Saturday, March 5, 2016

SHORT BIOGRAPHY


Guillermo Fadanelli was born in Mexico City at El Sagrado Corazón Hospital located in Calzada de Tlalpan, D. F. A hospital that no longer exists: it is a hotel now. At nine years old he fronts his first fight with fists and the child who was nicknamed El Caperuza defeats him. At the age of eleven, his father enrolls him at a military school, where he becomes more cynical rather than corrected. At thirteen he wins his first fight after a long history of losses. At the age of eighteen he has got his first car: Rambler 67. His first trip outside the country is to San Francisco when he is twenty-one. There he meets his uncle Johnny, a former Vietnam fighter who initiates him into the art of drinking tons of beer. In the early eighties he starts studying Engineering and never gets the title because he avoids entering classes. At this time is when literature begins to be interesting to him. At Engineering School he meets Yolanda Martinez, and together with a group of friends he founds Revista MOHO. His first book is entitled The Day I See Her, I'll Kill Her (El día que la vea la voy a matar), published by Editorial Grijalbo. In the early nineties he looks after some Christmas trees at the 87th and Second Avenue corner in New York, he earns 1500 dollars. Some years later, he works as a salesman in a bakery in Madrid without payment, but in exchange for his work he receives a roof and food. He lives in Berlin for a year, and is surprised because beer is served warm there. He is also interested in the Hohenzollern’s biography. In Bogotá and Havana he makes good friends. In Lima he stands the press up (a newspaper announces his disappearance and possible abduction), and in Graz he goes to have a drink with the director of the Criminology Museum. He has published several novels and clings to lead Editorial Moho. In the present he has lost most of his friends because of the passing of the years. Anyway he seems to be very happy.

Friday, March 4, 2016

Novel translated into English: SEE YOU AT BREAKFAST?



has published the novel:


SEE YOU AT BREAKFAST? By Guillermo Fadanelli
Translated by Alice Whitmore
Mar-2016
Cover photography by Miguel Calderón.

Guillermo Fadanelli is one of Mexico’s leading authors, and appears in English for the first time in this translation of See You at Breakfast? by the young Australian translator Alice Whitmore.
Set in modern-day Mexico City, the novella follows the lives of four characters: Cristina, a practical-minded prostitute managing work, police harassment and the demands of the men who fall in love with her; Ulises, a solitary office worker obsessed by a promotion he will never receive; his friend Adolfo, a part-trained veterinarian who dispenses medical advice though he can’t distinguish between a dog and a coyote; and the neighbour with whom he is infatuated, the beautiful and sheltered Olivia, the daughter of Jehovah’s Witnesses, whose violent assault brings them together as a group. By turns humorous and menacing, See You at Breakfast? is reminiscent of Carver and Bukowski, and a vital contribution to contemporary Mexican literature.
Reviews

http://www.giramondopublishing.com/fiction/see-you-at-breakfast/http://www.giramondopublishing.com/fiction/see-you-at-breakfast/

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

WITH WELSH





DANDO EL ROL CON WELSH: Guillermo Fadanelli en conversación con Irvine Welsh-

FIL Guadalajara. Martes 1 de diciembre de 2015, 18:30 hrs.
Salón 1, PB, Expo Guadalajara

Monday, February 16, 2015

TANK MAGAZINE INTERVIEW


Interview to Guillermo Fadanelli by Tony Wood
TANK magazine

PUBLICATION IN WORDS WITHOUT BORDERS


Vladimiro the Arab
by Guillermo FAdanelli

Published by
Words Without Borders

Sunday, February 15, 2015

PUBLICATION IN BOMB MAGAZINE


Interrogating Samantha
by Guillermo Fadanelli

Published by
Bomb 94

EASTER VACATIONS


The vacation had begun and my family was so excited. The truth is that we'd always gotten by with so little. My sister went to buy a second-hand bathing suit, 20 pesos and the menstrual stains could be seen from both sides of the material. My brother put a bottle of coconut oil in his bag. On the way from the city to the beach the oil spilled onto his t-shirts which became as stiff as cardboard. My father has a big belly. I've seen the disparaging way some people look at him when he's walking along the beach wearing only a bathing suit. Before we left for the beach, he was repairing his old car. He'd bought tires and changed some old motor parts. Two months ago, he'd used his bureaucratic savings to buy the car from a used car lot. He'd never had a car before. On the highway, the car broke down twice, but my father never lost faith. He smiled as if nothing had happened. Actually, he wanted to hide from us, his children, that he was just a poor devil hoping to forget his activity behind a desk. He turned up the volume of the radio and stammered along with the lyrics. All of the songs spoke of love, disloyalties, sorrows. It was music for failed people. My mother had no will of her own. She sat in the seat like an old mannequin. She had put an image of a saint of her devotion on the rear view mirror. My mother had never been happy. Her blouse had tiny Clarisol stains and her hands, smelling of cheap cream, caressed us from time to time.
            We rented a room for 40 pesos a day. It had a big bed that took up most of the room and a cot that folded into the wall. A cockroach came out of a hole near some electric light cables and, while crossing the ceiling, stopped on a water stain before continuing on its journey. To save as much money as possible, my mother had gone to the port market to buy groceries, so we ate inside the hotel. For the rest of the day, the room smelled of avocado and tortilla.
            The ocean was dirty. The waves brought in cardboard plates, beer bottles, and other trash. In the sand, my father invented some stupid game which only my sister would  play with him. It wasn't because she thought it was fun but because it let her show her butt to the bathers. "I'm poor, but I'm good." This is the philosophy of all the teenagers who live in Moctezuma or Portales. When my father became excited watching one of the teenage girls, he would invent some excuse and he'd take my mother by the arm and head off to the hotel. When we three children would return, the room no longer smelled just of avocado and tortilla but also of other disagreeable odors. The damp sheet lying on the bed let us see the dotted mattress with tiny oxide stains.
            We only stayed three days because the money ran out. We had just enough left to fill a tank of gas. Back at home, everything returned to normal. On Monday, classes started. My brother will be like my father, and my sister will live a life like my mother's. As soon as I can, I'll run away from here.


Text by Guillermo Fadanelli

Translation by Yolanda M. Guadarrama, 1999.