Latest news with #MarioVargasLlosa
Irish Times
10 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Guth eile fós
Sa bhliain 2010 bhí an gnáthshioscadh agus cabaireacht ar siúl i measc an aosa litríochta maidir le cé a bhainfeadh Duais Nobel na Litríochta. Is fíor go bhfuil an duais áirithe sin ar an duais is lú meas de na duaiseanna Nobel ar fad seachas Duais Nobel na Síochána a n-áirítear buamadóirí breátha ar nós Henry Kissinger agus Barack Obama ar a bhfuaid. Bíodh gurbh é Mario Vargas Llosa breith an choiste rúnda a shocraíonn na nithe seo an bhliain sin, bhí plód d'iriseoirí agus de lucht faisin na nuachta ag feitheamh go mífhoighneach lasmuigh de theach Ngugi Wa Thiong'o, an scríbhneoir as oirthear na hAfraice arbh é rogha na ngeallghlacadóirí é ag an am, agus go ceann suim bhlianta ina dhiaidh sin. Is é is dóichí nárbh é an lipéad 'scríbhneoir ó oirthear na hAfraice' ná 'scríbhneoir Céineach' ab fhearr leis, ach scríbhneoir Kikuyu (mar a litrítear anois í). Óir, cé gur thosnaigh sé ag scríobh i mBéárla faoin ainm James Ngugi, dhiúltaigh sé dá ainm is dá theanga chéadfhoilsithe is gur chrom feasta a shaothar a scríobh ina theanga dhúchais, is í sin, sa Kikuyuís, teanga na Mau Mau. Ní móide go mbeadh aon bhreith aige ar dhuais Nobel na litríochta murach gur aistrigh sé agus gur aistríodh a chuid úrscéalta agus a chuid machnaimh go Béarla ina dhiaidh sin. Instear eachtra air nuair a bhí úrscéal aistrithe dá chuid i mBéarla á chur i láthair an phobail aige. Ní heol dom go baileach cén ceann é ach ceapaim gurb é Wizard of the Crow a bhí ann. READ MORE Fiafraíodh de ón urlár aníos cad ina thaobh nár scríobh sé sa Bhéarla sa chéad áit é. Thóg sé an t-aistriúchán Béarla ina ghlac agus dúirt sé 'Dá mbeadh an leabhar seo ann ar dtús, ní bheadh an leabhar seo (an bunleabhar Kikuyuíse) ann in aon chor.' Is é a dhála sin ag aon teanga eile é nach bhfuil istigh sa chlub, sa chumann, sa bhunaíocht uilechoiteann. Ní bhaineann cumhacht an domhain ar fad le réimeas míleata, le saighdiúirí ar an talamh, le buamaí á leagadh anuas, le ciníocha a bheith á ndíothú cé go bhfuil siad go dlúth agus i bhfogas dá chéile. Ní luafaí Ngugi wa Thiong'o in aon chor ná ar chor ar bith maidir leis an duais Nobel litríochta murach go raibh a shaothar foilsithe i dteanga fhorleathan dhomhanda; ní chloisfí giob ná gíocs faoi dá mba sa Khikuyís a bhreac sé gach rud riamh anall. Ní cúrsaí iontais é gurb é an Béarla an teanga is mó a shaothraigh daoine a bhain an duais amhrastúil seo, agus ina dhiaidh aniar, an Fhraincis, an Ghearmáinis, an Spáinnis, an Rúisis, teangacha mórchoncais agus díothú pobail iad go léir, ait le rá. Ait le rá chomh maith nár bronnadh duais mhór Oireachtais litríochta an domhain ach ar lucht cleite teangacha neamhEorpacha naoi n-uaire as 121 duais ar fad. Uair amháin don Araibis (491m cainteoirí), uair amháin don Bhengáilis (283m cainteoirí, ce gur scríobh Rabindrinath Tagore sa Bhéarla chomh maith), uair amháin sna teangacha Turcacha (200m cainteoirí, agus dhá thuras don teanga is mó cainteoirí ar domhan, an tSínis. Chuige seo, go bhfuair Ngugi wa Thiong'o bás an tseachtain cheana, ceithre scór agus ocht mbliana d'aois, duine de scríbhneoirí móra an domhain nach bhfuil aon insint mhór air toisc nach raibh sé cráite faoin existentialisme, ná faoi choinsias na buirgéiseachta, ná faoi óige lofa, faoi bhriseadh croí um leannán a thréig, faoi mhian bheag phearsanta nár comhlíonadh, faoi chiarsúr nár iarnáladh, nó faoi bhriosca a d'ith nó nár ith sé, ach gur scríobh sé go pearsanta paiseanta faoi éagóir na cumhachta. Ba leor sin le nach n-éistfí leis.
Epoch Times
06-05-2025
- Politics
- Epoch Times
Mario Vargas Llosa: The Man Who Broke From the Tribe
Commentary In one of the many interviews I had with Peruvian writer Mario Vargas Llosa, he said he hoped death would surprise him with a pen in his hand. I can't say whether that dream came true, but what is certain is that Llosa likely had little left to write—the world had already been captured in his books. Mario Vargas Llosa (1936-2025) died on April 13 in Lima. And with him, one of the most lucid, courageous, and brilliant voices—not only of the Spanish language but of all humanity—has left us. Llosa, who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2010, will be remembered for many things. But I'll remember him for his courage above all else, which was exemplified by his defiance of the dominant trends of his time. More Than a Novelist Born in Arequipa in 1936 and raised in Cochabamba, Vargas Llosa had little chance of becoming one of the most important writers in the world. In his autobiographical work ' 'Marito,' as he was called in his youth, began doing business with his writing at a very early age. He sold his first 'little novels' for cigarettes to his classmates. He also wrote love letters on commission for other cadets, and the money he earned allowed him to enjoy small pleasures on weekends. Like many young people in Latin America during the post-war era, Mario Vargas Llosa found himself increasingly drawn to Marxist ideas. In his autobiography, the Peruvian writer describes how, while studying at San Marcos University—the first university founded in continental America and a breeding ground for Marxist movements in the South American nation—he joined discussion groups that viewed communism as the ultimate solution to the world's problems. He wrote: Related Stories 4/30/2025 4/24/2025 'We were chatting in the courtyards of San Marcos ... and we talked about very serious things: the abuses of the dictatorship, the great ethical, political, economic, scientific, and cultural changes that were being forged over there in the USSR, or in that China of Mao Zedong that had been visited and about which that French writer — Claude Roy — had written so many wonders in Keys to China, a book we believed word for word.' After several trips to Cuba, however, he came to understand the horror behind communism. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he did not turn a blind eye. He broke with the revolution and dared to say out loud what others only whispered in private: that there was no freedom on the island, that the regime persecuted dissidents, imprisoned homosexuals, and executed opponents. Vargas Llosa was never just a novelist—and that was his power. He could build entire worlds through fiction, then turn around and write essays that cut to the core of human nature and political delusion. He understood power. He understood the tyranny of collectivism, which made him not merely a dissident, but a heretic in a literary world steeped in political orthodoxy and the romance of revolution. He had once been seduced by the myth of Castro's Cuba. But he woke up—sharply, irrevocably—when reality revealed its face. A Breaking Point It was not an isolated event. Llosa clashed with García Márquez. He confronted Mario Benedetti. They called him a traitor, a bourgeois, a sellout to imperialism. All for the crime of rejecting totalitarianism. While his old friends applauded Castro, Chávez, Evo Morales, and Daniel Ortega, Vargas Llosa exposed them one by one. He denounced authoritarianism disguised as benevolent socialism, and the misery caused by planned economies full of bureaucrats and 'wealth redistribution.' His ideological evolution was not opportunistic—as claimed by those who have never read Hayek or Popper—but deeply rational. Llosa understood that liberalism is not just another ideology, but the only system that guarantees respect for human dignity, private property, and freedom of thought. He made that clear in his essay ' In 'The Call of the Tribe,' Vargas Llosa skillfully explored the ideas of Adam Smith, Hayek, Popper, Berlin, Aron, Revel, and Ortega y Gasset. In them, he found the intellectual tools to build a coherent defense of the individual against the collectivist Leviathan. In that essay—perhaps one of his most important—he made it clear that liberalism is not a closed ideology, but an open doctrine, always ready for debate, criticism, and constant refinement. Beyond expressing his political views in essays and weekly columns, his novels also explored (some might say exposed) human nature and the harsh realities of a region plagued by centralism, collectivism, poverty, and authoritarianism. In 'Conversation in the Cathedral,' he opens with a question: 'At what precise moment had Peru [expletive] itself up?' In 'The Feast of the Goat,' he takes us to the Dominican Republic to tell the story of dictator Rafael Leonidas Trujillo—a work that could easily describe many of the dictatorships in Latin America, where some men play at being gods and end up becoming demons. For these reasons, Vargas Llosa distanced himself from the Latin American Boom—a literary movement that flourished in the 1960s and 1970s and included fellow Nobel laureate Gabriel García Márquez, Argentina's Julio Cortázar, and Mexico's Carlos Fuentes. He broke away from this literary elite, which, despite earning international acclaim and awards, often justified the executions ordered by Castro and Che Guevara, as well as the regimes that followed in their wake. The Peruvian writer chose to be a free man rather than an ornamental intellectual. He opted to focus on the people oppressed by the state, not the oppressors with their 'inclusive' rhetoric. He decided to write from a place of truth, not propaganda. A Giant on a 'Fragile Good' Mario Vargas Llosa died as what he truly was: a great man—free, honest, morally unblemished, and proudly reborn as a classical liberal without complexes. He was a moral giant in an age of ideological dwarfs. What remains is his work, his example, and the urgent task of continuing the battle he never abandoned. Because as Vargas Llosa himself said: 'Freedom is a fragile good that only prospers if it is defended every day.' Today, more than ever, we must defend it. From the Views expressed in this article are opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.
Mint
24-04-2025
- Politics
- Mint
Why Llosa is essential reading for marketers and brand builders
Mario Vargas Llosa, an aristocrat of Spanish ancestry, was sent to Lima's military academy to sweat the love of literature out of him. Instead, the experience gave us his first novel, The Time of the Hero . Among the greatest literary figures of our times, the Peruvian novelist and liberal died on 13 April, aged 89. I was introduced to his work in 2001 whilst I lived in Aliso Viejo in Southern California and have read much of his work since then. Llosa's pen charted the psychological, political and social transformations of Latin America with a rare combination of intellectual rigour and narrative brilliance, but his legacy goes beyond the obvious. He offered more than storytelling. His imagination was like an SOS. As Roger Scruton said, 'Consolation from imaginary things is not an imaginary consolation." What made Llosa's voice unique was his fearless engagement with power in all facets—its seductions, hypocrisies and consequences. He dissected dictatorships and democracies alike, drawing from the political chaos of Latin America not just to critique, but to understand. His lessons were applicable to all mankind. Llosa's 2010 Nobel Prize was not just in recognition of literary merit, but also of a lifetime spent confronting uncomfortable truths. Whether writing about the terrifying charisma of strongmen or the quiet resilience of individuals, Llosa fused journalism, fiction and philosophy with rare precision. He evolved from a youthful revolutionary sympathizer to a staunch defender of liberal democracy. It is this ideological evolution that drove Llosa and his friend Gabriel Garcia Márquez apart. 'Gabo' stayed with the revolutionary left in Castro's Cuba, while Llosa joined the Western liberal mainstream. To Llosa, a writer's role is not to please, but to provoke, challenge and awaken. My professional career has gained from Llosa's example. Marketers can learn a great deal from Llosa—not just about storytelling, but about the power of narrative to shape perception, culture and identity. Stories are not just entertainment; they are how people make sense of the world. For marketers, this translates into a crucial lesson: facts may inform, but stories persuade. Llosa didn't sell plots and characters, but entire worlds. Brands, too, must create immersive and believable narratives that tap emotions and aspirations. Another key lesson is complexity. Llosa never flattened characters into caricatures, even in depictions of despots or revolutionaries. He showed that human beings are self-contradictory, complex and driven by competing desires. Great marketing embraces this nuance. Instead of reducing consumers to mere stereotypes, demographics or personas, marketers who take a Llosa-like approach look for inner tensions—between status and simplicity, tradition and progress, freedom and belonging—that make people care. Authenticity emerges from acknowledging and resolving complexity, not avoiding it. Llosa teaches that credibility comes not from rigid positioning, but from clarity and the courage of conviction in principles. Marketers can take a cue from his intellectual honesty: speak with conviction, adapt with humility and always root communication in a deeper understanding of the historical, cultural and emotional context. Finally, attention is earned, not granted. His viscous prose demands engagement; it's rich, ambitious and unapologetically intelligent. It reminds me of Nirad C. Chaudhuri. Marketing that respects the audience's intelligence—by telling deeper stories, refusing to oversimplify and inviting interpretation rather than dictating it—builds loyalty and trust. Brands that eventually win are not the loudest, but the ones that say something worth remembering. Llosa is more relevant than ever in today's polarized world because he championed the enduring value of truth, freedom and critical thinking. His novels dissected the dangers of authoritarianism, fanaticism and blind ideology—forces that are resurgent globally. Llosa believed in literature's power to illuminate complexity and challenge complacency. His intellectual journey underscores the importance of evolving convictions through reason. In an age that often rewards outrage over nuance, Llosa's life and work remind us that real engagement with politics, people and art requires courage, curiosity and moral clarity. He was a chronicler of history, a critic of complacency and a craftsman of language whose influence spanned the globe. In honouring Llosa, we honour the enduring power of literature to shape our conscience. Only a handful of businesses and brands can claim that for themselves. In homage to a man of letters, let me offer an epitaph: 'Here lies Mario Vargas Llosa, a titan of literature whose pen carved truth into fiction and gave voice to the soul of Latin America. Nobel laureate, fearless critic and eternal storyteller, he challenged power and celebrated freedom. His words live on—bold, brilliant and unyielding—etched in the hearts of readers across generations. A life of letters, never forgotten." Llosa is dead but his ideas will live forever. The author is CMO, Tata Motors CV
Times
23-04-2025
- Politics
- Times
Plan to honour Mario Vargas Llosa stirs up Catalan separatists
The romantic passions of Mario Vargas Llosa, the Latin American literary giant, embraced the women he adored and the places that enchanted him. But the love that the Nobel prize-winning Peruvian had for Barcelona, the city he credited with establishing him as a writer, may be unrequited, at least officially. Vargas Llosa, who died this month aged 89, opposed Catalan separatism with such vehemence in later life that calls for Barcelona to name a street in his honour face stiff opposition from the region's nationalists. Aleix Sarri, a leader of the Catalan separatist Junts party, said: 'Vargas Llosa was an irredeemable anti-Catalan, he legitimised repression and always lined up in favour of the colonial forces. Our country has no reason to pay special tribute to
Yahoo
23-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Mario Vargas Llosa: The novelist who lectured Latin America
When you buy through links on our articles, Future and its syndication partners may earn a commission. Fact and fiction circled each other in the works of Mario Vargas Llosa. Through realism, erotica, and even crude slang, the Peruvian novelist wove tales of political corruption and moral compromise. As part of the Latin American literary boom of the 1960s—alongside Colombia's Gabriel García Márquez and Argentina's Julio Cortázar—he reached international fame, winning the Nobel Prize in literature in 2010. But unlike most other regional giants, he never embraced leftist politics. While his fictional works appeared to support revolution and speaking truth to power, his expository essays tended toward conservatism. He even unsuccessfully ran for president of Peru in 1990 as a right-winger, proposing to privatize state enterprises and lay off public-sector workers. "If you're a writer in a country like Peru or Mexico, you're a privileged person because you know how to read and write," he said. "It is a moral obligation of a writer in Latin America to be involved in civic activities." Born in Peru, Vargas Llosa grew up in Bolivia, where his mother told him his father was dead. In fact, his parents had divorced before his birth; they reunited when he was 10 and soon packed him off to military school in Lima. He retaliated by writing a novel, 1963's The Time of the Hero, a scathing account of life in a military academy that portrayed officers as abusive and corrupt. Scandalized generals denounced the book, which only turned it into a sensation. At 19, Vargas Llosa eloped with his uncle's 29-year-old sister-in-law, inspiring his novel Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter. "His distaste for the norms of polite society in Peru gave him abundant inspiration," said The New York Times, but he refused to live there. Instead, he spent decades in Europe, feted as an international literary star. "His fame and swelling ambition fueled his run for president," said The Washington Post. But he came across as an elitist and failed to win over Peru's largely impoverished indigenous electorate. Chastened, he returned to Europe and became a columnist for Spain's El País, espousing his love of free markets to a global readership. "His combative defense of this position earned him enemies" among Latin America's left, said The Guardian. Yet he maintained his dedication to his craft. Writing "is a way of living with illusion and joy and a fire throwing out sparks in your head," he said. "This is an experience that continues to bewitch me as it did the first time."
