Claudia Piñeiro, twenty years is nothing
On the night of October 25, 2005, Claudia Piñeiro stuffed three books into her son's small backpack: La loca de la casa (The Crazy Woman in the House ) by the Spanish author Rosa Montero; Rosa de Miami (Rosa of Miami) by the Argentine author Eduardo Belgrano Rawson; and Ensayo sobre la ceguera (Essay on Blindness ) by the Portuguese author José Saramago. Her hope was to receive a dedication from the three writers who made up the Honorary Jury for that year's Clarín Novela Prize , for which she, a former accountant with a decade of writing and playwriting workshops, a couple of awards, and two published books, was a finalist . It's likely that the books were returned to her home that night without the signatures. She, for her part, left the Malba ceremony with a check for 100,000 pesos, the Antonio Pujía statuette, and the certainty that her book, Las viudas de los jueves (Widowers of Thursdays ), would be published by Alfaguara.
It's Monday, and the windows of her apartment overlook dozens of treetops undecided between the yellow of autumn and the intense green of summer. Claudia Piñero says she remembers that night perfectly. She remembers the backpack, the three books, and the voice of the announcer revealing her pseudonym, Gato Raluz. She also remembers that when the envelope was opened and what was called was her name, Claudia Piñero, she thought: "Finally."
"I felt like an opportunity had finally appeared," she recalls now, sitting on a living room sofa, dressed in light-colored pants and a blouse, a gray scarf around her neck. Years before, with the rules for the La Sonrisa Vertical Prize for erotic fiction in hand, she had thought that if she tried hard, she could prove the quality of her writing . And the resulting novel was among the finalists. Even before that, she had thought that, if she tried hard , she could put aside her career as an accountant and dedicate herself to writing . And it had been possible too. "I thought that after this opportunity, others might appear, and that's what happened," she adds, smiling.
What happened is a career that didn't stop. A few months later, Las viudas de los jueves was actually published, followed by the reissue of Tuya ; in 2007, Elena sabe; in 2009, Las grietas de Jara; in 2011, Betibú ; in 2013, Un comunista en cozoncillos ; in 2015, Una suerte pequeña; in 2017, Las maldiciones ; in 2020, Catedrales ; in 2022, El tiempo de las moscas ; and in a few days, La muerte ajena (Other Deaths ), a story about sex, VIP prostitution, and power in the 21st century, which will undoubtedly be the talk of the town.
There are also many plays by Piñeiro, children's books ( A Thief Among Us is a classic in schools), two volumes of short stories, one of articles, essays, and lectures, and the scripts for the series El Reino , with Marcelo Piñeyro. There are awards, a commitment to feminism, debates, and radio columns... And now, this sunny morning, there's a talk about a novel that begins when a young, naked escort falls from the fifth floor of a Recoleta neighborhood where she was standing next to a businessman with a double surname. Suicide? Murder? Does that sound familiar?
The writer Claudia Piñeiro in her home in the Palemo neighborhood. Photo: Mariana Nedelcu.
–VIP prostitution, power and politics, you chose a complex topic.
–The relationship between power and sexuality has always existed. That's not new, but what is new is the exposure to which we are subjected by certain figures. If in the past, all of this existed behind closed doors (without any shame), but we didn't see it before, here we have an exposure of the sexuality of many figures, both in politics and digital market magnates, who at the same time exhibit ultraconservative positions from which they reject the legalization of abortion, gender transition, and other rights.
–There's an aspect of that sexuality in this novel that's prostitution, although Juliana, the girl who falls into the void at the beginning of the story, rejects that word and differentiates it from her job, which is being an escort. Do you share that difference?
–It seems to me that they're different ways of describing the same thing, and not necessarily from the perspective of the woman who works in these professions, but rather from the perspective of the man who clarifies that he doesn't hire prostitutes but rather chooses companions. And one thinks that ultimately there isn't that much of a difference. It also seems to me that in this sense, there's a socioeconomic position at the center: at certain levels, a guy who is accompanied by escorts, who takes them on a boat trip or to dinner, and who rules out the possibility of that being prostitution, is more highly regarded.
If I had to define myself, I'd say I'm not an abolitionist. I think if a woman decides she needs to work in this field, or wants to, or chooses because she has no other option, I respect that.
–The topic of prostitution opens a debate that the novel does not escape between abolitionists (those who believe the sale of sex must end) and regulationists (those who believe it's a job like any other and should be regulated to protect women). The book doesn't defend either position, although it explores them, but what is yours?
–I think the interesting thing is the very discomfort of the question. The novel's protagonist, who is a journalist, doesn't quite answer that question, and perhaps I don't quite answer it myself. If I had to define myself, I'd say I'm not an abolitionist. I think if a woman decides she needs to work in this field, or wants to, or decides she has no other option, I respect that. But I also understand many of the things abolitionists raise when they ask themselves to what extent it's a decision. And then we have the women who prostitute themselves and who ask us why we put so much burden on our bodies. What's the difference between working with our bodies in this way or cleaning bathrooms at McDonald's where they pay you two pesos and mistreat you? And we have to accept that there shouldn't be a choice to clean bathrooms either. There are many, many things to think about there.
–The novel presents an antagonism between two characters who do have very clear views on the matter. On the one hand, Pablo, the protagonist's partner, who is writing a book to give a voice to prostitution users. On the other hand, Leticia Zambrano, the protagonist's editor, who denounces the exploitation of escorts. This isn't the first time you've voiced an argument that's the opposite of your own. How do you construct these arguments without betraying them?
–I think I learned that from television director María Inés Andrés, who was my scriptwriting teacher and forced us to put ourselves "in the character's shoes." She told us, "You have to walk in those shoes," and from that place, defend their convictions. Because no one considers themselves a bad person or someone who says immoral things or that their actions are immoral. We all think we act more or less well in life. So, when I build these characters, it's about understanding their minds, what the thought is that justifies those actions. And in that sense, Leticia Zambrano speaks from one extreme, and Verónica's boyfriend is at the other extreme, even though he considers himself a feminist, that is, he does a kind of pinkwashing to appear more progressive. And besides them, there's another character, a man who uses the services of an escort and who gives his explanations about it. That voice was the hardest for me. I couldn't dedicate an entire section of the novel to it, like I do with the editor, Pablo, or the protagonist, Verónica Balda. I had a hard time holding this man. I gave him some space but couldn't expand on it because it's a voice that's very difficult for me to convey.
The writer Claudia Piñeiro in her home in the Palemo neighborhood. Photo: Mariana Nedelcu.
–This man justifies himself by saying that it's an exchange, that his menopausal wife no longer finds sex interesting and he still needs it, so he hires this "service" without compromising the love he feels for his wife.
–I think, and I'm not just talking about this novel but it happens with many theories out there, that when they're well-sold, they manage to make us think: "Well, he's still right, sir." And that's exactly how the parameters shift in society, when we justify something because, even if it's totally crazy, it has a logic that closes in on itself. This weekend, I read an article written by the essayist and novelist Siri Hustvedt in which she uses the word "sanewashing" to refer to "giving an air of sanity to something that is nothing more than madness." I found this idea of giving certain things a little sane wash to make them seem normal when they are abnormal to be extraordinary. There's a lot of that in everyday life and in today's society.
It's common for them to use these women for as long as they need them and then discard them. We see this all the time, and we've seen it scandalously in Argentine politics recently.
–All that supposed coherence, however, collapses when that equitable agreement with the escort breaks down. Then you show the true nature of what was happening between them. How did you build that without betraying its logic?
–I thought it was important to show that, because otherwise it could look like a man who ends up having a loving and caring relationship with a prostitute. And while there may be such cases, we know it's not common. It's common for them to use these women for as long as they need them and then discard them. We see it constantly, and in Argentine politics we've seen it recently in a scandalous, shameless way, and I find that very shocking.
–Specifically, regarding this relationship between politics and prostitution, the novel features journalistic chronicles that aren't really journalistic texts, but also other informative texts that describe the political use of sex, which are real, although so scandalous they seem like fiction. Why did you choose to include these texts?
–And they also talk about politicians we'd like to think weren't involved in these kinds of practices. For example, governments that use prostitution to entertain guests, state summits where presidents arrive and women work as escorts, as if it were just another service: American breakfast and paid sex... It's very shocking. It doesn't surprise me, after all the research I did for this book. In fact, I left out a lot of these real-life references because I couldn't fill the novel with cases, but I love that the research opens up new places and references.
–The novel also problematizes the idea of truth. At the beginning, the journalist asserts that we know what we know, "that's journalism," she says. In the end, Verónica Balda opines that "the truth that journalism seeks is always provisional, never finished, never complete." What is happening with truth today?
–The novel is very contemporary in that sense. There are versions of the truth, never a single truth, because those are the versions of the truth, and everyone decides which version seems most appropriate. In fact, it's the first time I've crossed so many lines between reality and fiction. All my other novels are purely fiction. Of course, one can look at the world and the society we live in, but they're always fictions. But this one has two very strong points, for me, that are based on real events, even if they appear altered. The first is the trigger for the novel, which is this girl who falls from a fifth-floor window. Recently, a Brazilian girl named Emmily Rodrigues fell from a window in Recoleta, and to this day we still don't know what happened. One of the things that really impacted me was seeing her father on television, shocked by all this and unaware of his daughter's supposed activity as a companion. That was a trigger. And then, it also takes real journalistic investigation to build the one Verónica and her boss conduct, which exposes an activist with ultraconservative values as a prostitute.
The writer Claudia Piñeiro in her home in the Palemo neighborhood. Photo: Mariana Nedelcu.
–They wonder if they should reveal that they are prostitutes.
–Because the novel also addresses this whole debate about whether there are women from prostitution in politics as well. Obviously, any woman can work in politics. And any man. What the novel suggests is that they aren't chosen out of a genuine vocation or interest in politics, but rather that they're necessary to fill the female quota. They're easy to recruit, they're quite unconditional, and they'll do whatever they're told. So, for those politicians, it's a royal field from which to recruit people for their list. For us, it's a disgrace.
–Anyway, Juliana, the novel's companion, does something unexpected at one point. What happened to her?
–What's happening to her has nothing to do with her sex work, but rather with her realizing what ends she's helping. While she's gradually becoming involved in that political party, she eventually realizes that people she cares about are also at risk, and she feels the meaning of things her father told her at the time, as well as other things she was overlooking because it was more convenient. And here's another issue that has to do with a very contemporary issue: many middle-class and even upper-middle-class girls, who we didn't think could be involved in this type of work, are or have been involved to pay for their studies or to have a life they couldn't access with a traditional profession. After the pandemic, certain quick-income activities emerged, related to gambling, betting, and VIP escorts. There's an entire generation that has been orphaned of a future and possibilities, who create an Only Fans page or record erotic audios that are purchased on other platforms. They are jobs, yes, but at the same time they are very much on the verge of prostitution.
–In your work, there are many women who live in loveless marriages, which, from the escort's perspective, is also a form of prostitution. What interests you about that?
–It's a topic that interests me, that contradiction that exists in many couples. Each person will know what that exchange is that they have with the other, because there is also an exchange in any couple. From an absolutely prudish and conservative perspective, everything is wrong. Here it's about opening things up a bit and asking, why is this wrong and this other not? Another topic that has always interested me greatly is hypocrisy, that of saying one thing outwardly and another inwardly. In this case of prostitution, it's true that there's a lot of inwardness, but what happens is that in the 21st century, there's a lot of outwardness, and that's what the novel revolves around.
The writer Claudia Piñeiro in her home in the Palemo neighborhood. Photo: Mariana Nedelcu.
–It's not the first time a protagonist in your novels is a journalist. How do you relate to the media?
–I'm deeply interested in everything related to news and journalism. I've always been very interested. Betibú is my most journalistic novel, but they all have something; in all of them, there's a character or a way of looking at the world through journalism. On the other hand, I love radio journalism because I'm a columnist on the show of a great journalist, María O'Donnell, who gave me that opportunity many years ago. In fact, sometime after graduating as an accountant, I tried to start studying journalism. I had taken a course in magazine journalism, scriptwriting, and my first job (after leaving the economics field) was at Editores Asociados, where editors like Alejandra Prokupec, Adriana Lorusso, and Mónica López Ocón were already heading up major women's magazines. I learned a lot from all of them and from Oskar Blotta.
–Twenty years ago, you won the Clarín Novela Award. Who were you in 2005?
When I won the award, I had been preparing for ten years, studying, taking courses, and writing at Guillermo Saccomanno's studio. At that time, I had a children's book published by Edebe in Barcelona (thanks to a competition) and the novel Tuya en Colihue. In 2005, I was writing Las viudas de los jueves (The Widows of Thursdays) , trying to see if someone would ever publish it, and when I saw the Clarín announcement, I thought I could finish it to participate. When I discovered my pseudonym among the 10 finalists, I looked for the three books I liked the most by each of the jury members and said to myself: "I'll take the signed books, at least." The fact that they had read the novel was already a prize for me. And when I heard my name, I thought: "Finally, I've had my chance. I'll see what I can do with this later."
- She was born in Greater Buenos Aires in 1960. She is a writer, playwright, TV scriptwriter, and contributor to various print media.
- He has published the novels The Widows of Thursdays, Yours, Elena Knows, The Cracks of Jara, Betibú, A Communist in His Underpants, A Little Luck, The Curses, Cathedrals and The Time of the Flies.
- In 2018, Alfaguara published his collected stories in Quién no , a volume containing his plays, Cómo vale una heladera y otros textos de teatro , and Escribir un silencio , which compiled his non-fiction texts for the first time.
- For her literary, theatrical and journalistic work, she has received various national and international awards, including the Clarín Novel Prize, the LiBeraturpreis Prize, the Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz Prize, the Rosalía de Castro Prize from the PEN (Club of Poets, Essayists and Narrators of Galicia), the Pepe Carvalho Prize from the Barcelona Negra Festival, the Dashiell Hammett Prize from the Semana Negra in Gijón, the Negra y Criminal Prize from the Tenerife Noir Festival, the Best Novel Prize from the Valencia Negra Festival, and she was a finalist for the 2022 International Booker Prize with her translation of Elena sabe into English.
- As co-author, along with Marcelo Piñeyro, of the TV series El Reino , she won the Platinum Award for Best Series Creators.
- Several of her novels have been adapted into films, and her plays are performed regularly. She is one of the Argentine writers most translated into other languages, making her books read and enjoyed by thousands of readers around the world.
The death of another , by Claudia Piñeiro (Alfaguara).
Clarin
