Palabras da man ao corazón: Letters in Books: O viaxeiro radical

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Letters in Books: O viaxeiro radical

The last time I visited Camelle and Manfred Gnädinger’s museum, Miro Villar recommended a book, O viaxeiro radical (2015), by Xerardo Quintiá, which I have just finished reading.

Manfred Gnädinger (1936-2002) was an artist who came to Camelle in 1962 from Boehringen (in the south of Germany) and decided to stay in Galicia living a simple, natural life, building sculptures on the beach. He built himself a small hut in Punta do Boi with no electricity or running water, and lived there for 40 years, dressed only with a loincloth in any weather, swimming out in the ocean even after he was fifty years old.

In November 2002, when the oil spill of the Prestige destroyed his sculptures and the ecosystem of the area, it is thought that Man let himself die of melancholy and sadness, thus becoming a symbol of the destruction unleashed by the oil spill.

You can still visit his open-air museum, full of colourful sculptures out of stones, driftwood, animal remains and other elements washed up by the sea, which he skilfully integrated into the natural landscape. During his life, Man would ask for a small fee (100 pesetas or 1€ later on) and a drawing in one of his small notebooks, most of which can be seen at the Museo do Alemán. Unfortunately, his open-air museum is slowly deteriorating, since nobody is really willing to take charge of its preservation.

Quintiá claims to have based his story on different biographical aspects of Manfred Gnädinger: his arrival in 1962, his baking skills, his problems with the neighbours in the village, the creation of a museum by the ocean, the accusation of child molesting, and his death.

I met Man when I was 11, as part of a school trip, and I remember how shocking and unique his house, his way of life and his surroundings seemed to all of us. I guess like most Galicians, I continue to feel that fascination for both man and artist each time I visit the quaint little village of Camelle and try to picture Manfred’s day-to-day life in such a claustrophobic society.

Therefore, I have really enjoyed reading O viaxeiro radical. The novel tries to humanize the controversial decisions he took and delves into more profound subjects such as love as a driving force, friendship and the quest for freedom and life purpose.

However, what I have loved the most were the letters included. There are eight letters in the book, seven of them written by the protagonist (3 addressed to Camelle’s Council and 4 addressed to his brother Hackett) and one penned by his brother Hackett.

They are lyrical treaties, kind of like journal entries, where the real character of fictional Manfred is revealed beyond the brokenness of his dialogues in the rest of the novel. Let’s take an example from the second letter (p.98), “Nada hai tan conmovedor como sentir o derrubamento daqueles soños máis íntimos” (there’s nothing as moving as feeling the crumpling of one's most intimate dreams); or his farewell letter (p.209) where he writes, “Presinto que o silencio se achega, caendo como a néboa de outono caída dende os montes sobre as casas de Böhringen… E estráñote, querido irmán…! Estráñote nesta mañá de inverno mentres unha luz fría e gris asolaga o horizonte e Camelle se somerxe na súa traxedia” (I feel the silence approaching, creeping over me as the autumn mist falling from the forest over the houses of Böhringen… and I miss you, dear brother…! I miss you this winter morning, while a cold, grey light floods the horizon and Camelle sinks in its tragedy).

And the letter from Hackett, Manfred’s brother, is kind of like Theo’s replies to Van Gogh’s letters (a comparison that is also repeatedly established in the novel itself): an injection of encouragement and will to survive.

Even if fictional, the book manages to convey the spirit of Manfred Gnädinger as pictured in our collective imagination, a man whose footprints did not alter the silence, to use one of the images from the novel.