By Pablo Félix Jiménez | September 11, 2025
Below is a revised transcript of the talk I gave at the 2nd Encuentro de Escritores del Sol in Las Talitas 2025 (Tucumán). It took place at the Club Abuelos en Acción at 7:30 p.m. on September 11, 2025. I shared the panel with Silvia Ojeda (from Tucumán), Elsa Danna (from Santiago del Estero), and myself; Eduardo Medina (SADE Salta) was absent, though I had the pleasure of meeting him the next day. I also want to thank the officials from Tucumán, including Mayor Marta Najar, for making these events possible despite technical and economic difficulties.
 |
| Charla "La situación de la literatura y las políticas culturales en la región". Pablo Félix Jiménez y Silvia Ojeda. 2do Encuentro de Escritores del Sol Las Talitas 2025. Tucumán 11/09/2025. |
Thank you, Manuel Ernesto Rivas, for inviting me and allowing me to develop some ideas I’ve been thinking about ever since I met Enrique Traverso in his literary workshop held in the university extension program at UNCA. There, we students explored authors from Tucumán [and the region] such as Inés Aráoz and many others, as well as younger writers like Alejandra Díaz—I could go on, but my memory isn’t perfect.
Well, I was paying close attention to what Daniel Posse said. I had prepared something to share, but now I’ll have to improvise because I have more information.
I’m going to look at the glass half full. If we looked at the empty half, we’d be talking about printing budgets, about how much money is circulating for culture. But I don’t think that’s so important, because in workshops we see that there are genuine attempts at writing—many people are writing, and we owe that to public education, with all its lights and shadows; clearly, many of our literary figures emerged after the establishment of public education. From 1880 onward, or going back to the Viceroyalty period, we can start with Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, etc., etc., up to the present.
Now, what do I want to say? Something very simple. It seems to me that there are genuine attempts at writing, and there are remarkable people, as we’ve just heard. For example, Eduardo Ceballos and many others—Hilda Angélica García, María Carlas de Clarck, who is no longer with us, a professor at the National University of Catamarca, who wrote a History of the Letters of Catamarca covering from 1890—just a data point—1890, perhaps skipping Fray Mamerto Esquiú, who published in 1857 and was already an orator in 1853, up to 1999.
Now, I discover—and this is precisely what I wanted to talk about—what Eduardo Ceballos said. Ceballos tells us that someone in Japan is referencing his writings1, and that causes him a sentimental impact related to the task of any communicator, because a writer, after all, is communicating something. Well, that magic we just witnessed is what we might call criticism, because there was translation—another side of it—there was explanation, commentary, interpretation of the text, and that is criticism, and that’s what we find in Ceballos’s talk; we also find it in Alfonso Nassif’s anthology, because it’s a special anthology, a commented anthology, which is no small thing; we have the efforts here of Héctor David Gatica, with his enormous anthological work; and then SADE [Argentine Society of Writers] in every region of the country contributing its part, presenting books in its own format; and then the state, through its culture departments, presenting books, providing spaces, book fairs, funding—well or poorly, more or less.
But let me tell you something: if in workshops we see the vitality of potential writers and those who don’t get published but are very capable, it’s because literature transcends the state and transcends time.
But what happens? If we want something published today, known today—in other words, if we’re in a hurry, impatient, unwilling to wait until we die to be recognized—well, literature survives our times, certainly; we still have [Inca] Garcilaso de la Vega.
We have the writer. We have the publisher; and in the publisher there’s a very important figure: the translator, because the world doesn’t end in Argentina, it doesn’t end in the 600 million Spanish-speakers; it doesn’t end in the 57 million Spanish-speakers in the United States. And the great wealth of literature is precisely the hybridization of different experiences. Let’s take Tucumán [the region] to the world and bring back from the world things for Tucumán [for the Norte Grande]. Let’s not shut ourselves up within four walls turning this place into a navel, because it isn’t. So what I want to say is: we become stronger insofar as we can be more universalist, because by being universalist we can better honor the place where we live. Because what does school do? It universalizes us, gives us universal tools—starting with language, starting with translation and all the other disciplines.
So I say: publishers must have a schedule—if I publish 10 or 15 writers, then a book of criticism must come out. But not just any book of criticism; what I propose is not the kind of criticism that comes from within the university, from the cloisters, because we have critics—very good ones—inside universities. But what happens? Their language has more to do with the survival of each professional inside, where they have to influence their peers and students have to influence their professors. Here, for example, we have big absentees: all the literature students.
So maybe that’s where we have to start organizing, but what happens? Literature students write essays, reviews, but within the university sphere. Now SADE is working with Berta Bilbao Richter, from Salta, a graduate of the National University of Salta; she recounted that while in Europe she asked, “Why are there so few books from Argentina?” Many are missing; they answered, “Because you don’t have enough critics.” How can we not have enough critics? Let’s ask and answer ourselves: we have universities, we have licensed professors of literature, doctors—very capable, of course…
What is needed. What I want to get at is the style of Harold Bloom, the North-American critic, like Umberto Eco. In other words, critics who are popular, critics who have managed to permeate beyond the classroom, books that can sell outside the university, books that can be in libraries—outside university libraries, in any library and in any commercial publishing house.
SADE is doing its part: teaching criticism. Now, what I say is that publishers cannot do without books of criticism.
What for? What is a book of criticism good for? A book of criticism serves, for example—personally, it helped me a lot to read on the bus a book by Alfonso Nassif, and I take my hat off to him (if I had one here), because it’s an anthology that is commented, and by being commented it delivers keys to poetic currents, so we can start cataloguing and bringing order to the literary production we have in the Norte Grande, so that people on the other side of the world can say, “Look, we also have, for example, Baroque, or Neo-baroque—what do you think? How about we do a joint book between a university in China and one here in Tucumán, or North America with one here, or the Middle East with one here?” Because we must not remain locked up thinking we are the navel of the world, because what literature teaches us is that what happens to a human being happens whether they’re in Manhattan or in Afghanistan—everywhere, the ups and downs are the same. So I’m not saying we shouldn’t do regional literature—yes, we should, but it must have an international projection.
And how will we achieve that? Through criticism, because criticism brings people together. Right now we’re being read by writers, or by relatives, or by the publisher’s friends—but how many come to these events? And let’s say that’s not so important; the point is that every piece of writing seeks, as Harold Bloom says, to influence, so the text has to be influential, and when we say politics fails—and it surely does—well, it’s in our DNA.
But we writers, above all, have to show the way to politicians, show the way to the people. Because writing, literature is more powerful than ideology, much more powerful than philosophy, because literature can say what philosophy cannot say and what ideology cannot say, because ideology or philosophy have certain methods that close off what can and cannot be said, whereas literature can afford to say anything, with irony or sarcasm, crossing any barrier.
And to close I would say: publishers and writers—every writer helps another writer by writing reviews, because sometimes books come out without reviews, and there has to be criticism, and some writers can take on that criticism, and within the university they can take it on, and maybe they have better tools. But they have to do it in a language that, as Harold Bloom teaches, or if we read Umberto Eco or so many others here—to not look down on what we have in Argentina, we have Jitrik, Sarlo, Piglia, but they’re from Buenos Aires, and if we’re talking about the Argentine Northwest, we should have one of our own. Now, what do they do? They do an enormous job: they place literature in context, they place it within the ideological scaffolding and the social scaffolding. But what we lack—what we lack a lot—is the aesthetic scaffolding. From where is it built, from where is communication built? How? What are the tools? What are the rhetorical tools? We’d be talking about rhetorics, in poetry or narrative or novel.
So if we could produce more critics who permeate, who are critics but popular, who are in bookstores—that’s the issue. The critic teaches how to read, is, so to speak, the exegete of the book, and that allows, for example, a politician to quickly say, “What are your references?” And when a tough question comes, to get out of it fast. Or think of someone in tourism, or simply a parent, because we must remember that literature and reading permeate more in the home than at school—parents reading books, reading to their children, promoting reading, and I remember Enrique Traverso with his son, and his son’s reading, which moves me, and of course we all have a similar childhood memory in our hearts. It’s a bit about that, isn’t it? About shared reading, and because we’re going to be alone in the world at some point, and when family is gone, there are books. And it’s the critic who dares to speak to you, to make you see that more easily.
Well, I hope I haven’t tired you—so, criticism, translation, so we can enjoy books from abroad and take our books out, because we have to become brothers and sisters. There’s too much tension everywhere and we don’t always have to harvest only for our own sack. Let’s realize that the others exist. The others are in literature, in Cervantes, they’re there, we can see so many people from back then who had the same problems we do. And nothing more.
I wish success to cultural managers, to those who run workshops, to those teaching at universities, to the students; students should come to these talks, they should see how future writers are being forged, they should go to workshops to watch them emerge. What happens is— and I get fired up again—sometimes there is criticism, because many writers come out of the university, go to workshops, start writing poetry, narrative, novels, and maybe those who are better prepared are the ones doing the criticism. But there’s no policy— a policy would be, as Alejandra Díaz would say, a vital urgency, something that moves us to action, to keep in mind that when we publish authors someone has to be working on criticism, not for propaganda, understand, but for teaching, to help more people love literature. In other words, not with technical language but, as Harold Bloom would say, if we’re going to talk about poetry let’s do it poetically, if we’re going to talk about narrative or the novel let’s use the same resources of novel and narrative: introduction, knot, denouement, character creation, etc., etc. Well, I wish you the greatest success and hope to keep being surprised as I was here and to keep learning as I did with Gatica when I saw the enormous work he did, like Ceballos and like María Calas de Clark—unfortunately she’s left us— from Catamarca; I want to explain, it’s not only María Calas de Clark, but a team she led at the university and they produced a beautiful book, the History of the Letters of Catamarca. Well, that should be repeated, it’s something to replicate.
And we also have to dare to write about other countries. We consume history, it’s told to us as if it’s about us, but we could talk about Spain, we could talk about North America. There are books that, for example, from North America talk about Perón. We don’t have anyone who talks about Kennedy, but yes—at the university level someone told me, “No, at the university there are good ones,” but I want to see a book like [Joseph] Page’s on Perón, but as a sociologist talking about Kennedy or about whatever North-American or European or Chinese politician; we have to dare to speak about the other as well, the other also exists, the other is not necessarily the one next door, the other also exists—and why? Because we feed on language and through language we absorb everything that comes from the world.
And let’s not forget that if today we can reflect on what we’re saying, if we can eagerly criticize as Daniel Posse did… it’s because we’re thinking and we have many things swirling in our heads; that’s not free, it’s thousands of years of literature, of spoken language, and there’s school, which has made us climb every step to become adults, from the first rudiments of speech to being able to write. Because not just anyone can write, and let’s be grateful that we can read and write.
Maybe we lack a bit of policy, and maybe critics can help us better interpret the literature we have and perhaps undervalue when we read superficially. And I’d invite you to read, for example, Urgencia by Alejandra Díaz, a poem I liked a lot and I’d like more people to read, because in that poem I found connections with the poem “Christ on the Cross” by Borges, “Christ on the Cross,” I think it’s called.
Well, we’re in Urgencia Argentina, we always have the feeling we’re not arriving, we’re there, but all humanity is like that. If anyone listened during the pandemic, who didn’t hear what people think in other countries, their joys and their tears—we all have the same problem, and politicians have the same problem too, everyone would like to be the Messi of politics, but unfortunately not everyone can be, and we writers can’t all be Borges, we can’t be Cervantes. If only! May figures as towering as Borges or so many others emerge in the Northwest, but whom, due to my failing memory, I can’t name right now. Thank you very much.
Keywords (English)
regional literature, accessible literary criticism, literary translation, cultural policies, Argentine Northwest, Tucumán writers, Harold Bloom, Umberto Eco, aesthetic literacy, regional publishers, popular criticism, literary internationalization, writing workshops, SADE, public education, annotated anthologies, mandatory reviews, literary universalism, aesthetics vs ideology, shared reading
By Pablo Félix Jiménez
Digital Journalist | Culture and Technology
Did you find this article interesting? I invite you to connect with me on Linkedin – Twitter – Instagran – Facebook – Pinterest – Threads – YouTube – TikTok – Reddit – Bluesky – Mastodon y Minds so you don't miss my latest posts. I'll be happy to share them with you!
1Dr. Hiroto Ueda (1951). Tokyo National University of Foreign Studies, Faculty of Languages.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario