El cuarto mundo

by Diamela Eltit

En El cuarto mundo, tercera novela en la fecunda trayectoria de Diamela Eltit, un hermano y una hermana gemelos compiten por la atención del lector del mismo modo en que, antes de nacer, competían por el espacio en el vientre materno, lugar de enunciación elegido por la escritora para hacer hablar a sus personajes en el arranque de esta historia.

Tal y como acostumbra, sirviéndose de un lenguaje lírico que desafía y cautiva, Eltit explora los límites de la narración para abordar con espíritu crítico el universo familiar y la maternidad, la construcción del género, los roles socialmente asignados a hombres y mujeres o la materialidad del cuerpo femenino como centro de las relaciones de poder.

La novela se publicó en 1988, todavía en el contexto de la represión dictatorial chilena. Eltit describe en estos términos lo que era hacer literatura en aquel período aciago: «Escribí en ese entorno, casi diría obsesivamente, no porque creyera que lo que hacía era una contribución material a nada, sino porque era la única manera en la que podía salvar mi propio honor. Cuando mi libertad –no lo digo en sentido literal, sino en toda su amplitud simbólica– estaba amenazada, me tomé la libertad de escribir con libertad. Pero eso tampoco reparó ni las humillaciones, ni el miedo, ni la pena, ni la impotencia por las víctimas del sistema: escribir en ese espacio fue algo pasional y personal. Mi resistencia política secreta. Cuando se vive en un entorno que se derrumba, construir un libro puede ser quizá uno de los escasos gestos de sobrevivencia».

Genres: Fiction, Spanish Literature, Latin American, Latin American Literature, Female Authors

161 pages, Paperback

First published June 1, 1988

About the author

Diamela Eltit (born 1947, Santiago de Chile) is a well known Chilean writer and university professor. Between 1966 and 1976 she graduated in Spanish studies at the Universidad Católica de Chile and followed graduate studies in Literature at the Universidad de Chile in Santiago. In 1977 she began a career as Spanish and literature teacher at high school level in several public schools in Santiago, such as the Instituto Nacional and the Liceo Carmela Carvajal. In 1984 she started teaching at universities in Chile, where she is currently professor at the Universidad Tecnológica Metropolitana and abroad. During the last thirty years Eltit has lectured and participated in conferences, seminars and literature events throughout the world, in Europe, Africa, North and Latin America. She has been several times visiting professor at the University of California at Berkeley, and also at Johns Hopkins University, Stanford University, Washington University at Saint Louis, University of Pittsburgh, University of Virginia and, since 2007, New York University, where she holds a teaching appointment as Distinguished Global Visiting Professor and teaches at the Creative Writing Program in Spanish. In the academic year 2014-2015 Eltit was invited by Cambridge University, U.K., to the Simon Bolivar Chair at the Center of Latin American Studies. Since 2014 Diamela Eltit´s personal and literary archives are deposited at the University of Princeton. Through her career several hundreds of Latin American young writers have participated as students at her highly appreciated literature workshops.

Reviews

[Violely · Rating 3 out of 5]

Un libro disruptivo y de lectura compleja. Trata temas que son tabú pero al estar lleno de metáforas y otros recursos literarios, mezclados con pocas referencias de tiempo y espacio hace que pierdas el hilo una y otra vez.
Leerla me hizo acordar a Ariana Harwicz en La débil mental y también un poco a Lamborghini en El fiord. Me parece interesante la escritura de Eltit pero creo que tengo que seguir explorándola.

[Minerva Miranda · Rating 5 out of 5]

Más que una lectura fue como una alucinación o un sueño febril. Un viaje super extraño, muy sensorial e instintivo. Creo que nunca había sentido algo así con un libro, y suena raro, pero sentí que aprendí una nueva forma de leer, más desde los sentidos que la lógica (suelo leer mucho más desde la lógica).

[Yaneth Suárez · Rating 3 out of 5]

Eltit da rienda suelta a todo lo prohibido en un mundo asfixiante mediante una escritura jeroglífica que no parece arremeter contra nada específico pero que arremete contra todo. Con golpes fuertes, salvajes y llenos de enojo, ira y frustración. La rabia contenida en una sociedad dictatorial acallada a base de compresión que sólo consigue que surjan las mayores atrocidades.

[Lauren]

Phew. I wasn't ready for that intensity but talk about leaving an impression. Eltit relates a story of twins, starting the narrative *in utero*. The book is halved from each twin's perspective. It's brutally violent, disturbing, and taboo (cw: abuse, incest) and a larger allegory for Chile in the 20th century.

[Jacob Wren · Rating 5 out of 5]

Diamela Eltit writes:


When I turned twelve I had my first sexual encounter. Transmuted by the ancestral force of passion, I was on the verge of consummating the act, but I didn’t know then if I was being liberated to experience glory or to experience punishment, for all I wanted was to go further – I had to go much further – until I could fuse hesitation with acceleration, disorder with precision, in the sacred flesh.

It happened on a street. The sky was darkened with clouds. I was walking attentively along a narrow street when I sensed that someone was following me. My heart began to pound, yearning for the secret pleasure that emerged from some part of my brain.

I soon realized that I was not the one being followed, but the one following someone else, someone slender, walking unhurriedly, and seeming to glide along in an affected manner. The equivocal situation made me fear I was hallucinating, but the sound of the steps, the crisp air, and the uneven sidewalk confirmed that I was deeply immersed in a real situation.

I was astonished to realize that not only was I following an unknown person but also I didn’t know why I was doing it. Inexplicably, and in some crucial way, however, that moment pulled me away from the world I knew and pushed me into another in which that hieroglyphic person would make similarity and difference fade into one another.

At one particular moment I lost sight of the figure. Dejected and vexed by inertia, I began to double back, thinking nostalgically about my loss. I felt deprived of some absolute presence, more fundamental than my parents and more mysterious than the sum of my fluctuations.

Sadly, I started back. Of the four roads from which I could choose, each one was as equally possible as it was a mistake. I quickly realized that not only had I lost someone but also, in the search, I had become lost myself.

It would have been absurd to wager on which way I should return. One of those roads would take me home, but if I were to choose the wrong one, it would take me three times as long to get back. It seemed as if I were being punished for letting myself be guided by my impulses. Soon it was going to get dark and the city would become even more dangerous. I had been warned about it so many times that now it seemed like a dream to be exposed to it, just on the edge of twilight and shielded by anonymous, conventional dwellings.

Some curious faces observed me while I stood there, stubborn and rigid, trying to decide which way to go. Becoming desperate, I tried to reconstruct my original route, but each possibility seemed equally valid to me. As I got cold, I became more anxious, so I made a random choice. I had no memories or assumptions that would have convinced me that I should have headed south.

I was facing a long and lonely walk, intensified by fear every step of the way. There was nothing to distract me, except the darkness that was overtaking the sky ever so quickly.

Suddenly, when my miserable condition was too much for me to bear, I saw that same figure standing nearby. I froze, overwhelmed by irrepressible desire. Without thinking, I walked through the darkness, guided only by the scent of another person’s skin near me. I stopped.

I felt myself being pushed up against the stone wall, breathing in unison with the figure that was stroking me. Expert, soft hands ran all over my body and fingers pushed against me in order to remove my clothing. In that public exchange, those hands that traversed my body back and forth found their way to the most stimulated part of me.

Unable to feel the stone wall jabbing my back anymore, I sought a deeper reality once those caresses had prepared me for that moment. Feeling totally outside my body, I tried to touch the other person, but a pair of hands stopped me.

As if in apology, our mouths became fused with the passion of our saliva. My tongue became a sword, seeking not only to wound my rival but also to lick my ally.

Out mouths witnessed a combat of shifting liquids that became desperately and painfully prolonged. My breathing became nasally vulgar as the undulations, domination, and pricking left me out of breath. Unable to continue, I decided to consummate the act, but the figure fled, leaving me stinging against the stone wall.

Then the pain began. A sharp, genital pain, provoked by vigorous and demanding desire. Alone and shameless, I resigned myself to the personal glory that I had assiduously attained for the first time. Satisfaction was measured by the curve of desire and the dimension of abandonment. When the violence of the stones returned, I knew it was over.

The hours it took me to get home were agonizing, for I cursed and cursed the whole way, trying to destroy my sexual vitality. I saw myself as an outcast, I was unworthy of living with my family, and I felt as if my mind and body had been condensed into all the encrusted afflictions of the world.

At intervals, strong surges of well-being helped return me to a state of moderation, reducing the denigrated feeling I had about myself. The accursed sermon of reason incessantly accused me of a perfidious crime whose fine was permanent shame and horror.

I promised to make all kinds of sacrifices, even castration, in order to alleviate that burden; yet something had become hopelessly perverted in me and, deep inside, I had exposed myself to a cynical yet honest life.

I suffered intensely for several days but, little by little, even though I was feeling much anxiety, I concentrated on elucidating exactly what happened in that meeting on the street.

I couldn’t determine who or what seduced me that evening. Despite continually reconstructing that encounter I could never ascertain anything with any proof, even though I know I encountered youthful plentitude in the flesh of a young female beggar or a young male vagabond who, as night approached, performed a charitable act for me.

[Justine Kaufmann · Rating 3 out of 5]

Wtf did I just read? --2.5*

[Fernanda Acosta Mármol · Rating 4 out of 5]

qué clase de locura, mix de amelie nothomb con ariana harwicz acabo de leer? 🤯

[Hector Moya Rojas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Muy intenso, impredecible y con una prosa fabulosa.
Rompe completamente los esquemas de su época, increíblemente, también los de esta.

[Manuel Gil · Rating 3 out of 5]

O mundo metafórico está moi ben ata a páxina 90. A partir de aí, farta. O final chega e menos mal que é bo!

[Gabo Azurdia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Con un impresionismo esquizofrénico, y concebido entre la polifonía de una ciudad-matriz corrupta, Eltit narra la historia de estos mellizos en un tránsito de lenguaje sumamente intelectual y complejo a la pérdida del sentido, a la disociación y a la depersonalización identitaria como un acto de resistencia. El hilo autoficcional se filtra en esa distorsión que habita el alma de esta novela. Eltit escribe desde la anarquía del lenguaje hasta la liberación y concepción de un ser producto del incesto (¿histórico? ¿ideológico?). Este es un manifiesto lírico visceral que bien puede integrarla al infrarrealismo. La narrativa de Eltit me sigue palpitando en el cerebro. Siento cómo se ha tejido y tatuado en mí, me inspira a desnudarme en el lenguaje y a buscar -de ser posible- una liberación metafísica que solo la ficción permite. Una poeta, una filósofa, una historiadora, una escritora que rompe el olvido. Que, seguro, te va a romper. Un homenaje macabro y crudo, crudísimo.

[Guachuleru Leru · Rating 4 out of 5]

Simbólico, poético, crudo, tabú. Incómodo, feo y bello a la vez.

[Jimmy Rodríguez · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

[Felipe Eduardo · Rating 3 out of 5]

Enloquecido con la escritura brillante de Diamela. Aunque a veces me costaba entender por confundirme en las metáforas.

[Camilo · Rating 5 out of 5]

rarísimo, me encantó

[Dusty · Rating 4 out of 5]

On one hand, Diamela Eltit's short novel is an account of an incredibly f*cked up family -- a mother with suicidal fantasies, a father who is most aroused by his wife when she is weak and/or physically ill, and two twins, a boy a a girl, who at about the age of fourteen conceive a child together. If this sounds a bit like a parody of the Buendía family in Gabriel Garcia Márquez's Hundred Years of Solitude, well, it's probably no coincidence: Like every writer in Latin America who has the misfortune to publish his/her book after Márquez's so-called magnum opus, Eltit knows her work will be compared to his. So why not brave the comparison head-on?

On the other hand, and here is where El Cuarto Mundo becomes masterful, the story and family constitute an allegorical vision of the "Latin American Condition" in the late twentieth century. Mother Spain, Uncle/Father Sam, the children who sometimes are showered with love -- sometimes not -- and who just aren't taught what they should and should not do. The twins, who perceive themselves as alone in the world except for each other, are more or less ignored by their parents, though they live in the same house, and without any moral guidance, who can fault them in early adolescence for succumbing to the lure of sheer physical pleasure? Without any help from "more civilized countries", who can fault Latin American countries for succumbing to nepotism, coups, revolutions and dictatorships?

Even this is a simplification, though -- Eltit addresses more in 160 short pages than just the macro-political (is that even a word?) situation of the western hemisphere. Also present are a clear feminist consciousness (Should a woman allow herself to birth a child into a country lorded over by a dictator?) and a rather in-your-face disdain for the cultural importance of money -- U.S. Dollars in particular. To illustrate: At one point in the text a cloudburst of dollar bills showers down upon the characters, falls into their mouths, is sucked up into their vaginas and other orifices, etc.

A weird but highly recommended read -- and for such an experimental text, a rather easy read. Available in an English translation (as The Fourth World).

[Angel Guardado · Rating 5 out of 5]

¡Madre mía! ¡Qué novela! Esto es otra cosa, esto es escarbar en toda la angustia, en el desasosiego de ser un cuerpo y tener un cuerpo. Infinitamente perturbador y disruptivo, pero tan hermoso que no se puede dejar de leer. Pareciera una estampa del fin del mundo, ¿cuáles son las reglas y quién las establece?, todo en un ambiente turbio, violento (sin actos de verdadera violencia), los personajes son sus propias víctimas y sus propios verdugos, quieren sobrevivir pero habitan un mundo corrompido que los mantiene acorralados. Un verdadero desafío de lectura, la oscuridad es abrumadora y la intensidad, penetrante.
Necesito leer algo simple, tranquilo y feliz luego de dos textos consecutivos de esta deslumbrante autora.

[Mary · Rating 5 out of 5]

Shoot, best fetal monologue I've read yet. Overall, mana for academics (and readers too).

[Aurora De La Rosa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Yo disfruto mucho las novelas y este es mas un delirio.

[Gabriela Martinez · Rating 4 out of 5]

Me parece una novela que exige un compromiso del lector. Al final, logra lo que debe proponerse la literatura, inspirar al lector.

[Rochu · Rating 3 out of 5]

Para ser completamente honesta, no lo entendí. Es un libro escrito de forma confusa, opaca, sin embargo muy bella y muy evocativa. El lenguaje es sin duda su punto fuerte, pero es el mismo lenguaje el que lo hace impenetrable. Así, la experiencia de lectura es sensorial y desconcertante, y en mi opinión personal, un poco insatisfactoria. Pero puedo reconocer su excelencia y atribuyo esa insatisfacción a mi propia ineptitud.

Me quedan cosas dando vuelta. Entiendo que hay un mensaje político que está en el centro de esa historia asfixiante, y que su clave está en la mención constante a "los sudacas". Que los eventos tienen una cuota importante de alegoría o al menos de metáfora. Pero se me perdieron. Quizás ignoro mucho de Chile.

Más allá de todo, es una manera fascinante de pasar un par de horas.

[cronopia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Por fin logro terminar una novela de Eltit, me lo debía. Siento que fui cayendo en una trampa poco a poco, al principio no me resultó tan difícil, luego que ya estaba inmersa en la historia se empieza a complejizar, al mismo tiempo que aumenta una sensación de sofoco producto de lo que va sucediendo en la historia y ya me es imposible abandonar, porque necesito respirar y a pesar de las necesarias pausas, solo terminarla me devolverá el aliento...en parte. Será esta la sensación de haber nacido/vivido en dictadura?

[Rodrigo Alfonso · Rating 3 out of 5]

Superando mi reticencia y prejuicio a leer algún libro de Eltit terminé esta novela. Me corroe la envidia. Es justificada la fama y celebridad de esta autora. Espero que el resto de su obra sea tan atrayente como éste. No pude sino leerla pensando en la época en que fue escrita y casi como buscando guiños a la Dictadura. Pero creo que no tomando en cuenta nada de la realidad igual se puede leer con gusto.

[lectora_chilanga · Rating 4 out of 5]

Diamela Eltit ha sido un gran descubrimiento. La lectura de esta novela no es sencilla, requiere mucha atención. Sí, la lectura es provocadora y no deja indiferente. Mi lectura requirió pausas para procesar todo lo que ocurría, sobre todo en la segunda parte. Además, recomiendo una investigación - al menos- ligera del contexto de la dictadura chilena, así como de la vida de Eltit porque así se entienden más de sus metáforas y símbolos.

[Ana Inés · Rating 3 out of 5]

Toda la primera parte me pareció sensacional por cómo está escrito y los límites que sobrepasa, pero ya en la segunda parte siento que se aceleró, descompuso y empezó a ser difícil de seguir. Que al final se autonombre Diamela me fue algo desconcertante. Pero bueno, en general impactante, no solo por los temas (todos escandalosos, polémicos, fuertes, políticamente incorrectos) sino por la forma de narrarlos. Buen libro para iniciar el año, pienso.

[Maddy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Very smart writing, but not particularly compelling. I started to tune out when it got to the incest parts. Incest is boring. It's hard to come up with any thoughts on this at all because of how indifferent I am to it. There was some great individual paragraphs, but overall, it didn't really capture my attention.

[(Soalin) · Rating 3 out of 5]

¿Cómo puedo encontrar mi reseña?
El relato es una descripción más al estilo poético, pero no perdí la esencia del entorno. Es el primer libro donde examino una relación simbiótica, donde hay placer, abuso, celos, más placer, ¿Se puede decir amor? No lo sé, no encontré eso. Es una gran pantalla a lo que era el siglo XX en Chile, lo cual me pertuba cada segundo.

[Camila Oyarzún · Rating 2 out of 5]

Ni la bella escritura de la autora ni la profundidad de la historia pudieron hacerme terminar el último capítulo del libro. Leer el libro me dejaba una sensación de asco y tristeza que me hicieron finalmente desistir.

[Fernando Weldt · Rating 3 out of 5]

muy raro, mucha metafora, inteligente? asqueroso en los temas que aborda, probablemente sea como para leerlo hartas veces para entenderlo bien porque esta escrito harto en prosa pero no creo que lo lea de nuevo.
Buen libro.

[Daniella Prieto Arrubla · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Un llanto más agónico que el hambre y más urgente que la vida”

Bella la prosa de Eltit siempre, poética y política, sin poder referirse a lo concreto crea símbolos y escenas mitológicas para pensar el Chile de la dictadura, la condición humana, el amor y la violencia.

[ANDRÉS RIVEROS · Rating 5 out of 5]

Diamela Eltit siempre es certera e implacable(mente poética).
Increíble que un libro que desmonta instituciones como la familia, el hogar y el sexo, de forma tan magistral y moderna, se haya escrito en 1988.
Diamela está 100000 años adelantada a todos nosotros.