Agustín Fontenla has written six books, but only this year Brat publishing house published the first, Disconnection. It is a political novel marked by the dystopia genre. The story is set in Catamarca and portrays the battle of egos of a political class that dares, now, to propose a brexit hand in hand with lithium, control through robots and social media bureaucrats.
Won’t it be too much? For the Argentine public, no.
A 30-something-year-old man, a communication worker in the Argentine national state, is absorbed in front of the screen at home. He drinks gin and tonic and plays video games like a teenager. His girlfriend, also a government advisor, writes to him, calls him, alerts him that the population is beginning to react. Things are not good and the protagonist knows it: in Argentina things are never good.
Instead of packing his bags and fleeing through the door of Ezeiza, Marcos accepts a colleague’s invitation to go to work in Catamarca. They promised him a house, food and to be part of a “revolution” that will change the country forever.
–How did a novel come about that dares to narrate a political conflict, but from the terrain of dystopia?
–Undoubtedly, the novel takes experiences from my professional life. I was a correspondent in Russia, I worked for a leader in the European Parliament and I was also an advisor to the national government during the pandemic. I was inspired by real data and added a trigger that was always in my memory: the Balkan war. That desire for separation of some States or provinces always interested me. Also, having spent part of my childhood in Catamarca, I had experienced that sort of “pica” that we have with La Rioja about which province is better. I asked myself, then, what would happen if Catamarca wanted to become independent? Can you do it? What would it be like?
Inspiration
During the confinement caused by Covid-19, Fontenla read in The Economist a note that portrayed the inflations of separation that Mendoza proposed. Government authorities threatened to manage themselves autonomously. The information removed his work as a journalist in the sovereignty process in Catalonia (Spain). “I had interviewed many officials and saw up close the action of the Spanish national government in controlling a narrative about the conflict,” he says.
–How did the pandemic influence you in the creation of this novel?
–I had to work at the Government House (Argentina). We were the only ones operating in an uncertain and terrifying climate. Everything was a whirlwind, an urgency. There was a lot of uncertainty. The novel is not directly related to my experience, but it is with a look. In our country, one day an “enlightened person” can appear, throw out an idea and in a few seconds it is a political decision. The image that the political class are great minds thinking about the future is not the case; at least, not in Argentina.
–Why did you decide to propose a dystopia and not, for example, make a realistic novel?
–They were decisions. I know the world of video games quite a bit because my wife works in that industry. A while ago I read The Game, by Alessandro Baricco, and it left me thinking. It is an industry that is growing at a dizzying pace and we are not aware of it. In addition, he wanted to propose a cutting-edge, industrial and technological Catamarca. And the inclusion of robots arose while correcting the novel with the writer Mariano Quirós.
–Marcos, the character, for those of us who live in other provinces of the country, borders on the stereotype of “the porteños”: he is burned out from working and has an idealized view of life in the mountains, of environmental struggles and of the women “of the interior” Did you think about it like that?
–I don’t know if I see it that way… I lived in Buenos Aires until I was 7 years old, then I went to live in Catamarca, then I returned to Capital and then Russia and Spain came. I wanted to make a complex character and I have an idea of what can happen to you when you live in Buenos Aires: you can go crazy very easily. The character has a neurotic veneer, he is an annoying person, with frivolous whims, cynical, and he is aware of that, but he also has a critical outlook and is tired. I considered creating an uncomfortable character, who asks questions, who suffers contradictions. Let him think one thing and feel another. And for me, literature has to make me uncomfortable.
–In the novel, Sara appears, a female character who is an activist, completely different from Marcos, and captivates him. Was it necessary to include Sara? What did you want to work with her?
–What a difficult question. There had to be a love story, because for me love is important. It is a computer and it is vital to people’s lives. And, in some way, it is what rescues the character. That gives him a chance against the sea of disappointment in which he lives. I liked building Sara’s character. I wanted him to be hard to pigeonhole. He is someone of intellectual depth, worked on, who does not repeat speeches or loose slogans. That he has clarity about political objectives, but not about his life objectives. I wanted a determined, powerful woman.
–In your novel there is a character, Bro, who, read from the present, has many similarities with the current president of Argentina, Javier Milei. How do you think his figure influenced you?
–Actually, I developed Bro from the phenomena of streaming. I wondered what would happen if streamers decided to do political communication. They have millions of followers and are listened to more than the political class. I imagined what would happen if someone like that motivated that audience with political objectives. On the other hand, Milei, although he is a particular character, was always convinced of political work. It arose from political commentary. The Bro, in the novel, comes from the world of video games and streams.
–In “Disconnection”, lithium plays an important role: Catamarca will build its wealth and power from the reserves of this mineral. What concern do you have about lithium? Do you have a positioning?
–It worries me a lot. It is a strategic mineral for any country that wants to develop in the current model. Indonesia has one of the largest reserves in the world and decided not to export a gram unless it is part of something larger that the country manufactures. Yes, it seemed absolutely relevant to me to raise it in the story. Because today politics revolves around this key and strategic resource. The narrator has his opinion, and I, as a journalist and citizen, have another. There are sectors of extractivism that think that lithium should not be developed. It seemed to me that certain doubts could be raised in the novel.
–But you don’t go all the way into that…
–It was a question for me: to what extent do I deepen the discussion? And the truth is that I don’t have an answer either. So at least some questions are raised.
Based in Spain, Agustín Fontenla is already working on a new novel. A road movie literary whose protagonist is a group of young people who worship a contemporary “leader.” Fiction or reality? Literature.
Disconnection by Agustín Fontenla, Brat editorial
- Disconnection. Of Agustín Fontenla. Brat Editorial. 178 pages.
