketing and
publishing phenomenon (Davis 255). St. Martin's publishes dozens of editions in
only a few years that sparks a friendship with R.E.M.’s enigmatic singer Michael
Stipe and brings instant notoriety to the 28 year old Coupland among the North
American hipster community (Romer 58).

W revolves around a trio of underachieving twenty-
somethings—Dag, Andy, and Claire—who converge in the desert outside Palm

Springs, California, to escape the rampant consumerism of contemporary culture,

25

the “compulsions that made us confuse shopping with creativity” (11), as Dag
claims. Yet their relationship with consumerism is symbiotic as they
simultaneously criticize and celebrate consumer culture. The trio shuns luxury
goods (in a spontaneous fit of vandalism, Dag incinerates an Oldsmobile) that
defined their pre-desert existence. While their pilgrimage to the desert is
ostensibly a form of escapism, they irrevocably attach themselves to the
grammar of consumerism. Their journey away from crass consumerism
paradoxically leads them to more conspicuous consumption: instead of
convertible sports cars and brand name clothing, they fetishize and purchase the
lowest common denominator tchotchkes, such as disposable Swedish furniture,
Mojave rugs, taxiderrned chickens, and bottles of sand crystallized in nuclear test
blasts. The three work so-called McJobs, a “low-pay, low-prestige, low-dignity,
low-benefit, no-future job in the service sector. Frequently considered a satisfying
career choice by people who have never held one” (5). While they trudge through
a subsistence living, working mind-numbing, interchangeable, dead-end McJobs,
in correlation they also lack any aspirations or goals, which offers them an
absolute freedom from responsibility (to friends, to families, to lovers, and to
themselves). Essentially, they have the ultimate freedom of choice and the
frwdom from choice. Dag, Andy, and Claire’s educations and backgrounds from
prosperous families primes them for successful careers and lucrative salaries.
Yet like Mark Renton’s credo in Itainsootting, (“Well, ah choose no tae choose
life. If the cunts cannae handle that, it’s their fuckin problem”), they reject the

bourgeois prosperity that is their birthright Thus mama Portrays

26

underachieving youths that occupy a position of privilege but refuse to exploit
that privilege. Their meaningless employment provides a subsistence living which
in turn reduces their lives to just that, meaninglessness.

As part of their escapism, they engage in an endless banter of storytelling.
The three entertain themselves by narrating clever stories about the drudgery of
life, such as Claire’s story about a spaceman who crash lands on the near-earth
asteroid named “Texlahoma,” who must find true love from one of a trio of
Texlahoma rubes—Arlene, Darlene, and Serena—to power his spaceship to
retum to earth. Their storytelling sessions have clear ground rules: no one is
allowed to criticize anyone else’s stories and no one is allowed to fall in love with
each other. They strip their lives of risk, and hence, the chance of personal
fulfillment, satisfaction, or progress. This avoidance of intimacy undermines
protagonists” declared search for meaning, as W is essentially a love
story. Pushing their preoccupations into third person narratives, Dag, Andy, and
Claire’s stories are thinly veiled autobiographical tales that express the longings
of their narrators: Dag’s romantic desires for Andy, Claire’s search for a fulfilling
relationship with Tobias, and Andy’s search for connection with his family. Andy’s
desperate search for meaning in his life comes to fruition with the serendipitous
encounter with a group of retarded teenagers. The emotional connection with a
group of strangers—and their spontaneous group hug—are surrogates for the
loving family that Andy never had.

The structure 01331121313:th establishes the technique, often repeated in

other youth novels of the 19903, of the vignette-driven plot. The plot develops in

27

brief installments, averaging three to four pages each. As one train of thought
begins, the narrative jump—cuts to another, rarely connected, story. This brevity
and fragmentation mirror the lives of the protagonists, reflecting Dag, Andy, and
Claire’s notoriously short attention spans, their proclivity for distraction, and an
urge not to be stuck on any one facet of life for too long. WIth the plot inextricably
bound to the present moment, the protagonists frustrate their own attempts at
transcendence. Indeed, their search for meaning is half-hearted. For the
Generation Xers In Coupland”s novel, the end of youth is essentially the end of
meaningful existence, as evidenced in the chapter title, “Dead at 30 Buried at
70.” They mourn their own emotional and spiritual “death” decades before they
physically die. By entertaining a Peter Pan-esque fantasy of never growing old,
they forestall maturity and growth. They have no burning political stance, no
overriding philosophical position to defend, and thus Dag, Andy, and Claire do
not have to try: disposable jobs are plentiful, products are always available for
consumption, there Is always another exotic location to which to travel which will
always be better than their current location. They can idly complain about
America's hyperconsumerism because that same hyperconsumeristlc lifestyle
allows them the luxury to do 30. Thus the trappings of consumerism compromise
them. Dag, Andy, and Claire reduce their lives to a sustained distraction that
ultimately (and purposely) frustrates their search for meaning.

In conjunction with the disjunctive vignettes of the plot and the
protagonists’ escapist storytelling, an obsessive reliance on slogans thwarts the

search for rneanlng. Conomtjonx injects coined phrases, fabricated headlines,

28

and pop art graphics into the margins of the text itself. “Stop History,” “Eroticize
Intelligence,” and “Bench Press Your IQ.” are a sampling of the pseudo-
lntellectual, bumperstlcker philosophies that punctuate the novel. Thus despite
their proposed search for transcendence, Andy, Dag, and Claire rely on hollow
sloganism. The narrative itself perpetuates this philosophical posturing by
adopting a user’s manual format, including hip and clever definitions of
Generation X terminology for the uninitiated. The tongue-in-cheek definitions
feature terms such as “Survivulousness” (“The tendency to visualize oneself
enjoying being the last remaining person on earth. ‘l’d take a helicopter up and
throw microwave ovens down on the Taco Bell'.” [62]), “Historical Underdosing”
(“To livein a period of time when nothing major seems to happen. Major
symptoms include addiction to newspapers, magazines, and TV news
broadcasts” [7]), “Emotional Ketchup Bursts” (“The bottling up of opinions and
emotions inside oneself so that they explosively burst forth all at once, shocking
and confusing employers and friends—most of whom thought things were fine”
[21]), or the “Mid-Twenties Breakdown” (“A period of mental collapse occurring in
one’s twenties, often caused by an inability to function outside of school or
structured environments coupled with a realization of one’s essential aloneness
in the world. Often marks induction into the ritual of pharmaceutical usage” [27]).
Coupland’s crash-course lessons in “X” terminology attach an ironic playfulness
to the drive to establish definitions.

Whereas one would assume that the act of defining Generation X

terminology within the novel itself would be a welcome development-Coupland

29
—_—__'.—_

has seemingly written a novel that defines itself—it is not the case. ConeLatiodX
frustrates the reader’s attempts to arrive at a definition of “Generation X.”
Coupland’s intratextual definitions, which are often his own inventions, and his
palpable sarcasm, subvert the act of defining from within; the novel appropriates
the very mechanisms of establishing meaning and uses them to produce
meaninglessness. A term like “survivulousness,” for example (“I’d take a

. helicopter up and throw microwave ovens down on the Taco Bell”), and its
implied rebellion against globalized fast food franchises is not only of
questionable usefulness, but in essence it is a hollow act of rebellion. If one were
the last living human being, according to its definition, the creafion of a spectacle
for spectacle”s sake would be doubly meaningless as no one else would be alive
to witness the destruction. Thus Coupland’s novel captures the paradox of the
Generation X zeitgeist: despite literally “writing the book” on Generation X,
Coupland”s novel purposely inverts the objectivity of a definition and turns its
meaning into gibberish.

Vann Wesson contributes to the cacophony of Generation X terminology
in his sarcastic field guide for spotting the Generation X creature in its natural
habitat of the urban jungle. In W (1997),
Wesson attempts to define, word for word, the Generation X argot. In contrast to
Coupland’s subjective definitions, Wesson distances himself as an outsider
looking in on Generation X, striving for ultimate objectivity in his definitions of
“Generation X” (“Those born between 1960 and 1981. A generation

characterized by the lack of specific identity or role (other than that of consumer)

30

within the larger society” [76]) and “Slacker” (“a rebel against the Puritan work
ethic. A generic term for one who is usually perceived as a burden. Slacker
implies laziness and a lack of motivation and direction toward any perceivable
goal other than to enjoy oneself” [150]). The effect ls sarcastic; Wesson is
thumbing his nose at those not in on the joke by defining slang terms (“Grunge,”
“Nirvana,” “Ren and Stimpy,” “Mall Rats”) that any self-respecting young hipster
would already know. Thus Coupland and Wesson’s alternating subjectivity
underline the ongoing problem of establishing what truly defines “Generation X.”
The publication and subsequent popularity of Coupland’s Constationx
coincides with another Generation X touchstone, Richard Linklater’s 1991 film
Stanton Set in Austin, Texas, in the mid-nineties, Siaokot consists of a dizzying
96 protagonists. Like the episodic plot of Coupland’s novel, Linklater’s film
wanders through bars, nightclubs, convenience stores, and University of Texas
donnitorles, following a series of static characters. No one accomplishes any
goals nor truly does anything of substance. Their random encounters with
strangers are excuses to banter about their individual obsessions-reminiscent
of Dag, Andy, and Claire in Coupland’s novel—such as political conspiracies and
existentialism. Linklater himself claims that his characters “would be smart
enough to go to grad school but...definitely didn‘t want to go” (Rushkof 46). The
randomness, lack of linearity, and, oftentimes, lack of coherence in Socket
mirror the aesthetics of Cenomfionx. Moreover, the similarity between
Linklater”s film and Coupland’s novel is particularly significant with regards to

terminology. The simultaneous popularity and nearly coinciding release dates of

31

both works in 1991, and the perceived similarities between the protagonists and
narrative structures of Coupland’s novel and Linklater’s film interwove the two
titles in popular parlance: “Generation X” and “Slacker” became synonyms,
making a slacker an inexorable member of Generation X, and vice versa. James
Annesley, Mark Davis, and Jonathan Epstein, for example, use the terms
“Generation X” and “Slacker” interchangeably (127, 256, and 18, respectively).
Despite the popularity of Coupland’s novel and the ubiquity of its title,
Cenotationjs complicates the cohesiveness of defining a single youth narrative.
Critical discourse adopts the novel’s title to represent an entire social group, a
group of young writers, and the literature they produce. Nevertheless, Coupland’s
novel and Linklater”s film, although widely considered the progenitors of a so-
called “Generation X literature,” have remarkably little In common with novels
published after 1991. in contrast to the literature that followed, Congratlonx and
Show: are relatively mild and inoffensive, even quaint, narratives about youth’s
search for meaning in an overly commercialized world. Characters In both
narratives enjoy North America’s relative economic prosperity, and ample
disposable personal incomes, despite the fact that they perform a minimal
amount of work. Coupland’s dry sense of humor and Linklater’s wry wit couldn't
anticipate the implosion of all barriers against exploring and exploiting social
taboos, such as in Dennis Cooper’s hypervlolent and homoerotic novel, Ensk
(1991). The narrator Dennis, along with Jorg and Ferdinand, kidnaps and drugs a

teenage boy:

32

The kid looked more beautiful than before...l leaned over and
French-kissed his mouth for a while, sucking juice from his lips,
biting them until they leaked a little blood, sucking that, then finger
fucking his throat. The next time I rammed my cock down there and
managed to get half inside. But it came out coated with blood,
which I scraped on a finger and licked. I slapped his face five, six,
seven times. It turned scarlet...Jorg, I want to open him up, I
mumbled. He came over and squatted nearby, handing me the
Swiss army knife. I rolled the kid over and cut his ropes. I pressed
the point of the blade into the base of his throat and made a long,
straight slit all the way down his chest, stomach. . .I managed to part
small area between his nipples and see maybe two inches square
of purple material. I licked all inside there. It was incredibly
lush...We rolled the corpse onto its stomach. I enlarged the asshole
with the Swiss army knife and worked one of my hands to the wrist
Inside. It was wild in there, like reaching into a stew that had started
to cool. But it was tight too, a glove or whatever. The Germans
[Jorg and Ferdinand] were carving their names in the corpse,
laughing. l pumped my hand in and out of the ass feeling weirdly
furious, with the dead kid I guess. (104-106)

Grouping the depravity of Cooper’s Ens]: together with the economically

privileged youth of Coupland’s Conotationx as representatives of “Generation X”

begins to strain the meaning of the term. Rather than establishing a template or a

33

common starting point for Generation X fiction, Coupland’s novel is
representative in name only.

Through the convention of relying on “Generation X” over the last decade
(Acland 145-146), a putative generational cohesion emerges based on a
common age group—the twenty-somethings—of novelists and their protagonists.
While North American fiction is the torch-bearer of Generation X, the term has
spread to describe an increasingly international literary phenomenon. The
putative cast of Generation X novelists is certainly an international ensemble,
which includes Canada’s Douglas Coupland; the United States” Lynne Tillman,
Bret Easton Ellis, Jay Mclnemey, Dennis Cooper, Gary Indiana, David
Wojnarowicz, and Evelyn Lau; Great Britain’s Irvine Welsh, Will Self, and Helm
Zahavi; France’s Marie Darrleussecq; Italy’s Enrico Brizzi; China's Wei Hui; as
well as a group of Spanish authors that will reappear in greater detail in this
study, such as Jose Angel Matias, Ray Loriga, Lucia Etxebarria, and Care
Santos, as well as their contemporaries Benjamin Prado, Daniel Mugica, Marta
Sanz, Jose Machado, Violeta Hernandez, Martin Casariego, Pedro Maestre,
Gabriela Bustelo, Ismael Grasa, and Caiman Montalban.

The term “Generation X” sticks to a spectrum of cultural phenomena in
Europe in general and Spain in particular. Jonathan Epstein recognizes the
internationalization of American popular culture in Generation X’s cult hero,
grunge musician Kurt Cobain (19-20). The hegemony of American media,
television programs, Hollywood movies, and American rock music attest to the

American cultural influence in Spain (Maxwell 176). Yet the international youth

34

culture influences do not move exclusively from west to east across the Atlantic
Ocean. There is a mutual appropriation of youth cultures, such as techno music
and raves, which originate in Europe and found eager participants in North
America (Locher 102-103). American Generation X literature tends to romanticize
Europe as an exotic travel destination, such as in Lynne Tillman’s depiction of
Amsterdam’s tolerant drug culture and sex trade in her novel, Motionfiioknoss
(1992). Yet this youth culture interchange and the internationalization of
Generation X would suggest a homogenization of youth culture. While a youth
narrative emerges in the 19903, the European phenomenon isn’t as well codified
as its American Generation X contemporaries, due to it’s dispersion in multiple
countries, multiple languages, and differing levels of popularity within their home
countries. And aside from the commonality of youth narratives being an urban
phenomenon (Its plots take place in and around New York, Seattle, and Los
Angeles from the late 19803 and through the 19903, and in European capitals
and metropoli such as London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Rome, Paris, and Madrid
during the 19903), “Generation X” creates a terminological problem when applied
to European literature. First, it refers to a specific social class and socio-
economic background from North America, and thus it is a foreign term imposed
on European literatures that ignores the specific national-even local—political,
social, and cultural influences. Second, as a classification imposed on youth by
older generations, it is hegemonic. Its use is decidedly negative, as well, most
often couching youth in stereotypical rhetoric and hyperbole, such as Cornelia

Comer”s screed about youth ignorance:

35

The rising generation cannot Spell, because it learned to read by
the word-method; it is hampered in the use of dictionaries, because
it never learned the alphabet; its English is slipshod and
commonplace, because it does not know the sources and
resources of its own language. Power over words cannot be had
without some knowledge of the classics or much knowledge of the
English Bible—but both are now quite out of fashion. (81)
The criticisms are not limited to North America, as Vicente VerdL'I lambastes
youth’s scattershot focus: “Son enemigos de las ideas claras y el chocolate
espeso. Sus m03icas, sus ropes, sus amigos, sus lenguajes, son mixture. La
orientacién de sus vidas, caso de existir, les llevarla a cruzar fronteras, razas,
sexes en una eleccién de amistarse con el caos.” At this point in its evolution,
then, “Generation X” terminology becomes muddled and less reliable. In fact,
beginning with the near simultaneous appearance of W and Choke]: in
1991, the concept of a singular “Generation X” and its ability to name an actual
generation begin to splinter as soon as the term is applied to literature. For
example, W (1994), a collection of short fiction by twenty to thirty
year old writers, rejects the hegemony of Coupland’s GenerationX and
Linklater’s Slaoker. Editors Michael Wexler and John Hulme argue,
it became clear to us that we weren’t connecting with any of the
images that the new, self-appointed “twentysomething’ authorities
had been creating. We’re not in Seattle, not in the corporate world,

not ‘slackers,’ not going to law school, not skiing in Colorado, not

36

anything specific. It’s disconcerting when you realize that Douglas
Coupland’s Generaflonlt has no connection to your llfe...Does
anyone out there identify with all this crap or is it just us who can't
seem to get it? (vii).
Voioosotmxiied shows that as early as 1994, young writers already feel
ostrasized from the exiles of Generation X. And moreover, as suggested in the
contrast between Genetafignx and Etlsk, the term does not encompass the
range of the literary trend that is happening within the United States during the
19903, let alone lntemationally.
British critic James Annesley jumps into the terminological fray by

rejecting “Generation X” and instead proposing the alternative term “Blank

Fictions” to describe the North American Generation X narrative. Annesley,

 

Note] (1998) Is the most authoritative and comprehensive study of this narrative
to date, wisely avoids the denomination “generation” altogether. Instead he
favors the broader label, Blank Fictions, a first step away from the “Generation X”
designation that this study will emulate. Even though there is an implicit
generationism uniting the authors of Blank Fictions7 (that is, a common age

group of authors in their mid-twenties, as well as their shared cultural, social, and

 

7 Annesley may or may not be aware that his “blank” terminology can trace its
roots to punk rock. Richard Hell and the Voidoids, a New York City punk rock
band, released an album in 1977 titled “Blank Generation.” While perhaps
coincidental to the focus of Annesley’s study, punk will be increasingly important
in approaching Spain's youth literature.

37

economic experience), Annesley argues that there is neither a discemable
literary movement nor an organized, shared literary philosophy among them. A
cursory reading of the texts variously associated with Generation X reinforces
this point; the flippant and precocious style of Coupland’s Cenotationx differs
from the gritty, junkie narratives of Gary Indiana’s mm and David
Wojnarowicz’s mm, which differ from the post-yuppie, power
obsessions of Patrick Bateman in Bret Easton Ellis’s Amongonfisyono, which
differs from the transient, aloof travelogue of Lynne Tlllman’s Motionflokness.
To consider these diverse narratives, Annesley recommends a “looser approach”
to a series of novels that “prefer blank, atonal perspectives and fragile, glassy
visions” (2). In contrast to Slaoke: and Genemfionls’s implicit search for
meaning, Blank Fictions celebrate the mundane and reject traditional society and
its values. These novels” narrators take a lackadaisical approach to even the
most violent and gruesome events. For example, returning to Dennis Cooper’s
novel, Eti§i$ describes the dissection of a teenage boy that Ferdinand, Jorg, and
the narrator Dennis have just murdered:
We cut him apart for a few hours and studied everything inside the
body, not saying much to one another, just the occasional, Look at
this, or swear word, until there was nothing around but a big, off-
white shell in the middle of the worst mess in the world. God human
bodies are such garbage bags. (106)
Dennis”s detachment is so extreme—bordering on the apathetic—that he is

hardly cognizant that he is probing a human being. Humanity represents nothing

38

more than walking and talking garbage bags. Similarly in Antenoanflsycm,
Patrick Bateman is more fixated on his expensive audiovisual equipment than the
fact that he is committing double homicide: “In an attempt to understand these
girls I’m filming their deaths. With Torri and Tiffany 1 use a Minox LX ultra-
miniature camera that takes 9.5mm film, has a 15mm fI3.5 lens, and exposure
meter and a built-in neutral density filter and sits on a tripod” (304). The narrators
of Blank Fictions approach their task with indifference; they would seem to prefer
doing almost anything else than narrating their story. Thus, Annesley’s reading
revolves around the concept of blankness, a sense of “weightlessness and
emptiness” (58), a self-conscious superficiality in which the narrator maintains a
blank stare at society, unfazed by its contradictions and numbed by its
spectacles. The protagonists in the novels by Ellis, TIllman, Cooper, and Indiana
are so numbed by the noise and distraction of modern capitalist society that to a
large extent they have stopped feeling.

Fundamental to Annesley’s reading of American Blank Fiction Is
commodification. Blank Fictions explore the intrinsic interrelationships between
the individual and contemporary consumer society, the status symbols of brand
name products, fashions, advertising, food, music, and film. For example, Bret
Easton Ellis’s characters “don’t drive cars, they drive ‘BMW’s,’ they don't eat in
restaurants, they eat in ‘Spago’s,’ they don’t wear sunglasses, they wear
‘Raybans’” (Annesley 7). Thus blank fictions do not merely reflect their time and
place, they literally speak its language, communicating to the reader in a

commodified idiom. In Ellis’s Lafimanlem (1985), for example, Clay

39

submerges himself in Los Angeles’s culture of mass consumption. The novel
“can seem empty and uncontextualized, a narrative told, like MTV, in an abstract
‘continuous present’” (Annesley 91), while simultaneously the product references
ground the novel in a specific cultural context. Annesley continues, “Ellis favours
a kind of commercial shorthand, relying on his readership’s knowledge of
contemporary products to create his effects rather than trying to reproduce
impressions through descriptive prose” (94). As poststructuralists argue that
literature exists in a symbiotic relationship with the culture that produced it,
Blanks Fictions go a degree further. Extratextual references saturate these
novels to the extent that even those without contact with youth culture and its
vocabulary will identify Lesslhanlem’s cultural shorthand of MTV, Calvin Klein,
and CC.

Commodification tends to separate Blank Fictions into two categories
according to the affluence of their protagonists. Part of these novels focus on the
capitalist euphoria of the free market; Reaganomics; the culture of New York
City, Manhattan, Wall Street, and yuppies; and white collar drugs like cocaine.
For example, Eliis”s W and mm, Brian D’Amato’s
mam. arid Jay MOIHOMGY’S W and Brightness-LENS Portray
a series of characters who are indolent, yet wealthy, elite, and exclusively white.
Oftentimes these novels suggest contradictory readings by simultaneously
mimicking the same process of commodification that they appear to be criticizing.
Brian D’Amato’s Boauty, for example, shows the commodified body under the

knife of an unlicensed New York plastic surgeon. Angelo literally sells beauty,

40

framing the body as a consumer product while ostensibly attempting to criticize
the superficiality of the process of commodification.

The other part of American Blank Fictions focus on equally gritty yet less
affluent protagonists. For example, Dennis Cooper’s novels Ensk, Closet, Jack.
and If! follow protagonists through a 19903 Los Angeles which mixes
subcultures of drugs, prostitution, gay sex, and pornography into a blend of
“revulsion and boredom... combining the brutal with the banal” (Annesley 30, 34).
The “slick, depthless style” (Annesley 36) and casual tone are the essence of
Blank Fictions, as seen in the grotesque yet lackadaisical example above from
Ensk. Other novels that employ a similar “terse, unadomed prose” (42) are Gary
Indiana’s WM (1989), whose title refers to the colloquial usage of
“horse,” meaning heroin; David Wojnarowicz’s Closotothofiniyes (1991);
Evelyn Lau’s Emshfiltls (1994); Susanna Moore’s 1n_tne_C_I.It; and Lynne
Tillman’s Motionfiioknoss. While these narratives do not fetishize material
possessions to the extent that Ellis and Mclnemey’s novels do, they do
commodity human relationships as an economics of exchange and
objectification. As in Lynne Tlllman’s Motionfilokness, the individual may just as
easily purchase a television as sIhe does relationships or emotions.

The concept of commodification can extend to other contemporary
American youth narratives. Not unlike the putative marriage between W
x and Slackot, subsequent American Blank Fictions do not recognize distinctions
of genre. In fact, film has been particularly effective in propagating and cross-

marketing youth literature, and vice versa, as evidenced in the popularity of film

41

versions of the novels W9, W, and W
CH1. Thus like the commodification of culture and fetishization of products within

the novel, Blank Fictions themselves have become lucrative commodities.
Commodification surfaces in various youth culture films. Thematically
similar to Closejojnofiniyos and mm, torchbearers like Larry Clark’s
Kids (1995), Doug Liman’s Co (1999), and Darren Arronofsky’s Beqoiomtona
Dream (2000) show the decedent underbelly of youth culture. A swirl of drug
addiction, casual and violent sex, and murder act as a commodified means of
exchange. The kinetic energy of Ronna, Simon, and Marcus in Liman’s Co
revolves around attempts to pay off a drug dealer. Similarly, Harry and Marion in
Willem] are codependent in their heroin addiction; they distill their
relationship to the exchange of the commodities of drugs and sex. Their
transactions exact a price in the graphic severing of Harry’s left arm due to his
addiction and Marion’s descent into prostitution at the service of her drug dealer,
so as to keep a supply of heroin flowing to meet her steadily growing addiction.
In addition, Kevin Smith’s low budget yet wildly popular films Clerks (1994)
and Malltats (1995) posit a blank vision of society by exploring the minutiae of
the lives of unremarkable characters. In Clerks, Randall and Dante (trapped in
his own consumerist lnfemo) waste away their youth working at a convenience
mart and video rental store. They bemoan their dead end jobs, surrounded by
empty-calorie junk food and mindless film sequels. Yet by acting as
intennediaries-clerks-they participate in its propagation and in the process of

consumption of the products and consumerist lifestyle they purport to despise.

42

Similarly, “Mallrats” develops the consumption relafionship as its characters
wander the halls of capitalism: the American shopping mall. And the
misadventures of the recurrent duo of drug pushers in “Clerks” and “Mallrats,”
Jay and Silent Bob (who appear in all of Smith’s films), constitute the itinerant
market supply and demand.

American Blank Fictions codify their relationship between the text and
commodity, commercialization, and Jamesonian late capitalism. Blank fictions
subtextually criticize late twentieth century America’s marriage with conspicuous
consumption by simultaneously appropriating its language and images,
constructing an ironic play between a celebration and a critique of the market
forces that saturate North American Blank Fiction and Generation X narrative.
These narratives of late capitalism and commodification lead to ambiguous
interpretations whether it be a wholesale submission to the perks of this
commercialization (in the objectification of the body in Beauty or possession
worship in AmflflQaELEstIJQ) or a conscious attempt to distance oneself from it
(through the ironic postures of “Clerks” or the ironic consumerism of Congration
X). One recalls that in Coupland’s novel, Dag, Andy, and Claire escape to the
desert Southwest to search for meaning in their lives but end up surrounded by
the lowest common denominators of consumerism; like the disposable Swedish
furniture and nuclear blast sand that adorn their bungalows, their flight from
superficial consumer culture invariably (re)turns them into superficial consumers.

Annesley”s reading of Blank Fiction in terms of commodification coincide

with the sociological thinking of American Generation X. One could postulate a

43

pseudo-mathematical formula which would state, “X=$,” where “X” is of course
Generation X, so fixed is the correlation between Generation Xers and their
commodity quest. This equation of youth as a target market and as a source of
revenue is common discourse in media and marketing studies (Ritchie 27, 41 -
46). Similarly, Richard Thau and Jay Heflin use this commodified language to
frame Generation X in their book, We
Eidofly (1997), predicting generational warfare between the Baby Boomers and
Generation X over Social Security benefits, Medicare, and the burden of national
debt, such that the generational conflict is essentially an economic conflict (11-
13).

Yet despite the common language, common obsessions, and common
context of commodification in Blank Fiction, it is significant that Annesley does
not see an organized literary movement, much less a generation, nor any
semblance of a “blank manifesto” explicitly or implicitly uniting these American
authors. Arguing against the concept of a cohesive generation, Annesley reads
the literature under the auspices of a “blank scene” (3). While downplayed in
Annesley’s own analysis, the idea of a scene actually represents a crucial shift in
thinking about contemporary youth literature. Considering this literature as a
loose scene—both intra- and extra-textualIy—serves to move the literature past a
generational consideration (the common age group with common experiences).
Among the so-called Generation X novelists there is no overt attempt to band
together to form a generation or manifesto, nor are there clear cut distinction as

to who is a member or who is not. Moreover, generational denominations tend to

44

ignore the passage of time and the accompanying changes that living authors
may experience. The twentysomethings are destined (perhaps doomed) to
become thirtysomethings. The cut off between youth and middle age is relative to
the individual, and thus Generation X is a generation of perception.

While Blankflctions represents a significant advance in the study of youth
literature in the 19903 literature, Annesley admits the difficulty of attempting to
bring blank writers together as a cohesive group, and that his own term, “Blank
Fictions” is as slippery as “Generation X” (137). Like the twentysomething’s blank
stare, the terminology also suffers an emptiness. “Generation X” is so intimately
linked to North American culture and its literature that to extract it from this
context and graft it to contemporary European culture and narrative—specifically,
the Spanish youth novel, which posits a distinct vision of youth culture than the
commodification of its American counterparts—is to Impose upon what the
literature is communicating. Yet nevertheless, this application is precisely what
has occurred In recent discourse. Moreover, Annesley is not alone in his
dismissal of “Generation X.” A series of critics discard the term in favor of more
precise definitions such as Barnard, Cosgrove and Welsh’s “The Nexus
Generation.”

The economics of consumption differentiate North American youth
narrative from that of its lntemational contemporaries. In the United Kingdom, for
example, while Irvine Welsh’s drug-addled novel Iminsooning (1993) bears
thematic resemblances to David Wojnarowicz’s Closototnofiniyos, Susanna

Moore’s mm. and Gary Indiana’s Idem. the concept of

45

commodification distinguishes it from the latter American novels. While Renton,
Sick Boy, Tommy, Matty, and Spud consume drugs, alcohol, and punk music in
Itainsootting, their taste for commodity and commodification are tangential, even
nonexistent. The coinciding themes—drugs, sex, violence-suggest distinct
interpretations: whereas Amalgam fetishizes the material world,
Irainsootfing evades It. The concept of “consumption” in the two novels is
diametrically opposed; Patrick Bateman consumes (purchases) to own and to
flaunt his economic power, whereas Mark Renton consumes (lmbibes) to lose
himself and to escape his problems. And whereas CenotationXs Dag, Andy,
and Claire create a protected space in which their lives are sterilized of risks,
Icainsmtting’s Sick Boy, Spud, Matty, and Begbie live with jaw-dropping risks in
their daily lives: sharing drug needles with people who are HIV positive, robbing a
DIY home improvement store, having unprotected casual sex, and trafficking
heroin and speed.

Distinct economic circumstances guide the idea of consumption in these
narratives. Bret Easton Ellis, James Mclnemey, and Douglas Coupland portray
upwardly mobile, upper middle class characters who flaunt their material
possessions. Patrick Bateman’s conspicuous consumption extends even to the
banality of his morning bathroom ritual which centers around brand-name
products: “Once i am out of the shower and toweled dry I put the Ralph Lauren
boxers back on before applying the Mousse A Raiser, a shaving cream by Four
Hommes...l always slather on a moisturizer (to my taste, Clinique) and let it soak

in for a minute” (Amonoanflsyono 27). In contrast European novels tend to

46

portray lower class protagonists who are barely surviving, whose concerns turn
inward, and whose consumption is internalized. Unlike the economic prosperity
portrayed in North American Blank Fictions like American Psycho, Iroinsootting
portrays an era of massive youth unemployment and the HIV epidemic among
the low-income housing projects of Edinburgh, Scotland (191, 193). The novel
follows Mark Renton and his loose collection of mates—Spud, Sick Boy, Matty,
Tommy, Begbie, and Mother Superior—through the gradual unraveling of the
bonds that once united them. Their youthful solidarity disintegrates into heroin-
fueled escapism and self-serving attitudes, as when consoling his best friend
Tommy over the loss of his girlfriend Lizzy, Mark admits, “Ah struggle to show
concern through ma self-centered smack apathy” (81 ). The assertions are that
friends and mates no longer exist, rather everyone is merely an acquaintance
(11, 313), or as Sick Boy succinctly declares, “Mates are a fucking waste of time”
(28). Their emotional arrested development prevents anyone from expressing
intimate feelings or forming substantive, lasting relationships. While Cairns Craig
reads Italnsmmng's “community of dependency” as a reflection of Scotland’s
economic and political dependency on Great Britain (the drugged youth form “a
community of dependency—welfare-dependency, drug-dependency, money-
dependency—which is the mirror image of the society of isolated, atomized
individuals of modern capitalism” [97]), Robert Morace counters that such a
reading downplays the nature of community and sharing in the novel (64). While
characters do share drug needles, sexual encounters, and thus, diseases, theirs

Is a community without cohesion. It is the absence of community that, when

47

characters are sober enough to actually feel emotions, they lament most acutely.
Mark reflects, “Ah’m surrounded by the cunts thit ur closest tae us; but ah”ve nivir
felt so alone. Nivir in ma puff” (175). Most importantly, Mark’s betrayal of his
mates not only emphasizes the failure of community, but the guilt and shame that
accompany it, leading to an ambiguous victory for Mark at best Renton’s escape
and emigration to Amsterdam suggests the primacy of the individual over the
kinds of fervent nationalism and capitalism that he so despises throughout the
novel. While Renton does steal the 16,000 British pounds from his mates, he is
not motivated by greed. He is already working in London, earning a steady
income, and weaning himself off heroin. Betraying his mates, especially the
homicidally violent Begbie, was less for financial gain than to force himself to
make a change—the first proactive action in the novel-to construct a new life for
himself in mainland Europe. Thus in contrast to American Blank Fiction, Renton’s
theft of the drug money is not about economic gain nor conspicuous
consumption, rather its an opportunity to escape the downward spiral of self-
destruction that Mark witnesses in Spud’s incarceration, Swanny’s amputated
leg, Tommy’s HIV infection, and Matty”3 death. Despite the “extreme moral
cowardice” (Iminsmtting 343) of the betrayal, the money guarantees Mark’s
passage to Amsterdam—paradoxically, he is destined for the drug capital of
Europe—and a renewal: “He could now never go back to Leith, to Edinburgh,
even to Scotland, ever again. There he could not be anything other than he was.

Now, free from them all, he could be what he wanted to be” (344). Renton’s

escape is a dash-for freedom, breaking from the old to embrace the new, to
construct a new Renton, and a new identity.

Thus, the commodified vision of Generation X is not globalized. Many
young European novelists write novels during the 19903 that downplay the
metanarrative of commodification, such as England’s Will Self W

[1994] and mm [1998]) and Helen Zahavi W [2000]);
Finland’s Rosa Liksom (QnoNignLStands [1993]); and Italy’s Enrico Brizzi (Janis

 

[1 997]). Thus,
European youth literature in general and Iminsootting in particular omit the
economics of conspicuous consumption, the showiness and pretentiousness that
is so integral to North American Blank Fiction. For example, Amonoanflsyono
suggests that Patrick Bateman wants to be caught for his killing spree—he yearns
for public recognition—so as to showcase his wealth and prosperity. American
Blank Fiction extemallzes and broadcasts its commodification, a process through
which protagonists define themselves. In European youth literature, however,
there is an internalization of external stimuli and hence a production of identity
that is more radically unstable and fluid, which will be the focus of subsequent
chapters. Thus while European youth narrative and North American Generation
XIBlank Fiction share thematic common denominators like drug use, shallow
interpersonal relationships, and random violence, this development of the
individual's identity distinguishes works by young European (and particularly

Spanish) authors from those of their American contemporaries.

49

Not surprisingly, there is not a clear manifestation of Generation XIBlank
Fictions in non-Westem literatures or in literature under political dictatorships due
to its commodified underpinnings and perception of exploitable privilege:
American characters need not struggle to survive, fight political repression, suffer
economic hardship, or even try to make a living. Rather the only dilemma, if one
could call it that, is how to satisfy their whims. Nevertheless, in a handful of
economically prosperous cities in non-Westem nations, one can find analogous
youth narraflves. A footnote to the Western Generation X, for example, is novelist
Wei Hui, from Nangbo, China. Known as a member of the Beautiful
Generation—the young, yuppie-like subculture with a taste for Western fashion
and music— Hui’s first novel W (1997) revels in jarringly frank
depictions of sex and female sexual desire among Shanghai’s “linglei,” a loose
Chinese equivalent of North America’s Generation X. Despite (or perhaps
because of) an official ban by the Chinese government due to its perceived
subversive content, a public burning of 40,000 copies of the novel, and a
prohibition imposed on state-run media from mentioning its name, the sustained
demand for black market copies of Shangnntflmy testifies to its popularity
among Shanghai’s relatively liberal atmosphere (Gifford).

Vis-a-vls such extratextual restrictions, curiously, the characters in
Shanghaifiahy exercise such personal autonomy and freedom that they seem
blissfully unaware or at least unconcerned with the political and social restrictions

that surround them. In fact, Tian Tian must read the newpaper to remind himself

50

that he actually is living in Shanghai and not the West (12). The narrator Coco

explains

My friends and l, a tribe of the sons and daughters of the well-to-do,
often use exaggerated and outré language to manufacture life-
threatening pleasure. A swarm of affectionate, mutually dependent
little fireflies, we devoured the wings of imagination and had little
contact with reality. We were maggots feeding on the city’s bones,
but utterly sexy ones. The city’s bizarre romanticism and genuine
sense of poetry were actually created by our tribe. Some call us
‘linglei’; others damn us as trash; some yearn to join us, and imitate
us in every way they can, from clothes and hairstyle to speech and

sex; others swear at us and tell us to take our dog-fart lifestyles and

disappear. (235)

Their carefree pleasure-seeking and lack of contact with reality frames the

individual’s personal space as a zone of independence and thus a rejection of

the larger political hegemony. In Shandnniflaoy the personal is inherently

political, a stance that would be considered anathema and anachronistic to the

overt materialism of North America’s Blank Fiction/Generation X literature. In

contrast to the apolificism of virtually all Western Generation X literature,

Shanghaijaby may be read as a form of political resistance against China’s

communist regime.

Nevertheless, the protagonists in Shanghajjaby seemingly emulate the

commodified formula of American blank fictions: Coco, herself a novelist writing a

51

novel about youth culture and harboring ambitions of literary superstardom (the
playful autobiographical innuendos are inescapable), takes her name from
French fashion magnate Coco Chanel. Her friend Madonna is a vampy hipster
with a passion for high fashion, swanky popular restaurants, and (reminiscent of
Brian D’Amato’s Beauty) Preserving her rapidly fading beauty. But the facade of
commodified and westernized culture, as well as the aspirations for fame and
success (Coco says, “Every morning when I open my eyes I wonder what I can
do to make myself famous. It’s become my ambition, almost my raison d’étre, to
burst upon the city like fireworks” [1]), evaporates to reveal an internalized
struggle. Coco longs for intimacy and tries to define herself through her
interpersonal relationships (love for her impotent, morphine-addicted boyfriend
Tian Tian and the purely sexual affair With a married German businessman,
Mark). Yet fundamentally Coco fears the intimacy and connection she is
ostensibly seeking. She sabotages the stability of her relationships by betraying
her love (Tian lien) and her lover (Mark). Thus like the Scottish protagonists in
Iminsootting, the young Chinese in W grapple with an internal
struggle that drives them to reject collective (romantic) identity and instead to
isolate and emotionally insulate themselves.

Thus the youth narrative phenomenon of the 19903 does have a global
presence. However, as one moves further from North America, the literature slips
out of the commodified vision of Generation XIBlank Fictions. As with the

distinctions between Itainsootting and Amonoanfisyono, for instance, the youth

novel is ultimately relative to its home country and culture, morphing into distinct

52

forms from city to city and country to country. As Taylor argues, the identity
project consists of the individual’s efforts to define him/herself in contrast to the
rest of society, and thus to distinguish him/herself from peers (50). Yet to a large
extent, the characters in American Blank Fiction fail while European protagonists
succeed. Commodificafion tends to homogenize the individual, to downplay
differences, and essentially erase Identity.

At the conclusion of Amoncanfisyono, for instance, a serial killer such as
Patrick Bateman ls only one of a whole subspecies of white-collar “killers.” Even
as a confessed murderer, perhaps implausibly, he cannot stand out from the
crowd, as his colleague Harold Cames confuses him with Davis, Donaldson, and
other corporate types, and refuses to accept his confession that he brutally
murdered Owens (386-388). Hi3 anonymity In the corporate machinery is
captured in the dark humor of a misunderstood conversation in the din of a
nightclub. Bateman admits, “l”m into, oh, murders and executions mostly,” to
which Daisy replies, “Well, most guys I know who work in mergers and
acquisitions don’t really like it” (206), blurring the line between an out-for-blood,
cut-throat corporate broker and a homicidal maniac. The hegemony of
consumerism and commodification tends to blur differences between characters,
while in the European youth novel the individual tends to be Isolated and
marginalized; youth emotionally separate themselves from each other. There is
an unacknowledged yet intentional centrifugal force at work, continually pulling

them in different directions and weakenig the cohesion of a generation.

53

Commodification carries with it an element of choice. The characters in
Coupland”s Generafion X choose to be slackers. Dag Andy, and Claire purposely
abandon lucrative careers in favor of the McJobs, searching for an alternative to
the mind-deadening lifestyle of their parents, contemporaries, and younger
siblings (such as Andy’s younger brother, a member of the “global teens”).
Meanwhile, Clonts shows characters that are literally stationary. Dante doesn't
know what he wants, and rather than search for a better life, he remains in the
comfort of his familiar surroundings. While belonging to a lower socio-economic
class than the protagonists of Conomtionx, Dante forgoes the opportunity to
advance himself—by putting ofi the decision to leave New Jersey, leave his job
at the QuickStop, and attend college.

As the term “Generafion X” indelibly links to “Slacker,” and “Blank Ficfions”
link to commodification, fundamental differences emerge that differentiate the
North American Generation X from that of Europe and more specifically from the
so-called “Generacién X” of the Spanish youth novel. When contrasted with the
European scene, “Generation X” and Its synonyms—“Slacker” and “Blank
Fiction”-are unique to North American narrative. Grafting them onto European
literature is fraught with problems, not the least of which is the baggage of
commodification and the commodified subject that they carry. Fundamentally
European youth narrative of the 19903 is different from the North American
phenomena whose name it has shared. Thus the discussion again leads full
circle to the problem of terms. As Annesley has said, “something” is out there, so

whatdoesonecalllt?

54

While decadent youth culture is certainly an international phenomenon,
“Generation X” is not a universal, monocultural narrative. The superficial thematic
similarities of sex, drugs, and rock and roll; disaffection and disillusionment;
random violence and self-destrucfion do not serve to unite these multinational
narratives. Rather, they serve as points of departure from which narratives from
one culture distinguish themselves from those of another, and in many cases
further separate themselves from other subcultures. Essentially, a process of
fragmentation is occurring in these narratives, making it difficult to speak in
inclusive terms, such as “North America’s Generation X literature,” “European
Generation X literature,” or “Spanish Generation X literature.” As Jean Francois
Lyotard”s definition of postmodernism would suggest (13), a metanarrative such
as an internationally cohesive, homogenous youth culture readily identifiable
under the rubric of “Generation X” will inherently fragment under the strain of its
differences.

In conclusion, David Leavit captures the essence of North American
Generation XIBlank Fictions with his off the cuff remark, “We trust ourselves and
money. Period” (Upsky 103). This distrust of community and focus on
commodification defines the American Blank Fictions. And while the distrust of
community is a common denominator in many cultures' contemporary youth
narratives, the emphasis on a commodified existence and the fetishization of
consumer products sets North American Generation X narrative apart from its

lntemational—particularly, Spanish—contemporaries. Even those narratives that

don’t overtly fetishize conspicuous consumption (Geostationx, Slackers)

55

maintain a symbiotic relationship with consumer culture, simultaneously
criticizing and celebrating it. This contradiction manifests itself in the international
Generation X icon, Kurt Cobain. While singing about the alienating effects of
contemporary American culture, he becomes famous and a millionaire. In the
chorus to the youth culture anthem “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” Cobain sang—or
more precisely, screamed—“With the lights out it's less dangerous I here we are
now entertain us” (Nirvana). “WIth the lights out it’s less dangerous” captures the
subjective lntemalizlng mechanism that youth protagonists use to formulate
identity, as well as Generation X being a largely nocturnal culture. “Here we are
now entertain us” illustrates Zygmunt Bauman’s theory that the mission of the
contemporary, postmodern citizen Is to have fun and “lead an enjoyable life,” to
conceptualize life and idenfity as entertainment (“Pilgrim” 34). Youth culture
embraces this hedonistic philosophy in its constant search for the next party, the

next sexual encounter, the next drug high, and the next thrill.

56

CHAPTER 2. SPAIN’S NOVELS OF DISAFFECTION: CONSIDERING YOUTH’S
FLEETING IDENTITIES, OR “I’LL BET YOU DON’T HATE US AS MUCH AS WE
HATE YOU”

The image of youth has become the image of contemporary Spain
(Graham and Labanyi 312), embodying its vitality, restlessness, diversion, and
freedom. Not only does youth epitomize the popular image of Spain, but also,
since youth’s calling is to grow and change, that image parallels Spain’s many
transitions over the last four decades: the continuing transition from an
agricultural to an industrial economy, the “despegue econdmico” of the 19603,
the continuing migration of populations from rural homes and town to the cifies,
the Opening of borders to promote tourism, the transition from dictatorship to
democracy, the renewal implicit in the ratification of the new constitution in 1978,
the reemergence of personal and civil liberties, the trial by fire(arms) of the young
democracy in the failed coup d”etat of 23 February 1981, the increasing
education and professionalization of Spain’s population, the growing importance
of women in the workforce and government, the integration into the European
Economic Community, the influence of regional allegiances, the ongoing threat of
terrorism, the increasing immigration, and the growing impact of mass media and
mass (internationalized) culture. The effects of these national growing pains
frame contemporary Spanish society as one of transformation and exuberance;
after 36 years of Francoism, Spain emerges as a renewed nation that, like youth

itself, embraces the future and allows the past to fade, as Hooper notes

Spaniards” willingness to forget the atrocities of the regime We 78).

57

Thus the image of youth symbolizes Spain, representing its transitions, renewal,
unrest, and its future.

At the close of the 19903, Spain has the youngest population in Europe
(Allinson 265). The image of Spanish youth corresponds to a culture of the street.
The explosion of personal and civil liberties—trampled under the boot of fascism
since the end of the Second Republic—that accompanies the transition to
democracy and spawns a carousing urban nightlife. Particularly in Madrid,
weekend nights provide a space of exuberant activity and the supremacy of
personal freedom. The “bar de copes” and the “discoteca” are the epicenters of
nocturnal youth culture, spaces in which to retreat from daily life and
responsibilities. Drinking, dancing, and “los ligues” continue until the daybreak
hours and, in the case of “una discoteca ”after’” whose doors open at 5 am, the
revelry extends well beyond daybreak. Home, for many of Spain’s young people,
is merely a waystation between “marches” (as Miguel mentions to Carlos in
Historiasdelflcnen. “Cada vez que llamo a tu case, 0 estas durmiendo o no
estas” [181]). Consequenfly, ties to family are straining as youth strive for ever
more independent and untethered lives, increasingly free from parental
supervision and influence (Cabrera 170). Moreover, the steadily declining birth
rates in Spain signal a pessimistic outlook for the future of the family (Longhurst
20, Corklll 57). The contemporary Spanish family, once glorified as a prototypical
nafionai institution under Franco, is now fragmented by divorce, parents”
increasing fime commitment to career responsibilities, and youth’s increasing

desires for autonomy (Jones 388-90). Hence, as youth culture develops into the

58

representative culture of Spain it simultaneously has developed into a cultural
problem (Allinson 267). The nocturnal free-for-alls have fomented a culture of
excess; the supremacy of personal liberties overshadows the corollary of
personal responsibility. For example, 20% of 14 to 18 year olds in Spain
habitually smoke marijuana (Nogueira). Similarly, the “cult of the Iitrona” is the
term for teenagers who, looking for a quick and inexpensive way to get drunk,
purchase cheap liter bottles of beer to binge drink in the street (Hooper New
50mm: 201 ). The duality of the image of Spanish youth—a3 a vibrant national
symbol and as a decadent social problem—sets the stage for its problematic
representation in literature in the 19903. As Chapter 1 has suggested, the novel
is the de facto literary genre through which youth culture expresses itself
lntemationally as well as In Spain. The preference for the novel is perhaps
paradoxical considering the often-lamented short attention span of contemporary
youth and the emphasis on the visual image and visual media as dominant
cultural expressions. For example, in 1994 Spanish youth spend an average of
14 minutes a day reading, 75 minutes a day to “ir de capes,” and 90 minutes a
day watching television (Pizarro 44). Nevertheless, in the 19903 the novel
emerges in Spain as the de facto literary genre of youth culture. This narrative, in
its representation of the contemporary “marcha madriletia,” captures snapshots
of contemporary youth through oftentimes disturbingly intimate examinations of
their lifestyles.

The hedonism and quotidian focus of Spain’s youth novel are not unique

to the 19903. In fact the nihilistic tendencies can be traced from the socio-culturai

59

phenomenon of “el desencanto.” As Mangini describes it, for the leftists and
intellectuals that weathered the end of Francoism and the transition to
democracy, the hope of “esto no puede durar” faded into the pessimism of
Manuel vazquez Montalban”s slogan “contra Franco estabamos mejor.” Thus
following the euphoria of the arrival of democracy, intellectuals felt the
disillusionment of a transition that failed to produce the significant social change
they anticipated. “El desencanto” accompanied the dynamic energy and vitality of
“la movida”—roughly encapsulated in the time period 1979-1983 (although the
exact dates are a source of continuing debate)—and the social “happenings” of
excess: flamboyant sexual adventures, alcohol, drugs, and the ripple effects of

addiction, venereal diseases and AIDS, and death, as chronicled in Gallero’s

 

:‘ : (1991). As the
decadence of “la movida” was novelized and filmed (in Javier Membe”s Hotel
Savoy [1986] and Daniel Valdés’s W [1997], for example, and in
the early films of Pedro Almodévar such as “Pepi, Luci, Born y otras chicas del
montén” [1980]), so was “la movida” appropriated by 19803 consumeristic
tendencies: the formerly underground happenings of “la movida” were
officialized, packaged, and exploited to promote tourism (a process that Juan
Madrid parodies Dismisses [1993], which foreshadows the aesthetics and
themes of self-destruction that the youth novel would explore in the 19903). The
urban centers In Spain, since the years of the “despegue economico” of the
Franco regime, have become meccas attracting emigrants “receptivos aI

materialismo y el lndividualismo del beneficio personal” (Hooper Espafloles 35).

60

Furthermore under democracy the promises and trappings of consumerism add
to the burgeoning and changing landscape of urban Spain, combining a
frustratingly high unemployment rate with not only more emigrants but also a new
class of Immigrants from abroad (Corklll 53-56). Through continued urbanization,
not only does democratic Spain conform to Its European and internafional
counterparts in a market-driven economy, but also, as Vilards argues, there is a
latent rejection of master narratives, including those of polifics in general and of
the PSOE and PP governments in particular following the 1982 and 1996
elections (23).

Thus the disaffection and pessimism of Spain’s youth novel did not
suddenly appear, rather its foundations—of apolificism, nihilism, hedonism,
rejection of commercialism—in Spanish urban society date back to the transition.
VIs-a-vis this complex and contradictory background, Spain’s youth novel
emerges in an equally pluralistic literary landscape. In the 19803, the line blurs
between high and popular art-the so-called “literatura light—such as erotic
literature (Almudena Grandes, Ana Rossetti) and detective fiction (Eduardo
Mendoza, Manuel Vézquez Montalban, Juan Madrid) become canonlzed. While
their fiction is not overtly erotic nor detective, Spain’s young novelists also
distinguish themselves from the literary tendencies of their older
contemporaries-often referred to as the “nueva narrative” of the 19803—Jose
Maria Guelbenzu, Antonio Mutioz Molina, Rosa Montero, Juan José Millas, Jose
Maria Merino, Luis Mateo Diez, Soledad Puértolas, and Javier Marias. Holloway

and Neuschafer define the works of these older authors in terms of a focus on

61

the individual (“la vida intima”), narrative experimentation, metaliterary
references, ironic humor, and an objectivization of the political atmosphere (19).
In contrast with this group, Gulldn argues that Spain’s young novelists of the
19903 “3e niegan a aceptar, y con razon, que las relaciones Interpersonales 3e
basan en la autoridad 0 en el profesionalismo, exigen el contacto humano, y si
éste no se les ofrece reaccionan con violencia, es decir, desafiando el estatus
burgués” (x), signaling that the youth novel deviates from the categorization of
canonical, contemporary narrative.

The coincidence of novels like Histonasdoustonon, Monsaka, Ciudad
dudes, and LEW in Madrid implicitly poses geographical
questions. Why is the epicenter of so many (almost all) of Spain’s youth novels
located in Madrid? Why has this literature not sprung up to the same extent in
other urban centers such as Barcelona (noting the exception of Care Santos’s
Qkuoada), Sevilla, Valencia, or Bilbao; or in the student-centric university
atmospheres in Salamanca and Granada; or especially in the youth party capital
of Ibiza? While it may be a mere coincidence that this indolent literature emerges
simultaneously In Madrid, the above glance at contemporary Spanish history
does suggest an explanation. A3 Chapter 1 shows, “Generation X” is the
internafional default term for referring to this literature. And while the Spanish
youth novel does have antecedents, they are not from North America. Rather, its
influences come from within Spain itself. The preexisting social and cultural

Infrastructure, particularly in Madrid, upon which the Spanish youth novel

62

emerges is the “movida madriletia,” and in a wider sense, the effects of the
transition to democracy during the 19703. In the years following Franco’s death,
Madrid witnesses an explosion of energetic nightlife. The artistically inclined
“movida” of the late 19703 and early 19803 now has codified itself into a
generalized and popularized “marcha madriletia” with the corresponding fallout
from its excesses, namely the lingering problems of addiction to hard drugs and
sexually transmitted diseases (Jordan and Morgan-Tamosunas 264), which
VIlarOs refers to as the hidden “Espatia infectada” (246-258). Thus, Madrid has
provided and continues to provide a cultural context that facilitates the indolence
found in the contemporary youth novel. But the youth novel of the 19903 goes
beyond the disenchantment of many post-Franco narratives. Contemporary
youth narrative updates the “anything goes” hedonism of Madrid nightlife—the
nameless sexual encounters, heroin and ecstasy, rock and techno
music-progressing beyond an exploration of freedoms to descend into a
downward spiral of self-destruction.

Despite their differences, a commonality that young Spanish novelists do
share with their fellow European and even American Generation XIBlank Fiction
counterparts is a frigid critical reception, which oftentimes borders on outright
rejection. David Lehman, for example, dismisses Bret Easton Ellis and James
Mclnemey’s novels as having “the intellectual nourishment of a well-made beer
commercial” (72). Similarly some critics summarily dismiss Spain’s young
authors, their literature, and their particular marks of identity for their rebuke of

their literary predecessors. Jose Antonio Fortes, for example, debases this

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literature for “la chatarreria, el esnobismo y raquitismo de la penultima
producciCIn de infantes anaerobios (los Ray Loriga, Bernardo Atxaga, J. A.
Matias, etc.)” (27). While the inclusion of Basque novelist Atxaga as an “infante
anaerobic” is at best questionable, Fortes’s opinions are representative of those
who-like Ignacio Echevarrla, Angel Basanta, and Rafael Come—frame Spain’s
young writers and their novels as frivolous, superficial, and unliterary.

Four Spanish critics challenge these condemnations and embrace youth
literature in an attempt to reframe the concept of “Generation X” Into peninsular
specific definitions. Their work not only establishes a critical legitimacy for
Spanish youth literature and gamers It a broader—if not grudging—critlcal
acceptance, but also takes the crucial first steps in exploring the forrnalist and
aesthetic characteristics of this narrative. A comparison of their thinking reveals
the age group for both novelists and authors alike—the often mentioned
twentysomethings—as a common denominator, framing the former as the first
generation of Spaniards and subsequently the first generation of novelists that
are truly post-Franco (Urloste 457). While they popularly proclaim themselves the
generation of “No Future,” in Spain they are also the generation of “No Memory.”
Born around 1970, their earliest memories may only include the death of the
dictator on 20 November 1975, and they may only vaguely recall the transition to
democracy. These novelists are unburdened by the historical preoccupations of
the authors of the Novels of Memory such as Juan Benet, Juan Goytisolo, and

Carmen Martin Gaite“, and they avoid the malaise of the transition-era
“desencanto” that hovered over leftists, intelleCtuaIs, and artists of the post-
Franco era. From this shared background emerge four distinct definitions of
Spain’s youth narrative of the 19903. A survey of this recent scholarship will
serve to contextualize the current state of this literature and will segue into this
study's approach of postmodern identity“.

First, German Gulldn Is perhaps the most ardent defender of this
literature. Like the protagonists these novels portray, Gullén frames Spain’s
youth narrative as a literary outcast (despite Its Immense popularity). And despite
youth culture’s rejection of the past, Gullén contextualizes their literature by

looking to Spain’s literary history, drawing parallels to P10 Baroja as well as the

 

° The novel of memory of the final years of Francoism, namely the late 19603 and
early 19703, concerns the recuperation of history to right/“write” the distortion
imposed by the regime’s selective historicizing and censorship. David Herzberger
notes that in the novel of memory “the individual self seeks definition by
commingling the past and present through the process of remembering...the self
[is] in search of definition, the definition of self perceived always within the flow of
history” (67). In contrast, Spain’s young novelists and their protagonists have the
privilege of wiping clean the slate of memory and inscribing their narratives upon
a tabula rasa. Due to their age between 20 and 30 years old, they sidestep the
historical repercussions of Francoism and the transition to democracy.

9 Identity studies traditionally have been founded on Foucaldlan and Lacanian
theories of discourse and psychoanalysis, respectively, to study race,
nationalities, otherness, diaspora, and borders. Identity in these contexts can be
read as a function of modernism, which conceptualized identity as a journey, or
‘life as pilgrimage,’ to find and define the self. As a life-long project one acquired
tools with which to construct identify, such as memory, self-knowledge, religious
faith, strength, and empowerment, as well as a home, career, marriage, and
family which according to Douglas Kellner complement qualities of the modern
identity, like autonomy, rationality, commitment, and responsibility (174). The
purpose behind identity and identity building was to delay gratification as one
journeyed toward a goal of self-fulfillment. Thus the modern identity was a future
tense exercise: what is formulated today may not serve immediate needs but
with perseverance would serve transcendent goals in the future.

65

social novel of the 1930s. Moving away from the ubiquitous “Generacién X,”
Gullén proposes the term “Neorealism’ to better capture the essence of this
narrative, which gives primacy to the protagonist in his/her environment.
Neorealism presents youth culture in its sordid and grotesque details, “como si el
escritor en vez de estar escribiendo con un substrato de ideas tuviera puesta
una antena parabélica que nunca deja de transmitir lo presente” (xxiii). it
stresses youth’s verbosity, which strives to include the maximum number of
coiloquialisms and profanities in the minimum amount of space. They
simultaneously revel in and suffer from audiovisual overload, in which rock
music, movies, television, and Nintendo video games are their cultural
touchstones. Whereas the American Blank Fiction of Coupland and Ellis
maintains a symbiotic relationship with capitalism, Spain’s new authors reject
such implicit hierarchies and bourgeois values (x). Yet while they revel in their
superficiality, Gulldn warns, “hay que leer bien, sin caer en la trampa de que el
autor comparte los valores de este mundo que representa. El es su portavoz, no
su defensor” (xxiv). This distinction is crucial not only in addressing those critics
who debase Spain’s youth narrative and bemoan their superficiality “sin darse
cuenta de que apuntan a los medics y no a las razones que han justificado esta
escritura” (mi-mil), but also in recognizing that the verosimilitude suggests a
level of social criticism that may include self-criticism. indeed this double reading
of youth narrative forshadows the conclusions that this study will reach.

Second, novelist Manuel vazquez Montalban gives a broad and

illuminating perspective of youth narrative by exploring the many intangibles of

66

the new Spanish narrative that perplex critics. In a chapter from his book Lin
WM and a parallel conference presentation
read in England, Vazquez Montalban approaches this narrative as part of a
larger literary context, tracing its evolution from Rafael Sénchez Ferlosio’s El
m to present day. Vézquez Montaiban coins the term “Generacién X, Y y
2.” He leaves it loosely defined, and thus suggests an aperture, a gateway to
something in addition to the “X,” noting the transience of youth: the twenty-
something novelists that began publishing in the late 1980s are now over 30
years old. Vézquez Montalban coyly parodies the “Generation X” moniker by
arguing that the limits imposed by age groupings are ever changing—these
novelists don’t stop with the X, they spill over into the Y and the Z—which
suggests the need to broaden the restrictions implicit in the term “Generacién X.”
Of course, the terminological conundrum could then perpetuate itself if one were
to ask, what follows the Z?
vazquez Montaiban widens the scope of the Generation X question,

claiming, “El gran problema que plantea la literature hoy no es literario, sino de
toda la sociedad” (“De ELJaLama” 8), recognizing the implicit compromise this
literature has with larger sociocultural trends. Regarding these “escritores
sociales," Vazquez Montalban posits some revealing observations:

Son escritores que, a su pesar, sin que ése sea su propésito, son

retratlstas del talante de al menos un segmento importante de la

poblacién joven en la Espafia actual. A pesar de su credo personal,

moral e ideolégico es profundamente narcisista, a pesar de ser una

67

 

generacién anclada en el yo, en el derecho individual a la
conducta, cumplen un propésito coral y reflejan un nosotros
porque, en su descripcién de ese yo, retratan Ia tremenda
frustracién y desorientacién que alcanza a toda una promocién.
(“De ELJatama” 5)
Thus as Gullén reads neorealism as an expression of liberty and vitality,
vazquez Montalban maintains a more pessimistic interpretation of Spanish youth
narrative in that their frustration and nihilism serve as defense mechanisms
against a chaotic world. Moreover Vézquez Montalban identifies these novelists’
tendency for the paradoxical (a “yo” that is in essence “nosotros’). These
contradictions spill into the X, Y, Z protagonists, as well. This marginalized
protagonist is
un sefiorito de familia bien instalada, que perteneoe a ese sector
dominante, al sector cémplice con la apariencia de sociedad
armbnica, pero que no podra cumplir un proyecto vital como el de
sus padres. Hay un orden social que predispone a este marginado
al fracaso, fracaso del que quiza alguno se salve individualmente,
lo que no obsta para que, como segmento social, ya no tenga
garantizado un lugar bajo el sol como ocurria con las generaciones
anteriores. Este segmento social reconoce una cierta impotencia
para sentirse plenamente integrado y desde esa certeza adopta
una mlrada critica, distanciada, altemativa y desesperada. (“De El
Mama” 6)

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The X, Y, Zer feels that s/he is truly unable to do or accomplish anything, which
becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. Herein lies a critical difference between
Spain’s youth narrative and North American Blank Fictions: whereas this
“sefiorlto de familia bien instalada. . .no podra cumplir un proyecto vital como el
de sus padres,” the prosperity and materialism of the North American Generation
Xer outstrips that of his/her parents. And while the Generation Xer enjoys almost
unlimited options and freedom of choice, Vézquez Montalban insists that Spanish
youth’s predilection for marginalization and failure reflect a fundamental lack of
choice as a result of hegemonic sociocultural forces. The marginalization and
failure are not merely his/her destiny, indeed it is the basis of his/her identity.

Third, espousing a contrary yet still analogous approach to the more
overarching vision of Vézquez Montalban, Toni Dorca develops the most specific
definition of a peninsular youth literature. Adhering to the homonym “Generaclén
X,” Dorca develops a checklist of eight characteristics that define a Spanish
novel as “Generacidn X”:

1) a first person narrative, whose structure resembles picaresque fiction

2) an autobiographical tone and a retrospective narration

3) a fragmentation and disorder, with no hierarchy of certain events over

others
4) no singularity of events due to their repetition
5) a plot filled with uncertainty and an absence of authority which Dorca
links with Lyotard’s theory of the postmodern

6) a use of metafiction

69

7) a primacy of the spoken word and dialogue, with frequent use of idioms,
colloquialisms, and digressions
8) a disingenuous sincerity which often blatantly gives the meaning of the
novel without letting readers arrive at their own interpretations”.
Dorca stresses the importance of contextualizing the “Generacién X” novel and
suggests a complicity with the reader, an assumption that the reader recognizes
the references to rock music, drug culture, and street slang. Dorca echoes
Guildn’s observations in noting that these novels mark a retum to realism and
that their protagonists resist assimilation into bourgeois society. lnherently
distrustful of familial, social, political or religious institutions, protagonists pursue
individual liberty through drugs, sex, and violence, which counterproductively

spirals into a profound pessimism. Dorca extends this textual absurdity to the

 

‘° Dorca’s list of Generation X characteristics recalls Claudio Guillén’s definition
of the picaresque from W. indeed one could argue that Spain’s
youth narrative of the 1990s is a contemporary retelling of the picaresque based
on their shared characteristics: the picaro is an orphan which implies a
detachment from history and/or God (in Spain’s youth narrative, characters are
metaphorical orphans as parents are largely absent from youth ’s lives); the
narrative is a pseudoautobiography; the narrator’s point of view is partial and
prejudiced; there is a focus on the material level of existence, such as hunger
and money; and the novel is loosely episodic (Guillén 74-85). However, two
important characteristics distinguish the picaresque from Spain’s contemporary
youth narrative. First, in the picaresque, the picaro is an “ongoing philosopher”
and the “total view of the picaro is reflective, philosophical, critical on religious or
moral grounds” (Guillén 82). Second, the picaro moves horizontally through
space and vertically through society (Guiiién 84). The philosophical role and
vertical progress are absent from Spain’s youth narrative. in fact, with the
exception of Roberto in Mafias’s W, the nine novels studied
here present static characters whose movement is only horizontal. And
moreover, Spain’s youth narratives replace the picaresque’s itinerant philosopher
with protagonists that recite superficial popular culture references from film,
music, and television programs.

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extratextual absurdity of this literature’s double reception, namely the critical
hostility toward Spain’s youth novel in contrast to its popularity and profitability for
its publishers.

Finally, Carmen de Urioste asks the germane question in her article titled,

“La narrative espai‘ioia de las noventa: (,Existe una Generacién X?” Her
approach is unique in that Urioste sees the existence of a Spanish Generation X
as evidence of the internationalization of Spanish culture during the 1990s.
Working with Ray Loriga’s Winds: and W and Jose Angel
Mafias’s W and Mensaka. Urioste explores the interrelation of
the “culture de masas” with literature. implicit in this perspective rests a
generational question, as Urioste defines “Generacién X" as those who
experience an absence of history and ideology. Similar to Dorca’s
conceptualization of “Generacién X,” Urioste also constructs a detailed checklist
of characteristics of this literature, whose novels share the following qualities:

1) a virtually nonexistent plot, a focus on the minutiae of daily life, and
hence, a lack of meaning; Urioste explains that these texts “rompe con
el pacto de decoro del realismo tradicional, retratendo en sus paginas
una vida ejena a toda transcendencia” (457)

2) a testimonial, first person narrative that rejects dominant culture

3) an anti-bourgeois project that hides a disturbing reality

4) a fragmentation and relativism, tying the texts to postmodernism

5) an absence of morality

6) an absence of traditions; a discontinuity and “la culture del espectaculo”

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7) a cosmopolitanism, presenting a microcosm of urban life, yet a

pervasive personal isolation.

Urioste’s seventh point is revealing in that she is the first to highlight an essential

paradox of Spain’s youth literature protagonists: despite being surrounded by the

population of a major European capital—Madrid—these characters cannot

tolerate being with others. They are antisocial and consistently retreat from

meaningful interpersonal relationships. Regarding the question posed in the title

of her article, Urioste defends the use of “Generation X” in reference to the

emerging novelists in Spain based on their inspiration and roots in North

America:

Muchas de las obras de estos escritores espafioies tienen sus
fuentes en la tradicién iiteraria norteamericana de posguerra—Jack
Kerouac (1922-69), Charles Bukowski (1920-94), la ‘generacién
beat,’ ei “rock and roll,’ ios cuentos de motel, ei cine de accidn—y
por lo tanto, se hace necesario situar Ia produceién de los
narradores de los noventa dentro de dos coordenadas narratives
del mencionado origen: el realismo sucio definido por Bill Bruford y
epitimizado por Charles Bukowski y ei mlnimaiismo, cuyo maximo
representante fue Raymond Carver (1939-88). Una vez establecida
este deuda con la tradicidn angioamericana, se hace factibie la
adopcién de la denominacién ‘generacién X’ para agrupar a unos

autores que priman lo urbano sobre lo rural y que retratan de una

72

manera directa, concise e introspective las otras cares del Estado

del bienestar. (472-3)
While “Generation X” purports to reject historical influences, Spain’s new
narrative certainly owes a nod of recognition, if not a debt of influence to Bruford,
Bukowski, and Carver. The Beat Generation and Urioste’s conceptualization of a
Spanish Generation X do share a testimonial style and rejection of middle class
values (for the Beats, those of the often mentioned “squares'). However, the
Beat project is fundamentally different from Spain’s youth narrative. Beat writers
such as Bukowski and Kerouac propose a countercultural rebellion (Johnson 39),
with highly idealized representations of themselves and an implicit claim to
superiority over the aforementioned middle class “squares” (Bennett 12-13). Not
only do such metanarratives distance the Beats from Spain’s youth culture
narratives of the 19903, but the Beats are also tied to a specific transitional
moment in post World War ll United States culture. And whereas the Beats
sought a spirituality and transcendence through their rebellion, Spain’s youth
narratives are mired in a spiral of self-destruction. in defending the use of
“Generation X,” Urioste skips the recent history (from Bukowski and the Beats of
the 1950s to present day) and the trajectory of the term itself (from the mid 1970s
punk rock scene to present day), and thus avoids mentioning the decades when
the term develops its meaning. “Generation X” is saddled by such North America
cultural baggage that to extract it from that context and apply it to a culture and
literature in Spain that merely coincides in age—the twentysomethings—is to

overlook the term’s inherent link to commodification and conspicuous

73

consumption of young, white, suburban America. One recalls, for example, that
in American Psycho, Patrick Bateman’s bioodiust intertwines with his fetishization
of designer suits and brand name consumer goods, such as the aforementioned
brand-name, Pour Hommes and Clinique toiletries and Minox video camera (27,
304). Thus the characters in North American Generation X literature construct
and convey identity via their purchasing power and the status associated with the
products that they buy. North American Generation X frames the self as
consumer, such that name brands constitute an identity project. Coupland’s
dysfunctional trio in W, for example, escapes to the desert ostensibly
to avoid conspicuous consumerism yet their discourse and their identities revolve
around their purchases. in contrast, the specific commercial references in
Spain’s youth literature are not the defining elements that they are in American
fiction. in Spanish narrative, consumerism and commodification are supplanted
by an interiorized relation with the self, as suggested in Urioste’s own checklist of
“Generacién X” characteristics. Therefore as “Generation X” links itself to North
American consumer culture, it is questionable and unreliable to graft the term
onto Spanish literature. it applies well to the American “scene” as James
Annesley describes it, but is of limited usefulness to an analysis of the Spanish
phenomenon. Therefore, to answer Urioste’s question in the title of her article,
no, the literary precedents and influences of the beat Generation do not justify
such a loaded term (as Urioste herself grudgingly admits [472]) as “Generation
X.”

74

These four critics run the gamut of approaches, from highly specific,
checklist definitions to more general theories of how to read Spain’s recent youth
literature. Their peninsular specific definitions are fundamental in opening a wider
critical dialogue, and for taking the formative steps in launching a serious study of
this literature. And although this field is clearly in a state of continuing evolution
and development, it is now apparent that “Generation X,” when contrasted to the
larger, lntemational context of North America and Europe, provides diminishing
retums for a critical examination of the Spanish youth narrative. Therefore, this
study questions the reliance on “Generaclon X" and recommends following the
lead of Gullén, vazquez Montaiban, as well as Annesley, Rosen, Barnard,
Cosgrove, and Welsh, in dropping the use of “Generation X.” Not unlike the North
American phenomenon of the same name, the homonym “Generacién X” in
Spain has functioned as an umbrella concept under which to gather novelists as

diverse as not only Jose Angel Matias, Lucia Ebtebarria, Ray Loriga", and Care

 

" The most recent works by José Angel Manes (Mum [2001]), Ray
Lorlga W [1999] and mm [2002]). and Lucia Etxebarria

(WM [2001]) 941999St that they are distancing
themselves from the aesthetics of their previous work. In short, they are growing

as novelists and are already over thirty years old. The most recent production
from the “tribal elders” of the Spanish youth novel phenomenon suggests its
transitory nature. in the long run, it may just be a phase for these novelists.
Considering a larger perspective, this change is not surprising. For example, it
now sounds anachronistic to refer to the works of Antonio Mutioz Molina, Julio
lJamazares, Cristina Fernandez Cubes, Juan Jose Millas, and Rose Montero as
present day “nueva narrative” (Perriam 175, Urbez 34-35). Thus it is not
surprising to find that while studying a group of contemporary authors, and a
literature still in its formative stage, that any literary terminology-including the
Novels of Disaffection proposed in this study-may merely be a terminological
waystation along the route of a longer literary trajectory. Also it should be
recognized that over the course of the next few years this phase of Spanish

75

Santos, which will be examined in this study, but also Pedro Maestre, Caiman
Montaiban, Daniel Magica, Gabriela Bustelo, Violeta Hernando, José Machado,
as well those peripherally related to the phenomenon, such as Benjamin Prado
and Roger Wolfe. When one begins to examine the various manifestations of the
Spanish youth novel, the list of authors grows rapidly (Gullén cites thirteen
[mvii], while Urioste names twenty-four [473-474])-—which supports the fact that
the phenomenon is indeed widespread—but at the same time “Generation X” as
an lntemational denomination begins to strain under the weight of so many
disparate novels, novelists, and nationalities. Considering the tenets of
commodity, commercialization, and Jamesonian late capitalism that define
American Generation X literature, Spain’s literature is not just a subset of the
North American Generation X phenomenon. Thus this study proposes a different
approach to the Spanish youth novel, which over the last decade has developed
its own unique literary identity, its own “sefias de ldentidad.”

One may rightfully pose the question, does the “Generation X"
phenomenon exist in Spain? Certainly a phenomenon exists, even a
convergence of many phenomena. However, how closely Spanish youth
narrative links with the concept of a “Generation X” is open to question. While it is
applied liberally to youth literatures around the world, from the discussion thus
far, as a literary concept, “Generation X” links closely to North America youth

narrative. As it pertains to Spain in the 1990s, the homonym “Generacién X" is

 

youth narrative could quite likely fade into a literary past tense and these
novelists will most likely have a different approach not yet envisioned.

76

both ubiquitous and ambiguous; it has become commonly accepted as a default
term. But for Spain, “Generation X“ is an import, a conceptual immigrant
introduced from outside Spanish literature. Moreover, “Generation X” enforces a
generational hegemony upon Spain’s young novelists: authors and critics older
than the youth novelists in question hang the term on their younger
contemporaries. it is telling that few of the novelists themselves who are lumped
under the umbrella of Generation X terminology actually embrace it (Davis 15).
As a literary term, “Generacién X” has become a term of convenience. The
applicability and universality of “Generation X" is problematic since its usage
began in a specific context among economically privileged American youth
steemd in the grammar of consumerism.

Spain’s young novelists make no concerted effort to form a generation, to
emulate each other, or to develop a common aesthetic. indeed, Gambarte
argues that generational approaches, despite an apparent objectivity, are often
ideologically biased and

realize la sustitucién del yo por un nosotros arbitrario...el concepto
generacién es intrinsicamente perverso porque cierra la literature a
las fronteras de lo nacional, de lo regional, de lo local.
lmpermeabillza de tal tonne que ni siquiera permite hablar ya de
una literature en lengua castellana. (290)
Nevertheless, when viewing the production of these novelists from a
macroperspective, certain commonalities do emerge. The authors are self-

described outsiders, yet their novels sell tens of thousands of copies and, in the

77

case of Historiassleugronen Mensaise. and LapjstcledemmLmam translate
into enormously popular feature films. They flout literary good taste yet are
quickly becoming canonized and required reading in universities on both sides of
the Atlantic. From these inherent contradictions, it is possible to trace a general
pattern. The phenomenon in Spain can be better served by considering it under
the auspices of a “youth narrative”: writing by, about, and presumably for
twentysomethings.

Vis-a-vis North America’s Generation X and Blank Fiction terminology, this
study opts for an alternate approach that more directly applies to the novelistic
phenomenon occurring in Spain in the 1990s. Spain’s youth literature
consistently poses the question of identity, a sustained questioning of the self
and one’s role in contemporary culture. Recently published editions of literary
histories tap into this concept. Perriam’s AW
(2000), for example, includes a brief discussion of contemporary Spanish youth
narrative significantly titled, “Generation X: Who Am i?” (216), an approach that
coincides with Hanson’s study of young filmmakers: “the great theme that
permeates this body of work is one of the most basic questions of human
existence: “Who am I? Where do i belong?” (6).

As previously mentioned, this literature is intimately tied to its geographical
location, Madrid, as it springs more from the influence of the “movide” than from
the Americanized Generation X or Blank Fictions. in the face of hegemonic
international influences—such as “Generation X” or mass media-this narrative

is essentially a regional literature, and as such posits a local identity project, as

78

well. Its microcosmic focus on Madrid reflects Mark Currie’s theory of the
interconnectivity between globalization and fragmentation: due to the prevalence
of cultural schizophrenia over narrative identities, globalization (typically
considered Americanization) does not necessarily equal homogenization (112-
113). Rather, globalization is the proliferation of difference, in which the local
must negotiate with the global to produce unique meanings.

The rest of this study will focus on these meanings in novels by four
figures in Spain’s youth narrative, three canonical— Jose Angel Matias, Lucia
Etxebarria, Ray Loriga—and one largely overlooked-Care Santos—whose
narratives share two common denominators: the portrayal of decadence and
disaffection, and the subsequent project of postmodern identity”. First, their
novels ostensibly highlight the “fun” in which protagonists engage. However the
quest for entertainment leads them on a downward spiral. These narratives
revolve around the concept that the world around Spain’s youth—interpersonal
relationships, family, self-worth, even one’s identity-is falling apart. This
disintegration manifests itself in the extensive exploration of the themes of

uncertainty, perpetual movement, and continuous change in these novels. Theirs

 

‘2 The modern identity was often related to the Other, associated with
empowerment or vindication on the part of the marginalized (Kellner 141 ).
identity is no less a concern in the contemporary Spanish novel than it was under
modernism. Yet as much in Spanish culture at large as its portrayal in literature,
the identity paradigm has shifted and thus the uses of identity have changed. The
modern identity constituted an interactive process in which one’s relationship to
others was forged alongside one’s relationship to him/herself. However, as will
be discussed in the following chapters, now postmodern identity is interiorized
and subject to change on the whim of the individual, with no consideration of
external or social repercussions.

79

is an unromanticized vision of contemporary Madrid, of not averting their gaze
when facing the disturbing, the troubling, the disgusting, the vulgar, and the lewd.
The context of their novels is imminently accessible and present tense—the
nocturnal “marcha madrilefia”—which unfolds in Madrid’s streets, bars, and
dance clubs. Their subject matter is taboo: alcohol abuse, drug use, casual sex,
angst-ridden rock music, broken families, antisocialism, laziness, rejection of
capitalist work ethics, and random violence. This social and personal disaffection
truncates transcendence, as protagonists are unable to reach a deeper
understanding of themselves. Furthermore, these novels often end abruptly;
stories stop without a conclusion or denouement, implying that protagonists will
continue spiraling downward, or as Ceiman Montalben succinctly summarizes,
“estan jodidos todos” (Bar 17). Protagonists try to stave off this disintegration and
simultaneously fuel it by indulging in more decadent behavior—illicit sex, drugs,
and violence. They never delay pleasure; their actions must carry instant
gratification. Therefore, this study is proposing the addition of a new term to the
dialogue on Spain’s contemporary youth narrative, the Novels of Disaffection.
Characters are carrying out a project of postmodern identity as defined by
Zygmunt Bauman, which is developed in the next chapter. They define
themselves through debauchery and self-indulgence, and in turn, their
debauchery and self-indulgence define them. Protagonists isolate themselves
from their peers and feel alienated from the world that surrounds them. These
novels focus on social subcultures as described in Manuel vazquez Montalban’s

concept of the tribes that inhabit Spain’s urban spaces. vazquez Montaiban

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signals the fragmentation and lack of unity in the social structure of Madrid youth,
which divides itself into nocturnal “tribus urbanas,” as he phrases it, each
manifesting their own particular marks of identity: “rockers, ciberhippies,
siniestros, skinheads, heavies, punkis, ciberpunkis, skaters, bakalaos, mods,
grunges, pijos” (“Generacién X, Y y 2" 366-377). As will be discussed in the
following chapters, protagonists experience a tension between, on the one hand,
bending together into subcultures, and on the other, asserting an autonomous
identity. Their identity project is inherently contradictory. One of the paradoxes of
this literature is that characters are trying to carry out an identity project, trying to
define themselves, broadcasting their actions, trying to scream out their identity,
but no one else is listening. Indeed, no one is able to communicate with anyone
else.

Spain’s youth literature—the Novels of Disaffection—portrays characters’
quest for the illicit, the taboo, the illegal, a vitality of existence around which youth
culture protagonists wrap identity. The common age group, which includes both
the protagonists and the authors, is an obvious commonality among many young
novelists in Spain. However novels by many young authors, such as Carmen
Bustelo or Benjamin Prado, bear only a slight connection to the identity project of
the Novels of Disaffection. Therefore, this study is focusing on four Spanish
novelists in particular-Jose Angel Manes, Lucia Etxebarria, Ray Loriga, and
Care Santos-whose novels portray a disaffection that subtextually is carrying

out a project of postmodern identity.

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The following chapters develop the concept of the Novels of Disaffection
as an expression of postmodern identity in the works of the four aforementioned
novelists. The identity project in Spain’s Novels of Disaffection recalls José Angel
Mafias’s appropriation of the punk motto, “I’ll bet you don’t hate us as much as
we hate you” (“Literature punk” 40). it revolves around the individual's
belligerence and quest to separate him/herself from hegemonies. However, as
the next chapter will demonstrate, the project ultimately beckfires, in that the

individual becomes alienated from hiSMerself.

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CHAPTER 3. PUNKS, PlLGRlMS, AND TOURISTS: DECADENCE AND
IDENTITY IN JOSE ANGEL MANAS's KRONEN TETRALOGY

As an encore performance of Madrid’s “movida” of the late 1970s and
early 1980s, a subset of novelistic production emerges in the 19903 that explores
the decadence of youth culture in the Spanish capital. its most recognizable title,
W, begins with this passage:

Me jode ir al Kronen ios sébedos por la tarde porque este siempre
haste el culo de gente. No hay ni una puta mesa iibre y hace un
calor lnsoportable. Manolo, que esta currando en la barre, sude
como un cerdo. Tiene las pupllas dilatadas y nos de la mano, al
vernos. (11)
it is around this claustrophobic and alcohol soaked atmosphere—the Madrid
bar—that José Angel Matias sets his novels to portray the seamy underworld of
Madrid nightlife: thrill seekers, rivers of alcohol, pushers, junkies, drug use (the
telltale sign of Manolo’s “pupilas dilatadas”), angst-ridden rock music, all night
raves, “la ruta del bakalao,” casual sex, and gruesome violence. For example,
these novels portray a brutal world of delinquency and thrill seeking, such as
Carlos and Roberto’s kamikaze driving the wrong way down a one-way street:
“[NO FRENESl jACELERAl [ACELERAl [ESO ES, ROBERTO! [ESO ES! iQUE
SE JODANl [PITADi iPiTAD, HIJOS DE PUT Al [PITAD Y APARTAROSl

jVENGA, ROBERTO, QUE SE APARTAN TODOSl” (ISEQDQD 194). The sordid

83

and the grotesque accumulate to produce an image of youth not as a
representation of hope for the future but as social blight:
Me siento y saco el equipo de uno de los bolsillos de la chupa.
Abro la papela, echo una buena dosis en la cuchara y la quemo
haste que el agua se evapora. Luego cojo la jeringuilla y me bajo
ios pantalones. Hago un pis muy amarillento. La sangre—oscura
en este luz—entra en la jeringuilla y miro la bombilla que ilumina
este mierda de cuerto de baf'Io. Hay restos de mosquitos a su
alrededor. . .Es jodido encontrer la vena detras de la rodilla y fallo
un par de veces antes de conseguirlo. (Mensaka 46)
This lurid narrative rejects highbrow pretension, philosophical contemplation, and
even transcendence by portraying taboo lifestyles and flouting the boundaries of
literary good taste. it is characterized by an unflinching verisimilitude, liberal use
of profanities, and not unlike Dennis Cooper’s Erisk, an attitude that nothing is
off-limits: “Yo cierro ios ojos mientras el travelo me desabrocha los pantalones y
empieza a comerme la polle; enfarlopado como estoy, tardo también muy poco
en correrme” (Kronen 119). Toni Dorca and Carmen de Urioste cite Matias as
representative of a new group of novelists, “ios jdvenes,” and largely credit him
with ushering into Spain the narrative known popularly as Generation X
(hereafter referred to as the Novels of Disaffection, as established in Chapter 2).
Wen, Mafias’s first novel, serves as a template, the first in a
series of four thematically and stylistically related novels known as the Kronen

tetralogy. which consists of HistoriesdeLlSmnen (1994). Mensalse (1995). Qiudad

34

£81898 (1993). and WW (1999)- diatoms
de Kronen is groundbreaking in two respects: chronologically, it is one of the first
novels that this group of young authors published, and popularly, as a finalist for
the prestigious Nadal Prize in 1994, it garnered a recognition as artistically vital
and commercially viable. Matias himself admits, “de no heber sido por el premio
la gente no me hubiera leido” (“Cicno”), and indeed Hjstoflasdeugmnen has sold
over 100,000 copies, including hardback, paperback, and critical editions
(Castilla). W’s infamy grew in 1995 with the release of Montxo
Armendariz’s film version, which despite the liberties it took with the novel’s
conclusion and an unfavorable opinion from Matias himself, became a box office
success (Borau 83-84). The popularity of WW initiates a youth
narrative phenomenon in Spain and serves as a point of departure for other
authors such as Caiman Montalban and Ray Loriga that chronicle the downward
spiral of contemporary urban youth.

Despite receiving the recognition of Spain’s literary establishment through
the Nadal, the importance of the Kronen tetralogy is its implicit contrast with the
popular images of Madrid propagated in the early 1990s. Unlike the PSOE
govemment’s appropriation of Madrid’s “movida” as a marketing vehicle to sell
Madrid as a tourist destination, the Novels of Disaffection undermines the
message:

Esto es tercermundismo puro, la Espafia negra de siempre,
cinicismo, incuitura, doble moral y hedonismo postochentero...tio,

no te pongas trascendente. . .y vendemos el exterior alegria, catia y

85

olé, gracias a los listillos como Almodovar que siguen explotando

unas settes de identidad archicaducas. W 161)
Coupled with the Summer Olympic Games in Barcelona and the World Expo in
Seville, Madrid’s designation as the 1992 Capital of European Culture, the
renovation of the Atocha train station, and the premiere of the AVE high speed
train present the capital as a sophisticated cultural center (Richards 45). While
ostensibly 1992 in general and the Atocha reopening were to serve as a
metaphor of Spain “leep-frogglng technological backwardness, it joined its
northem European partners in a post-Maestricht future,” Tony Morgan describes
the reality of the 1992 celebrations as “a damp squib” (58, 65). Novelists like
Matias, as well as his contemporary Ceiman Montalban, write a set of novels that
stand in stark contrast to the public relations campaigns of the 19808 and 1990s.
Their novels strip the polished, consumer-friendly, and tourist-friendly facade
from Madrid as a center for tourism and culture, and expose the seamy
underbelly lurking below the surface image. HistoriasgeLKmnen, set in the
summer of 1992, reframes Madrid from a metropolitan European capital to a
space of degradation. Or as Natalia unapologeticaily states in Mensaka, “Una
mierda. Madrid es una mierda” (125).

Yet despite the contrast with the official image of Madrid for mass
consumption, Matias’s narrative does not propose a political project. Stridently
apolitical, antiauthoritarien, and anarchistic, characters in the Kronen novels
regard Felipe Gonzalez to be just as repugnant and useless as José Maria Aznar

(Mensch 22). For example, Kaiser complains that the 1992 Seville Expo and the

86

Barcelona Olympic Games was “todo para la mayor gloria de Felipe Gonzalez.
Ke después de trece atlos de socialismo nunka ios kapitaiistes habian estado
mas trankilos, y encime ahora entraba la derechona mas fuerte ke nunka, y a ber
ké hacia Aznar. Mamarrechadas de ésas, ke me entraron por una oreja y
salieron por la otra” (W 144). Similarly, rather than proposing a
solution for societal ills, the Kronen novels take the role of diagnostician, only
inferring what must change. This ambiguity-developing vivid descriptions of
decadence yet never overtly condemning it—has in large part led to the popular
and critical condemnation such as that by José Antonio Fortes.

However these perceptions can be misleading in that the Kronen novels’
alternate face to the officialized images of Madrid are tinted with the quotidian.
The thrill seeking of drugs, violence, and sex rarely occurs as an exhilarating,
first-time event. Rather, protagonists’ reactions suggest that they have seen and
done it all before as the descriptions often carry with them the sense of banality.
Kaiser, for example, at age 17 is already tired of taking so many drugs (Qiudad
made 45). in spite of the apparent “shock value” that critics of this fiction
disparage, for the protagonists in the Kronen novels, nothing is shocking.
Mafias’s novels patently reject even transcendence by focusing on the mundane
and rigorously quotidian oftentimes with microscopic detail. Like the punk rock
songs by The Ramones, “Now i Wanna Sniff Some Glue” and “l Wanna Be
Sedated,” taking drugs and getting high are the predominant themes of these
novels. Thus the taboo becomes quotidian and even banal. Protagonists take

drugs, binge drink, rape, joyride, and rave merely as a part of their day. To these

87

characters the thrill. seeking is not truly thrilling. As the Kronen tetralogy
progresses from Wan to w, the thrills become
increasingly routinized. Carlos and Roberta’s kamikaze driving down a one way
street produces an adrenaline rush (Kronen 194-195). But by the end of 5mm
95 and the end of the tetralogy, José and Borja are snorting cocaine
mechanically, out of force of habit as if it were an activity to pass the time (176-
1 83).

Thus the phenomenon of the Novels of Disaffection in general and
Matias’s novels in particular present a paradox: the context of this literature is
eminently present in the nocturnal “marcha madriletie” unfolding every weekend
on Madrid’s streets, yet this proximity allows little critical distance from which to
consider these novels. At the same time, youth subculture remains obscured in
dingy bars, dark discotheques, and back ally drug deals. The problem, then, is
how to approach them.

To decipher Matias’s profane, maligned, and often misunderstood
narrative this study proposes an alternate approach to the working definitions of
“Generation X” outlined in Chapter 1. Namely, the protagonists’ misadventures
suggest a reading of these novels as narratives of identity. Matias’s protagonists
define themselves through vices and escapism, and the novels trace the fallout
on their individual and collective identities. As with the drugs they inject or their
interchangeable sex partners, identity is consumable and fleeting, a quick fix.
These indolent youths engage in a search for changing “sehas de identidad,” a

perpetual redefinition of the self. Their search reveals a vitality that,

88

paradoxically, creates a downward spiral into violently destabilized identities.
Thus identity shifts from a long-term, modernist journey to a momentary,
postmodernist pose that is quickly discarded in the haze of hangovers and post-
coitus. In effect Matias’s protagonists highlight the difference between modernist
Pilgrims and postmodernist Tourists in their push to seek deeper levels of
withdrawal and social deviance and ultimately serves as an indictment of a
morally bankrupt youth culture.

The aesthetics are an immediately noticeable quality (“Me jode ir al
Kronen. . .”) of the Kronen novels. These four novels develop like a roller coaster
of frenetic movement, energy, aggression, ferocity, unchecked passions, and
blurted dialogue. Yet this lifestyle is not without precedent, nor is the manner in
which it is presented. Specifically, the Kronen novels share aesthetic connections
with the punk movement, which can elucidate the fluctuating identities of their
protagonists. Punk, more than just a musical phenomenon, shares the frenetic
pace, aggressive attitude, and explicit rejection of hegemonic culture portrayed in
the Kronen tetralogy. Matias himself, unsatisfied with the definitions of
“Generacién X” and the comparisons to a “neo-realism,” coins his own term -
“literature punk,” or the “nobela”—that appropriates the aesthetics, nihilism, and
most importantly the attitude of punk. Literary punk emphasizes verisimilitude,
orality, street vemacuiar, and an anti-technique, as Matias explains, “el punk
prefiere probokar biolentando con la maxima inkorreccién estilistica. El punk es
anti-técniko, antiliterarlo y anarkiko...el punk sospecha que detras del

hennetismo estilistiko no hay ABSOLUTAMENTE NADA...yo kiero ver de frente

89

esa Nada” (“Literature Punk” 42). The implications of this “nada” and Mafies’s
literary punk become clear by foregrounding this narrative in its namesake.

First. Spain’s Novels of Disaffection and punk rock share common
denominators. As Chapter 1 mentions, the name of a defunct British punk
band-Generation X—now serves as the international, catch-all term for the
indolent youths of the 1990s and the specific name of youth literature in the
United States and Canada. And in Spain, in its March 1994 cover story on
Matias, Ajoblanco christens Madrid’s youth with the unofficial slogan, “No future”
(“Jose Matias: La novela del NO HAY FUTURO tras le decade socialista”). The
phrase, in fact, originates in a song by the seminal British punk band The Sex
Pistols: “No future, no future, no future for you I No future, no future, no future for
me” (“God Save the Queen”), and as Mark Sinker argues, “nothing is more un-
punky than the belief in guarantees...Faith in a better future...is a trapdoor back
into the order opposed and abhorred” (129). Moreover, punk rock music, both
classic and contemporary, such as The Ramones (Mensalsa 30), Fugazi ($0110
27), Rancid (gingham 159) and Sonic Youth (Kronen 186), serve as an
ongoing background soundtrack in the bars where the Kronen novels take place.

Second, from its earliest manifestations in 1975, punk rock manifests a
schizophrenia due to a geographical separation. The two epicenters of punk
reside on either side of the Atlantic Ocean—London and New York City—where it
developed distinct visions and icons, namely, the politicized band The Sex
Pistols and the apolitical band The Ramones, respectively. In the Great Britain of

1975 and 1976, for example, a politicized punk takes root among white, working

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class youth that feel cheated by economic and social inequalities (Henry 67).
Punk songs like “Anarchy in the U.K.” and the ironic call of “God Save the
Queen” become political venting mechanisms for frustrated and unemployed
youth. Thus, The Sex Pistols’ album WM;
Elstols and The Clash’s Londongalflng became rallying cries.

However, despite Craig O’Hara’s broad brushstroke denomination of a
continental “European Punk” (71 ), Jose Angel Matias rejects the hybrid
European/British concept of punk by reaching back across the Atlantic Ocean to
define his literature. Whereas Spain’s Novels of Disaffection are a departure from
North America’s “Generation X,” paradoxically, the aesthetics of the Kronen
novels gravitate back to North America to take inspiration from the depoliticized
“roots” punk, best expressed in the music of the seminal band from Forrest Hills,
Queens, New York. indeed, Javi proclaims in mm, “el punk y los Ramones
siguen siendo mis raices” (30).

Punk is not so much concerned with music as it is with attitude. When one
harbors an attitude of rejection, the punk can trigger a release of “pure energy
and fury” (Bayard 12). The raison d’étre of punk is to confront hegemonies and
dethrone any individual or tradition that holds power over the individual. Or as
stated in punk’s own vernacular, “saying “fuck you’ to the backwards attitudes
and customs that hold us back” (Sinker 121 ). in rejecting tradition and socio-
political hegemony, the punk movement is not limited to the fashion marks of
identity—such as the mohawk and vertically spiked haircuts, tattered clothing,

black leather jackets, spiked dog collars, and lips and ears pierced with safety

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pins—that define punk for many outsiders. Rather, belligerent and aggressive
attitudes exemplified punk, which establish the division between “us” from “them,”
those who are punk and those who are not. Thus rather than clothing, hairstyle,
or even the music itself, an antiauthoriterian attitude is the identity project that
punk carries out. Punk is inherently a process of identification, of establishing
allegiances with one group and severing ties with others. While the physical
signs (spiked heir, leather jackets, safety pins, albums) are important visual
clues, they are secondary to the tenet of punk: the attitude.
Punk’s spirit of confrontation has evolved into burgeoning subcultures that
splintered from that attitude and identity, such as “cyberpunk” (Smith 235), the
feminist movement of “Riot Grrrls” (Kearney 148), and the openly homosexual
punk as embodied in the band Pansy Division. Marc Bayard explains
The major problem with trying to explain punk is that is not
something that fits neatly into a box or camgories. Not surprisingly
as punks had made the explicit aim of trying to destroy all boxes
and labels. With that as a major hurdle, any project that tries to
define punk or explain it must do so with very broad brush strokes.
Punk and punk music cannot be pigeonholed to some spiked-
haired white male wearing a leather jacket with a thousand metal
spikes listening to music real loud. (Bayard 11)

Readers of Matias’s Kronen tetralogy and observers of Spain’s Novels of

Disaffection will recognize Bayard’s argument as strikingly familiar. Similar to

punk, Matias and his contemporaries Caiman Montalban, Lucia Ebtebarria, Ray

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Loriga, and Care Santos write novels that defy precisely defined categories
(neorealism, dirty realism, Generation X). Rather, the common denominator that
the protagonists of the Kronen novels share is this attitude of defiance. it is their
identifier, the division that they implicitly establish between themselves and
family, authority, government, and even each other.

The energy of punk rock music and the attitude of the punk scene mirror
the aesthetics of the Kronen tetralogy. implicit in the four Kronen novels is a
desire to indiscriminately confront-“probokar”-—the sanitized conceptualization
of Madrid and challenge the construction of youth. This desire to “probokar” leads
to a double reception with its audience. For example, the tetralogy may be
complicit with young readers who recognize the slang and references to the pop
culture minutiae of music, film, and drugs. This portrayal insinuates, “this is you”
or “these are your friends.” in contrast, the novels may alienate readers with
these same references. The vulgar and salacious details of these novels can be
troubling, perplexing, even shocking to readers in essence declaring, “this is your
friend’s/neighbor’s/children’s life and you don't understand it.”

Another part of the confrontation occurs as an aesthetic challenge to
readers’ expectations. “La maxlma inkorreccién estilistica” is evident throughout
the four novels in a freestyle orthography. The most extended use of the nobela-
esque incorrectness appears in W as the narrator, Kaiser, is
oftentimes narrating while under the influence of narcotics; like the slurred
speech of a drunk, Kaiser’s enuncietion changes accordingly: “Kogi uno, lo

encendi, y te juro ke en ese momento un porro de maria era lo ke me estabe

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haciendo falta. Me relajo mogOllon, y con el solEcillO y la rutA y el de las
trEncitas y a pesar del guitArrEo me senti guAi” (151). These novels’ freestyle
orthography is a means of stripping away formality and artifice to capture the
aesthetics of the streets and drug addicts, and extolling a break from the mores
of good taste, political correctness, or even grammatical correctness, which
mirror the punk movement”.

Punks channel their antiauthoritarlanism through music, a representation
of “their discordancy and disrespect, the seditious fury of their unforgiving
confrontationism” (Medhurst 225). The aggression of punk manifests itself both
lyrically and sonically. Punk lyrics are abrasive and confrontational, as The
Ramones demonstrate in songs such as, “Beat on the brat I Beat on the brat I
Beat on the brat I With a baseball bet I Oh yeah” (“Beat on the Brat” Ina
Bemcnes). and

We’re a happy family
We’re a happy family
We’re a happy family

Me mom and daddy
Sitting here in Queens
Eating refried beans
We’re in all the magazines

Gulpin’ down thorazines

 

’3 Despite being a gesture of transgression, nevertheless it remains just that, a
gesture. Ultimately the orthographic incorrections are an artifice that undermines
the text’s verisimilitude pact.

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We ain’t got no friends

Our troubles never and

No Christmas cards to send

Daddy likes men (“We’re a Happy Family” W),
as well as,

Slugs and snails are after me

DDT keeps me happy

Now i guess l’ll have to tell ‘em

That i got no cerebellum

Gonna get my Ph.D.

l’m a teenage lobotomy. (“Teenage Lobotomy” W)
The aggression of punk echoes through the Kronen novels in acts of
meaningless violence, such as when Borja, Jose, and Klko savagely beat a
junkie for no apparent reason (amigo 156). Punk rock music builds on the
ominous tonalities of chugging bass chords and the rapid-fire guitar riffs. Like the
frenetic energy and rhythm punk rock, Matias’s Kronen tetralogy portrays
characters that are in perpetual motion. Carlos and Roberto are constantly
zigzagging around Madrid in Carlos’s Volkswagen Golf in Wm
Kaiser runs from bar to bar to sell drugs in W, and David races
across town working as a motorcycle courier, “un mensaka,” in the novel of the
same name. HlsloflaidaLKLQnen oftentimes adopts the structure of a detailed
travelogue, narrating the precise route characters take in their “marcha” from bar

to bar, discotheque to discotheque: “Santa Barbara, Coldn, Avenida de America,

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Francisco Silvela" (131.0320 87). Readers can literally follow in the footsteps of
Carlos, Kaiser, or José by retracing their precise movements around Madrid.

in terms of narrative structure, the plots of the Kronen novels progress in
fits-and-sterts, consisting more of a series of randomly connected vignettes than
a logical progression of events. As a result, the hundreds of characters scattered
throughout the novels—with perhaps the exception of Roberto in tiistorjesgel
Kronen-are static. As will be discussed later, characters learn nothing from their
experiences. Kaiser, describing his cocaine addicted acquaintances, observes,
“Pues, ios farloperos son como rates que se pasan el die dando vueltas a la
rueda loca de su jaula sin moverse del sitio, sabes” (Cludeguayede 72). Thus the
structures of HistctiesdeLImflen Mehseisa was. and M
define the individual in terms of his/her movement, which provides an insight into
of his/her identity. Characters are too busy moving to arrive at any conclusion
about what they are doing or why they are doing it. indeed, the terms associated
with Madrid’s nightlife, “la movida” and “la marche,” themselves denote this
sense of motion. As in The Ramones legendary yowl, “Hey Ho! Let’s go!”
(“Blitzkrieg Bop”), it is the movement that is important, not where they are going.

Moreover, the scenes and chapters of the Kronen tetralogy are seemingly
interchangeable. if the reader shuffled and randomly reordered the chapters in
Wen or W one could legitimately question whether
there would be any perceptible change to their development or dénouements.
Thus the plot’s linearity is less important than establishing an aesthetic of

movement throughout the narrative. What happens and the order in which it

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happens is subservient to the fact that it is happening. Characters are continually
lurching forward toward the next event, the next copa, the next bar, the next rave,
the next drug deal, the next orgasm, and all in all, the next distraction. Linearity
has no meaning or relevance. Their movement is horizontal (through physical
space) rather than vertical (an evolution or advancement).

The novels in the Kronen tetralogy develop like a punk rock concert. Punk
bands rarely break between songs. Rather, each song, essentially a two minute
burst of musical energy, rams into the next. Moreover, a tenet of the punk rock
concert is the disintegration of the separation between audience and performer
(O’Hara 15). Punk rock musicians make no attempt to separate themselves from
punk rock fans, through common identifiers, such as clothing, lifestyle, or
attitude. The practice of “gobbing,” or spitting, goes both directions: punks spit
from the stage onto the audience and the audience spits back. Gobbing is a
symbolic equalizer—“We are just like you” and “We are you”—eliminating the
hierarchy between stage and floor, performer and spectator. indeed the idea of a
“punk rock star” is an oxymoron. The real “stars” of punk are the punks
themselves that make up the audience. They are not passive spectators, rather
active participants (gobbing, slam dancing, and stage diving). And while mostly
devoid of spitting, Mafias’s novels show a similar connection and complicity with
the reader. All four novels have first person narrators that narrate a world familiar
to the implied readers’ experience, describing places and events that the reader
presumably knows as well as the narrator, such as El Lunatik, El Kronen, and the

clearly labeled street routes-“Estoy en la Moraleja, entro por el Soto, calle

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Begonia, peso la errnita de las lrlandeses, calle Azalea, Paseo de Alcobendas”
(@1811 150). Thus analogous to punk, the Kronen novels remove the separation
between narrator/reader and even playfully flout the boundaries of the implied
author/reader through the process of involvement and identification as described
by Wayne Booth (156-158). For example, the protagonist of the largely
autobiographical Scum is a character named Jose and coincidentally Mafias
himself owned a moderately successful bar in Madrid in 1995 called El Sonko.
And in first sentence of We, the narrator Kaiser depreciatingly
declares, “Mira, tio, it] no sabes nada de mi, vale. Y si sabes algo es porque has
leido una de las novelas de Matias, que se dedica a contar histories de los ‘
denies, pero te aseguro que hay un mogollbn de cosas que exegera” (qudad
Layada 9). The implications are that, like punk, the implied reader—young, drug
using. alcohol abusing, and antisocial—is a member of this same subculture that
the novels are describing. As with the punk to punk rock, the Kronen novels are
playing his/her tune“.

Furthermore the punk subculture demands no formal training to participate
nor any musical dexterity to perform punk. in fact, punk rock emerged in part as a

reaction to the highly stylized music popular in the mid 1970s, namely,

 

‘“ Yet despite the aesthetic connection between punk rock and the Novels of
Disaffection, each embodies distinct visions of community. The punk seeks
shelter, a space of belonging from the rejection and alienation he/she feels in
society. Medan Sarup explains that, “identity is not an inherent quality of a
person. ..it arises in interaction with others and the focus is on the processes by
which identity is constructed” (14). in contrast the Kronen series portrays the
individual separating him/herself from all others. They scatter from centralized
communities and move toward isolation. Since their isolation is self-imposed, it
points up a question of identity.

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symphonic rock and disco. Punk considers symphonic rock and disco self-
indulgent, musically bloated, and not surprisingly, rebels against them. Rather
than the training required to perform symphonic rock or the stylized dance beats
and style consciousness of disco, punk embraces the philosophy of DIY, “do it
yourself.” To “do” punk, one only needs energy and fury. In contrast to the 15
minute intricate rock symphonies, punk rock songs rarely exceeded 2 minutes. in
contrast to the “Stayin’ Alive” and “Jive Talkin’” of disco, punk rock standards
include “Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue,” “Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment,”
“Sheena is a Punk Rocker,” and the anthemic “Anarchy in the UK,” which can
be performed on a single guitar chord with mere minutes of practice. Thus,
similar to the convergence of performer and audience, punk sent the message,
“You, too, can do this.”

Similarly, the Kronen novels address a specific readership, implicitly
stating, “You, too, do this,” “this is your life,” and “this is you.” Indeed, the DIY
ethic permeates Spain's Novels of Disaffection. it rejects the notion that the
author needs an intellectual pedigree to write a novel. Matias, for example, has
no formal training as a writer and wrote the manuscript of Wm in
only fifteen days (Ribas 32), a “burst” writing style that mirrors and even
contributes to the frenetic pace of the novel. The concept is for the author to
simply write what sIhe knows, precisely in the manner sIhe knows it. To borrow
computer terminology, it is a WYSIWYG literature (“What You See Is What You
Get”). Hence, Matias’s novels skip philosophical contemplation (“Quiero ver de

frente esa NADA”), labored prose, word games, and clever turns of phrase, and

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instead spit out vulgar street slang. Matias reacts acerbicaily to works by
contemporary novelists like Antonio Mutioz Molina and Juan Jose Milias:
Ese primer parrafo de Eijnetenolaco que dura dos paginas es
anacr6nlco. El lenguaje he ido evolucionando y tiene que ser mas
claro, mas sintético, mas preciso. Otros, por ejemplo, como Millas,
no alcanzo a comprender lo que quieren decir, sus personajes
estan perdidos, buscan un estado interior y una slgnificacién de las
cosas que, a mi juicio, no tiene significacion. (Ribas 34)
Moreover, the Kronen novels are intimately tied to popular youth culture, citing
identifiers like Malasatia and Chuece; El Kronen and El Lunatik; Kronenbourg;
Doc Martins; Seven-lleven; Hueltlabel and Jotabé; los porros, el costo, el jaco;
Jenriretratodeuneseslno; Killer Barbies and Los Planetas. The implications of
these popular culture references have less connection with globalization (as
Currie would argue [112-1131) than to the theory of reader response, as at the
end of his article, “Literature Punk,” Matias defiantly challenges the reader in his
“Test de kultura basika punk” to answer a two question quiz: “1. jKuantas
referencias has reconocido? 2. ¢Ké libros kompres?” (43). As the readers who
immerse themselves in the noctumal scene “get it,” recognizing the references to

music, drugs, and Madrid, readers outside this subculture will be alienated":

 

‘5 Punk’s prominence in Spain’s Novels of Disaffection is, of course,
contradictory. While protagonists live a hedonistic “carpe diem” and ostensibly
ignore the past, they also embrace a cultural form—punk—which rose to
prominence more than 25 years ago, when Matias and his contemporaries were
beginning EGB. Nevertheless, as Clarke argues, youth typically do not accept

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That Ma‘r'Ias’s protagonists are constantly on the move provides an insight
into their identities, the dynamics of which can be seen in the contrast between
modern and postmodern identity, and subsequently their divergent visions of the
road. Modernism considered identity as a road, but in contrast to the Kronen
novels, modernism conceived a “road of life,” a journey, or “life as pilgrimage.”
The Pilgrim embarked on a life-long Journey to find and define the Self. Along
the road of life, the individual acquired tools with which to construct identity, such
as a knowledge of the past, a sense of sacrifice, diligence, empowerment, self
knowledge, which are buttressed by a career, family, community, spirituality, and
faith. The life-long journey of finding and defining the self, according to Douglas
Kellner, complemented the qualities of the modern idenfity, like autonomy,
rationality, commitment, and responsibility (174). Zygmunt Bauman takes a
different but congruent position in that the concern was not so much how to build
an identity, but rather how to preserve it. Bauman explains the modernist
construct of identity with a banking metaphor: in the past, as the individual
constructed identity, sIhe was investing and saving for the future. Building the
self consisted of delaying pleasure and gratification in order to reap long term
rewards, as one does through physical exercise, saving money, or religious
devotion. Over time, identity construction would reward the investment with
accrued interest, all the while the personal, social, and religious institutions—in

the examples above, the body, banks, even God—would remain intact and

 

any doctrine in its entirety, rather they “drew on particular elements of subcultural
style and create their own meanings and uses of them” (92).

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trustworthy for a lifetime. Thus the modern identity was a future tense exercise;
what is formulated today may not serve immediate needs but with perseverance
would serve higher goals in the future. The image of the Road codified this
worldview in that life was a trajectory that could be planned for, and the
metaphorical traveler could have faith in institutions and in the future.

However as Bauman argues, the world is now inhospitable to pilgrims,
and nowhere more so than in Jose Angel Matias’s Kronen tetralogy. identity is no
longer part of the sustained journey that modernity envisioned. Rather
postmodern identity resides in the here and now. Identity defies the terms of a
lifestyle choice—career, family, ethics—as it is disposable and ever-changing to
take advantage of the present moment. In other words, the question of identity
associated with Matias’s novels can be framed not so much in terms of being
(“Who am i? Where have I been? What has shaped me?”), but rather in terms of
acting and doing (“Where am i now? What am i doing, saying, drinking, smoking,
injecting now?”). Similarly, the road no longer represents a trajectory of life-long
stability. Rather, the road now is an escape route. The Kronen novels refuse to
see identity as part of a master life narrative“. Returning to Bauman’s metaphor,
in Matias’s novels the “bank” has been bulldozed to the ground (symbolically, a
moral bankruptcy) and in its place now stands a bar (symbolically, a temple of

escapism). it is in and around these bars-El Kronen, Lunatik, El Sonko—that

 

‘6 Metias’s contemporaries echo this state of vacant identity and superficiality. ln
Caimén Montalben’s novel, for instance, appropriately titled Bar, the protagonist
Lobo unabashedly explains, “qué pocas ganas de hacer el gilipollas meditando
sobre la condicién humane” (Bar 100).

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the Kronen series develops. The pounding techno and rock music, the endless
succession of “copes” (the concept of “moderation” is unknown), and hoards of
acquaintances and strangers alike with “ios ojos de ester puestisimos” (Snake
34), frame the bar as a space of escapism. Mafias’s protagonists spend their
evenings at bars in a chemical-induced stupor; when they are not drinking
alcohol, they are taking drugs like ecstasy, speed, cocaine, and heroin. In fact,
the bartender in El Kronen, Manolo, serves double duty as a drug pusher.
Similarly El Sonko serves as a front door to a larger drug scene. The perturbed
owner, Gustavo, watches as “este todo el mundo fumando porros” (Scum 42),
oblivious to the sign above their heads which ironically warns, “prohibido fumar
porros” (Snake 36). The back office of El Sonko, ostensibly a space in which to
conduct the bar’s business is secondary to the real business of the bar-pushing
drugs (61 )—as well as a private space where Roberto, Jaime, and José “meten
ios tiros” of cocaine and heroin (176). Alcohol and drugs are the tools for
escapism and it is around this escapism of the drug culture that characters wrap
their identity. As a space of escapism, the bar allows protagonists to disconnect

from the outside world and disconnect from themselves.17 in mm

 

’7 Returning to Montaiban’s novel, the bar manifests this duality by serving as
both a refuge and as a trap. Lobo, for example, defines the bar as his protection,
“Ml barre barricade” (Bar 81), as well as his prison in which he feels like “un
animal enjaulado” (Bar 88). His interaction with the space of escapism points up
a vicious cycle. Lobo explains, “Casi todo el dinero que gano lo gasto en bares”
(Ber 53), even though Lobo is himself a bartender. The money he earns in his
bar, in turn, he spends and drinks in other bars.

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Carlos’s girlfriend1a Rebeca relates her drug use to a form of pop phiIDSOphy
Buddhism: “Cuando has tornado el suficiente acido puedes liegar a olvidarte de ti
mismo, a olvidar tu nombre y tener que preguntarte qulén eres, qué haces en
este lugar y en este momento” (36). More than merely recreational usage, drugs
become their means of interacting with others and with their surroundings. For
example, in Mensalsa Laura shoots cocaine to “centrarse” and Ricardo mentions
“me centre con la coca” (62, 77). in 59.013925. Pacheco even snorts cocaine off of
his “came de identidad” (55), a portable-and apprOpriate—surface off of which
to take the drugs which are becoming the definition of who he is and the basis of
his identity. Thus daily life becomes redefined as escapism. The trajectory of
identity building has contracted to the span of a drug high. This present moment-
ness recests identity to fit the constricted time span; immediate wants (and
addictions) trump long term needs. As escapism becomes their modus operandi,
identity becomes ever more shallow and transient. Thus identity is not
constructed, it is replaced.

Yet as with any drunk or drug high, the effect is fleeting; the “subidones”
are inevitably followed by “bajones.” Like the booze they imbibe and the drugs
they inject, identity is consumable and fleeting. Drugs, alcohol, sex, and rock
music are the new “setias de identidad,” the masks upon which individuals graft

identity. And like a mask, their identities are superficial. As easily as protagonists

 

"3 Rebeca is a girlfriend in name only; more precisely, she is merely Carlos’s sex
partner. As with most interpersonal relationships in the Kronen tetralogy, there is
little semblance of intimacy nor interaction that transcends the physical. They
have relationships of convenience, as they are merely using each other for
instant gratification.

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move from bar to bar, change the music, pour another drink, cook up another hit
of heroin, swallow a different pill, or change sex partners, so too does their
identity change. The changes are instantaneous, from a chemically induced
trance one moment (in W, Kaiser enters a trance state while taking
ecstasy and listening to techno music) to spontaneous fits of rage the next
moment (in W, Borja, Kiko, and Jose pummel a junkie for no apparent
reason) seguelng into uncontrollable sexual urges (in W,
Carlos and Roberto pay a transvestite to perform oral sex). The individual does
not construct identity (singular), rather she casts and recasts identities (plural) for
the purpose of instant gratification. Thus in contrast to the long-term, modernist
journey, identities shift to momentary, postmodernist poses which can be
changed on a whim or even discarded altogether in the haze of hangovers and
post-coitus.

identities are in a state of continual adaptation. Bauman equates the
postmodern identity to a video cassette tape, which is “eminently erasable and
re-useble, calculated not to hold anything for ever, admitting today’s events
solely on condition of effacing yesterday’s ones, oozing the message of universal
“until-further-notices’ of everything deemed worthy of recording” (“Pilgrim” 18).
identity is destabilized, disposable, and ever-changing for the purpose of instant
gratification. in the Kronen novels identity is no longer a construction, rather it is
a replacement.

These novels’ framing of identity as replacement has repercussions on the

concepts of time and memory. Characters’ drug use, alcohol abuse, and

105

orgasms are acts of evasion, serving to evade permanence. in Mafias’s novels
the future is immaterial (“no hay futuro”) and the past no longer dictates one’s
actions in the present. By restricting their vision to the immediate present and
continually moving, protagonists are unburdened by memory and emotional
connections, developing a personal timeline that mirrors what Frederic Jameson
defines as the perpetual present. Moving from bar to bar—their spaces of
decadence—in search of the next “cope,” the next hit of heroin, and the next
orgasm, their existence becomes a series of disconnected vignettes. As such
these novels establish no clear sense of the passage of time. Nights in bars and
discotheques are exploited and instanfly forgotten, ceding to the next night’s
experiences; one evening fades into another (these characters rarely see
daylight) as weeks and months slip by. Even murder is unmemorable. In
W, Carlos drowns the diabetic Flerro with a bottle of whiskey.
While the homicide was unintentional, Carlos shrugs off his role in Flerro’s death
as soon as it occurs; since it is past tense for Carlos, it is as if it had not
happened. Similarly, at the conclusion of W, Kaiser, momentarily
reflecting on his misadventures-including his complicity in the shooting death of
a police officer—declares, “prefiero olvidarlo” (222), casting insignificence over
the killing as well as the entire novel he has just narrated. it is as if the narrative
were inconsequential which, of course to Kaiser, since it is past tense, it is. This
memory vacuum contrasts with the David Herzberger’s definition of the Novel of

Memory as discussed in Chapter 2. In contrast to the process of historicizing the

individual in Juan Benet’s 19mm (1967), Juan Goytisolo’s Sefiasde

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identidad (1966), or Carmen Martin Geite’s W (1978), in Mafias’s
narrative the individual actively dehistoricizes him/herself. For example, Carlos
complains about his dying grandfathers stories, “Les viejas histories del pasado.
El pasado es siempre aburrido” (Kruueu 83) and calls for mandatory euthanasia
for everyone over 55 years old (Kronen 54). Their historical disconnect is partially
biographical: due to the author’s and their protegonists’ age (typically between 20
and 30 years old) they are unburdened by the memory of Francoism and may
barely remember the transition to democracy (and as such the
dictatorship/democracy dichotomy lacks the immediacy it had for authors such as
Goytisolo or Martin Gaite). Carmen de Urioste refers to them as truly “la primera
generacion de escritores de la democracie espafiola” (457). The other part of
their historical discontinuity is that they simply do not care, in that, since history
seemingly does not directly affect them, they reason, they do not have to care.
As such, they ignore the past as meaningless and reject historicizing institutions,
such as the family. The family structure seeks to transcend the self and the
present moment by linking its members to a collective history and hence a
shared identity, to a connection between generations, both present and future.
Throughout the four novels, the seventeen to twenty year old
protagonists—Carlos, Javi, Kaiser, and Borja—lack any semblance of family
structure or parental guidance. Parents are rarely mentioned and virtually absent
from the protagonists’ lives. In HistuuasjeLKruueu, Carlos describes the
members of his family as disembodied voices calling from the other side of his

bedroom door. On the rare occasions when he is at home—mostly to masturbate

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and sleep—Carlos lies cocooned in his bedroom, thus eliminating any
interaction, let alone face-to-face communication, with his parents. During the
few instances in which his family dines together, meals center around the
Telediario programming (ISLOILQD 84, 208), which stifles attempts to meaningfully
communicate with one another and subverts the cohesion of the family unit to the
blare of mass media. While Mat'ras’s characters are unemployed in the traditional
sense (not considering drug dealing as a profession), their lackadaisical attitude
comes from their comfortable, middle class upbringing and parents that provide
them with the disposable income to afford their drugs, alcohol, and cars. In
W, Carlos does not have a summer job because he does not
need one. The economic reality of skyrocketing youth unemployment during the
1990s In Spain is lost on Canos. His parents are physically and emotionally
distant from his life, and as such merely fulfill a role analogous to that of an
Automatic Teller Machine, dispensing cash to their children. Carlos’s father does
not even react when Carlos scurrilously states, “Yo no necesito
comprensibn. . .Neceslto tu dinero. Eso es todo” (Kmueu 67). Thus through their
lack of involvement in their children’s lives-parenting is redefined as little else
than financial support of one’s dependents-parents indirectly support youth’s
drug habit.

in W, Kiko symbolically subverts the family to his drug habit
when he cuts and sniffs cocaine off of his mother’s wedding picture (214). The
two dimensional photograph is at once a hollow surrogate for Kiko’s family and a

representation of the disconnect between family members (even though they live

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in the same apartment, they only see each other in pictures). Kiko’s cocaine on
his mother’s photo debases the institutions-family, marriage, home—that would
give an historical context to the individual. Indeed, characters find no reason to
cling to institutions such as jobs, family, religion, or social mores. Moreover, as if
peering through a camera lens, Carlos and Kiko’s focus constricts to that which is
immediately before them in the present moment. Like a lens, there is an implied
filter and distance between the individual and the experience. The continuous
present-a disconnect from the past and hence from memory—filters out
emotional connection, guilt, responsibility, even love, as Kaiser claims, “De
repente me habia sentido komo muy muy fuera de todo, komo si ...nada me
importera de berded" (9111080 222). This emotional disconnect and separation
between generations again appears in mm in Carlos’s (forced)
relationship with his dying grandfather. Carlos, Kaiser, and Javi are self-centered
because they feel no connection with anything greater than their own
circumstances. Thus they take drugs because they can take drugs without
sufferan any (apparent) consequences.

The deshistoricized self of the Kronen tetralogy is the antithesis of the
modern pilgrim and the pilgrimage of identity construction. The Kronen novels
are chaotic narratives of perpetual motion which reduce the totalizing pilgrimage
to the erratic unrest of twenty-somethings in “la marcha madrilefia.” In contrast to
the modern Pilgrim, the Kronen novels reflect what Medan Sarup calls the
postmodern Tourist. While the pilgrim followed a life journey to construct the self,

his/her postmodern counterpart, the tourist, dismisses the identity building project

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altogether. The tourist rejects metanarratives like the pilgrimage because for the
tourist, the desire to continue moving, seeing, and experiencing restricts time and
life to the present moment. The continuous present feeds off of the protagonists’
aforementioned continual movement in Suukufis, for example, José mentions
that during one weekend, “hemos recorrldo trescientos kildmetros sin salir de
Madrid, de discoteca en discoteca, de casa de uno a casa de otro” (34). This
perpetual motion affords no time for self-reflection or identity construction, rather
it breeds further escapism, continually seeking the next thrill, the next “cope,” the
next hit of heroin. Their physical movement, circling Madrid-“Bajamos por una
perpendicular a Fuencarrel, pasamos una igiesla y seguimos por la calle del
Espiritu Santo haste la calle de la Medera, donde este el Agapo
(112)”—resembles a spiral. Through this frantic movement, the Kronen tetralogy
frames life as a snapshot; as a tourist clicks a picture and moves to the next
attraction, characters in the Kronen novels essentially become tourists through
life, constantly moving and never establishing roots. As such their existence
becomes an erratic tourist itinerary, consumable moments that provide instant
gratification. Theirs is a quest for what’s next. Booze, drugs, rock and roll, and
sex give them impetus but no direction. In contrast to the pilgrimage, the tourists’
journey is horizontal, not vertical; their aim is not progress, but merely to keep
moving.

The pilgrim followed the road of life to construct a stable identity, one that
would withstand the tests of time and adversity. Now, however, a stable identity

is a liability. Bauman states, “the snag is no longer how to discover, invent,

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construct, assemble (even buy) an identity, but how to prevent it from sticking.
Well constructed and durable identity turns from an asset into a liability. The hub
of postmodern life strategy is not identity building, but avoidance of fixation”
(“Pilgrim” 24). The Kronen novels exemplify this tefion idenfity in the absence of
roots, memory, and tradition. As such, the Kronen tetralogy presents a series of
hundreds of static characters that move but do not grow. The only exception is
Roberto in mm. in the Epilogue, Roberto’s meeting with his
psychologist is the sole example of self examination or a critical look at self
definition and identity.

As postmodernism, according to Jean Lyotard, posits the fragmentation of
master narratives (37), and as identity is itself a narrative, Matias's novels
demonstrate the spiintering of a unified, coherent identity. identity falls together
piecemeal and literally “sobre la marcha.” Considering the lack of a stable
concept of the self, the present moment is not only what these characters
embrace, but by necessity it is also what they must cling to to maintain a
definition of the self. As postmodernism emphasizes fragmentation, Mark Currie
theorizes that the “fragments have acquired a new awareness” (113), a new
sense of urgency and importance. indeed, for the individual lacking a fixed
definition of identity upon which to depend, the present moment necessarily
becomes all encompassing. Analogous to the drug culture in which sIhe is
immersed, the individual’s identity is like a junkie’s craving, simultaneously a
desire and a need. Like the lie implicit in the junkie’s promise—“Just once more,

then I’ll stop”-the adopflon of identities spirals uncontrollably. Without the

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constant movement for the next identity “fix,” the self would be left blank.
Matias’s tourists need identity “injections” to maintain their momentum and
constancy. And once is never enough. This replenishment reflects Currie’s idea
of a cultural schizophrenia, which is “to experience seifhood not as an ordered
narrative but as multiple identification amongst the babble of discourses” (103).
Through an incessant exploration, the protagonists relinquish unity in favor a
schizophrenic self, a being of multiple, destabilized identities. Replacement and
renewal is, paradoxically, their only stability. Thus identity becomes an act of
maintenance.

Identity may be fleeting but it is also as close as the next “cope” or the
next hit of heroin. The hedonism of Mafias’s tourists is a quest to feel alive, yet it
also spurs a vicious circle. The tourist is wildly successful in the avoidance of
identity fixation, in “preventing it from sticking,” in that through drugs, alcohol,
sex, rock music, and perpetual motion they not only escape from the outside
world, but also from themselves. For example, while using cocaine Carlos says,
“he desconectado con la realidad,” and he uses acid to “olvidarte de ti mismo”
(1582080 22, 36). Carlos is untethered from identity; living in the immediate
present pushes him further inward, seeking deeper levels of withdrawal, social
delinquency, and escapism. The continual temporariness of identity has a
corrosive effect. Like a junkie’s dilemma, as the effect of the drugs fade and the
identity fix fades, the junkie needs more in order to replicate the high. The cycle
repeats itself and each time the effect is less potent, so sIhe must do more. It

foments a vicious, downward spiral.

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The nihilism of disconnecting from one’s identity plagues Mafias’s
protagonists and, paradoxically, it is also the foundation of their identity. They
continually chase what they are trying to escape. As such their vices define them.
By placating their addictions, Mafias’s protagonists define themselves through
escapism as alcohol and drugs come to supplant identity. Returning to the
Kronen tetralogy’s relation to punk, Mark Sinker asks of his fellow punks, “How
do we know right from wrong when community has no call on us?” (134).
Community fragments into subcommunities, tribes (according to Vézquez
Montalban), and eventually recedes into intemaiization, a community of one, like
the punk: “This dance, of directness and obliqueness, of posture and evasion, of
obscure attack and sometimes startling tolerance, is the punk’s private argument
with him/herself, only made public for specific and possibly irrelevant effects as it
circles justification, legitimation and rationalisation” (Sinker 135). Recalling Roger
Wolfe’s declaration, through their decadence the protagonists in the Kronen
tetralogy declare war on themselves.

The hedonistic “carpe diem” of protagonists in the Kronen tetralogy
reflects Zygmunt Bauman’s argument that it is the mission of the postmodern
citizen to simply have fun and “lead an enjoyable life” (“Pilgrim” 34). The call to
arms to seek diversion differentiates Matias’s tourist from the modern pilgrim. In
the process of constructing and defining identity, the pilgrim acquired stability and
laid the foundation for a socially, financially, emotionally, and spiritually
prosperous future. In contrast, in the cultural paradigm of the Kronen novels the

tourist revels in his/her superficiality. This is the “nada” from the definition of

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“literature punk,” which, to repeat Mat’ras’s desire, “yo kiero ver de frente esa
Nada” (“Literature” 42). This search for “la nada” parallels Kellner’s contention
that postmodern texts as well as identities are shallow and thus essentially
without meaning (“Popular” 146). Far from an existentialism or a metaphysical
angst, identity may be fleeting but it is also as close as the next hit of heroin. And
thus the vicious cycle begins again: the nihilism of disconnecting from one’s
identity plagues Matias’s tourists and, paradoxically, it is also the foundation of
their identity.

in conclusion, the dilemma of identity in Mafias’s Kronen tetralogy is a
dilemma of nothing, “la nada.” Protagonists’ existence is empty. The promise of
refuge in bars—their spaces of decadence—is their escape and their trap. The
novels—BMW. Manama. W and saunas—depict
the fallout for Spain’s youth: the withdrawal, the distance, the lack of community
and communication among a group of postmodern tourists. For the tourist,

escapism is its own reward and escapism is its own curse.

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CHAPTER 4. LUCiA ETXEBARRiA: "NO FUTURE. GENERATION X. HAY QUE
JODERSE," OR THE DISTANCE FROM SEX TO INTIMACY

Thus far, Spain’s Novels of Disaffection posit an identity project
diametrically opposed to that of the modern identity. The long term journey to
build identity is truncated into an errand, a temporary and ultimately forgettable
trip. A stable and fixed identity—once the ultimate life goal of the individual, the
prize which one sought through decades of work and accretion of effort—now is
detrimental, a hindrance to one’s flexibility.

As the Novels of Disaffection begin with Mafias’s Kronen tetralogy, Lucia
Etxebarria’s novels MW (1997) and Beatrizijgs
W (1998) develop the concept of identity as a problem for
contemporary youth as well as expend the readership of Spain’s youth narrative.
in 1998, Ebtebarria won the Nadal Prize and an accompanying widespread
acclaim for her second novel, Wes, which not only
extended the acceptance of Spain’s young novelists and their literature but also
increased sales through dozens of editions of her novels. Thus Matias and
Etxebarria pave the way for a wider literary and scholarly acceptance of a
narrative that was already reaching best-seller status. Perhaps the least
introverted of the authors studied here, Etxebarria enjoys an enormous literary
celebrity and fits the public role of a controversial young novelist (Pizarro 141).
Not unlike the autobiographical elements in Matias’s narrative, particularly Suulso

WW. Etxebarria’s public image mirrors that of her
protagonists that rush through the “marcha madriletia.”

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in contrast to the political and social repression of Luis Martin Santos’s
“tiempo de silencio,” Etxebarria’s protagonists live in “tiempos de side” (A911)
14)”, in which the personal, the sexual, and the intimate supplant the political
and the social. In fact, nothing about them is silenced or hidden. Etxebarria’s
novels permit the reader to peer voyeuristicaily into the most intimate and
salacious details of characters’ lives: lesbian sexual trysts, emotional
breakdowns, physical and sexual abuse, alcoholism, hits of the drug ecstasy,
and even murder in a drug deal gone awry.

The sexual exploits, alcohol and drug abuse, perpetual motion, and
violence recall Jose Angel Matias’s Kronen tetralogy. in fact, the appetites of
Etxebarria’s protagonists for sex, drugs, and escapism are as voracious as those
of their Kronen counterparts. However, Matias’s and Etxebarria’s similar plots
develop into distinct conceptuallzations of identity. Recalling the blatant
misogynism (women are referred to as “cerdas”) and sexual objectification by
Matias’s protagonists, Etxebarria presents a counter perspective to Mafias’s
male dominated narratives. The narrative voices belong exclusively to female
protagonists who are more socially engaged and committed to institutions than
are Metias’s characters. in Was, the trio of sisters
Cristina, Ana, and Rose are employed, look to marriage as a goal, and their
parents actually appear in the text and interact with their children. However, the

result is hardly uplifting: their jobs are a source of alienation, their parents’

 

’9 Parenthetical references to W will be
abbreviated to AGED.

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marriage is in ruins, and the relationships with their parents show how
emotionally distant parents are from their children. And while they are as
alienated as Matias’s characters, Etxebarria’s characters are capable of feeling.
indeed they lament the lack of intimacy and feel its influence on their identity.

Two of Lucia Etxebarria’s early and most popular novels, Amuu
guflusjdadmcydudes and WW add the
perspective of interdependency to the youth identity question. In particular,
Etxebarria’s novels shift the focus from the absolute autonomy of the individual to
interpersonal relationships. Whereas Matias’s novels suggest that interpersonal
estrangement is the cause of isolation, escapism, and identity, Etxebarria’s
narratives frame it as an effect; characters suffer the emotional fallout from the
lack of interpersonal contact and the breakdown of communication.

This chapter focuses on these novel’s two protagonists, Beatriz and
Cristina, their fluctuating sexual identities, and their frustrated attempts to forge
identity in conjunction with others. As in Matias’s novels, the music and drugs
that Etxebarria’s characters consume produce estranging effects on the
individual’s identity. This estrangement extends to their interpersonal lives, as
well. Protagonists entertain the fantasy of interpersonal relationships, allowing
themselves to have feelings and to be vulnerable (something Matias’s characters
would never do), exposing themselves to emotional risks to attain a meaningful
relationship and connection with friends and lovers. However, consistent with

Bauman’s theory of postmodern identity, their efforts are not merely frustrated,

but characters even sabotage their own efforts. AW

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and W explore the alienating effects of individual

autonomy and thus the failure of intimacy.

As in the Kronen tetralogy, the “bar de copes” and the discotheque are
also the epicenters of Madrid’s youth subcultures In Etxebarria’s novels. Nightlife
in the Spanish capital produces an alienation for Etxebarria’s characters, not due
to their seclusion from others but rather in their inability to ever be alone. Bee
and Cristina feel overwhelmed by the hoards of people inhabiting the shared
spaces of “la marcha,” and being constantly surrounded by people has an
estranging effect on identity. In describing a dance club, Cristina says, “Alrededor
de mi ios cuerpos, compridos y multiperforados, se empujan unos a los otros, las
personas ya no son personas porque la identidad de cada uno se funde en el
crisol de la mesa” (AGED 46). The crowded dance club exemplifies the erasure
of identity, a process of dehumanizatlon (“las personas ya no son personas”) in
which, beneath the blinking strobe lights and blaring amplifiers, identity is diluted
and lost in the crowd. The distinction of one’s individuality slips into the mass
identity of the group (Malbon 91). Yet the “crisol” in this scene doesn’t truly melt
identities together into a collective unity, rather they form an amalgamation of
individuals that blurs individual differences. Hesmondhaigh observes this
phenomenon in techno music raves which, despite a discourse of coliectivism
and unity, actually display little sense of community (272). As demonstrated in
the previous chapter, the fixed and stable identity (singular) again inexorably
fades into decentered identities (plural); the individual relinquishes the ability to

maintain the sense of individuality as music precipitates the dilution of identity.

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In contrast to the paella of musical genres that provide the soundtrack for
Matias’s novels-punk, alternative rock, heavy metal, dance music,
grunge—Extebarria’s characters move to the beat of techno. Also known in
Spain as “el bakalao,” techno builds on a high-speed, thumping backbeat,
layered with computer generated sound effects and electronic bleeps and pulses,
reminiscent of the endless rhythm of a train passing over tracks. Oftentimes
songs stretch on for ten minutes or more, looping the same samples for hypnotic
effect, such as “For What You Dream Of” by Bedrock, “A Final Hit” by Leftfield, or
“Born Slippy” by Underworld. Recalling “The Work of Art in the Age of
Mechanical Reproduction,” Walter describes the “decay of the aura” of early
twentieth century art that had lost its uniqueness due to its ability to be easily
mass produced (222). Yet like Andy Warhol’s “100 Campbell’s Soup Cans” or
“Marilyn (50 Images),” in techno music’s use of repetitiously looped sounds, the
reproduction occurs within the work of art itself. And yet in Ammuusjdad,
Was, Cristina describes techno in terms of a messianic experience:
“El DJ es el nuevo mesias; la musica, la pelabra de Dios...” (AQED 42). And
despite a handful of lntemationally known artists, such as The Prodigy, BT, and
Paul Oakenfold, most techno music originates from anonymous deejays in front
of turntables, computers, and MIDI audio equipment. In techno, an artist’s name
recognition is scarcely important; similarly, techno only occasionally includes
lyrics or vocal tracks, eliminating the human presence from this computer
generated music, as its name implies. it focuses so strictly on beat and

rhythm—its purpose is to make people dance-that it is widely considered

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dehumanized. Thus techno’s integration into Etxebarria’s narrative, as a mark of
identity for Bee and Cristina, is as fitting as it is paradoxical: discotheques are
packed with young people, leaving little room to dance or move (one recalls the
similarity to the opening sentence from Wm: “Me [ode ir al
Kronen ios sabados por la tarde porque este siempre hasta el culo de gente”
[11]). And despite the suffocating physical proximity, characters are unable to
communicate with each other. Thus particularly as depicted in Etxebarria’s
novels, techno is also an appropriate musical representation of Madrid ’3
disaffected youth subcultures. This dehumanized, faceless music blares at such
high volumes that it undermines attempts to communicate. Characters must
scream to make themselves heard, and even then their words are garbled and
misunderstood. Furthermore, characters frequent these clubs night after night,
suggesting that they are attracted to and take comfort in an atmosphere in which
it is difficult, oftentimes impossible, to talk with one another. It is as if they do not
want to communicate.

in La Metralleta (Beam: 172) (Etxebarria’s pseudonym for the popular
Madrid nightclub Revolver [Evelina 130]), for example, techno inspires the
dancing of a “mesa humane” (AGED 46) in which Christina is unable to
differentiate one person from another. She also loses her own identity in music,
booze, and “club drugs” such as ecstasy. The dancing mob forms a collective
without establishing intemel connections with anyone; it is a group of individuals,
together yet isolated and alone. Through the physical, mechanical motion of

dancing to a dehumanized music, the individual disconnects from thoughts and

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emotions, as Bea chants to herself in an Edinburgh discotheque: “Bella, oividete
de todo, deja de ser persona, fundete en esa mesa que baila contigo. Deja de
existir como individuo, deja de pensar por tu cuenta y dejaras de sufrir” (Beam:
177). The dehumanization extends from the mechanized beats to the individual,
erasing vestiges of her humanity and that of those surrounding her. Furthermore,
in this proclamation to herself, Bea frames her dancing as an escape from
suffering (“deja de pensar por tu cuenta y dejaras de sufrir”). Dancing to techno
music is a means of shedding identity, and with it, the weight of emotions, the
distress of being unable to communicate with others, and the inability to love or
feel loved.

This quest for emotional disconnect points to the catalyst for escapism of
these novels: the inability to cope with emotions and the resulting problem of
interpersonal intimacy. Bea continues, “Y es que en medio de aquella extrema
exaitacion sentia que me perdia por algunos momentos en una vida superior,
divine, que me ebsorbia y me integrabe en ella. Como un lucero al despuntar el
dia, mi identidad se borraba ante una luz mayor” (Deatuz 177). Thus Bea
equates the loss of identity with a spiritual freedom, a higher level of
consciousness, and transcendence. The description is analogous to the escape
of a psychotropic drug trip, coinciding with the feelings of ascension from the
confines of the body, communal love, and intimate connections that accompany
the use of ecstasy (T omiinson 202).

However, such grandiose notions of transcendence are, not surprisingly,

fleeting. Ultimately, the ecstasy, dancing, and punchy rhythms of techno

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precipitate an interpersonal disconnect and the loss of identity. Bee and
Cristina’s escapism is ironic: they are unaware that their supposed absorption
into a unity greater than themselves is establishing a trajectory of self-
destruction. Instead of transcending, Bee is trapped: “Podia escapar de
Malasatia, de los bares oscuros, de los picos y las males compatiias, pero no de
sl misme” (898101 226). This attitude is a Ieitmotif of these two novels by
Etxebarria as well as Spain’s Novels of Disaffection in general: escapism is
ultimately a form of deterioration. Malasatia, the central-Madrid neighborhood
known as an epicenter of youth culture nightlife and location of the popular club
La Vie Lactea, is their space of decadence. Yet Etxebarria’s novels in essence
turn out to be cautionary tales, in that as much as Madrid’s youth indulge their
whims in Malasatia, as Bea stated above, they cannot escape themselves. As
established in Matias’s novels, it is not surprising that Etxebarria’s characters
escape identity by submerging themselves in techno music and drug use, but of
particular concern here is the emotional fallout that results. For example in
W, Mdnlca’s boyfriend Coco suffers from a crippling
drug addiction that leads to a complete loss of self-recognition (“no sable qulén
era” [Beam 262])- WW and W
celestes portray ephemeral highs coupled with enduring consequences. The
euphoria of the drug high is consistently tempered by the damage it causes, and
characters express a tacit recognition of the self-destruction in which they are
engaged. Cristina admits, “La heroine le chupa a uno la sangre y a camblo solo

ofrece la seguridad contra Ia carencia de eila misma” (82812 287). The vampiric

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quality of their drug addiction—it leaves them bloodless, sucking the life from
them-signals the downward spiral in which Etxebarria’s protagonists are
trapped. Furthermore, they are merely one group of many immersed in this self-
destructive drug scene, a subculture of “yonkis consumidos, flacos y nerviosos,
de esos que llaman ‘mi mujer’ a la novia. Esqueletos andentes que solo piensan
en el jaco. Mireda moribunda, confusos, resentidos, deprimentes, estI'Ipidos”
(AGED 287). As Bea, Cat, Monica, Coco, Cristina, and lain consume drugs, the
drug culture consumes them. Drugs change from a form of weekend escapism to
the organizing principle of their identities:
Y luego este todo lo que el jaco significa, ese submundo que vive
regido por el reloj de la droga: sus tres chutes dierios y, entre un
chute y otro, llenar el tiempo de cualquier manera, esperando el
proximo. Esto si eres pijo y rico, claro. Si no, debes emplear ese
tiempo en encontrer ei dinero para agenclarte otro chute, ya sea
robando, trapicheando o haciendo la calle.

Una vida en perpetuo movimiento, la basqueda en la calle
de la droga, el temor ai palo y la denuncie, la travesia continua de
la ciudad, salidas a horas intempestivas, encuentros en iugares
lnesperados, persecuciones, engafios, traiciones, revanches,
nuevas cares, nueve gente, nuevos yonkis y camellos, chinos,
chutes, papelinas, rohipnol, palos, broncas, buprex, monos,
pastillas para superar ei mono, calabozos de carceles y celdas de

clinicas, la amenaza constante de los maderos, ides y venidas,

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ningun lugar seguro, ningun die igual e otro. El vertigo de la

aventura, ei coqueteo con la muerte. Una vida dura. Una vida a

cien. El éxtasis del héroe. De la heroine. (EED 286-287)
Notably absent from Cristina’s description of the drug lifestyle is a mention of the
euphoric effects of drugs nor carefree escapism. Exteberria’s characters engage
in a paradoxical pursuit of pleasure. Surpassing any semblance of “recreational
drug use,” they indulge to such extremes that they drain the pleasure out of their
thrill-seeking. Drugs become drudgery and a burden. Addiction and identity are
interconnected as drugs supplant identity. indeed, Cristina adopts this
multifaceted self to pacify her drug cravings, reflecting Gergen’s observations on
postmodern identity, “With each new performance site, new patterns of action
may be required; dispositions, appetites, personae—ail may be acquired and
abandoned and reappropriated as conditions invite or demand” (140). Thus tying
identity to Cristine’s perpetual movement (as described above) to is fitting, since
“for many people such chameleon-like shifts are now unremarkable; they
constitute the normal huriy-burly of daily life” (Gergen 140). Moreover, the pun in
the last line of Cristina’s description (“El éxtasis del héroe. De la heroine”) is
significant in interpreting her identity. The double meaning encoded in “ecstasy”
(the feeling and the drug) ties the psychotropic experience to the protagonist, as
further expressed with homonyms: heroin defines the heroine. The drug culture is
an integral part of who she is. Similarly in W. Bea
progressively immerses herself in the drug culture, from the acquaintances with

pushers through her girlfriend Cat, to becoming a casual user of the

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aforementioned club drugs, to working as a “camello” (93), selling and
transporting ecstasy for Menica and Coco (mam; 111, 172, 175-176), to her
own chemical dependency: “Necesitaba las pastillas, ya no sable vivir sin ellas”
(Beatriz 177)”. The quest for fun goes beyond a mere desire to become a need.
Cat, Bea, Monica, and Coco do not merely take an occasional drug, rather their
indulgences accelerate and intensify into addictions, such that drugs become the
basis of their identity.
Their drug trips mirror their aimless physical movement. One recalls
Cristina’s portrayal of Madrid’s drug culture:
Una vida en perpetuo movimiento, la busqueda en la calle de la
droga, el temor al palo y la denuncia, la travesia continua de la
ciudad, salidas a horas intempestivas, encuentros en lugares
inesperados...ides y venidas, ningt'In lugar seguro, ningun die igual

e otro. (AQED 286-287)

 

2° Bee’s progression is not unique in Spain’s Novels of Disaffection. Both Cristina
in W as well as Lobo in Caiman Montalban’s Dar
work in bars and end up spending and subsequently consuming their income
there. Following a path of increasing chemical dependency similar to Bea, Lobo
follows downward trajectory of drug use: after escaping a quagmire of bars,
savage beatings, homelessness, the mange, working as a “camello,” and
discovering his girlfriend is a porn actress, he returns to the bar: “Un bar se
parece un poco a un cerebro...He tratado con cerebros ajenos al mio. He tenido
tiempo de ester en bastantes bares. La conclusion es que bares y cerebros
esten jodidos todos” (17). Thus the spaces of decadence in Lucia Etxebarria and
Caiman Montalban’s novels are both external and internal, “bares y cerebros,” in
which the external determines the internal. Identity is no longer a process of
negotiation between the individual and society, as Sarup argues. instead drugs
and alcohol replace identity, permitting the individual fewer and fewer choices as
time and the chemical dependency progress.

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As catalysts for escapism, drugs allow them to pass into and out of identities,
such that they are continually creating new personae. Characters wander in
search of identity, amalgamating whatever is in their surroundings into their
conceptualization of the self. The continual search for drugs parallels the drug
trips themselves as Cristina engages in a movement without progress.

The concept of travel is at the center of both the modern and postmodern
approaches to identity. The modern trip—recalling Bauman’s idea of the
pilgrimage—was a sustained trajectory that would transcend the minutiae of day
to day life, aiming instead to fulfill a higher purpose of self-ectualizatlon. While
the modern identity represented a long, difficult journey of self-sacrifice, the
process also paved the way for personal development. The individual grew as a
result of facing and overcoming his/her adversities. In contrast, postmodern
identities evade hardships and challenges, and consequently, growth, as well, by
defaulting onto the path of least resistance. Postmodern identities are like “ios
tripis,” the trips of a drug high. it Is short term sprint, a dramatic and dizzying
ascent, a euphoria which inevitably peaks, and then plummets and crashes,
jolting the individual back to a reality that is uglier and more hostile for having
experienced the ecstatic drug high. Cristine’s exasperation, desperation, and
disillusionment are exemplified in her run-on sentences (AGED 285-294) as she
faces more and more excursions to buy drugs, in order to take more drug trips,
which in turn necessitate more trips to find drugs. Thus Bee and Cristina’s trips
are vicious circles. They have laid no foundation for an identity-as modernism

insisted was essential to the project of defining the self-so they must begin

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again. And rather than promofing growth and progress, the postmodern identity
trip leads to self-destruction. The drugs saddle them with addictions, alienated
friends, and no progress to show for their travels.

Like Carlos, Kaiser, and Borja from Matias’s drug-addled novels,
Etxebarrla’s protagonists also submerge themselves in Madrid’s drug culture. Yet
an important distinction between the works of the two novelists is the purpose
behind their characters’ chemical abuse. The exorbitant drug usage that largely
characterizes Spain’s Novels of Disaffection beg some obvious questions: why?
What are character’s motivations for consuming so many drugs? What drives
their downward spiral of self-destructive behavior? Chapter 3 shows that Matias’s
protagonists have no apparent reason to indulge in drugs. Unemployed yet
comfortably living off of their parents’ generosity (and apathy), they seemingly
have nothing better to do then seek thrills. Rejecting the institutions which would
lead to the modern project of identity construction --family, community, religion,
employment—characters in the Kronen tetralogy indulge for the sake of
indulging, escapism for the sake of escapism. Their attitude is similar to that of
Mark Renton in Danny Boyle’s film version of Iraiusputtjug, who succinctly
states, “And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when
you’ve got heroin?” Ultimately, characters are self-sewing and care about
nothing outside of their own pleasure. But the effect is contradictory in that
neither Matias’s and Etxebarria’s protagonists experience pleasure. They take
drugs to evade a fixed identity, such that they are constantly pacifying whims and

thus circumventing the modern identity construction project.

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However, Etxebarria’s characters express explicit reasons for their drug

usage. Their descent into drugs is due to two factors that are distinct from

Mafias’s novels. First. WW and 8eetri_zvlcs
W emphasize Madrid’s rave scene and the club drugs that

inherenfly accompany it (as shown above). Second and most importantly,

Etxebarria’s protagonists turn to drugs as an escape from alienation, the pain of

failed relationships, and the inability to make emotional connections with others.

For example, In W, Cristina narrates her typical

weekend:

Los sabados por la noche estabe tan harta que...saiia a la
desesperada. a ponerme haste las cejas de cubatas y de rayas
para olvidarme de la mierda de vida que llevaba, y aquel atto me
agarré las peores cogorzas que haya agarrado en todos los dies
de mi vida, y me follaba a cualquier cosa, de verdad, e cualquier
case, a cualquier elemento que se me puslere a tire a partir de las

seis de la mafiana... (37)

She continues,

Trabajo en una barre y los domlngos ios paso de garito en garito,
bebiendo como una esponja, gastandome el sueido en éxtasis,
para olvidarme de que mi novio me dejo. Por muy delgada y muy
rnona que see. For lo visto, no le resultaba suflciente. Las
relaciones de Ios noventa, dicen. Efimeras. No future. Generation

X. Hey que joderse. (45)

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Reminiscent of the Kronen tetralogy, it is not surprising that Arum._cur_iosjdad,
pmzacyuudas and W frame drugs as a catalyst for
escapism. Yet in contrast to other Mat’ras’s narratives, Etxebarria’s novels
suggest that protagonists delve into drugs due to a failure to find meaning and
fulfillment in their lives (“Ia mierda de vida que llevaba”) and a failure to maintain
emotional connections with others (“para olvidarme de que mi novio rne dejo”).
Drugs dull the pain of severed relationships, separation, and isolation. To evade
her feelings of emptiness and isolation, Cristina expresses an air of desperation,
a willingness to cling to anyone or anything that the present moment provides
(“me follaba a cualquier cosa, de verdad, a cualquier cosa, a cualquier elemento
que se me puslere a fire a partir de las seis de la matiana’). Sex is used like a
drug, satisfying a desire while simultaneously filling an emotional void.

This connection between drugs and feelings is expressed in the title itself
of Etxebarria’s first novel: We. The three emotional
states-love, curiosity, and doubt—are punctuated by a brand-name
pharrnaceuticai, a drug taken to temper and control emotions. Prozac, the anti-
depression drug, becomes an lntemational trend among women in the 1990s.
There is a gender role implicit in Prozac and its “brother” drug, Ritalin. Whereas
Prozac provides extra confidence to young women, Ritalin calms down young

men. Both pharmaceuticals, in fact, alter one’s identity.

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in the context of Etxebarria’s narrative, the prominent role of Prozac
suggests that emotional imbalances may be chemically remedied”. One need
not commit to the time and work of psychological counseling; the long road to
overcoming mental illness can be avoided through a pharmaceutical short-cut.
Recovery from depression can be instantaneous, and like the effects of
narcotics, identity comes instantly available in pill form. Indeed, Prozac is a fitting
metaphor for postmodern identity: it is an easily acquired commodity, it provides
an instantaneous identity, the identity change is effortless, and most importantly,
the effect is transitory. In the novel which contains its name, Amoumuusidm,
W, Rosa, is dependant on Prozac, “que me ayude a no llorar”
(AGED 254). With prozac, Rosa is no longer a miserable person, at least until the
chemicals wear off and she must take more. The pharmaceutical is her coping
mechanism to deal with a tedious job as an executive financial director, a distant
and uncaring family, failed romances, suicidal thoughts, and extreme social
anxiety.

Yet, rather than helping to stabilize identity, the drug in effect is merely
patching it. The identity she has developed, or more to the point the one she has
failed to develop, is bandaged by chemicals. When Rosa takes Prozac to stOp
crying, the drug is not making her a contented person. It is modifying the
manifestation of identity such that to continue to be contented and stable, in

order to maintain her new identity, the chemical must be present. Otherwise, she

 

2‘ Sacks describes the effect of Prozac as changing the individual into the person
most valued by contemporary culture, one having “outgoing, vibrant, dynamic

personality types” (82).

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returns to her true identity as a depressed woman yearning for intimacy yet
isolated in her Madrid apartment. With the chemical identity of Prozac it is no
longer necessary to face problems. While they can be averted by drugs,
however, they are not solved by drugs. Prozac is Rosa’s escape route; it is not
helping her to reestablish relationships or recover from depression (Rosa admits,
“Los ultimos etios he sido una maquina. Eso es todo. He sido como una replica
de mi misma, pero que en el fondo no era yo, porque no soy yo, no puedo ser,
alguien que no siente absolutamente nada. Nada” [AGED 310]). Repercussions
are simply delayed. The clinical resolution of depression—years of talk therapy,
self-examination, revisiting and confronting painful memories-may be
sidestepped for instant gratification.

In highlighting drugs’ ability to transform identity, Etxebarria’s novels blur
the line between illegal (yet readily available) narcotics and the legal (and socially
accepted) pharmaceuticals”. Drugs—whether they are the commercially
available Prozac, Rohipnol, Diazepen, and Viagra, or the illegally pushed
ecstasy, heroin, or cocaine—ere the catalysts by which the individual can easily

modify or switch into and out of identities. Like her sister Cristina’s alcohol,

 

“2 Etxebarria herself criticizes society’s double standards toward Prozac and
ecstasy:
Ambas plldoritas, desde su respective posicicn a uno u otro iado de
la Iinea divisoria que separa el crimen y la honorabilidad,
representan lo mismo: la felicidad quimica, ei sustituto de la
euténtice paz de espiritu imposible de encontrer en una época
caracterizada por las families desestructuradas, las relaciones
violentas, el empieo precario y el sexo infectado. (Elailmlta 132)
The author’s perspective also insinuates the latent identity project associated
with drug usage.

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ecstasy, and heroin abuse, Rosa’s drug abuse also spurs dependency. Thus, the
consumable identity of legal drug complements the narcotic identity in Spain’s
Novels of Disaffection. Prozac must be absorbed into her bloodstream for her
chemically improved and contented identity to stick. indeed, the paradigm of
identity is less about what it is than how long it lasts. This concept of the pill as a
simultaneous cure and a poison recalls Jacque Derrida’s theory of the
pharmakos and pharmakon (95-100), and as such, Prozac is simultaneously
beneficial and harmful. As depression is a frequent cause of suicides (which
Rosa contemplates [AGED 258]), Prozac may help the Individual correct an
emotional imbalance and thus to stay alive. But at the same time It is a poison in
that it alters the body’s system. Drugs-both legal and illegal—numb the pain,
subjugate feelings, and act as surrogates for fulfilling interpersonal relationships.
Like their “monos” of addiction, characters are burdened by the problem of
intimacy.

Matias’s characters, in contrast, seemingly exist in an emotional vacuum.
From Fierro’s death (HistuuasdeLKruueu) to Javi’s betrayal (Menage) to Jose,
Borja, Kiko, and Roberto brutally beating a fellow junkie (Suukgjfi), they express
neither compassion nor loyalty to their friends or lovers. Carlos and Kaiser, for
example, are essentially loners whose respective acquaintances come from the
relationships of convenience that Madrid’s drug subculture provides among
fellow users and pushers. Matias’s characters take for granted that interpersonal
relationships are neither possible nor worthwhile; they are inherently distrustful of

love and do not bother trying to establish intimate connections with others.

132

Lacking a conscience, empathy, and loyalty, they use their friends and lovers for
personal gain: in W. Rebecca serves as a sexual exploit for
Carlos; and in Menage, Javi does not feel enough concern to simply open his
mouth to warn David of the thugs approaching to attack his friend with baseball
bats. For this group of characters who are so steeped in the euphoric sensations
of alcohol, drugs, and sex, they prohibit guilt, responsibility, and love from
penetrating their emotional defense mechanisms.

While Mafias’s characters are emotionally anesthetized, Etxebarria’s
protagonists, when sober, are overwhelmed by their feelings. The
interconnecting relationships-between Bea, Cat, Menica, and Ralph in Deatrju
mm; between Cristina and Iain in Ammrlcsidedmzecx
dudes—highlight the overriding instability of Intimacy presented throughout these
two novels. Etxebarria’s protagonists seek identity through interdependency and
relationships with significant others-both male and female lovers. They are
attracted to the metanarratives of emotionally fulfilling interpersonal relationships,
of experiencing a meaningful connection with another, as a friend, lover, or both.
For example, Bea moves into Cat’s apartment in Edinburgh, a cohabitation and
commitment that in theory would serve to strengthen their relationship. Bea
seems willing to trust in the metanarratives of emotional connection, fulfillment,
and meaning in her interpersonal and romantic relationships. But recalling
Bauman’s banking metaphor, the investment no longer yields rewards. On the
contrary, it is a liability. Unable to achieve the modern ideal, they become

disillusioned and embittered, and immerse themselves in drugs, techno music,

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and infidelity to escape. And their escapism further forestalls attempts to
establish intimacy with acquaintances, lovers, and much less their families.

Etxebarrie’s characters suffer the repression of personal identity along
with the dissolution of romantic identity: they replace the dream of
interdependency, of the loving, emotionally fulfilling interpersonal relationship
with purely sexual relationships. Bee and Cat’s so-cailed togetherness, for
example, does not transcend the physical and as such the production of identity
through the relationship with her lover is simultaneously a source of security and
anxiety. Bea clings to Cat since, without her, she would be stranded in England.
The threat of isolation is compounded by Bee’s status as a foreigner in
Edinburgh confronting geographical, linguistic, cultural estrangement. Yet, even
when Bea is with Cat-as a friend and as e lover—she feels alienated. Known
simply es “la novia de Cat” (com: 48), a person without a name or an
Individuated identity, Bea resents the strains of this imposed identity. Bea thus
becomes tethered to Cat and Cat’s identity; Bee’s apartment, acquaintances, and
social life are exclusively those of her lover. Like characters’ drug abuse
throughout the Novels of Disaffecfion, Etxebarria’s novels show a corresponding
indulgence in relationships. Essentially, protagonists are unable to establish
healthy balances or boundaries in their relationships.

Bea perceives her relationship with Cat as an abandonment of personal
freedom and space for individuation—“te acabaran definiendo por medio del
otro” (89.8101 49)--which violates the first rule of the postmodern citizen, that one

must live life with no strings attached: “En cuanto te conviertes en la pareja de

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alguien, ese persona, y por extension de los demas, empezaran a pensar que
siempre tienes que ester alli. Y yo querla deflnirme segun mi deseo de ester elli,
no segIZIn le imposicion de ester” (Beatriz 49). Bee’s indignation points up the
problem of interpersonal relationships in Etxebarria’s narrative, in which intimacy
infringes on individual's autonomy. Connections are a limitation to personal
freedom, and thus, alienating. As the “postmodern experience of intimacy derives
its identity from eliminating all reference to moral duties and obligations”
(Bauman Etujee 105), thus interpersonal connections must be held at an
emotional distance. Couplehood may stunt the individual’s autonomy and is a
violation of the postmodern credo to live by no one’s rules but one’s own.
Ebteberria’s protagonists are unable to establish balance in their relationships,
and therefore Bea seeks to reaffirm her autonomy and independence. Unable to
establish identity as a couple with Cat, and burdened by her relationship and
threatened by the looming attachments of intimacy, Bea individuates herself by
forging a distinct identity. Bea explores heterosexuality for the first time by having
an affair with Ralph. By destabilizing and violating the boundaries of the
relationship, the novel suggests that emotional connection is antithetical to the
individuated self. in fact, there is a pattern of sabotaging relationships in Amer,
WW and Was. It is also
paradoxical that protagonists avoid long-term relationships in order to avoid the
risk of pain if the relationship fails, since as a result they are in constant
emotional pain. Bea returns to Madrid in search of security and intimacy with

Mdnica. Yet Bea seemingly lacks accumulated memory, failing to learn from the

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mistakes she made with Cat and falling into the same pattern of co-dependency
with Menica. Although she flees Edinburgh and returns to the familiarity of
Madrid, Bea is unable to escape the overriding problem of intimacy.

Similarly Wee problematizes identity. Cristina
frankly explains, “Estoy muerte. No soy yo. Soy un doble cibernético, una replica
catcdica, un zombi andente, cualquier cosa. Heblo como yo, visto como yo, miro
como yo, pero no soy yo” (AGED 173). Cristina’s admission reveals the
dispiriting reality behind the facade of youth culture intemperance. Cristina feels
like a walking zombie and a machine, even now while she Is immersed in the
presumably care-free and self-indulgent “marcha madriletta.” Feeling drained of
joy-de-vivre in her youth does not bode well for her future identity. In fact, Amer.
WW foreshadows this possible future self for Cristina, and
by extension the rest of Madrid’s youth culture, in the life of Rosa. Cristina’s older
sister by six years, Rosa is a cog in a multinational corporate machine and
represents the capltulation to conformity and corporate anonymity of a fonneriy
free-spirited individual (AGED 64-67). This alter ego of Cristina anesthetizes
herself with Prozac (as discussed earlier) to dull the pain of her isolation,
signaling a disillusioning example of the “No future” which Madrid’s youth feces
but continually ignores in the Novel of Disaffection.

Despite the problem of emotional intimacy, physical intimacy is never a
problem for the protagonists in Etxebarria’s novels; sex is a foregone conclusion,
particularly as is a series of nameless and meaningless 'polvos” in order to

satisfy physical desire. And rather than being passive recipients of the sexual act

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or objects of the male gaze (according to Foucault), Etxebarria’s female
protagonists are aggressive in satiating physical desires and fulfilling sexual
fantasies. Cristina, for example, Is “promiscua y devorahombres” (AGED 27).
And behind that physical desire lies a latent desire to control the sex act. Cristina
describes of her lover lain,
Podia pedlrle cualquier cosa. Hazme esto, hazrne lo otro, bésame
en este sitio, en este otro. Fellame aqui y ahora. Nunca fallaba.
Nunca, nunca, nunca faliaba. He sido la nitia mas mimada de la
creaclén. He foiledo donde y como he querldo. En el sofa, en la
came, en la mesa del comedor, en el portal, en el ascensor. (AGED
188)
Etxebarria’s characters flaunt an overt sexuality and lust that defies traditional
gender roles. These novels detail the most intimate and oftentimes sordid sexual
details of characters’ lives. Cristina, for example, narrates in graphic detail her
first experience of having anal sex:
AI principlo duele, iigeramente, luego es una mezcla de placer y
dolor, por fin el dolor se diluye y todo es goce. Sientes que hay un
millén de laberintos dentro de tu cuerpo, pasadizos secretos que
conectan todos sus agujeros con tu cerebro. Miliones de circuitos
que trensmiten descarges eléctricas de tres mil voltios. Dinamita
pure. Pequetias explosiones dentro de tu cuerpo. Eres un terrorista

tecnolégico. Mi unibomber del sexo. Eres mi ejército de Iiberacion.

Dispara tu fusil. (AQED 189)

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in addition to reaffirming that nothing is taboo in this literature, the description of
anal sex also reveals Cristina’s need for ever-increasing states of arousal. For
Cristina, the experience begins by mixing pain and pleasure; receiving bodily
harm accompanies sexual satisfaction. This masochism points up the nature of
her sexual impulses: at 24 years old, she is already jaded by sex. It is as if sexual
intercourse no longer provides enough stimulation for her, and thus she
expresses an erotic restlessness and a penchant for experimentation in her
relationships. (This sense of sexual exploration extends to her sexual
Identity—not straight, lesbian, or bi-sexual—as her actions will later show.) Like
the snowballing effect of her drug use, Cristina desires increasingly heightened
sexual stimulation. The phallus delivers sensations similar to electric shocks “de
tres mil voltios.” Such a charge is reminiscent of the electroconvuisive therapy
used to treat psychological disorders, in which a patient endures e purposefully
destructive charge in order to “cure” a malady. This sexual electroshock therapy
suggests a psychological dysfunction, as Cristina’s desires to be harmed in order
to receive sexual gratification.

Christina furthers the metaphor as her experience of pain/pleasure
becomes increasingly violent: “Dinamita pure. Pequetias explosiones dentro de
tu cuerpo. Eres un terrorista tecnolbgico. Mi unibomber del sexo.” Invoking the
nickname of anti-technology fanatic Theodore Kazynski during the realization of
her sexual fantasies demonstrates the ways in which Christina interiorizes this
metaphorical and physical violence. First, she makes herself a willing recipient of

the explosions within her body. Second, the phallus—“un fusil”—symboiizes

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killing and destruction, which Cristina commands—“Dispara”—to be fired,
carrying out a quasi-suicidal act, such that sex has escalated to the maximum
expression of self-destruction. Harkening back to Roger Wolfe’s creed, Cristina is
waging a war against herself.

As disturbing as it may be that Christina enjoys such sexualized violence,
and as shocking as it may be that she is directing such an act (noting her use of
the command form of the verb), the pathology deepens when considering that
the pleasure/pain dichotomy serves es “mi ejército de liberacion.” She uses sex,
an admittedly painful act, as a form of transcendence and yet another form of
escapism. Although Cristina perceives a sense of freedom and liberation from
the heightened sensations of this sex act, the transcendence is, like the millions
of tunnels she perceives running through her body, hollow. Her lover lain—in the
description above as well as throughout a large part of the novel—is a nameless,
faceless, anonymous phallus, functioning as a sexual orderly, a “fusil” made to
perform on command, to give pleasure and pain. Thus her liberation is less about
freedom than being “liberated” from sharing, intimacy, and ultimately, lain. in
Wedge sexual descriptions are limited to the
individual’s perception of the act, rather than a shared experience. As drugs like
Prozac and ecstasy replace feelings in Lucie Etxebarria’s novels, sex too
becomes a surrogate for intimacy, recalling Cristina’s aforementioned declaration
that “me follaba a cualquier cosa, de verdad, a cualquier cosa, a cualquier

elemento que se me puslere a tire a partir de las seis de la ma‘r'rena...” (37).

139

The sexual content has to a certain extent defined the public perception of
Etxebarria’s novels, particularly W, as she admits
“Hey un género que es la novela gay en la que ei conflicto surge precisamente
de que el protagonista es un gay. ..No es mi caso. En mi novela eI personaje es
una lesbiana, pero esto no le supone ningun problema” (Moret). Yet when
considered through the lens of identity, this public categorization of “lesbian
novel” is overstated. The two novels in question present an overarching fluidity of
sexual identity. Bea explains, “Yo puedo amar a hombres y a mujeres. No
distingo entre sexos” W 213). The female protagonists certainly engage in
lesbian relationships, as well as heterosexual relationships. However, with
regards to sexual identity, like the rest of the identities that they adopt, characters
remain uncommitted, undeclared, and undecided. Describing her relationship
with Ralph, Bea says,
Desde la primera vez que me ecosté con Ralph, desde que
comparti ai uno y a la otra, mi corazon se convlrtic en algo borroso,
indefinible, indescifrable. Porque si me hubieran preguntado en ese
momento si yo ere lesbiana o si era heterosexual, e inciuso si era
bisexual, que parecia la respueste mas convincente, no hubiera
sabido qué responder. Estaba tan perdida... (Beatriz 221)

Thus for Bea, it is not a question of bisexuality, which would imply its own identity

in an attraction to both males and females. Rather than hybridity, then, her

sexual identity is more a question of refusing to identify with anything in particular

(“algo borroso, indefinible, indescifrable”); rather than “both,” her orientation is

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“neither/nor.” As characters reject commitment in their interpersonal
relationships, so too do they reject a clear adherence to a sexual identity. For
Bee and Cristina, it is partially a question of youthful sexual exploration and
experimentation. Yet at the same time, this indeterminate state reflects a
postmodern flexibility such that their refusal to commit to a fixed identity grants
them ultimate freedom (Bauman Djeeeuteuts 13). Like drugs, Bee and Cristina
use sex for instant gratification. it is the catharsis of the orgasm, not the
emotional connection of love making, that they perceive as the purpose of sex.
Sexual identity is fluid such that characters, not wanting to be locked into a single
sexual identity, do not find it necessary to identify with a sexual orientation.

This pair of novels focuses so intimately on the sexual identities of young
women that one would anticipate the issue of “coming out” to arise, and it is
notable that it never does. Neither Bea nor Cristina endure a process of coming
out to their parents or peers as lesbians or bisexuals. More importantly, they
experience no lntemal struggle with their sexuality, either. Since there is such
flexibility to her sexuality and sexual identity—Bea considers herself neither a
lesbian nor bisexual-she suffers no agonizing internal struggle with sexuality, of
having to come to grips with an alternative sexuality to society’s norms. There is
no process of hardship or lntemal rejection of one’s sexual orientation, as
Wilkerson describes (254-268). Rather their sexual identities simply change to fit
the moment, as is seen in the back-and-forth sexual encounters of Bea between
Cat and Ralph (Beatriz 191, 205, 206), and the spontaneous ménage a trois

between Cristina, Line, and Santiago (AQED 263-265). These characters reserve

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the right to change their sexual identifies when it pleases them. By following the
paths of least resistance and of instantaneous pleasure, protagonists are not
burdened with the “Who am i?” dilemma or the task of developing a unique self
of the modern identity (Kellner “Television” 233). Since sexual identity is as easily
adopted as it is discarded, they effectively sidestep any “identity crisis” of which
to speak (Kellner “Popular“ 158). For them, identity produces no existential
anxiety, no critical self-examination, and no inquiry into the self.

Moreover, simply because Bea does not suffer the angst or self-doubt of
an identity crisis, it does not necessarily mean that she is content. Quite the
contrary, Bea constantly seems disturbed, enraged, anxious, troubled, and even
paranoid. But, when one reads these novels through the lens of postmodern
identity, this disturbance is an effect rather than a cause. in modern identity
construction, self-doubt and existential preoccupations were part of the journey to
define the self. The individual had to encounter and overcome obstacles to make
the journey worthwhile, so as to emerge stronger, with a more solid and wholly
defined identity. Challenge was positive; one had to persevere to achieve an
identity.

in contrast, Spain’s youth culture has it easy because they take it easy;
they seek the path of least resistance. Their feelings of unrest and
discontentrnent are a result of the fluidity and superficiality of their identity.
Whereas the dilemma of modernism was a stepping stone to identity-Le, the
catalyst that would lead to a greater, more fulfilling, and more transcendent

self—the disquietude portrayed in Etxebarria’s narrative is the effect of having

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nothing against which to struggle, except perhaps for characters’ own
complacency. Their refusal to face challenges ultimately stymies their progress.
This “pasotismo” emerges even in the most basic elements of the plot. For
example, the majority of protagonists in Etxebarria’s novels (and Matias’s, as
well) are ostensibly students, yet not once do they attend class, take an exam, or
even pick up a textbook. Menlca, in fact, fails her courses on purpose to be able
to spend summers in Madrid with Bea (Beatriz 77). This desire to drop out and
reject success extends to their interpersonal relationships and sexuality, as well.
If it takes effort, they will pass. So the disquietude and anger is the effect of
shifting identities, not the cause of something more profound.

Resonating with the novel’s title, in W Bea
uses the presentation of her body to carry out an idenfity project. The goal of this
project is not necessarily to construct identity (as Bauman would argue
[121599012013 24-25]), but to blur the distinctions between gender identities, to
avoid a fixed identity and at the same time a fixed gender. in her trip abroad Bea
finds an opportunity to physically and sexually define herself. Her body functions
as a space of experimentation (mirroring Kellner’s theory that the self’s identity
may be transformed through the manipulation of image, fashion, and style
[“Television” 234]), within which she establishes a series of “setias de identidad”:
“Me largué a Edimburgo. Y alll me rapé el pelo y me compré unas botas de
comando. En la calle nadle sable si yo era chica o chico. Fue la ultima
transgresién. La tiltima trensgresicn” (Beatriz 214). This foreign—both overseas

and new-environment provides Bea an opportunity for redefinition. She

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undergoes a physical change popularly associated with the image of a “butch”
lesbian, framing her physical change as an offense—“Ia ultima
transgresidn”—overturning of traditional conceptualizations of feminine beauty
(Phelan 51-55). Yet her physical transformation belies the solidity of her sexual
identity. Bee’s self-proclaimed transgression is not in the establishment of herself
as a masculinized female, rather in the combination of gendered identities that
blur the lines that separate one gender from the other. She is both feminine and
masculine, and simultaneously neither wholly feminine nor masculine; her
transgression is in projecting an aura of indeterminacy (“nadie sabia si yo era
chica o chico”) that frustrates easy categorization. Whereas Homi Bhabha belies
the “in-between” status for the subaltem, here Bea perceives the indeterminacy
as liberation and thus she presents her body as an ambiguous space. The result
of her shaved head and “botas de pocero” (33) Is not a change of gender or a
declaration of sexual identity (as will be shown momentarily), rather It is a
straddling of gender lines, of being one gender yet overtly suggesting another.
Through her relationship with Cat, Bea joins Edinburgh’s lesbian scene.
While at times falling into caricatures and broad stereotypes, it is nevertheless
defined in the novel by “la frivolidad. .. une caracteristica de la culture gay”
(Beatriz 39-40) and consists of “merimachos que consumlan comida
macrobiotica y bebidas inteilgentes, que llevaban el pelo rapado al uno y tetrido
con peroxido, que vestian camisetas de talla infantil y chaquetones de peluche y
zepatillas de jugador de futbol bulgaro, que se anillaban haste la mortificacion”

(Beam: 43), who furthermore “llevaban aniilos en los pulgares, tatuajes en Ios

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entebrazos, pequer‘ias chapitas con triangulos roses y collares con colores del
arco iris” (59.8102 48). These marks of identity are the membership cards for
inclusion in this community—based in bars and dance clubs—that provides a
freedom of gender and freedom from gender. For example, this subculture
upends the assumption of female sexual passivity and allows women to
aggressively express sexual desire: “(,O sclo Io hacen en los bares para chicas?
Esos bares en los que pueden comportarse como un hombre y abordar
directemente al objeto de su deseo” (328m: 55). Once again, gender roles are
double coded. By positioning itself in the grey area between genders, the lesbian
community that Bea describes has the freedom to act with the (stereotypical)
sexual predatorship of men while functioning within a community of women with
(again, stereotypical) identifying markers-peroxide-died and shaved hair, thumb
rings, pink triangles, and rainbows. “Gender is not a stable thing; it is certainly not
a set of anatomical or biological attributes,” as Jane Flex points out (454). As
such, Bea is donning the prototypical postmodern identity that may be discarded
as the need arises. For Bea, this indeterminacy provides freedom and liberation
in that she need not commit to anything or anyone.

Yet despite the physical changes Bea makes to her body to mirror this
culture, she cannot fit in with Edinburgh’s lesbian community, nor more
importantly with her lover, Cat. Her physical change is part of a dynamic identity
project; like shedding a skin, Bea sheds a past that is tied to Madrid, such as
clothing, hairstyle, language, sexuality, relationships, in essence her identity. Her

move to Edinburgh is a liberating experience, taking advantage of a foreign

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culture to adopt new identities. However, the freedom afforded by her geographic
displacement does not guarantee long-term harmony. The geographic change
cannot compensate for the superficiality of her identity. Although through her
physical change Bea is attempting to participate in the collective identity (a
concept which will be discussed at length in Chapter 6) of this subculture, the
sense of belonging quickly turns Into a threat Specifically, her involvement in
Intimate relationships sflfles the freedom she established with the ambiguous
gender and the indeterminacy of her body. Bea finds herself typecast, her identity
blurred and amalgamated with that of her lover; by committing to this subculture,
the freedom to change her identity at will is subverted and she ends up losing her
identity, individuality, even her name, as she explains, “yo no era sino La novia
de Cat” (48). She rebels against this transgression against her freedom:
me habia convertldo en la mitad de una unidad, de una pareja; o
asi es como empezaba a vemos la gente: Caitlin y Bea. Yo
encontraba aterradore este nocidn y deseabe que una larguisima
file de puntos suspensivos se interpuslera entre nuestros hombres,
que la gente dijera:
Caiflin ...................................................................... y Bea.
(48-49).
Bee’s declaration of independence reveals the indeterminacy inherent in
postmodern attitudes, namely the avoidance of commitment, obligations, and
responsibilities. Unity appails her, and she suggests that it tramples her attempts

to individuate herself.

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Furthermore Bea expresses a resistance to intimacy, the public perception of
intimacy, as well as an underlying resentment toward Cat for being known as a
couple. Coincidentelly, Bea reflects Rosen’s theory of “chameleonism” among
contemporary youth, a process of shifting identities in order to guard one’s self-
esteem and seek personal safety, which as a consequence produces “a deep
reluctance to depend on others, coupled with a dark distrust of all but a few
friends, and sometimes even these” (13-24, 45). The feeling of connection, the
intimate sharing of oneself with another, the transcendence of loving another and
being loved—ostensibly the reasons for being in a romantic relationship—are
anathema to Bea, who instead tries to distance herself from her partner.

Thus her physical transformation backfires: in attempting to individuate
herself, to be ambiguous, and by extension fit in with a subculture, Bee becomes
pigeonholed. Thus to counterpunch the perceived imposition on her freedom,
Bea is unfaithful to Cat by taking Ralph as her occasional lover (191, 205-206).
Bea acknowledges that her relationship with Ralph is merely a service
agreement (“T odo lo que habia entre nosotros era sexo, entendi” Mi: 219])

but longs for something more meaningful”. Thus repeating a familiar pattern,

 

2’ Bea seeks a sense of transcendence through sex: “Ansiaba la perfeccion de
un estado primordial, un estado de fuerza y autonomla anterior a lo masculino o
a lo femenino. . .y creo que buscaba la Totalidad a través del sexo, etiorando
dolorosemente una reunificacién que sable de particle imposible, mero deseo de
fusion” (m 215). She is attracted to the metanarratives of belonging, loving
and being loved, being included in a connection greater than her own self
interests. But her approach to this “totelidad” through superficial sexual
relationships is self-defeating. One could question whether Bee is infect seeking
this failure so that she would not have to commit herself, and thus limit her
options. Of course the paradox of Bee’s behavior is that she is blind to the fact

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Bea tries to give it transcendence: “Ralph pasaba mucho, mucho tiempo a mi
lado, incluso cuando él mismo no sable que estabe conmigo” (Emu; 219), and
“Yo querla que él quisiese algo mas de mi” (Damn; 220). The results, however,
are predictable. The relationship crumbles and Bea flees. By puffing thousands
of miles between her lovers and herself, Beatriz’s trans-European trip from
Madrid to Edinburgh and then back again symbolizes the distance and
disconnect of her relationships. She refuses to allow a relationship to develop,
maintaining an abandon-ship mentality when intimacy approaches.

This abandon-ship attitude mirrors the series of shipwrecked relationships
in W, “este naufregio general de families
desunidas, empieos parciales, relaciones eflmeras y sexo infectado” (AGED 23).
The inability to establish meaningful relationships is not surprising considering
the models of dysfunctionality present in protagonists’ family lives. The family
structure is in shambles: Christina’s father is absent from her life, she describes
the relationship between her and her mother as an “abismo que nos separa”
(AGED 23), and mentions that in the relationship with her sister Ana,
“practicamente no nos hablamos” (AGED 23). Similarly in W
eelestee, Bee’s models of relationships are equally dysfunctional and even more
traumatic. Like Cristina, Bea is distanced from her mother (“ella es feliz con tal de
no verme” [Beatriz 82]), and even expresses outright hate for her (“Empecé a

odiar a mi madre con todo mi corazén,” [Beatriz 100]). Bee’s father, in turn, is

 

that the indeterminacy established in her body and her uncommitted relationships
are the cause of her anxieties.

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equally distant from Bee’s mother, as she recalls, “haste donde mi memoria
alcanza, siempre durmieron en habitaciones separadas y jamas se permitieron,
al menos ante mi, ningt’rn tipo de proximidad fisica: ni cogerse de la mano ni
besarse. Ni siquiera se miraban a los ojos” (Death; 83). The physical distance
between Bee and her parents—she is forced to visit her parents in their business
offices to see them—is indicative of the emotional distance that separates them.
Infidelity is a family trait, as well, as Bee’s actions mirror those of her philandering
father. The fallout of the broken family manifests itself years later in Bee’s
relationships as a young adult. The disconnection, lack of communication, and
infidelity of her parents replay themselves in the splintered relationship between
Bee and Cat. Miller and Miller echo this pattern of youth replicating the failed
romantic relationships of their parents, explaining that for young people that
“experienced loneliness in their childhood and entered adulthood confused by the
meaning of relationships...mey have the right to feel cheated by parents who
cheated on each other, and then on their kids by abandoning them to pursue
their own personal goals” (4-5). Furthermore, there is evidence that Bee’s father
physically abuses her (mill; 127) and at one point almost strangles her to
death (M: 122-123). Predictably, Bea repeats the cycle by seeking fellow
victims and becoming involved with victimizers. For example, the novel includes
suspicious references to scars and violent sex which imply that Bee’s lover Cat
was sexually abused by her father, as well Mil 247). And recalling the
violence inherent in her description of anal sex with Iain, Bea describes Ralph’s

penchant for domination, his “mania de inmovilizanne con las piemas contra el

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colchon, de sujetarme los brazos encime de la cabeza” mu; 220). Back in
Madrid, after Coco tries to rape her (207), Bea feels that “a pesar de todo, le
tenia cierto carifio a Coco” (210). She fulfils her role as a victim by idealizing and
sympathizing with her victimizer. The abuse she suffers during childhood impacts
Bee’s identity: she is a manic depressive (181), suffers “decensos drasticos de
autoestima” (177), contemplates suicide (164, 169), and expresses self loathing
and self pity, “Nadie me aguantaba y nadie me aguantarla nunca porque era una

persona insufrible, incapaz de controlar mis arrebatos ml male leche, porque

estabe tocada” (Beatriz 179). Thus Beamzchsmemscelestes and Armor.

W establish a trajectory that their protagonists are
doomed to follow from traumatic childhood to dysfunctional and victimizing

relationships in young adulthood.

In summary, when considered alongside their superficial sexual
relationships, these dysfunctional family and sexual relationships point up the
overriding problem of intimacy in the Novels of Disaffection. Protagonists do not
want relationships to develop, and when intimacy approaches, they sabotage
their connections and truncate their amorous relationships. This inability to
maintain stability, even though ostensibly it is what they want, occurs to Bee in a
moment of Iucidlty:

Me pregunté a mi misma, Beatriz, jpor qué? Cuando resulta
evidente lo que te pasa, que dentro de ti ya has elegldo, que te
quedas con la legitime, con tu chica gato [Cat], la que puede

ofrecerte una establlidad y un lazo sclido que os une, tejido a base

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de tiempo y complicidades construidas poco a poco, gpor qué no

asumes hasta el fin tu eleccion? (59.6.1112 237)
Yet she Ignores her epiphany and abandons Cat nonetheless, and with her, the
possibility of intimacy. Bea is unable see a relationship to fruition, to be faithful, to
make a lasting connection, a commitment. This evasion of intimacy and
permanence reflects Bauman’s concept of “flotation,” a postmodern (and short-
term) attitude that allows the individual to enjoy the pleasures of love without the
accompanying sacrifices nor expectations for long-term rewards (Etujg 104-
108). When relationships do crumble, as when Ralph leaves Bea, it is “como si
no tuviéramos memoria” ($310; 235). Postmodern idenfity highlights the
obsolescence of memory, in which the past can be forgotten, and indeed must be
forgotten, instantly. To dwell on the past is to limit one’s options in the present
moment. The goal of youth in Spain’s Novels of Disaffection is to avoid
attachments, to have relationships without commitments.

As such Etxebarria’s novels blame youth culture for its selfishness, short-
sightedness, and their erroneous assumption that individual autonomy precludes
love. WW and WW
celebrate protagonists’ freedom, hedonism, and excess, yet paradoxically
protagonists suffer consequences for enjoying it. By presenting the fallout of
leading directionless lives, W and W
We: lament the atomization of the family, the waning of its role as

support system, and the lack of trust among parents and siblings.

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Furthermore, Spain’s youth (and by extension, adults as well) show
romantic connections as liabilities and infringements on personal freedom, in
which characters look to sex in search of feelings of belonging. Autonomy and
freedom become redefined as freedom from anyone else. Correspondingiy,
characters grow ever more frustrated with their directionless escapism and
absence of meaning in life, as Cristina explains:

Durante Ios ultimos cinco atios mi vida no he seguido un rumbo fijo.
Yendo de nada a nada, sin patrén ni destino, sin refuglo ni brujula.
A la deriva...Bebiendo cubalibres y fumando chinos y tragando
éxtasis y sirviendo copes y besando labios y chupando
pollas...Politoxic6mana confesa y pendén vocacional.” (AGED
285).
The novels argue that the series of meaningless, revolving-door relationships are
responsible for the alienation that characters suffer. They produce a vicious cycle
of loneliness that youth must learn to endure as a hard fact of life, as evidenced
in this exchange between Ralph and Bea: “rQué sucede?, pregunto él. Me
siento sole. Todos estamos solos, respondio. Cuanto antes te acostumbres a
ello, mejor.” (Beatriz 236). Even when In the presence of her lover Cat, Bea feels
“este certeza de ester siempre sole” (Beatriz 29).

The title of W is an appropriation from
Dorothy Parker’s poem, “Inventory”: “Four be the things I’d been better without: /
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt” (41 ). Indeed the novel presents an inventory

as seen in its alphabetized chapter titles (“E de enclaustreda, enamorada,

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empleada y encadenada” [47], “F de frustrada” [61], “L de iagrimas” [133]) of the
problems facing young Spanish women. It is also a pessimistic commentary that,
freckles aside, its protagonists would be better off without love, curiosity, and
doubt And returning to the title W, the image of
“heavenly bodies” opens and closes the novel (14-15; 233-35, 242), as well as
provides the metaphor for their disconnect. Apart from characters having highly
sexualized “cuerpos celestes,” like orbiting planets they experience the tug of
overwhelming physical attractions, yet they are condemned to be alone,
seemingly light years from contact with others. Monica reads,
‘A 36.000 kilémetros de la tierra—Ieyo elIa-se halla una Orbita
geoestecionaria, fija a la atmosfera porque se mueve a la misma
velocidad de la Trerra: la Orbita Cementerlo, como se denomina a
aquella a la que se envian ios satélites cuando plerden su vida
IIItil’...lmaginate, Bea: unos cachivaches enormes cuya labor
principal era la comunicecién, mudos, aislados para siempre,
rodeados de un ejérclto de cachivaches similares que tampoco
podran comunicerse nunca mas. Alucinante, rno? (Beatriz 14).
Indeed, this metaphor applies to both novels studied here. It is not a coincidence
that Cristina works in a bar called “Planeta X,” a space marked by an absence of
emotional attachments, as she describes, “Necesitaba alguien a quien aferrarme,
una razén seria para vivir. Alguien alejado del caballo y de los éxtasis y del
Planeta X” (AGED 293). Like planets and stars circling in their own geostationary

orbits, individuals circle each other but never connect. Their solitude gives way to

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defeafism, as Bea, for example, laments that the time she invested in caring for
Monica was simply wasted: “Todo aquel amor que he mantenido vivo durante
cuatro inacabables etios no ha sido mas que la luz de una estrelia muerta”
(Beatriz 263). The metanarrafive of (relative) long-term love results in failure, and
characters take failed relationships like this one as proof that long term
commitments are meaningless and, moreover, detrimental.

Etxebarrla’s protagonists are unreachable and unable to connect with
others. The emptiness of feeling worlds apart from others is the crux of the
message of WW and W
eelestes. Etxebarria’s novels stress the patterns of postmodern relationships:
fragmentation, ambiguity, and temporariness. The creation of identity through
and with another person is continuously frustrated. Bee and Cristina substitute
the ideal of interdependent identity with sex, replace spiritual fulfillment with
carnal and fleeting pleasures, and exchange the long term for the momentary.

Recalling Cristina’s declaration, “No future. Generation X. Hay que
joderse” (AGED 45), one notes the double meaning behind the last phrase (“You
have to fuck yourself/be fucked over" [Perriam 217]). Christina sends the
message that one can only count on him/herself to fulfill one’s own needs, and
even then, characters sabotage their efforts. And like the other Novels of
Disaffection, Etxebarria’s are adept at diagnosing the problems in which
contemporary Spanish youth culture has immersed itself, yet they decline to
prescribe concrete solutions. They point a finger to blame everyone-crumbling

families and uncaring parents; an unsupportive government, a faltering economy,

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and widespread youth unemployment; disrespectful youth-suggesting that the
responsibility for the decedent state of youth is shared equally, including youth
itself. The fallout for the individual is radically unstable identities. The ability not to
stick to anything supersedes the need to be strong-willed (“Fuertes no. Fuertes
Io eran ya la piedra y el hierro—afirmo eila categorica-. Flexible. Ahi radica la
diferencia. No puedes sobrevivir nl no lo eres” matriz 248]). They carry out a
self-fulfilling prophecy: they must be flexible, unstable, yet this same flexibility

and instability is the root of their solitude and insecurities.

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CHAPTER 5. “NADA DE NADA DE NADA DE NADA”: RAY LORIGA AND THE
PARADOX OF SPAIN'S NOVELS OF DISAFFECTION

When read as projects of postmodern identity, Ray Loriga’s Hm (1993)
and Lagietutafiemjjerruauo (1995) introduce a fascinating twist to “knowing”
Spanish youth culture. By following two anonymous twenty-somethings, a
delinquent and an outsider, these novels present narcissistic protagonists
numbed by simulacra. Their immersion in postmodern simulacra destabilizes
identity and, more than the other Novels of Disaffection, points up the paradox of
characters’ avoidance of a fixed identity by carrying their self destruction to its
logical conclusion. While Foucauldian theorists see identity as a constructed
entity, Laeietulauerujjermaue and Herees reverse the process, fragmenting
the self until it reaches the erasure of identity. The protegonists’ instability results
in the destruction of identity, which poses a problem: what could remain after the
loss of the self?

Loriga’s novels plunge into the turmoil and isolation of their protagonists
who are numbed by a barrage of simulacra—random voices, films, rock music,
television—which muddies their identities. The catalyst of Lapjstejajemj
herruaue, for example, is a handgun that an anonymous twenty-something male
finds in the garbage. The protagonist shoots a guard in a Madrid VIPS
restaurant, carjacks a BMW along with a teenage girl in the back seat, and
escapes on a roadtrlp across Spain. Yet the murder of the VIPS guard is
bafflingly meaningless, as he explains, “El guardia de VIPS, el de siempre, el que

siempre nos molesta, empezo a agarrarme por el brazo y a decir delante de

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todos que yo are un ladron. No habia robado nada” (151). The staggering
disconnect between this minor affront (an accusation of which he is innocent)
and his hypervlolent response triggers a radical shift in identity. In an instant he
transforms from a disinterested introvert into an enraged killer. Thus his sense of
self is fluid and subject to spontaneous metamorphosis.

Similarly, the protagonist later shoots a gas station attendant in the face
for saying “algo sucio” (152) about his hostage/girlfriend, a teen he met only
hours earlier. As he kills this second victim, the protagonist senses a distance
between the act and himself. The narrator explains, “No sentia la mano y no
sentia el peso de la pistola” (81), as if he didn’t pull the trigger, and continues,
“cada vez que respirc tuvo la sensacion de resplrar un aire nuevo y cuando por
fin se vio en el espejo...se encontro tan diferente y tan lejanamente familiar que
estuvo e punto de saludarse” (82-83). This disconnect from the self suggests a a
rebirth as someone else. His identity is so unstable and the change is so
instantaneous that he does not recognize his reflection. This loss of self links to a
moral ambivalence, as he claims, “no me imagine que mater a la gente are ten
facll” (153). Thus identity is so unstable that having a pistol in hand precipitates
an ethical degeneration. Douglas Kellner notes that “there is something amoral or
morally threatening about postmodern selves which are fluid, multiple, and
subject to rapid change” (“‘l'elevision” 156). The fragmentation of a unified self
produces in a subversion of morality. Moreover the protagonist experiences
identity swings against a backdrop of emotional and mental emptiness (“no

siento nada en concreto...una especie de ausencia de todo” [127]). Not only is

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there seemingly no reason for his radical changes of identity but also identity
itself is hollow and depfl'IIess. Since it has no roots, he can adopt and discard it
on a whim. Thus in contrast to the modernist construct of identity as a sustained
journey. Lanlstalnfimmctmam Inverts the journey. While on the road, the
protagonist’s physical mobility generates transient identities. Rather than “life as
pilgrimage,” this novel conceptualizes life as carnival bumpercars in which
identity changes direction suddenly and violently, or even steers for head on
collisions, as the traffic dictates.

The narrator of Lafietujagerumerruauu is the protagonist’s younger
brother, who is also anonymous.“ in reconstructing his brother’s story, he
attempts to reconstruct his brother’s identity in order to clarify public
misconceptions: “Los de la teleVIsIOn lo pintaron como el loco de la tele. Ponian
peliculas, trozos de peliculas, y declen que era lo mismo. Pues no sefior, no lo
era” (17). Adding to the narrative chaos is the media scrutiny which trails the
doomed roadtrlp. Uve television coverage, radio talk shows, newspapers, and
magazines contribute a din of screaming voices regarding who and what is “mi

hermano.” For example, to satiate the popular appetite for the cross-country trek,

 

2“ The younger brother’s own identity as a narrator is unstable as well. At times
he is omniscient, recounting conversations he never heard and channeling his
dead brother’s innermost thoughts, while at other times he is detached and
distant, narrating as if from within a haze of ignorance. Still in other instances, he
relies on second or third hand information from “ella,” the nameless abductee
and girlfriend of “mi hermano” who feeds the younger brother details about their
flight from the authorities. The series of filters and intermediaries dilute the
narrator’s veracity as well as highlights the fractured identity of the nameless
protagonist. Thus the structure and source of the younger brother’s narration foil
his attempts to construct an identity for his brother.

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the younger brother and mother appear on one such program, “T odos somos
uno,” a talk show which champions family unity. Yet emulating its name, “Todos
somos uno” blurs the distinctions between identities, merging the individual into a
deterministic amalgamation of the family unit. The television host affirms, “Si uno
muere morlmos todos, si uno sufre sufrimos todos, si uno meta...matamos
todos,” to which the studio audience replies, “Porque todos somos uno” (83).
While Medan Sarup comments that identity is not only individual but also
collective (23), LafisthmmLhemJam overcompensetes for the collective at
the expense of the individual. Furthermore the television program manipulates
the younger brother’s Image, as the stage crew applies cosmetics and a costume
to make him appear like a juvenile delinquent and thus shadow the popular
image of his brother. As the novel criticizes the culture of spectacle in
Spain—end by extension, the rest of the Western world—it also mirrors Douglas
Kellner’s observations on the primacy of the image, where simulacra are
confused with reality. The media’s (mis)representatlons flood the text with
disparate and increasingly subjectivized images producing imminently mobile
and unstable identities. This instability and fragmentation of the subject defies the
modemlst concept of the master narrative. The narrative itself splinters into
subjectivized points of view such that, consistent with Baudrillard’s theory of
postmodernism, the medium becomes the message. Despite the narrator’s intent
to clarify his brother’s image, his purpose not only remains unfulfilled, but the
“real” story of “mi hermano” becomes more elusive in the process: who is he and

why does he embark on a cross-country killing spree? indeed, the irony of the

159

novel is that, despite the barrage of television coverage of his exploits, the reader
never learns the protagonist’s name.

in contrast to the loss of identity in W, which
envisions a labyrinthine outside world at the expense of the individual,
liereee retreats inward to the self at the exclusion of the outside world. This
serpentine, disjunctive novel highlights a succession of disposable identities and
a process of trying identities on for size as the lone character, again an
anonymous “yo,” lives vicariously through others. He finds solace, escape, and
identity in music. His seviors are rock stars, his personal “heroes” David Bowie,
iggy Pop, and Lou Reed. Like Fran, Javi, and David from Jose Angel Mafias’s
novel Meueajra, the protagonist of Barges is himself a rock star. However, his
identificafion with fame is tenuous. The protagonist suffers alienation to the
extent that music becomes his surrogate parent (“espero de las canciones todo
lo que no me hen dado mis padres” [59]). The disconnect echoes throughout the
text as a continuous monologue; the protagonist avoids commitments and
relationships, and his isolation borders on paranoia (“Quiero ester solo porque no
confio en los que tengo alrededor” [45]). Thus identity in flames, despite the
implicit connection with fame, Is internalized. Simon Frith argues that identity is
produced in performance (109) and similarly Hams demonstrates an
intemelized performance, a rock star performing for himself, where identity
becomes his mask, a protection and an escape from reality: “Lo que sé: no
siempre soy lo que quiero. De ahl la importancia del disfraz. El disfraz es la

verdadera intencidn. La verdadera voluntad” (55). As Christopher Lasch notes,

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“identities can be adopted and discarded like a change of costume” (33), which is
an apt metaphor for the masks that the protagonist dons in Barges. The novel
presents a vacant identify where rock idols rush in to fill the identity vacuum:
“Sentirte como Jim Morrison no te convierte en Jim Morrison, pero no sentirte
como Jim Morrison te convierte en casi nada. Yo nunca saldria a la calle sin
sentirrne como Jim Morrison 0 Dennis Hopper por lo menos” (69). The
protagonist frames identity in terms of fame, which is logical considering that he
is a rock star. However his identity Is an act of imitation. He appropriates Identity
by living vicariously through other rock stars like Jim Morrison and screen idols
like Dennis Hopper. His performance implies a fantasy and a sense of playing
roles, imitating heroes to avoid himself and his descent into solitude. Building on
the concept of identity as mask, the costume shrouds him in make-believe;
moments of lucidity (“rCuando vas a ser capaz de afrontar las cases?” [81])
succumb to masked identities (“Cambiaba de nombre todas las semanas” [159]).
The repercussion of these costume changes is an identity that is continually
mobile and disposable.

Loriga’s protagonists display narcissistic tendencies in their withdrawal
into the cocoon of their own sensations. Green argues that narcissism is a
defense mechanism that the individual employs to maintain his/her individuality
(11). While the two protagonists in Loriga’s novels are seeking defense
mechanisms against a world they consider hostile, their retreat into self-
absorption backfires. Rather than stabilizing their identities, their concepts of self

become dispersed and ultimately unknowabie. Indeed, narcissistic withdrawal,

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according to Green, is destructive rather than constructive: “the object’s
sequestration...becomes the focus of a merciless struggle in which the ego,
believing it is bruising the object, merely succeeds in bruising itself” (110). These
sell destructive tendencies appear throughout Heroes and Laujstelagerul
hermaue, not only in the obvious physical self destruction, but also in the
destruction of Identity.

Due to reflexive identity shifts, for Loriga’s protagonists the present
moment becomes all encompassing. Whereas modernism conceptualized time
as an interrelated past, present, and future, a function of postmodern Identity Is
that time is reduced to the imminent present. Loriga’s characters disregard fire
future as futile dreaming and ignores the past as meaningless. The older brother
in mm, for example, boldly claims, “Antes de Hendrix no
habia nada” (68). As Loriga’s narrative limits life to the present moment,
characters recast their identities to take maximum advantage of them in a
minimal amount of time. Artifacts no longer construct identity, rather they replace
it. Drugs, alcohol, sex, rock music, and violence are the new marks of identity,
the new skins for characters in Spain’s Novels of Disaffection, the masks upon
which they graft identity. And like a mask, postmodern identities are superficial,
only skin deep.

Moreover the recasting of identity springs from a latent nihilism. Far from
the modemlst concept of identity construction, Heroes and Lamstelademj

hermaue recast it as identity destruction. Specifically, this destruction permeates

the novels in the concept of “nada.” In LapistujaueruLuermaue, for example, the

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protagonist exclaims, “Nada, si setior, eso es todo lo que Ie pido a la vida, nada.
When his girlfriend inquires, “rNada de nada?,” he responds unequivocally,
“Nada de nada de nada de nada de nada de nada de nada de nada de nada”
(104). The avoidance of identity fixation causes the loss of the self and the
disconnection from identity. in Heroes, for example, the protagonist asks himself,
“aY qué eres ahora? Nada. Una especie de cartucho rellenable” (84). This
“nada,” a blankness of identity, is the paradox Ray Loriga’s narrative as well as
that of Spain’s Novels of Disafiection.

In conclusion, Loriga’s novels posit a larger consideration of the Novels of
Disaffection by questioning what unity or individuality could remain after the
erasure and loss of identity. The answer, paradoxically, is “nada.” The
protagonists of Heme and LAW dwell in superficiality. Their
“real” identities are dispersed and unknowabie. At the conclusions of the novels,
identity is as mysterious—perhaps even more so—than at the beginning. The
continual temporariness of identity has a corrosive effect: the search for identity
results in the erasure of identity. Yet it is not an existential crisis. identity may be
fleeting but it is also instantly replaceable. And thus the vicious cycle begins
again: the nihilism of disconnecting from one’s identity plagues Loriga’s

characters and, paradoxically, it is also the foundation of their identity.

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CHAPTER 6. STRANGERS IN A STRANGE HOUSE: QISUEAM AND THE
DYSTOPIA OF SPAIN’S NOVELS OF DISAFFECTION

Tracing a trajectory through the narrative of José Angel Matias, Lucia
Etxebarria, and Ray Loriga, Spain’s youth novel of the 19905 has plumbed the
depths of the individual’s identity. As if obeying a centripetal force, protagonists
retreat inward, shelter themselves in asocialism, recoil from family and friends,
sever communication, and crawl into drug and alcohol induced stupors. This
“ensimismamiento” has overshadowed a broader reading of this literature,
namely, the role of collective identity among the amalgamation of fiercely
independent individuals. In essence, the discussion of identity in the novels
studied thus far leaves certain unanswered questions: can collective identity exist
in the Novels of Disaffection? Can an identity transcend the individual’s
immediate needs to encompass the dynamics of a group? Might the Individual
find sanctuary in community? In the face of an increasingly hostile world,
disintegrating families, and transient friends, is unity and community possible?
What form would it take? in response to these questions, Care Santos’s
Gkupada (1997) posits an alternate model of the Novels of Disaffection and an
alternate approach to the identity question in Spanish youth literature of the
1990s. Specifically, Gkupada surveys Spanish youth culture by following a group
of 17 to 22 year-old social outcasts as they stage an “okupacién.” The
representation of these outsiders—an anarchist, a junkie, a bohemian, a
homosexual, a refugee, an exile, and two teenage runaways-exemplifies the

theories of the Stranger proposed by Madam Sarup and Zygmunt Bauman. As

164

society’s undecidables, strangers live with perpetual uncertainty. They resist
social hierarchies and thus, being “strange,” their very presence causes
disquietude and disorder. As strangers in an appropriated house, fire “okupas”
band together to construct a utopian microcosm of tolerance and acceptance.
But the romanticized okupacién, like the okupas’ collective identity, ls fleeting.
Their modemlst utopia crumbles as the okupes turn their symbolic act of social
resistance against each other, stranger against stranger, upending their idealism,
debasing the construction of community, and questioning collective identity in
Spanish youth culture.

The identification with youth has come to define, and to an extent confine,
Santos’s early novels. Recalling Toni Dorca and Carmen de Urioste’s definitions
of Generation X literature, being published at an early age is the putative
membership card to the club of youth culture literary icons; and like her
contemporaries Matias, Ebtebarrla, and Loriga, the age question casts a shadow
over Santos’s work as well. Santos began writing at age 10, started a career in
journalism writing for the “Diari de Barcelona” at 19, and published her first
collection of short fiction, Gueuteeejtrieus, at 25. Alba Editoriaies markets her
first novel, Laruuertedejfiurtfltraiu (1997), as well as Gkupada under the
category “literature juvenll.” Both novels, like the other Novels of Disaffection
previously studied, accentuate the correlation between readers and protagonists;
young people reading the novel ostensibly connect with its teenage and twenty-
something characters. This youth audience is particularly evident in Laruuerteue

KurLGeuaju (1997) whose 15 year old protagonist Sandra engages in an

165

adventure of teenage wish-fulfillment: she is unusually independent and has
curiously adult sensibilities while playing detective in a post-monem search for
the true identity of her friend, Merche. Facing evidence that Merche has died
violently In the explosion of an airliner en route from New York to Madrid, Sandra
confronts an adult world that is distanced and uncaring of her intense emotional
plight. Once again, parents are predictably absent from the plot, this time
vacationing in idyllic Czechoslovakia (12), a nation whose lntemal collapse
mirrors the unraveling family structure in Spain’s youth novels. As one would
expect, the teenagers use pop music and film as their reference points for reality:
songs by Nirvana—“Come as You Are,” “On a Plein”—provide the soundtrack for
the novel’s plot points, the narrator alludes to hip filmmakers—“Aquel discurso
era intenso como una peli de Taranfino” (44)-to provide exposition, and the
protagonists reject traditional notions of family and adulthood—“Nosotros
creemos que eso de caserse es una mierda y que lo que hay que hacer es vivir
la vida” (30). Emulatlng other Novels of Disaffection, LaruuerteaejsnrtGenaju
grounds its plot in readily identifiable contemporary events and headlines, and is
loosely based on two sudden and violent deaths: that of its namesake, the
suicide of grunge icon Kurt Cobain In April 1994 and the explosion of TWA flight
800 from New York to Paris in July 1996. Yet, against the background of death
and In contrast to fire debauchery of Spain’s Novels of Disaffection, Lameertege
KuuGeuaiu actually develops as an innocent coming of age story. Sandra
obsesses over her first romance, describing fire giddy feeling of her boyfriend

Santl putfing his arm around her shoulders (39) and the thrill of her first kiss (40).

166

Thus in addition to pop culture references and teenage disenchantment, the
novel identifies with its youth readership by portraying the heartbreak of an
unfaifirful boyfriend and the anguish of betrayal by and loss of one’s closest
friend. In the end, Merche’s death is a case of mistaken identity, and in a
conclusion of questionable verisimilitude, Sandra and Merche reunite to
celebrate the value of friendship and solidarity among teenage girls.

In retrospect Santos expresses misgivings about this early novel (“ya hace
bastante flempo que me arrepenti de publicario” [“Entrevistas'1). Because she
founds the Asociaclcn de Jovenes Escritores in 1992 and receives Sevilla’s
Premio Ateneo Joven in 1999, fire “young writer” and “youth literature” labels
stick to Santos and her novels.“5 Yet, as with the problematic age groupings like
“Generacion X” discussed In Chapter 1, the “literature juvenil” category tends to
obfuscate the content of her later narratives. Particularly for Santos’s second
novel, Granada, “literature juvenil” is misleading. The challenges that the
protagonists face in Gkuuada—disilluslonment, abandonment, homelessness,
self-preservation (they must scrounge for their own shelter and food), drug
addiction, threats of violence, death—are adult predicaments. Having to fight for

basic human needs points up the paradox of Santos’s novel; labeled as “youfir”

 

“5 However, like recent fiction by Matias, Etxebarria, and Loriga, Santos’s latest
novels break from the putative aesthetics and themes of the Novels of
Disaffecttion to explore different contexts, age groups, and even epochs. For
example, Santos’s 1997 novel, W, despite the tlfle’s apparent
suggestion of Generation X defeatism, actually explores the internal struggles of
a female artist In 1920s and 19305 Barcelona. And W (1999)
follows a band of immigrants through the Middle East in the 1940s Thus the
importance of the “youth” age group further diminishes when considering the
development of Santo’s narrative.

167

narrative, the protagonists are youths in name and age only. The novel portrays
youfirs who-unlike Matias, Etxebarria, and Loriga’s protagonists’ carefree and
responsibility-free existence—no longer have the opportunity to be young.
Qkuuada modifies the youfir literature formula established by fljeteriaedel
Kronen. WW and La_ulste|a_de_mj_ueunaue. They are
no longer the “nitios mimados” in search of weekend escapism and hedonism;
rather Gkuuada reframes “youth” as a struggle for survival. A nurturing,
emotionally well-adjusted home and upbringing are laughably anachronistic
nofions for these protagonists. They are fiercely independent and prematurely
mature. Forgolng teenage rites of passage, Gkuuada follows its characters into
an existence in which firey must instantaneously become adults.

The novel’s namesake Springs from “la okupacion,” or squatting, a
practice In which Santos’s protagonists participate, as some marginalized young
people do throughout Europe. During an okupacicn a group of young people
band together to occupy an abandoned building or flat. While an okupacion
addresses a basic human need—to seek shelter—its implications extend beyond
the physicality of fire four walls of a building, as a polificai cause. In particular, a
“case okupada” tends to be a neosociaiist, pseudoenarchistic living experiment

modeled after the commune lifestyle”. These terms-neosociaiist, pseudo-

 

” The okupacion has an electronic corollary in “la ciberokupacién.” As idenfity on
fire internet is linked to user names, domain names, and URLs, one can
appropriate virtual spaces by being first to stake a claim to an intemet name and
then profit from reselling that name and subsequenfiy that identity. For example,
according to “El Pais Digital,” Tunisian student Anis Darragi purchased fire
domain name “www.repsol-ypf.com” and, like other “picaros virtuales,” attempted

168

anarchistic-are inherenfiy vague since in Gkupaua there is no rigid ideological
framework that defines the okupacién. Rafirer, fire okupas’ philosophy
incorporates a hodgepodge of socially progressive slogans (“Somos ios
herederos directos del anarqulsmo...para defender valores como la ecologla, el
antimilitarismo, la insumision” [36-37]) and a stereotypical youfirful idealism (“No
somos adultos ni tenemos ganas de serlo. Somos ciudadanos libertarios,
antiautoriterios, revoluclonarios, pacifistas, contrarlos aI sistema y casi mayores
de edad, aunque esto tiltirno no nos preocupa demasiado, como casi nada que
dependa de las Ieyes que dicta el poder establecida” [13]). The okupas’
allegiance to firese ideals is half-hearted at best; indeed, the illusion of unity
under a shared ideology foreshadows their eventual downfall. The okupacién
combines an atmosphere of tolerance for social outcasts with a tacit agreement
that its members pool resources (such as money, food, skills, and education) for
collective benefit. in order to serve their community firey host a series of “talleres”
in which, for example, Beatriz teaches music, Begotia teaches painfing, Oswi-

Wan teaches poetry, Alma conducts aerobics classes, and the fiamboyantly

 

to exploit Repsol for millions of pesetas upon news of Its proposed merger with
YPF (T orreiro). Yet despite similar terminology and a common link to the
question of idenfity, there is a fundamental difference between the
ciberokupecion and fire street okupacién. Like fire landgrabbers or “sooners” of
western American lore of the 1850s, profit and economic advantage drive the
ciberokupa, whereas fire okupas in Care Santos’s novel (as well as the okupas
throughout Europe) would reject such a capitalist project. Their okupacion
originates from an inherently socialist philosophy in which profit is neither a goal
nor even a consideration and any resources are shared equally with the group.
Returning to the definitions developed in Chapters 1 and 2, the overt materialism
further distinguishes Gkueada and Spain’s Novels of Disaffection from the North
American Generation X and Blank Fiction.

169

homosexual Oskar gives lessons in “el dragqueenismo,” the delicate art of being
a transvestite. Their duality of purpose distinguishes the okupas from the
homeless. Homelessness implies a low socioeconomic threshold accompanying
poverty and often unemployment. While an okupacién also entails poverty,
unemployment, and social marginalization, it incorporates a political posifion as
well, as in the case of family politics (the runaway), local polifics (fire anarchist) or
nafionallglobal pollfics (the migrant). An individual joins an okupacibn parfiy by
necessity-sIhe does not have a place to live, is economically disenfranchised,
or is firrown out of a home—and perfiy as an act of rebellion and social defiance.
For example, fire quest for a home for fire group of outcasts in We springs
from fireir distinct backgrounds: two teenage runaways, a drug addict, a Cuban
exile, a bohemian artist, an Iraqi Kurd seeking political asylum, a homosexual
shunned by his parents, and a university dropout. Whereas fire homeless seek a
space in which to live and survive, the okupas seek a space in which to belong
and feel wanted. in essence, theirs is a community building project. The okupa
seeks shelter not only because sIhe currently may have none, but also because
sIhe has often made a choice to leave a place no longer considered home. This
distinction of needs (survival versus belonging) and the element of choice
inherent in fire okupacién project disfinguishes the okupa from simply being
homeless. Okupas belong to socially ostracized groups—drug addicts, illegal
immigrants, homosexuals—mat have decided to further marginalize themselves.
The choice to “okupar,” however, does not occur everywhere under the

same legal conditions. in particular, northern and central Europe provide a

170

figurative open door to squatters. In Amsterdam, Holland, for example, a dwelling
left uninhabited for 18 months is legally available for habitation by squatters.
According to fire legal precedents for squatting in Great Britain, A.M. Prichard
explains firat while it violates civil law, squatting enjoys a de facto legal and social
tolerance (168). The city government in Geneva, Switzerland, even directs fire
phenomenon, known in French as “le squat,” through fire establishment of
officially designated squat houses. While such a sanctioned counterculture is an
oxymoron, le squat’s overt organization contrasts with fire lawlessness and
chaos of fire okupacion in Spain.27 Article 245 of fire Spanish C(rdigo Penal
prohibits okupaciones and as such leaves no ambiguity that okupas are
lawbreakers. in fact, the concept of an organized or government sanctioned
okupacion would be anfifirefical to the Spanish okupa. Their rallying cry is
antiaufirorltarianism, to wage a “batalla al odioso poder establecida” (Qkueada
59). The nebulous social establishment— police, government, capitalists, and
especially property owners—is enatlrema to fireir ifinerant lifestyle. The okupas
base fireir fragile community on the property owner not discovering their
presence: “Para entrar a okupar, es imprescindlble que note vea nadie, que la
pasma no te pille in fraganti cuando estas entrando. ..Por eso lo mejor es okupar
de madrugada, cuando ios vecinos duermen y, sl se puede, haste cortar el
trafico para que note plllen en plena faena” (38). The illegality of the okupacion

forces Its inhabitants to live a nocturnal existence. To take possession of their

 

2’ in Me, Oskar further specifies the difference between Spain’s scrappy,
downtrodden okupas and fire rest of Europe’s squatters, who he dismisses as

“okupas con pedigri” (59).

171

new abode, for example, the okupas in Santos’s novel sneak in at night through
a back door in fire garden, always entering and leaving by the same clandestine
route under cover of the night. Their relationship with darkness produces another
duality of existence, both practical and symbolic, in that fire night serves to hide
them (a form of protecfion) while it simultaneously keeps them hidden (a form of
isolation) from the rest of Barcelona”. This living in darkness pushes them
underground—out of sight of property owners and law enforcement—but also
further marginalizes these outcasts from society at large. They assume fire role
of the trespasser who, according to Begotia, straddles the fine line between a
“ciudadana correcta” who has a home and a “delincuente cornun,” the homeless
okupa (142). As trespassers, firey are unwanted and unwelcome wherever may
stay. Regardless of the space they inhabit, their occupation continually works to
ostracize them. Although the okupacién offers a shelter, the okupas occupy the
gray area between “being” (“ester”) and “belonging.”

Gkupada highlights fire okupas’ transience and instability; aifirough firey
do choose this lifestyle, it Is lmpliclfiy an elected uncertainty, a decision to choose
ambiguity. Indeed a sense of clarity and certainty are anachronistic in the

postmodern era. Reliance, let alone faith, in other people or institutions is

 

2“ In contrast to the Madrid-centrism of other Novels of Disaffection, Santos sets
Gkupada, as well as the aforementioned Win, in
Barcelona. Whereas the novels that take place in Madrid by Matias, Etxebarria,
and Loriga tend to downplay ethnic diversity, Gkupada reinforces the image of
Barcelona as a pluralistic city. The diversity of protagonists’ nationalities and
ethnicities—lnge the German drug trafficker, Mustafa the Kurdish refugee, and
Oswl-Wan the Cuban exile—reflects Barcelona's reputation as an international
crossroads, yet simultaneously emphasizes the paradox of fireir marginalization.

172

archaic. Career, friendship, marriage, family, home, and community, institutions
once known and depended on as long-term sources of stability now have been
transformed into relationships of convenience. Each is disposable, stripped of the
guarantee of stability, and couched in until-further-notice clauses (Bauman
Djeeuuteute 24). Skills and experience run the risk of being outdated at a
moment’s nofice. Confinual and even violent renewal ls paradoxically fire only
constant in life. Whereas modernism conceptualized life as a journey and a
pilgrimage (as shown In Chapter 3), postrnodemlsm reduces the long-term
journey to erratic, day to day wandering. As a template for contemporary life, the
model of fire pilgrimage has lost its relevance. Pursuing goals, long term
planning, following a life philosophy, adhering to a religious faifir, indeed leading
a principled existence, once fire foundafion upon which to base personal growth,
is now considered superfluous baggage. A totalizing life project is incongruent
wifir fire world that now surrounds fire individual. Whereas principles, morality,
and dogma were once to remain constant in fire face of life’s adversities. now
one's whims and the allure of instant grafificafion take precedent. The foundation
of a belief system cedes to fire vicissitudes of daily life. In fire face of uncertainty
and the impossibility of depending on anyone or anything for the long term, fire
individual must remain independent, flexible, and keep his/her options open.
Mark Currie refers to this uncertainty as “a flight from fire present...to hurry
everything into the past even while it Is still happening” (97). Subsequently the
perception of reality, rather firan an interconnected past, present, and future, now

contracts to a series of vignettes and short term opportunities. in the individual’s

173

flight from the present, time has become so fragmented and disjunctive that one
must live clay to day, even hour to hour, and as such life lurches fonivard as an
ever-evolving contingency plan.

identity is not immune to this pervasive instability. Douglas Kellner affirms
that “postmodern identity is an extension of fire freely chosen and multiple
identities of the modern self that accepts and affirms an unstable and rapidly
mutating condition, which was a problem for the modern self, producing anxiety
and identity crisis” (158). Postmodern idenfity is chameleon-like; it is as radically
unstable and subject to change as are an individual’s surroundings. Thus identity
shifts to exploit fire environment, like a reflex or a survival mechanism, in which
guiding principles and life philosophies bend to external pressures. Society and
identity exist in a relationship of stimulus and response. It is no longer a question
of having the vision and fortitude to weather adversity while sticking to one’s
morals and beliefs. Rafirer, external stimuli dictate an individual’s actions and the
content of his or her identity. Reliance on institutions (family, career, community),
and thus a fixed nofion of identity, is not only futile but also potentially
detrimental. As the individual becomes fixated, “stuck” on any one act, sIhe
cedes the ability to spontaneously bend and change, and hence loses his/her
survival mechanism.

identity formation is also an experiential process. From the postmodern
viewpoint the accumulation of life experiences is beneficial only if they do not
impede the individual’s flexibility. The inherent instability reduces the long term

plan or life journey to that of a tourist itinerary. One feels pushed to see, to

174

quickly assimilate the experience, and then move on, never staying in any place
nor fixafing on any act for too long. in essence, the postmodern era sends the
message that one should pass through life as a vacationer, what one
experiences in the here and now must remain in the here and now, as in the
tourist mantra, “this is a nice place to visit, but I would not want to live here.”
Bauman suggests, “Like everything else, the self-image splits into a collection of
snapshots, each having to conjure up, carry and express its own meaning, more
often than not without reference to other snapshots” (Dimefieute 24). The
snapshot metaphor is fitting, as postmodern identity is a series of superficial
images, constructed piecemeal, even randomly. The order of these identity
snapshots is of little importance. Like trading cards, they can be shuffled and
seen at random as there exists no metanarrative firat strings them together.
Hence the fragmentation breeds further uncertainty.

Wandering firrough the fog of uncertainty is a figure that lurks on the
periphery of Western societies: the stranger. A primer of this concept is in order.
Strangers are society’s undecidables; firey resist categorizafion into artificial
social orders. The Other, in contrast, Is based on dichotomies and hierarchies,
such as man/woman, citizen/immigrant, inside/outside, and good/evil, where fire
former necessarily dominates the latter. The stranger, however, falls into
ambiguity, as sIhe Is neither wholly Inside nor outside, neither dominant nor
submissive, neither friend nor foe. As such strangers’ identities are unstable and
unclear. Their stranger status comes from “their tendency to befog and eclipse

boundary lines which ought to be clearly seen” (Bauman Djeceuteute 25). They

175

muddy the divisions between belonging and being cast out. Strangers occupy a
gray area, they fit in neither here nor there, but meanwhile they obviously must
be located somewhere. Since firey are constanfiy out of place, fireir strangeness
exists always and everywhere. Similarly, fire Spanish okupa lacks firese
foundations of Idenfity construction such as home, family, and community. For
example, in Gkupada Oskar ls ostracized from his family who is intolerant of his
homosexuality, Mustafa flees his home in lreq to escape political persecution,
and Kike, a professional okupa, experiences fire perpetual transience of fire
okupacion movement, stating, “De hoy a mattena te han echado de in case. To
sientes como una basura” (37). Since they live wifir a sense of permanent
uncertainty, fire concept of home for them is an estranged place. Madam Sarup
states, “Unlike an alien or foreigner, fire stranger is not simply a newcomer, a
person temporarily out of place. Sllre is an eternal wanderer, homeless always
and everywhere” (11), and as a stranger, fire okupa manifests fire absence of
home and roots. They do not fit anywhere. Indeed fire foreigners in Gkuuaua are
also strangers. Oswi-Wan and Mustafa face polifical persecution if they return to
Cuba and Iraq, respectively, yet as illegal immigrants they are outsiders in Spain
as well. lnge, a junkie, drug pusher, and drug trafficker, cannot feel safe at any
point along her drug route (from Morocco, to Spain, France, and her nafive
Germany) because fire basis of her identity—drugs-pushes her to the social
and legal peripheries wherever she may be. Thus strangers are “home-less,”
both without domicile and without fire building blocks of identity firat a home

implies. Even the Ofirer, while marginalized, can in fact go home; sIhe has a

176

 

 

place to call home, a space of security and protection. The stranger, on the other
hand, suffers the uncertainty and instability of lacking any place of refuge.

In addition to being out of place, the stranger produces a wider, ripple
effect firroughout society. Strangers are messy. Since they cannot be easily
classified—neither inside nor outside—they disarrange fire neafiy constructed
social hierarchy. The “problem” of fire stranger hinges on a vision in which
everyone remains in their right place. Since strangers do not fit anywhere, firey
stand out, making fireir presence more noticeable. As such, Santos’s strangers,
the okupas, must move about at night. The strangers’ presence causes
disquietude due to their lack of a clearly defined place. As appropriators of
ofirers’ property and spaces, okupas like Kike, Kifo, Begotia, and Oskar
inherenfiy violate fire social contract of allegiance to private property and fire
legal system. As such strangers confound order; they throw a monkeywrench
into the order-making machinery of society and therefore society perceives their
presence as enough of a threat to blacklist firem. Similarly an ordered and
orderly society, as Mary Douglas argues, is one that is free of “dirt”:

Dirt offends against order. Eliminating it is not a negative
movement, but a posifive effort to organize fire environment. ..ln
chasing dirt, in papering, decorating, tidying, we are not governed
by anxiety to escape disease, but are posifively re-ordering our
environment, making it conform to an idea. There is nothing fearful
or unreasoning in our dirt-avoidance: it is a creative movement, an

attempt to relate form to funcfion, to make unity of experience. (2)

177

 

Thus to reestablish an ordered, hygienic environment, society must cleanse the
impurity that contaminates order. In an effort to create order, to put people in
their right places, attention necessarily turns to what is out of order: “if
uncleanliness is matter out of place, we must approach it through order.
Uncleanliness or dirt is that which must not be included if a pattern is to be
maintained” (Douglas 40). For this reason, the stranger represents an ongoing
“problem”; as an impurity, s/he fosters a dream of purity. The stranger threatens
the ordered environment and pushing out the stranger would, in theory, restore
an ordered and orderly society. This dirt elimination project also implicifiy
imposes a hegemonic order, pitting insider against outsider, the clean against the
dirty. While cleansing dirt would reestablish order, it simultaneously posits a
utopian vision of society. The hegemonic power seeks a utopia, a space firat is
either uncontaminated and stranger-free, or in which the stranger fits into the
social order. However, recalling that strangers are unable to be insiders nor
outsiders—they are constanfiy out of place—their inherent ambiguity strains the
utopian hierarchy. It is the tension between ordering—purging —the stranger and
the quest for utopia—a social hygiene—that entangles the stranger.

Western sociefies simultaneously generate and mistrust strangers. Spain
in particular still must contend with the “problem” of strangers as perceived
contaminants, meddlers, and disorderers. Yet, Care Santos's Qkupada posits an
alternate perspective to the stranger problem and its subsequent dream of purity
in what one could call “the stranger’s revenge.” In the novel the okupas,

themselves fire strangers of Barcelona, construct a space of belonging, their own

178

utopia. Qkupada debases the hegemony by contemplating fire dynamics of a
space if it consisted of nofiring but strangers. The perpetual outsiders are now,
literally, inside. They are off the street and in their own house. In their alternative
utopia they are no longer strangers, rather they become the majority. mm the
structure of the house serving as a partition from the rest of Barcelona, they now
have the power to draw the lines firat separate the inside from fire outside, the
insider from fire outsider, and who belongs and who does not. In the teeming,
consumeristic landscape of the Barcelona portrayed in Santos’s novel, the
okupas declare firelr house a free space (19, 52) and work to transform fireir
dwelling—which firey christen wifir fire tongue-in-cheek name, Bakinjam—into a
utopian micro-society, an urban “locus amoenus” of freedom, tolerance, equality,
and mutual respect. The okupas recreate fire dream of purity by retreating into a
space of cleanliness. The evidence of purificafion in the novel is quite literal. The
group of eight strangers converges on a house in a state of decay. Abandoned
for twenty years to an accumulafion of grime, fireir first task is to clean. Alma
narrates fire clean up effort:
Todo estaba asqueroso. De cualquier rincén sallan sopresas
desagradables: preservafivos usados, jeringuillas, mierdas como
catedrales y hasta un carburador y una bateria de moto...IIenamos
bolsas y bolsas con escombros que habian caldo por todas partes,
pedazos de puertas y muebles podridos. (28, 29)
Upon their arrival, Bakinjam is a house without a reliable structure, literally and

metaphorically. Rats are “occupying” fire basement and above there is “una

179

buhardilla que, Iiteralmente, se caia a pedazos...y podia pasar que el suelo
cediera o que el techo se desplomara sobre nuestras cabezas” (26). Through a
physical cleaning, they transform the dwelling from a space in disrepair into a
space of purity. Kike pirates electricity from powerlines in the street and
throughout the house's four floors they designate spaces in which to construct a
bar, a concert hall, and individual bedrooms. The rebuilding project represents a
movement larger than themselves and their own self-interests—a metaphorical
act of community, collective identity, as well as a metanarrative—which draws
them together. The repairs to fire house transcend fire act of construction: fire
okupas begin to forge a community of strangers around this project and
simultaneously begin to forge a collective identity. Their house serves as a
metaphorical framework upon which to build this identity. No longer the
strangers, within its protective shelter they are free to express and develop fireir
personal idenfities. Through their “talleres” (music, painting, poetry, aerobics, and
of course “el dragqueenismo”) each shows their particular “sef'ras de identidad.”
Alma, for example, seeks “un ecosistema original y divertido en el que me
apetecia mucho quedarme a echar ralces” (28). As is common in Spain's Novels
of Disaffecfion, like WNW. LQDQQUIQIQQQ. W
wastes, parents and family are largely absent from Qkupada. Alma observes of
her parents that “ninguno de los dos esta nunca en casa porque sus mulfiples
obligaclones les manfienen entretenidos” (89). Hence fire okupas look to fire
collecfive idenfity of fire okupacién as a surrogate family. Mirroring Alma’s desire

to “echar raices,” firey seek a sense of belonging and fire stability of a space in

180

 

which to found an identity. Moreover Alma’s family unit disintegrates; her parents
divorce while she is participafing in fire okupacibn. Finally, in distancing
firemselves from their parents and an adult world they consider hypocrifical, fire
okupas reveal a Peter Pan syndrome. Their utopia is merely a “culto de juventud”
as firey declare, “no somos adultos nl tenemos ganas de serlo” (13) in a desire to
stave off maturity and adulthood.

For firat reason, fireir utopian vision is short-lived. While fire itinerant
strangers of Qkupada find shelter In an abandoned house, firey do not find a
home. By taking up residence, fire outsiders become insiders. In fire process of
occupying fire house firey unwitfingly replicate the same hierarchies and power
structures against which they are ostensibly rebelling. The group christens their
run-down dwelling “Bakinjam” after the Brifish royal palace of fire same name.
Adopfing fire name of fire house of Windsor, center of a monarchical and
formerly colonizing world power, is an ironic choice for a supposedly collecfive,
neo-socialist experiment in living. It also foreshadows fire hypocrisies into which
they fall and the eventual disintegration of fireir utopian microcosm at fire hands
of abused aufirorlty. The okupas replicate the same dream of purity firat drove
firem from their previous spaces (the streets, broken homes, intolerant families,
Cuba, lraq) to occupy Bakinjam in fire first place. By creafing a utopia for
society’s strangers, firey reproduce the project that necessitates the drawing of
boundaries, the establishment of order, a “clean” space, free of the stranger.
Their rigorous cleaning evolves into a crusade. The okupas replicate the dirt

elimination project by upholding fire ideal of purity, sweeping out fire filth, and

181

cleansing their microsociety of its unwanted, the disorderers among the strangers
firemselves. Namely fire presence of Inge, fire German pusher, trafficker, and
drug addict, represents a faulfiine along which fire okupas divide. The hashish,
cocaine, and heroin that Inge brings Into the house begin to fragment fireir
community and test their tolerance, a test which firey ultimately fail. Despite their
supposed acceptance of outsiders, Begofia condemns lnge’s drug addiction as
immoral (117) and Oswi-Wan attempts to exclude Inge from their house, alleging
firat “Inge no era de Ios nuestros” (131). The gafirering of okupas fails to make
the house an accommodating home. Their utopia (re)produces divisions and the
need to again seek out and purge the unclean, firat is, the stranger. In essence
they single out a stranger amidst strangers. The confrontafions multiply and fire
okupas abandon their utopian idealism and fall into the same trappings of power
and hypocrisy they fiercely criticize in society outside the okupacidn. For
example, once they claimed unwavering loyalty to their ideals: “las ideas no las
desalojaran jamas. Esa es nuestra fuerza...Nuestra lucha es social y Iibertaria y
no vamos a renunciar a ella nl dentro de cuarenta afios” (40-41). On two
occasions Kike affirms that, “somos pacificos y detestamos cualquier acto
violento” (46) and “somos pacificos...no debemos olvidarlo bajo ningun concepto,
pase lo que pase” (131). Yet their interpersonal conflicts escalate into violence,
for instance, among fire love triangle of Alma, Kifo, and Inge who fight and
threaten each other at knife-point (110-111). Furthermore, Kifo defends the
okupacion with growing violence, fending off the invading police force with

molotov cocktails, vowing that “no nos iremos de aqui si no es por la fuerza” (73).

182

As mentioned above, a principled existence is futile when faced with the
vicissitudes of the postmodern world. Similarly, hypocrisy infiltrates the core
values of the okupacién and rips at the fabric of fireir pacifist movement. The
romanticized community splits apart and the spirit of equality and tolerance
splinters into petty individualism. As they turn against each other, fire okupas
become ever more self-involved. Begotia, for example, the longest serving
okupa, expresses disillusionment with the metanarrative of their movement,
claiming, “Ia okupacién es un modo de vida alternativo sclo apto para falsos
idealistas” (157) and abandons the okupacién for a lucrative job. Inge and Kifo
withdraw from fire collective and retreat into drug-induced escapism and
subsequeme promise, “err cuanto encontremos un lugar donde quedarnos, nos
Iargaremos” (118). As such their microcosm fragments and subdivides,
reproducing the “us versus the stranger” dichotomy. Thus fire okupas' modernist
utopia crumbles.

Louis Marin notes firat a utopia (from the Greek “ou topos,” or “no place”)
degenerates due to the contrast it implicifiy draws between utopian and non-
utopian spaces (286). The euphoria of utopia turns into disillusionment when one
goes “back to reality.” In Qkupada, the difference between the utopian and non-
utopian spaces is similarly unsustainable; the okupas’ idealized, modernist goal
of unity and equality for all cedes to the grim reality of capitalist greed and
xenophobia, which is paradoxical considering Barcelona’s reputation as an
international crossroads and a destination for immigrants. The contrast between

the utopia (fire okupacidn) and the non-utopia (Barcelona) emerges when the

183

 

okupas leave the protection of the okupacién. Attempting an anarchist public
relations campaign (Kifo says, “Yo propongo movilizar a la opinién
publica...hacer algo que llame la atencidn de la gente para que nos conozcan y
esten a nuestro favor" [93]), the okupas scale fire Ayuntamiento and, in a move
reminiscent of a band of pirates, tear down fire Spanish flag and in its place hoist
fire black flag of fire okupacién (105). Yet fireir act of symbolism—fire flag serves
as a mark of identity and as a rallying point—lasts an underwhelming three and a
half minutes (106). Rafirer than rally massive public support for their cause, fire
flag-raising incident provokes an eventual police invasion of Bakinjam to force
out fire okupas. The idealism of fireir utopia collides wifir the reality of the
hegemonic non-utopia. In fact, the okupas’ very Idealism (the ut0pian ideals, fire
dream of purity, fire eliminafion of dirt, and fire attempt to spread fire utopia
outward into Barcelona) contributes to the destruction of their okupacién. Thus
like fire ideological emptiness of raising fireir flag, the foundafion of fireir
identity—fire okupacidn—is hollow; the okupas show firat firey can easily discard
their dreams and goals as fire circumstances fluctuate. As fire okupas’ symbolic
act of social resistance turns against each ofirer, the metanarrative of fire
okupacion is overturned and fire promise of utopia degenerates into dystopia.
The breakdown of fire okupas’ community parallels fire breakdown of their
collective idenfity. As fire idenfity of fire stranger is uncertain and unstable,
Qkunada reproduces firis instability as identity shifts from group interest to self-
interest, from solidarity to solitude. Beatriz conveys fire sense of hopelessness

and detachment in her view of interpersonal relafionships: “Estaba convencida

184

de que nunca viviria en pareja una larga temporada. (Para que? gPara herir y
que me hieran?” (102). Beatriz’s cynicism reflects the ephemeral nature of
postmodern identity; identity is located in the imminent present, rejecting the
modemlst notion of an interrelated past, present, and future. Relationships,
marriage, family, home, career, indeed any attempt to give idenfity a structure is
fufile in postmodern life. Structure, like the foundafion of a house, is useless
when facing fire tectonic shifts of a world of radical uncertainty. Thus identity
cannot be evaluated for fire long term; rafirer, like the drugs firat Inge injects, it is
a “quick fix.” Therefore as fire community in Baklnjam implodes, the okupas shift
and change out of a stagnating, collective idenfity and reaffirm their autonomous
idenfifies. To construct and trust in a metanarrafive such as “collecfive ldenfity” or
“group unity,” indeed any commitment beyond fire self handicaps fire individual.
Therefore fire okupa/stranger burrows ever deeper into self-Involvement and
seclusion. As Medan Sarup comments, “amid fire universal homelessness [of fire
stranger], individuals turn to fireir private lives as the only Iocafion where firey
may hope to build a home. In a hosfile world, what can one do?” (11). The
strangers in Santos’s novel exist as society's undecldables, caught in an uneasy
tension between belonging and exclusion, between inside and outside. As such,
fireir idenfity is unstable:

Instead of constructing one’s identity, gradually and pafienfiy, as

one builds a house-through fire slow accretion of ceilings, floors,

rooms, connecting passages-a series of “new beginnings,’

experimenfing with instanfiy assembled yet easily dismanfied

185

shapes, painted over fire ofirer; a palimpsest identity. (Bauman
Discontents 24-25)
In Qkupada, Bakinjam’s lack of architectural integrity and stability reflects their
shaky community. The collapse of collective identity mirrors the physical collapse
of the house: in the climactic confrontation with police, amidst growing violence,
the structure falls apart, fire floorboards crumble, and Kifo falls to his death.

The okupas attempt to extend the utopian ideals of their collecfive idenfity
through the structure of fire narrative itself, writing the text as a testament of their
short-lived community. Each contributes one chapter to the story of the
okupacién, democratically adding their individual identifies to an idealistic
collective identity in an “e pluribus unum,” telling their own story in their own
words. They also declare a metatextual rebellion against hegemonic narrafive
voices: “No estamos de acuerdo con esos narradores cretinos que a menudo
aparecen en las novelas, que son uno solo y que fingen saberlo todo de todo el
mundo, narradores oligarquicos, manipuladores y fascistoides” (14). The okupas’
rejecfion of aufirority appears as an orfirographic rebellion in fire purposely
misspelled words scattered throughout fire novel (i.e., introdukzidn klarifikadora,
ke, okupas, Oskar). But like fire drug-induced orthography in Mafias’s novels, fire
changes are a superficial transgression, an arfifice firat purposely draws attention
to Itself and firus breaks fire pact of verisimilitude. On a textual level the utopian
narrative structure of Qkupaga, like fire structure of fireir house, is unstable and
perhaps doomed from the start. Mustafa’s unintentionally comical chapter

captures the textual chaos. Truly an inhabitant of a tower of Babel, his

186

 

inadequate language skills necessitate a hybridized usage of Spanish, French,
Italian, English and at times Arabic:
Yo le digo que to fiavel es molto facile para kurdos, porque sonno
pueblo nemada, de artesanos, ganaderos y agricultores (Alma me
ayuda con las palabrotas) y es exacto lo que soy moi: vivo de
entallar power-rangers y ofias cases, I travel como mis
antepasados (Ios del arca, por ejemplo), plantuve tomatos y
nascaros na mi window y si no teno cabras es because an
Barcelona no hay. (79)
The multiple narrators create a textual schizophrenia by narrating from
subjective, contradictory, and self-serving points of view. Who is to blame for the
okupacidn's failure depends on who is narrating. Under the guise of a collecfive
project, the structure of the novel itself undermines fire okupas’ attempt to
construct the okupacidn as a metanarrative. Reflecfing Baudrillard’s fireory of
postmodernism, fire medium becomes fire message as they collectively produce
a schizophrenic narrative, exposing their own hypocrisies and condemning
themselves for a superficial adherence to their principles.

The protagonists of Qkupada engage in a modern project in a postmodern
world. Rafirer than celebrate an inclusive, alternative lifestyle, fire okupacién in
fact recreates the social hegemony and stranger segregafion of fire metropolis
that surrounds them. The okupas’ hypocrisy strips the project of renewal,
rebuilding, and revolution of its ideological foundafions and humanistic

transcendence. Recalling Toni Dorca’s affirmation that Spain’s latest narrative

187

suffers a crisis of values, Qkupada demonstrates that unity is a liability,
permanence is detrimental, and commitment is meaningless. The idenfity
problem for the okupa and the stranger is firat the construction of home is
impossible. The message is pessimisfic: Qkupada criticizes equally fire
hegemonic, materialistic society and the altemafive, radical lifestyle of fire
okupacién. Bofir sides lose. The novel demonizes fire police for using excessive
force and for fire death of Kifo. Meanwhile fire okupas’ quest for a better life and
a more enlightened existence ends in failure. They lose their batfie against fire
police, authorities, and eventually lose fireir house. Later a politician, Avel-li Pi
Sureda, appropriates Baklnjam’s collapse for publicity photos and television
news cameras to further his political clout. Adding insult to injury, it is a
“humanitarian" organization called “Techos para todos” (directed by Alma's own
fafirer, no less) firat enlists police force to evict the offending okupas so firat fire
house can be made available for fire homeless, while of course, the okupas are
firemselves homeless.

In conclusion, the internal conflicts in Qkunada fragment idealism, unity,
and collective idenfity, transforming the okupas’ utopia into a dystopia. As they
construct a personal space in fireir “casa okupada,” they befiay fireir own search
for idenfity; they fragment the collective into the individual, and the metanarrafive
of the okupacién falls apart. Thus Qkupada explores postmodern identity by
quesfioning whether unity, community, and collecfive idenfity are at all possible in
Spain’s Novels of Disaffection. As society’s unclassifiables, these strangers in a

strange house can only find home in a space of uncertainty.

188

CHAPTER 7. CONCLUSION: SPAIN’S NOVELS OF DISAFFECTION, OR THE
INSTRUCTION MANUAL WITH MISSING PAGES

The story of Spain’s Novels of Disaffection begins with a war. It is an
lntemal war firat Spain's youfir declare on firemselves, a war that lacks objectives
ofirer firan self-destruction. The Novels of Disaffection are adept at diagnosing
youth's problems, showing fire causes and effects, but firey refrain from
prescribing solutions. The ways in which these novels end (not to say “conclude,”

with perhaps the exception of Qkupada’s consciousness of its own narrafive

structure) rarely feature a denouement. Novels like mm W
W, and Heroes arbitrarily stop, seemingly on fire whim of the
narrator. In this sense, fireir endings are open and ambiguous. They suggest fire
roots of the problems (lack of communicafion, atomized families, personal
autonomy at the expense of relafionships), but refuse to clearly indicate whefirer
returning to traditional metanarratives and institufions would improve fire lives of
Spain’s youth. Thus fire Novels of Disaffecfion are like an instruction manual wifir
missing pages: the vivid portrayal of youth hedonism is hobbled by a lack of
solutions or resolutions. Spain does not have jobs for them, a university
education is a meaningless rite of passage, families are anachronistic, and
interpersonal relationships are imposifions on the individual’s autonomy. Thus
the Novels of Disaffection suggest no transcendence, no redempfion, and no
hope for a better future; indeed It means a continued rudderless existence for
Spain’s youth. These novels delight in exploring the minute details of its

characters” hedonism (the often mentioned rock ‘n’ roll, sex, alcohol, drugs, and

189

 

 

violence). Yet whether they accept it or not (and most do not), protagonists do
suffer the consequences of their actions. Despite the repeated assertions that
there is “no future” and that tomorrow will never come, characters do pay the
price for their actions (which is not to say that they accept responsibility for them
or even recognize their own culpability) in the form of fragmented identities,
shattered relationships, interpersonal isolation, emofional and physical trauma,
debilitating addictions, and death.

Youfir, family, and Spanish society alike witness firis disaffection. Yet like
fire protagonists who do not recognize their own self-destruction, no one benefits
from it. Beyond youfir’s obvious culpability, firese novels also indict Spanish
society and fire family for lndirecfiy contributing to youth disaffecfion. A striking
absence marks these novels, namely firat of parents and parental influence.
Youfir receive scant guidance, Iitfie or no parenting, litfie attenfion or fime or love,
and live largely unstructured lives. Despite fire metanarrafives of struggle,
emancipation, transition, freedom, triumph, success, and accumulation of wealth
(they stolcally weafirered fire Franco regime, experienced the transition to
democracy, endured the vicissitudes of economic crisis and labor shortages, and
saw fire integrafion of Spain into a confinental and global environment) firat may
define the lives of Spanish adults, they failed to communicate firese
metanarrafives to fireir children.

Throughout Spain’s Novels of Disaffection, fire instability of idenfity and
self destruction are constant fiaveling companions. Characters are unable to

transcend fire circumstances of fireir decadent lifestyle to emerge more

190

knowledgeable, more enlightened, or more mature. That is to say, no character is
saved, no one wins, and no protagonist climbs out of the morass of drugs,
alcohol, and meaningless sex. Of firis group of youfirs on fire cusp of adulfirood,
no one “grows up” to accept adult responsibilifies. Rafirer, firey demonstrate a
pronounced lack of self-awareness. As such, fire Novels of Disaffecfion portray a
series of stafic characters, which presents a paradox to fire quesfion of identity.
These novels emphasize characters’ idenfifies that are scarred by fireir
internalized war. Youfir are ostensibly trying to find and define firemselves, to
answer fire salient quesfion, “Who am I?” Yet simultaneously firey are trying to
avoid the answers to firat quesfion. By safiafing fireir whims, desires for
escapism, and instant gratification, firey are displacing fire process of idenfity
fonnafion. Thus, fire quesfion of ldenfity in fire Novels of Dlsaffecfion is inherenfiy
contradictory.

This contradlcfion reveals a message in firis narrafive. As German Gulldn
suggests, firese novels present a social crificism firat includes self-crificism (xviii-
xlx). Through fire depravity, instant gratification, lack of communication, and
interpersonal disconnect, fire Novels of Disaffecfion trace the downward
trajectory of Spain’s urban youth subcultures. Thus despite Its popular percepfion
as a risque, subversive, and rebellious literature, in essence the Novels of
Disaffection transmit cautionary messages. Throughout firis narrative, fire highs
are tempered by fire damage firat they cause, and firus firis literature frames
escapism as a form of deteriorafion. The identity project in firese nine novels

leads to protagonists’ self-desfiucfion and fire collapse of identity consistently

191

serves as a warning for youth culture firroughout this narrative. The Novels of
Disaffection frame the atomization of community, family, commitments, human
relationships, individual autonomy, and particularly the self in terms of their
consequences. As portrayed in this narrative, the hedonism of Spain’s youth
shows the identity project to be hollow. And thus from a macroperspecfive, this
narrative presents the collapse of linear meaning and the unknowability of the
discourse of idenfity in Spain’s youfir narrative of fire 1990s.

In conclusion, the youth portrayed in Spain’s Novels of Disaflecfion reject
fire bourgeois project of their parents and write fire missing pages in their own
instrucfion manuals—their idenfifies-in the slipsfieam of daily life. Their
lntemperance and disaflecfion define them, fragment their identifies, and leave
them at war with themselves. Spain’s youth, once a hope for the future, now

reflect a postmodern present of sex, drugs, and self-destrucfion.

192

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