New York- Four and a half years ago, I was fortunate to attend the Nobel Prize ceremonies in Stockholm when the Peruvian Mario Vargas Llosa won the Prize for Literature. He had been my literary idol since I was a young child in Mexico.
New York- Four and a half years ago, I was fortunate to attend the Nobel Prize ceremonies in Stockholm when the Peruvian Mario Vargas Llosa won the Prize for Literature. He had been my literary idol since I was a young child in Mexico.
On October 7 of 2010, before dawn, Mario woke up to a phone call from the secretary of the Swedish Academy congratulating him for his victory. Half asleep, he thought it was a prank. He was 74 at the time and believed his chance for winning the Nobel had passed.
On that morning, I got up to several missed calls and text messages from friends sharing the wonderful news. I was ecstatic. If somebody deserved this honor after a lifetime of unswerving dedication to his purpose, it was he.
At the time, I was working in a small law firm on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue. We were working on a South American oil litigation that was somehow related to the U.S. Enron scandal and many of us were Latin American and very happy about the news.
When I got to the office that day, an Argentinean colleague told me that journalists from all over the world had arrived to the New York Cervantes Institute since early morning for a press conference Mario Vargas Llosa would give at noon. I wanted to go, but of course had no press pass and was too late. I decided to try anyway. I was dressed professionally and thought I would pretend to be a journalist from “El Diario de Chihuahua,” which being a small newspaper in Mexico, would never send actual correspondents to the event. So, there would be no chance of me running into real journalists from that publication while claiming to be one.
I left work and walked the few blocks to 49th Street, where the Cervantes Institute is. At the entrance, I straightened myself to appear as tall as possible, something not too difficult as I stand almost 5’11” without shoes. I took out my Blackberry and a Moleskine notebook and acted busy, as if this was my regular occupation.
My acting worked and I got in without being asked to show a press pass. I sat in the third row and felt happy. I would get to see Mario on the day his prize was announced.
When he walked into the auditorium, he radiated happiness and a child-like excitement. He was, as always, elegant and striking. Yet, it was clear that he could not believe he was the new Nobel Prize for Literature.
Mario Vargas Llosa is a deeply political figure whose writing vehemently opposes totalitarian regimes and condemns the dictatorships that the majority of Latin American countries have endured. He is widely acclaimed for his work, but often criticized and disliked for his conservative political views. His writing, however, is not only political, but rather encompasses the entirety of the human experience, including politics and the erotic.
During the press conference, he spoke of his love of books and said that learning to read was the most important thing that ever happened to him. He was grateful for the Nobel Prize, but explained that he never lets the idea of winning awards motivate him because his true reward is getting to spend his days doing what he loves. He welcomes celebrity reluctantly because it robs him of his time, which he devotes almost exclusively to his calling and “vice,” as he calls literature.
Mario is happy and grounded only when he writes daily, following the strict routine he has kept for decades, and receiving prizes is a distraction, although a delightful one.
Introducing myself as a journalist from Columbia University and El Diario de Chihuahua, I asked him two questions in Spanish. One of them was about Palestine (I was disappointed by his reluctance to condemn Israel) and about the drug cartels that had overtaken Mexico. Political stances aside, I was greatly inspired.
This man had pursued his childhood dream of being a writer with such tenacity, overcoming countless obstacles throughout the decades, and now the world recognized him as the best at his craft. I felt so proud of him.
***
Before Mario Vargas Llosa won the Nobel, my best friend Evgueni and I wanted to approach him about doing a research project on his correspondence with other prominent writers. He was teaching at Princeton that semester and living in New York City. Since the entire world now wanted his attention, we feared our wish would be impossible. And, we did not want to contribute to overwhelm him. Having his time invaded is among the things he detests most.
Keeping this in mind, we decided to try anyway. We had good intentions and would not bother him much. We simply wanted his permission to do an academic project.
We knew he was staying in Columbus Circle and, given my successful press conference strategy, agreed to follow it in order to find him. We randomly walked into one of the nicer buildings in the area where I guessed he might be living and I confidently told the doorman we were there to see Mario Vargas Llosa. He replied, never doubting me, that I had the wrong address and said, “he is staying in 580,” or whatever number his actual building was.
I thanked him and we walked to his residence, where a friendly Dominican doorman informed us he had just left for Princeton and would be back the following day.
We wrote him a short letter introducing ourselves, congratulating him and saying what we wanted: We were two young writers who admired him since we were children and wanted his permission to look through his correspondence with other writers. The idea was to eventually produce and publish several small epistolary volumes.
After revising this letter countless times, we typed and printed it at the New York Public Library on 62nd and Broadway. We went back to Mario’s building and left it for him with the concierge.
From following him for years, we knew that he always wakes up at dawn and goes for long walks before beginning his writing day. So, we decided to approach him the following morning during his walk.
The next day, Evgueni and I met in Central Park at 6 AM; it was a frigid morning. We found a Starbucks that conveniently overlooked the entrance of Mario’s apartment complex and, around 7 AM, saw him come out with his wife Patricia. However, it seemed wrong to disturb his peace and ritual and we decided to wait for them to return in the lobby of his building.
The doorman talked with us for over an hour as we waited. Finally, we saw them come in, Mario with his remarkably straight back and silvery hair, carrying a transparent plastic bag with a copy of El País and several other magazines. I wanted to act calm and collected, but was incapable of it.
As soon as he walked in, I jumped from my seat and hugged him, congratulating him. He smiled, his amber eyes full of light, and immediately hugged me back. We gave him the letter, which the concierge never gave him, and he promised to read it. He was saying goodbye when Evgueni mentioned I graduated from Columbia Law School.
He became particularly animated at the mention of Columbia and told us he had great memories of this university because he taught there in the 70s and had a wonderful experience. He invited us to go see him at his office in Princeton the next day. I was more excited than I ever remember being.
We went to celebrate by having coffee at Bouchon Bakery, in the nearby Time Warner Building. I find it impossible to describe my state with words. My excitement became a tremendous source of energy and transformed into a full-fledged, all-consuming obsession and single-minded focus that took over my life for the next couple of months.
After coffee, Evgueni went home to Westchester, and I walked from bookstore to bookstore, locating copies of those books of Mario Vargas Llosa’s I didn’t already have. And so, the months of intensely studying his work began.
The following morning, Evgueni picked me up at my apartment in Harlem and we drove to Princeton. We arrived at Mario’s office two hours later.
Mario Vargas Llosa’s secretary was rude and, when I asked to see him, replied in a curt manner that his office hours were for students only. I said I was aware of that, but he was expecting us. In fact, I told her, he asked us to come. She had no choice but to announce us.
Mario came out right away and kissed me hello. Shaking Evgueni’s hand, he invited us in. He brought an extra chair into his office and we sat down. He was gracious and charming and, throughout the months we spent with him, including in Stockholm, he was always down to earth, approachable, and friendly; his conversation and manner always simple despite his eloquence and the brilliance of his mind. He listens to others attentively, asking many questions, full of curiosity and genuine interest.
***
Mario had read our letter and liked our project. He encouraged us to go through his correspondence, which is housed at the Rare Books and Manuscripts Collection at Firestone Library in Princeton. A few months later, during a train ride from Princeton to the city, he invited me to go to his home in Lima to look at more letters he has there.
Evgueni and I thanked him and I asked him to sign his new book, The Dream of the Celt, for me. He was surprised to see this book and asked us how we got it. The day before, I had found two copies of it at the Borders on Park Avenue. I knew the book was not due to be released for at least another month and interpreted finding these two odd premature copies as a good omen. It was the first time Mario had seen the book and, after signing it, he looked it over curiously, admiring its red cover and design, which he found beautiful.
Having said goodbye to him, we walked to the library to begin our project. After obtaining the required permissions, we were handed boxes containing letters from the 1960s, categorized alphabetically by the name of the correspondent. All the famous names of Latin American literature were there, including Julio Cortázar, whose letters were in the first box we received.
Reading these letters was wonderful. Many of them are gems, small literary treatises filled with colorful anecdotes and excellent life and writing advice. These Latin American writers of the past certainly had a gift. They struggled economically and in all kinds of ways and yet, wrote divinely even in private correspondence. Some of the letters were typed, others hand-written. I wonder if the lack of technology and inexistence of today’s prevalent “civilization of spectacle” facilitated the manifestation of their genius.
Mario’s class on Jorge Luis Borges met that day and, nervous I may be overstepping his kindness, I returned to his office to ask if we could audit the class. He told me wholeheartedly that we were very welcome.
***
Enormously fulfilling months followed these events. I was filled with energy, focus and determination, fully absorbed in tasks I immensely enjoyed. I slept little and spent most of my days reading, writing, and studying. Magical things happened on a daily basis. It was as if God was helping me at every turn.
We spent the semester at Firestone Library going through boxes of letters, typing, and taking notes. We took breaks to go to Mario Vargas Llosa’s class, and then went back to work until the library closed. After returning to the city, I would usually read and write until after midnight, getting up no later than 6 to begin again. I had boundless energy.
We developed a close relationship with Mario and began to talk with him before class, walk with him and take the train from Princeton back to the city together. The conversations during those train rides were extraordinary and taught me a great deal about writing, life, discipline and perseverance. These days, I frequently remember him telling me that editing is when writing truly begins. I fully agree.
***
At the end of the semester, Mario invited us to the farewell brunches for both of his classes and sat at our table. He seemed to genuinely like our company and feel affection for us. Well-known writers who unsuccessfully tried to get his attention and time could not understand this.
I think he felt we were sincere. We were in love with his work and with literature in general, felt profound respect and admiration for him and wanted to follow in his footsteps. We had no ulterior motives.
***
One of those days, the Nobel Prize documentary director came from Sweden to Princeton. She filmed and interviewed Mario as he walked to and from class and, by necessity, filmed us walking with him as we always did. When asked if we were his students, Mario replied, “No, they are my friends.”
On the train ride, Anne, the director, filmed during some of the time and was friendly and talkative the rest of the trip. She had many questions about Mario’s work and, since we had read the majority of his books, we were able and happy to help her.
During the conversation, Anne invited us to go to Stockholm for the Nobel Prize ceremonies. I assumed she was joking and that she could not possibly mean it. But she meant it and I of course accepted.
I had absolutely no money at the time because I had stopped working so I could go to Princeton several times per week and spend all of my time focused on our project and on studying his work. God helped me yet again and an elderly lawyer I had previously worked for offered to give me money to live on during those months. He wanted nothing in return. He found the story beautiful and simply wanted to help.
Needless to say, being in Stockholm during the highly emotional ten days of the Nobel festivities was among the most impactful experiences of my life. Despite being so used to public speaking, Mario Vargas Llosa was the first Nobel Prize winner to cry during his Nobel Lecture, as did much of the audience, including myself. He cried again during his acceptance speech. Most of the events and homages to him were enormously moving. It was an intense and beautiful time.
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