Transcending the limits of the Thriller

Whenever I start a new project, I ask myself the same questions. I wonder if reining in that part of me that tends to break the unwritten rules of the thriller genre is the right thing to do. And I always end up letting go and giving free rein to my emotions, which are what really matter when it comes to creativity.

Because if you don't allow your true voice to flow when you write, you are condemning your work; it will not be sincere, and the reader will not forgive that.

And yet, in this world we live in, we tend to label everything, and those labels become rigid, preventing anything from transcending them. That's why I reject labels. I agree that they are useful for categorizing, for helping us organize things—in this case, literary works—and making it easier for the reader to find what they are looking for. But when the label itself becomes inflexible or falls short, when it prevents a book from expressing itself, it becomes an obstacle.

Tres figuras fantasmales en un corredor oscuro.

Within the thriller genre lies a whole universe of possibilities. This genre deals with mystery and suspense, not just police investigations, for example. Its own definition—according to the Royal Spanish Academy: Film either narration of intrigue and Suspense —opens the door to a whole range of possibilities. Don't intrigue and mystery have their roots in the intuitive, the irrational, in what we cannot see? And doesn't what we cannot see or understand, in turn, draw from the irrational, the suggestive, the imaginative, or the supernatural or fantastic, as yet another way of looking at the world, inward?

And this is where my storytelling comes in: an inward-looking perspective, more intimate, more dangerous, even more authentic. My works are often fables that attempt to explain the inexplicable, venturing into uncharted territories with a unique perspective. My voice speaks in whispers, wanting to tell you things I couldn't otherwise put into words, taking you by the hand and leading you into a universe that is sometimes sinister, sometimes magical, always brimming with truths, and posing questions that wouldn't otherwise have the same impact. At least not for me.

Transgressing the rules and suddenly plunging a police investigation into the supernatural—as in «Valentine's Dream»— or into magic —as in «The Messenger of the Forest»— is my way of singing —and of telling stories— of raising my voice and painting a picture: realistic and evocative. Art isn't only expressed on a canvas; it's also expressed in literature. Sometimes we forget that literature is also poetry. What a coincidence that so little poetry is read in Spain.

Where does this rejection of the fantastic come from?

Recently, a friend, Edgar Borges , a great writer and journalist (author «Los expulsados», published by Berenice), shared with me a theory about the origin of the aversion readers, particularly in Spain, feel toward magic in literature, and I found the role the Church may have played in this very intriguing. It's fascinating, and in my opinion, quite revealing. You can read an excerpt here ; it's titled «Reflections on Fantastic Literature in Spain» and the author is José María Merino, a member of the Royal Spanish Academy and a writer.

Today it seems that, little by little, the rejection of fantasy, the categorization of fantasy and science fiction as second-rate genres, is changing. There is still a long way to go, though. While in Latin America, for example, it is something natural, accepted, and even valued within literature, here we still have to break down barriers.

I don't intentionally incorporate fantasy into my writing; it's something that comes from deep within me, something inherent, something my voice demands. It's something I can't suppress, nor do I want to; it's what defines me. And if, through my humble work, I can contribute to changing the perception of fantasy in Spain, then so be it. Or are we perhaps too afraid of what we can't understand? Are we unsettled by the thrills of the supernatural?

There's some truth to that.