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Spain, for all of its transformation since the brutal civil war in the late 1930's, is still a country of diversity and disharmony, one still at odds with itself and struggling to figure out what 'Spain' actually is. Influxes of immigrants and asylum seekers strain the perceived cultural homogeneity. Separatists in the Basque region still bomb and maim. Lower level struggles to retain language and culture still smolder in the Galician and Catalonian regions. This exploration of the past and what Spain is lies at the central pivot point of the Carpenter's Pencil, by Galician writer Manuel Rivas.

Rivas was born in 1957, long after the Spanish Civil War, and firmly in the era of dictator Francisco Franco. By the time he entered his late teens, Franco was gone and a new era confronted Spain. He is one of the most famous writers of contemporary Galician literature, and The Carpenter's Pencil is the most translated and best selling Galician book of all time. This may be your first and only introduction to Galician literature, and it should not be missed. In this book he brings a fresh and luminous perspective to those times before he was born. On the other hand, Rivas also falls into a 'nostalgia for the loser' that will be addressed later in this review.

In the early passages of this book, an unnamed painter sketches the faces of prisoners in a prison in the city of Santiago de Compostela using a simple carpenter's pencil in the grotesque brutality that sets to mind pencil drawings of one of Spain's greatest artists, Goya. Watching him is Herbal, a Falangist, an illiterate prison guard who came from a harsh youth. Consumptive in early growth; physically, mentally and spiritually stunted, Herbal joins the Falangists not out of some passion to conserve the roots of Spain, but as necessity. There is work to do and he does it faithfully, but with no faith. Later, when the Dawn Brigade takes the unnamed artist out to be executed because of his 'ideas,' Herbal interrupts their plans to cut off the man's limbs and genitals by simply shooting the artist in the back of the head. We are transformed to a parallel scene from Herbal's youth in which his uncle, a trapper, kills a snared fox with a blow behind the head with a club.

Herbal inherits the red carpenter's pencil and places it behind his ear. It becomes his conscience, a sort of artistic soul inside the breast of a beast. The pencil 'speaks' to him throughout the book as a voice of beauty and truth in a land of lies and horror.

Most of the novel revolves around the parallels between the prison guard Herbal and one Doctor Da Barca, imprisoned for his 'ideas,' just as his friend the painter was. Though many reviewers claim the central character is Da Barca, we see this story through the eyes of Herbal as he recounts the events long after the Spanish Civil War to a prostitute at the club where he tends bar. The pencil is still behind his ear, and though he claims it does not speak to him anymore, it does.

Da Barca seems to be more of a counter to Herbal, an exact opposite. Well educated, handsome, healthy, and in love with a beautiful woman - Marisa. But this story is more about Herbal and his life of disappointment. He is Da Barca without any soul. He is what Da Barca would be without hope. This elusive thing, hope, is the main feature that Da Barca has and it shines through to all that come into contact with him. He keeps the spirit of the other prisoners alive when it looks like they are all in a living hell. These prisoners, Da Barca, Marisa - all live more than Herbal lives or ever will live. He lives through them and in a sense wants to destroy them because of their hope. These inner conflicts tear at him, but when he seems to lean toward extinguishing that hope, the carpenter's pencil speaks to that unawake area of his soul, leading him out of dire darkness.

Intertwined in this sometimes confusing and wandering novel is the love affair between Da Barca and Marisa, their prison visits, their 'secret honeymoon' which is aided by Herbal, and the jealousy Herbal feels toward this love, which is something alien to him, something almost forbidden to him. If this is the soul of the novel, it is a grand and beautiful soul and redeems much of the darkness and melancholy that resides there. The pencil intercedes on occasion to push Herbal into saving Da Barca from execution, who is eventually sentenced to life imprisonment due to his being born in Cuba and the international ramifications this may have. At the opening of the book, we see Da Barca in his later years, just returned from exile to his homeland, after Franco has died. The last time they see each other, as Da Barca is transported to a new prison and says to Herbal:

"Your problem is not tuberculosis. It has to do with the heart."
(pp. 155)

This is a beautiful and grotesque novel filled with reoccurring images and themes of tuberculosis, blackbirds, goldfinches, doves, flowers. Death, decay, inner and outer torture. Hope, melancholy and a fascination with the watercolorist Tunner's sea paintings all figure prominently. Though all this comes out the first time through, this book should be read twice to really let it sink in. Passages often mingle and become confused, especially the first few times that 'the artist' speaks to Herbal through the pencil. Past and present intermingle, with scenes flashing from Herbal telling his story to the prostitute, to back in the prison, to scenes with Da Barca in later life, and back to the prison again, back to the voice in Herbal's head again. This is marvelously done, and does not take away much from the novel, though it does take a while to become accustomed to. The English translation of Riva's work by Jonathan Dunne should be applauded for its faultlessness and the melodious ring as well as the succinct clarity of much of the language. There are also plans in the pipeline to turn The Carpenter's Pencil into a movie. If it is as good as the book, it will be well worth seeing.

The main criticism alluded to earlier is this idea of 'nostalgia for the loser.' There seems to be a revision of history here painting all those who were on the Fascist side as monsters and sinners, while on the Communist side, all are saints, artists and intellectuals and purveyors of hope. Civil war is a terrible thing, ripping apart the entire fabric of a nation's society. Atrocities are usually committed on all sides; no one is left untainted. This frame Rivas gives us does not criticize, or take into consideration, how brutal all sides were to each other. It is a very difficult thing to do without becoming too nihilistic. This view may mainly have to do with the frame of reference Rivas has, growing up under Franco, and coming out on the other side when Franco later died. Not a small criticism, though not a large one since the novel tends to redeem its own faults. It may even be better because of them.

(The Carpenter's Pencil was first published in Galician by Ediciones Xerais de Galicia in 1998 as O lapis do carpinteiro, and by Editorial Alfaguara in the Spanish translation by Dolores Vilavedra, with the title El lapis del carpintero, in 1998. First published in Great Britain in 2001 by The Harvill Press. Paperback edition published by Harvill in 2002. ISBN 1 86046 929 9)