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language: Spanish
country: Spain
year: 1997
form: novel
genre(s): literary, romance
dates read: 5.2.24-15.2.24
Con pedigree, by Lola Van Guardia (aka Isabel Franc), is a classic Spanish lesbian novel. it’s an affectionate parody the lesbian community in Barcelona, centered on a newly-opened gay bar (with a lesbian focus), with the usual set of archetypal characters: the cynical writer (who of course falls in love), the aspiring filmmaker just arrived from the countryside, the “hétero y muy hétero” TV reporter who only hangs out with lesbians, the assortment of activists (all trying to one-up each other), the 20-something who talks a good game but hasn’t actually had sex in longer than she can remember, …. each of the chapters is in the form of a series of short, linked vignettes about each character or group of characters; the writing is engaging, and it is at times quite funny.
it’s also more conceptually sophisticated than it may seem, as a number of the storylines are circling around one of the central questions of feminism, namely: is identity innate and fixed, or is it a product of what we do (and what is done to us)? this emerges, first, from the author’s plot, as she discovers the woman she’s fallen for is straight, and then from the TV reporter’s plot, as she finds herself increasingly interested in one of the women she interviews (for her TV show where she only interviews lesbians or people who are rumored to be lesbians. a very heterosexual thing to do) — but then also from the gay bar, which finds itself under attack after a rumor comes out that one of the owners is actually (gasp) straight, spawning a campaign by one of the activist groups to establish a lesbian ID card that will require people to officially validate their identity as ~gold star~ lesbians in order to prevent “invasions” by straight women. the book comes down unequivocally on this being a very bad and counterproductive idea — any kind of “identity” is less important than our actual relationships (romantic, sexual, and otherwise) with the people around us. identity terms can be a useful shorthand, but as soon as we give them priority over our real relationships we’ve lost sight of what their value is.
in spite of its poking fun at lesbian (sub)cultures, in spite of its critique of aspects of lesbian politics, it’s a book that’s deeply committed to lesbians — lesbian sexuality, sure, but also lesbians’ everyday lives and relationships.
it’s also very much still grappling with aspects of the Transición, the on the one hand promises and on the other hand profound disappointments of this new era. it returns repeatedly to the contradictions of post-fascist Spain, which it refers to with heavy irony as the “estado pluriautonómico”. it doesn’t engage actively with questions of Catalan nationalism, but it’s nonetheless very conscious of being situated in Catalonia and of the simultaneously metropolitan and marginal status of Barcelona. the funniest scene was probably this one, when two of a trio of lesbian friends are exchanging words in their respective languages with some Basques who are in town for a lesbian organization meeting:
Se divertían las cuatro un montón haciendo un intercambio de lenguas oficiales.
—Oyes, ¿cómo se dice pepino en catalán?
—Cogombre.
Las vascas se partían de risa.
—¿Y cómo se dice follar en euskera?
—En Euskadi no decimos, joé, lo hacemos.
lmao.
anyway, I enjoyed this and would recommend it!
moods: funny, lighthearted