Chromos (American Literature)

A fascinating and complex book written by a Spanish immigrant in New York in the 1940’s but not published until 1990. First of all it’s a classic immigrant story of immigrants coming to America, learning American culture and examining and re-learning their own culture in comparison to that of their new environment. He also speculates on language and culture and how perspectives shift as the immigrants learn English. As Spanish immigrants from Spain their first task is learning that Americans will always assume they are Latin Americans and will treat them as such with all the accompanying stereotypes. While these immigrants are not wealthy, although they occasionally take service jobs to get by, they are mainly upper class, educated folks – doctors, lawyers, musicians, dancers, writers and poets.One of the writers reads his stories to the main character so we get three tragic short stories interspersed in the narrative, stories we are told “could only be set in Spain.” Several times we hear about the importance of geographic nativity: that the place where people are brought up has a decided influence upon the rest of their lives. We hear of the kind of schizoid culture of Spain and maybe of all of humanity: the Germanic and the Moorish: Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Does Europe end at the Pyrenees as the French say? What of immigrants who, before they left Spain, had never been to Seville, heart of Spanish culture? And whether they know it or not, the Spain they know and love is changing while they sit in New York, which is why so many of those immigrants who return find they can’t go home again: the fondly remembered culture has changed; cities have modernized; friends and family have left and died.In the last third of the book we get a true analysis of Spanish culture as all the characters gather in a bar for flamenco dancing accompanied by a classical guitarist in an orgy of food and drink and discussion of Spanish culture through music, dance, food and wine and linguistic references to bullfighting. One of the characters, apparently a mathematician and philosopher, gives us a surprisingly modern discourse (considering this book was written in 1948) on relativity, the time-space continuum and multi-dimensional existence. We learn surprisingly (I’m using that word a lot, I realize) little about our main character, a middle-aged man who wonders through the book as a foil, omniscient but pervasive and detached, to introduce us to the others who carry the story.We get a lot of local color of the Spanish immigrant community New York in the 1930’s and 1940’s – then centered around southern Manhattan – the author mentions Cherry Street, Columbia Street, Atlantic Avenue and Hanover Square.Some gems: “No matter what he spoke about, and that was many things, he sounded as if he were talking of himself.” “Things spoken too loudly to be believed and too softly to be understood.” “…the reader may not notice the things which the writer has unconsciously left out but never fails to notice the things which the writer has not consciously put in.” “A man may feel superior when he laughs with the minority at the majority, but he is happier when he laughs with the many at the few.” Not an easy book, and it drags in places, but worth the read.

Arrived quickly and as advertised. Thanks!

I'll post a longer review of this work when I have time here. I once wrote a glowing book review about this book 10 years ago. This is one of these rare finds by Dalkey Archive press, which (admittedly) publishes esoteric and hard-to-read fiction. Out of nowhere, it was nominated for the National Book Award in 1990 or so, propelling this old man to some fame and notoriety.I remember Proust's metaphor in one of his books about one's literary works existing as separate creatures from the author, like little girls dancing around the death bed of a dying author. I think Alfau was interviewed as saying something like, I wrote this book decades ago. Why all of a sudden this attention?I used to give this book as the answer to the question of "what is your favorite book" because no one has ever heard of it (though I imagine university readers at the writing program where I taught, Johns Hopkins, would be sympathetic to this writing). Actually, although parts of it are long-winded, in general the narrative is conventional and full of old-fashioned storytelling. The characters engage in multiple philosophical conversations about time,reality and a lot of other things. I would compare this to Dostoevksy (in terms of the philosophical plane it travels on, not the plot, which is rather lackadaisical). Although there certainly is a tinge of European postmodern fiction here, unlike the fiction of Barth, there are not narrative tricks that distract from the story at hand. The end kind of wanders, but how fun it was getting there. You read for the set pieces, not for the overall plot. For variety, check out his short stories in Locos: A Comedy of Gestures. They are priceless gems.You have to be in the right frame of mind for philosophical digressions and plot that advances mainly through conversation, but if you are, you won't find it difficult to get into this book at all.To be honest, I've never met another person who has actually read this book, and it would be interesting to read responses from others who have read this book.I should point out that I am writing these impressions about 10 years after reading the book. I remember almost nothing, and yet I remember how I felt reading it and the impressions it left on me. Does this count as a legitimate review? It will be fun knowing that the book is there waiting to be picked up again.

Good whimsy is hard to find. Flann O'Brien is the daddy...at the other extreme is the the queasy Teleportation accident. Alfau is smart and self aware and this is a good read especially if you enjoyed Locos. Fulano of that book emerges here as a key character.