Novelists think about the real and concrete world we live in, even if they are inventing fiction in an imaginary or non-existent land. Writers write so that each reader sees himself in his real situation, in his personal and family history, in his national context, in his insecure intimacy knowing so little about life and others. A novelist who writes, say, about Venezuela in the 1950s, also writes about Ecuador, Norway, Vietnam, New Zealand or Nigeria. This is an impressive gift of the scope of the stories that depict the ephemeral passage of people on Earth.

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The latest novel (perhaps the last?) of Mario Vargas Llosa, I dedicate my silence to him (Bogotá, Alfaguara, 2023), is an invitation to understand what drives the country to maintain a positive order in its historical future. The state and society are undoubtedly problematic spaces, full of inequality, inequality and injustice, but perhaps paradoxically they also maintain traits that sustain them despite all the difficulties. Vargas Llosa, who has proven himself as a universal author, once again places his novel reflection in his native country, Peru, and questions the fate of that national community.

Despite all the complex internal differences, what makes the state realize a more or less common and promising project for the majority of its citizens? To answer this question, Vargas Llosa turns to the character of Toño Azpilcueta, perhaps the best connoisseur of Peruvian Creole music and one of its most diligent students, who is writing a book, based on extensive research, that answers the question of how much Peru’s contribution to the world is. Azpilcueta believed “that the huachafería and the criollo waltz, two inseparable phenomena, are the great Peruvian contribution to universal culture.”

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For him, the criollo waltz is a song that is danced by all of Peru, regardless of groups and social classes. In the novel, this reflection occurs in the context of the terrorist attacks on the Shining Path, in 1980 and 1990: “At what point did the land completely disintegrate and break, separating mountains from coast and brother from brother? ” According to the character, music could be the germ of a utopia that gives Peru unity and meaning. It is therefore striking that this novel foreshadows a country project based on a musical expression that allegedly succeeded in synthesizing the ‘soul’ of an entire nation.

That Creole music is a salve for the identity and unity of Peru may seem like a naive solution; but the power of the novel can lead us to other answers; This is the task of the reader: to also question what has been read. In any case, the book is important because it insists on continuing the search for elements that can bring together the projects of a citizenry that wants to live in peace, not in the midst of war and chaos. “The one of mixtures will be the real Peru”, suggests Azpilcueta, returning to the thesis of mixing as an element in which identities have merged to give way to new realities. (OR)