'Sons of the fable', the grotesque of the last 'ETARRAs' according to Fernando Aramburu

At least since the tales of

(2006), the tragic anomaly of Basque terrorism, its social placenta and the pathological society it produced have been at the center of Fernando Aramburu's work, although each time from a distinct and original literary elaboration.

It was

(2012), a metanovela (or prenovela made up of the preparatory materials for a narrative project) that pointed to ignorance as a quarry for fanaticism, summed up in the advice of the former

Julen to his cousin: “Learn a lot, study ”.

And it was

, where a vigorous and polyhedral realism recreated the overwhelming fracture of fear and resentment that terrorism produced in Euskadi.

These

are far from the structural complexity of

, from its multiplicity of voices, from its inescapable moral challenge.

It is, by comparison, a minor work that deals with those indoctrinated in the romantic-essentialist fable of the

ideology , but it is also a work happily achieved in the register adopted by Aramburu: that of the farcical comedy or, to be precise, the of the humorous genre of Menippean satire.

The burlesque and even grotesque treatment of the two protagonists, Joseba and Ander, in their twenties who joined ETA shortly before the organization declared the definitive ceasefire (in October 2011), does not lessen the seriousness with which the doctrinal intoxication of many young idealists.

Surprised by the cessation of ETA while waiting in a French farm for the order to go into fire, Ander and Joseba decide to continue the fight for the liberation of Euskal Herria founding a band of only two members, they, whose name, GDG —

(Victory is ours), taken from a song by Negu Gorriak—, will be the reason for scolding (“group of assholes”) by Txalupa, the real ETA member who will give them precarious shelter in Toulouse.

The idle day-to-day life of this comic couple (worthy of a

) is resolved with episodes that recall the motives of the picaresque (hunger, the search for a master, roaming and even the path of maturation, at least for Joseba ) and that they possess an undoubted comic force.

As in Menippean satire, here monolithic and single thinking is mocked in favor of a flexible and dialogic vision of things, and the heroes are presented as laughable memos thrown into trivial adventures peppered with buffoonery and primal urges ( food, eschatology, sex).

Three ETA hooded men read a statement on October 20, 2011 announcing the permanent ceasefire of the terrorist group.

Gara

With skillful technical transparency, Aramburu manipulates his puppets to show us their full stolidity.

The

(command) that they form trains for future

(actions), as ordered, but in the absence of grenades they throw stones into the river, the shooting exercises are carried out with brooms and the most daring attacks consist of stealing a jar of honey from a supermarket.

Significantly, the two

They start out smelling like chickens, due to their proximity to the chickens on the farm, and end up with the stench of pilgrims or homeless people when, after a bumpy return via Zaragoza, they arrive in San Sebastián, where life is revealed to them in its overwhelming and seductive normality. .

To accompany this return, Aramburu has created a magnificent character, that of the vital, easygoing and ultra-leftist María Cristina, the daughter of a military officer, who declares

an Aragonese nationalist and helps the command to reach Garrapinillos with the aim of unearthing a supposed cache of weapons. .

Her appearance coincides with one of the most symbolic episodes of satire: the beating that Joseba and Asier receive at the hands of some Toulouse FC fans, who vent their frustration on them after a match.

The tunda —which has something of the beating of the

— leads Txalupa to criticize the gratuitous violence that soccer engenders, it should be banned!, in bloody contrast with the gratuitous murderous violence of the terrorist gang.

Joseba fears that the heroic fight of the commando will be told by writers "with very bad guts", award winners and best sellers, and will make them "go down in history like two jerks"

Irony and even self-irony abound: they believe that someone should recount the heroic fight of the commando, but Joseba fears that writers "with very bad guts", award-winning and best sellers, will do it and make them "go down in history like two jerks". , because what has been happening to them is —he admits it— “from a Fat and Skinny movie”.

It is possible to conjecture that Joseba assumes that narrative mission years later, already cured of delirious reveries, and decides to narrate in all the latitude of his absurdity the dissolution of the last

of E.T.A.

The style supports this idea: Aramburu has created a direct and folksy narrator, with short and oral phrasing, an internal voice that could be (or not) Joseba's.

The outcome, accurate in the symbolism of what he says and what he omits, also points in this direction.

The Joseba of the future (now?) can already caustically evoke that criminal ingenuity, that fable that corrupted him and was about to turn him into a sad lion.

A lion of laughter and fear like the jihadists that the filmmaker Chris Morris portrayed in his 2010 film

.

It is probable that there are those who consider that the 11 years that have elapsed since the end of ETA are not enough to tell the tragedy of terrorism with the resources of satirical humor, but nobody was in better conditions than Aramburu, after the harsh sociopolitical panopticon of

, to do it.

And he has done it not only very well literary, but connecting morally with that unforgettable novel.

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