RESPONSABILIDAD PENAL DE LA PERSONA JURÍDICA

To return to a revision on the provocation Sabeti (2018) forms in her chapter: Besides their work, what do the taller participants bring with them into the room? It is clear that the structure of Espacio Abierto leads to a specific type of sharing, one that is concentrated on rules of style, syntax and genre: a means of proto learning. Yet the participants, especially the accomplished authors,

bring also a form of knowledge and experience of writing, which is shared and asks for creative engagement, extrapolation and development: a type of deuteroleaning. In the chaos of the critical style of Grupo Ariete, it becomes clear that dialogic structure, although loud, permits free discourse and a type of push back on the rules. People are not just there to learn, but to disagree, to question and to push other participants. Some practicalities (‘never use the word “naked” in erotic fiction!’) are accepted without much thought, but the ways in which experimentation succeeded or failed is up for discussion.

Moreover, the talleres offer something else. Through criticism, the writers reflect on what has been said and what has been read. There is a creative collaboration between the people in the room, like ‘an accessible kitchen’ where different ingredients are available for creation. As Lena said about the taller, the author receives feedback on their work, but the audience too is engaged. For those listening, ‘it is like the word goes into your mind and touches something. You feel

illuminated.’ If the premise of the taller as Carlos said, is to introduce writing practitioners, both new and old, to examples of innovative techniques, successful plots, and well-written prose and poetry, then the writers that share are not only sharing their work, but all the things—canonical works, authors or creatives of different mediums and examples of experimentation, objects of interest like the caja china—that provoked them to write. The room in which the taller happens, no matter how barren of furniture or coldly sterile the temperature, is full of layers of co-creativity and interaction both with the figures in the room and the spectres they bring with them.

CHAPTER SIX

‘Making it interesting’: Literature in performance and in print

I saw a group who were disorganized, they needed to focus, they needed to rethink what they wanted to get out of the group. And of course, I told them. It wasn’t easy at the beginning, imagine being fresh in the group and starting with these strong ideas, strong statements. I started with them in August, and in January we had a meeting and it was a strong, problematic meeting with serious discussion, but at the end, when the group was calm, people saw our intention, mine and Abel’s, to organize it and get it going in one direction. Get something for us, that makes the best peña we can. And then we organized these peñas that were conceptually different, remember mine with the dancers… I was able to do different things without losing our spirit, but also making it interesting, more interesting for the public in general (Milena)

Milena stood in front of the small crowd of dedicated attendees of the peña literaria [literary salon] and a larger group of bar patrons in the courtyard café, Hurón Azul, on the grounds of the Union de Escritores y Artistas Cubanos (UNEAC). She was wearing a long skirt and make-up, which made her appearance more formal than usual. Introducing herself and her work, she noted that her reading would be accompanied by two dancers, who had choreographed a piece in response to the story she was about to read. Sitting in the middle of the semi-circle of chairs and tables occupied by members of Grupo Ariete and their guests, I felt a part of the group, silently listening to the readings. Yet, I could still hear loud conversations continuing behind me as noisy bar patrons who, while aware there were readings ongoing, were not interested in listening.

The two dancers, one man and one woman, were wearing clothes that resembled

streetwear. The man wore tight, long shorts, and before making his way to the staging area, took off his shirt to dance bare-chested. The woman was wearing a flowing skirt and a tight, cropped top that ended above her stomach. Their advancement to the front of the crowd seemed to engage the

curiosity of the bar patrons, and some of the nosier tables toward the back became quiet. The dancers took their positions, holding them until Milena started her reading. She stood behind the pair, positioning herself in a place that was not intrusive to their movements, but was still a part of their performance.

‘Comunicación’, she starts. ‘Carmen termina de adobar las piezas de pollo y pone el aceite a calentar…’ [Communication. Carmen finishes marinating the chicken legs and puts on the oil to heat…]. The woman dancer extends her arms and legs, dancing in a way that elicits a sense that she is moving things around, cooking while dancing. The man sits on a chair unmoving. The woman arches and strains around the stage as Milena describes the ordinary process of frying chicken. The story picks up speed as Carmen, the character, still aware of her partner’s immobility and his lack of assistance, moves from cooking to the bathroom with her kitchen knife.

‘Con los dedos busca el punto donde se unen las capas del cráneo, siente la hendidura y dibuja un círculo en ese lugar con el cuchillo antes de comenzar a cortar’ [With her fingers she looks for the point where the layers of her skull unite, she feels the indentation and draws a circle in that place with her knife before beginning to cut]. The dance is beautiful, which contrasts nicely to the drama of the story, as the character Carmen, cuts a hole in her skull. The story continues, Carmen, dripping blood, finds her husband. The two performers unite as they dance an act of intercourse detailed and nuanced by Milena’s reading. Her writing (and reading) depicts an act of exceptional violence and even graphic horror, as the dancers spin together, bend over one another, pulling together and pushing apart.

‘Coño [shit],’ says one of the bar patrons behind me as he and his friend seem shocked into silence. As far as I could tell the bar patrons are listening and watching enthralled by the spectacle. Upon finishing, it seems that everyone is clapping. The dancers and Milena applaud each other, and she takes her seat.34

In this chapter, I will look at how the ethos of each taller is questioned when there is a prospect that their group’s reputation and work will encounter an audience. Espacio Abierto, who centred their taller on an ethos of openness, in fact produced a very digital literary magazine (or

ezine) in which publication was very competitive, and organised peñas literarias [literary salons],

which focused on the work of published authors. Grupo Ariete highlighted a distinction between the way they conceived of audiences depending on the medium through which the story was delivered, something I will show in a comparison of their monthly peña, Mazorka,with the way Milena, editor of the group’s digital literary revista [magazine] Mazorkazo, spoke about her editorial choices. In both of these cases regarding Grupo Ariete, however, and like Espacio Abierto, there seems to be a difference between how the groups understood their work and how they spoke about the experience of the talleres. The taller of Grupo Ariete was conducted in a manner of chaotic individuality. Conflicting opinions, presented with passion, showed the self-confidence of the different members to speak on certain topics, and the lack of hierarchy led to a type of

egalitarianism very different to the stratified openness perpetuated by the structure of Espacio Abierto. Yet, the loud, individual bravado seemed less apparent in the tone of their peña and revista.

What happened to the ethos of the talleres when the groups made their work public?

Again dealing with the relationship between the writer and their reader or audience, this chapter contrasts the different presentations of ‘writer’ necessary for the people I worked to encounter an unknown audience. If an established relationship with a reader or audience is important to being a writer, then this chapter shows the different ways in which the writers I

worked with adapted to meet the expectations of their listening public: to engage them or entertain them. In contrast to the last chapter, where the writers I knew shared their texts among known co- workers and colleagues, critiquing and creating together, this chapter looks at the moment in which their texts meet an unknown public for the first time. Unlike the medium of the book, though, the peñas require a specific iteration of writer and literature in order to be successful. I am interested in examining how this iteration makes real and challenges the notion of being a writer for this group in Havana.