Interview with Jorge Remacha Pina

The nonconformist feeling instilled by the poems from Claveles de la calle repeats in the personal outlook of Jorge Remacha Pina (Zaragoza, 1996): the poet opens up in this revealing, gratifying conversation about social poetry, the new generation, the power of religion or the ideal society, among other topics.

SPANISH GAY FICTION: Claveles de la calle is your first published book. How did you make it possible?

JORGE REMACHA PINA: Well, I sent the manuscript to a round of publishers specialized in poetry. Just like sending resumes: you see options, you apply for the ones that seem OK for you, and then you wait until they get in touch. Eventually, the publishing house Libros Indie did: they took charge of layout, printing, and more — and here is the book.

SGF: What influences your writing style?

JRP: It depends on the poems. The ones in the book are a selection of those that I have been writing over the years. For instance, some may sound similar to the Beat Generation because I like Allen Ginsberg much. Then others occurred to me rather reading or listening to other social poets, such as Gioconda Belli, Pedro Lemebel, or Gata Cattana.[1] Other ideas came to my mind by reading science fiction. I think there is a little bit of everything.

SGF: Except for the rhyming poem “MENAs,”[2] no other classical feature can be found in your work. Why did you break away from tradition?

JRP: I think that this is the only rhyming poem because it rhymed while I was creating it, so I tried to keep it that way. The rest do not rhyme as it is not an issue that I care about when writing. For example, I care more about words symbolizing ideas, whether they exist or not. If in my mind I see the images of what I am writing, then even more ideas come … so I keep writing. In the middle of it all, I do not have a head for rhyming.

SGF: The acknowledgement section says that you were picked up “from the darkest alleys of the mind.” What did you mean?

JRP: On the one hand, some poems in the book exist because they helped bring out what is in my mind on a bad streak. On the other hand, I think it is not something that individual: I speak from the youth, working class, sexual diversity perspective. Of course I am talking about difficult psychological situations, because not only have they happened to me, but more people may see themselves in them. This was one of the reasons why I decided to publish the book. Everyone can have a bad time, but if my book — which I wrote to feel better — can help someone feel identified and gather inner strength, then its publication will make sense.

SGF: Your poems encourage to social nonconformity. Is this your own philosophy?

JRP: This is not my philosophy: there is a whole tradition of culture from below and the margins, self-affirming, and linked to ideas that speak in terms of emancipation. I have invented nothing. What lies behind the ideas expressed in this book is a mix of work, study, organization, second-hand books and my condition of being as queer as a three-dollar bill.

SGF: You are under 30. What is your idea of a dream society?

JRP: My dream society does not have social classes or endure oppression: a very old idea that seems to be a kind of trendy again among young people. You can see it in the demonstrations around the world that have erupted in this crisis, in which there are many people my age. My generation is leaving one crisis and entering another. However, I think that pessimism is the last thing that we need, as it is a burden. We are not victims all the time: we can hold on and fight, as it has usually been, so as to always move forward.

SGF: The dull, mediocre reality portrayed in your book is distinctly urban. Do you think that the situation is different in the countryside?

JRP: I speak of the urban world because it is the one I know: I cannot speak of the countryside as I have never lived in a village. I did not write a book like this to say that reality is dull and mediocre, or the world is all peaches and cream: it says that our strength comes from a grey world to paint it pink. The book is called Claveles de la calle because I live next to the backside of a flower shop where at night they throw away what remained unsold: my house has been filled with flowers many times. And all this looked like a symbol to me: they will throw you away if you are not profitable, but you are a flower anyway.

SGF: The book mentions several revolutionary movements throughout history. How inspiring are they to you?

JRP: The ones named in the book are the stories that I have known, and they show that there have been generations daring to try to take control of their own lives. But I like the extras more than the protagonists. I am much more interested in these people — who are nameless in the books — taking to the streets and changing their lives rather than those who lead the revolutions. And also all the tireless efforts before something breaks out, so that it can be a success. Thus, instead of thinking whether I would have liked to live this or that revolution in the past, I would rather know what I am doing if I see something like this happening in the present or future.

SGF: In terms of non-conformist spirit, do you feel that any past time was better?

JRP: I am 23: I do not want to be nostalgic for times past. If there is alienation, I also do not want to blame it to the people or society. This is something that I want the book to show, and I am not sure if I have succeeded: the idea that the vast majority of ordinary people who want a decent and peaceful life have the feeling that they are worth more than what they receive. In addition, you never know what might happen.

SGF: How important is the LGBT community in the fight for a better society?

JRP: Someone has to add glitter to this better society.

SGF: The first lines of the poem “Inapropiadas” come from Mecano’s song “Mujer contra mujer.”[3] What is your opinion about this song?

JRP: This is a song to sing the emotionally charged, flamboyantly camp way. And I think that this is very important, because true hymns are to bring out what is buried putting your hands up. In addition, the truth is that there has been a history of invisibility regarding women who love women. As if they were in not only the closet, but a box at the back of the closet — though a music box.

SGF: How autobiographical is the poem “No sé si queda claro”?

JRP: It may be an autobiographical poem, but not just mine. It is produced with words that you hear because of who you are: they are sometimes more hurtful, at other times more common sense. And I am not the only one who has heard them. I wrote this poem to cheer up even if they are discriminating against you: to get your claws out and regain your lust for life.

SGF: There are numerous symbols and expressions associated with Christianity throughout the book—

JRP: If you attend a convent school you become atheistic in the end, though an absurdly huge list of religious hymns remain in your head. In the book they symbolize the commands from my childhood and how hard it is getting rid of them, as well as a sense of fault, fault, the most grievous fault for things that you are not guilty of. I have studied more religions, and I believe they are something to keep away from all kinds of power over anyone.

SGF: The name “Rockland” appears a couple of times in the book. Why?

JRP: Yes, it is a nod to Ginsberg’s “Howl;” the name is there. Rockland is the asylum where he is sent for sexual deviation, and the way he uses it in his poems echoes inside you. That is why it is in my book: as a non-literal symbol, but a symbol of the places you leave behind when overcoming the danger of disappearing.

SGF: Can you tell about your upcoming projects?

JRP: Now I am promoting this book because, right after it was launched, a pandemic began: I could expect every kind of problems but this. I am also promoting a board game about the labor movement called ¡A la huelga! (“On Strike!”), which was already in stores — and the same thing happened. I picked the best time to launch everything … Meanwhile, I am looking for a job, as well as writing another book and creating another board game for next year: these two will be historical this time.

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[1] Stage name of Ana Isabel García Llorente (1991-2017). Although she was popularly known as a hip hop singer — a discipline which she put her feminist, politically committed stamp on —, she also published in 2016 her only poetry book: La escala de Mohs (“The Mohs Scale”).

[2] MENAs = Menores Extranjeros No Acompañados (“Foreign Unaccompanied Minors”). With a significant presence in Spain — and mainly of African origin —, this is another social issue that Remacha Pina points to in his work: children and teens, all alone, at serious risk of social exclusion and neglect.

[3] Mecano has been one of the most successful Spanish pop bands of all time. The song “Mujer contra mujer” (“Woman Against Woman”), released in 1988, became a breakthrough at the time since it deals with lesbianism, rarely tackled in music up until then. Today, this hit remains as an iconic hymn for the Spanish LGBT community.

The Cannibal Dynamo

On Jorge Remacha Pina’s Claveles de la calle (“Street Carnations”)

In these critical times because of COVID-19 pandemic — so hard to control by now — we all have heard opposing voices to the measures that governments worldwide are imposing on their citizens so as to overcome the problem: mostly, they claim a drastic change in the state of affairs. It is truly coincidental that this very year has seen the publication of this book (before the pandemic declaration in Spain) consisting of 30 poems: verses free from classical forms, and openly contrary to the rules of the social system. Thus, unexpectedly topical.

We can easily see the first poem, “Juramento” (“Oath”), as a true statement of intent on the main theme of the book: the poet’s commitment to social issues, in favor of the most helpless: the poor, the fallen, the hard working class … Even this statement is extended in another poem, “Nadie está mirando” (“Nobody Is Watching”), focusing on the most disadvantaged: prostitutes, drug addicts, repressed homosexuals, minors undergoing psychological problems, etc.

The reality depicted by Remacha Pina lacks humanity: in “Te Deum,” God is technology: a divinity cruel to mankind who provides miserable working conditions for His servants. “Saben lo que haces” (“They Know What You’re Doing”) expresses the idea of society as a system where individuals are ominously controlled. In another poem, “La vida se abre camino” (“Life Paving the Way”), the poet suggests that today’s lifestyle only leads to making an army of zombies: exhausted workers whose whole bodies ache; in addition, the citizen is compared to a slave in “Yo robot” (“I Robot”): the poetic voice uses expressions related to computing to evince this dehumanization; love is a lost file in the system, and the poet wants to recover it.

The city is represented as a prison where happiness is impossible to pursue: “Sincronía” (“Synchrony”). The noise from the television in “Sosiego encofrado” (“Framed Quietness”) conceals the feelings of all the members of a family; in a block of buildings, each and every inhabitant suffers anguish in their small cubicles. Moreover, in “Pesada sentencia” (“Heavy Sentence”), the monotonous life that society entails could inevitably drive to despair and, in consequence, suicide.

The situation for the youth is no better: “La hormiga más pequeña del mundo” (“The Smallest Ant in the World”) deals with this generation — Remacha Pina’s generation — regarded as the best prepared to success; however, they have precarious, less-paid works. Porn and video chat seem to be the uncomplicated oases in their colorless lives, but this actually shows an obvious lack of affection. In “El viaje del desarraigo” (“The Journey to Uprooting”), the poet portrays weekends for teenagers as chances for casual sex and fast relief, in opposition to schools, factories and juvenile detention centers undermining their desire for freedom: the system does tame. In other poems — “Cuento de sábado noche” (“Saturday Night Tale”), “De vuelta a casa” (“Way Back Home”), “Claveles de la calle II” (“Street Carnations II”) — we can still find other examples of confusion and listlessness in this lost generation: drugs, clubbing, prostitution, sordid sex as an appealing combination for a trip to ephemeral comfort … though no place to call home.

Of course, here in spanishgayfiction.blogspot.com we never miss our goal: there are two enchanting, committed poems dealing with the LGBT issue. First, “Inapropiadas” (“Unsuitable Women”), in which the poet tells about a couple of lesbians breaking social taboos by walking down the street holding hands and kissing. They decided not to follow the traditional rules imposed to women — marrying a man or becoming a nun — and eventually won the fight: the people that used to spit them out on the street in the past, they now step aside. Then, in “No sé si queda claro” (“Not Sure If I Make Myself Clear”), the poetic voice claims that he has been raised with a steady, staggering social objection to his natural way of being: the adult now refuses to keep afraid of not fitting in, or even suffer verbal or physical abuse. And this personal rebellion is precisely a key fact in these compositions: the poet’s indelibly positive attitude, regardless the hostile circumstances.

Remacha Pina, in “Siempre buscando una salida” (“Always Looking for an Exit”), speaks about the compelling need to raise a fist and wave a flag; stand up and light a torch. Fear has been silencing diverse voices for a long time, prompting to a general anger. (We can find a similar idea in “Neurosis:” this mental disorder means, after all, the anxiety caused by the awareness of the actual state of reality, which appeals to defiance). Those who do not conform to the pattern of this world endure contempt, or even aggressions: there is an urging demand to put an end to these social rules, which want to finish with the different ones, in order to seek true freedom. To this end, the author displays inspiring examples from the past. . .

There is a constant remembrance of revolutions throughout the book, but particularly in the poem “Ni cadenas ni corsés” (“Neither Chains Nor Corsets”): the French Revolution, the February Revolution, the Kurdish rebellions, the Paris Commune, the Stonewall riots, the Egyptian revolution of 2011, etc. (As a matter of fact, the poem is dedicated to the international socialist feminist organization Bread & Roses.)

However, the most ruthless skeptics may wonder: What will happen after the tables turn? Well, the last month of the year, “Diciembre” (“December”), implies a metaphor for the end of hard times and the beginning of a favorable adjustment with an excellent result: fruitfulness, like the arrival of spring.

Claveles de la calle is a heartening collection of disturbing, bewildering, awe-inspiring poems with a clear message to the reader: a better life is possible if you just fight for it. Like the panther from “La ley de la selva” (“The Law of the Jungle”) — who grew docile and became another piece of the social gear … but eventually regained her natural self-awareness and turned into a panther again — you are also cordially invited to the revolution.

Interview with Antonio Heras

Fetishism, pornography, self-publishing, prejudices ― and sports! They are some of the issues that Antonio Heras (Jaén, 1979) talks about with regard to his gay erotic collection Un blanco fácil. Please be our nosy guest.

SPANISH GAY FICTION: You have opted for self-publishing. What advantages and disadvantages do you find in this way of publishing?

ANTONIO HERAS: I was very reluctant at first. I wanted to become a writer the conventional way: supported by a publishing company. And they did for some years; Armado de impaciencia (“Armed with Impatience”),[1] my first book, was published in 2014 by a traditional publishing company. And in 2016 a company specialized in e-books launched my novel Tus palabras sin sentido (“Your Meaningless Words”).[2] However, when these contracts were over, I decided to launch these two books on my own. On one side, to try my luck; on the other, to enjoy more control and information over the product contents, ways to reach the reader, etc. I liked the adventure, though in the last few months I am up to move my books from Amazon to Lektu,[3] a platform that seems to be friendlier to both users and authors. In short, my experiences in both self-publishing and traditional publishing do not differ much: the sales were way low on both occasions.

SGF: How was the creative process of Un blanco fácil?

AH: I uploaded the title story of the collection as an experiment. People bought and I got driven. “What if I add another story?” Thus, I recovered a couple of old stories, and people kept buying. Then I said to myself: “What if I add another story for every purchase?” And that is what I did ― though there was a moment when more than twenty stories had to be included, so I stopped. Anyway, it helped me assemble the current collection ― which finally consists of nine stories (some produced just for the book) ― and I really loved the experience. My idea was that the original purchasers could update their eBook, but I am afraid that it has been impossible for some people, and Amazon has not offered me the right solution. In any case, if these readers ask me, I will send the complete book. Besides, the printed book, that some friends of mine have been demanding, will be for sale in some weeks.

SGF: Nowadays accessing to visual material with pornographic content is easy and usual, and most users do it for the sole purpose of getting horny. Does erotic fiction just fulfill the same function?

AH: Generally speaking, I think it plays a different role. Or at least it has a different sense of timing. If someone wants to jerk off, they just need to search for videos or pictures online: there is a world of massive pornography at their disposal. Conversely, literature needs something else from the reader; it requires more attention, and it is not that straightforward. It can work for getting excited, of course, but in a different level, I guess; perhaps more up in your mind rather than down in your underwear. Quality in literature is hard to achieve, no matter the genre; as an author, I have learned not to cry with anger and impotence every time I read my writings again.

SGF: There is a common denominator in all the stories: gay eroticism. However, each story belongs to a distinctive genre, as a means to avoid reiteration at any cost.

AH: That is right; in my stories I wanted to avoid a succession of clichés and topical scenes: they meet, they fuck, the end / they meet, they fuck, the end. . .As an author, I had a wonderful time mixing genres on the common base of eroticism; I wish the same to the reader.

SGF: Is there any author or piece of erotic fiction that you esteem as an example in your writing?

AH: I do not usually like reading erotic literature; at least, not the mainstream. However, I remember Almudena Grandes’s The Ages of Lulu[4] ― a brilliant novel ― and also the works of Marguerite Duras, Henry Miller. . .I do not know whether they can be considered as erotic fiction writers, after all. Perhaps they can. Oh, wait! I almost forget the immense Marquis de Sade (whose painful depravation is beyond words), Dennis Cooper, my favorite (living) author, and Jean Genet, my favorite (dead) author.

SGF: Does gay erotic fiction have a wide audience?

AH: My works do not sell well. If I had to live off my book sales, I would have died from starvation years ago.

SGF: There is a common leitmotif throughout Un blanco fácil: the sportsman and his equipment. How important is fetishism in creating erotic fiction? What is your personal attitude towards fetishism?

AH: Fetishism can be a very useful tool for erotic fiction, indeed. Whatever it seems, I am not quite kinky; I choose the person rather than the object.

SGF: In the title story you pun on the real names of famous footballers. According to you, why has no elite footballer come out publicly at this stage in the game?

AH: It is a shame that no foremost male footballer has opened out about a sexual orientation different from heterosexuality in our days. The blame may fall on sponsors and football clubs mainly, but also some mossbacked supporters (at least, the prevalent voices on the media). Anyway, this is an individual choice; the courage to show your self should be stimulating enough. Elite sportsmen from many other disciplines came out DECADES ago, serving as big examples for generations of fans of all ages. In a society in which football is such an important and popular and profitable business, a top-level footballer daring to make the first move would be a turning point. I know no case in real life other than a famous event that happened years ago: there was a player ready to come out on the cover of Zero magazine,[5] but they said that his club eventually prevented him from doing it.

SGF: And the reason why you selected the names for your characters from the list of Real Madrid CF players is. . .

AH: The reason was truly banal: they were just the ones that I felt physically attracted to the most; at least, the late 90s/early 00s squads. Besides, I found funny the double meaning in blanco fácil.[6] The story was originally written for a website in which users romanticized about the hottest footballers of the hour, and they even produced (mostly pornographic) stories about meetings in locker rooms, showers, etc.; to sum up, jerk-off material. A couple of years ago, while searching for other stuff on my computer, I accidentally found the file and occurred to upload it online.

I do not like laughing at anyone by branding them as gay; for me, that is a homophobic, counter-productive attitude. The theory that homophobes are repressed homos underlies too latent homophobia, and it really does not help the LGBT cause at all.

SGF: The story “Homo Sci-Fi,” in which the female character is flicking the bean while peeping into two guys having sex, reminds me of a trend in American erotic fiction: women writing M/M fiction for other women mainly. Why has not this movement repeated in our country?

AH: I honestly have no idea. I think that it is an interesting kind of fiction; it reminds me of the yaoi and bishōnen concepts: erotic and romantic Japanese comics featuring gay boys whose main audience is young girls.

SGF: Regarding the story “El cuarto de la plancha,” imagination helps break the barrier between the labels homo and hetero. Do you believe that human beings are actually bisexual?

AH: I feel that personality and closeness are key facts in sexual attraction; in that sense, there may be a moment when that presumably self-imposed barrier dividing your likes and dislikes might fade away.

SGF: In “Con-tacto” you depict a common place in erotic fiction: getting fondled by a stranger at the subway. Have you ever experienced it by yourself?

AH: Yes, it happened to me once, but I spare you my reaction.

SGF: Concerning the story “Hermanos,” have you ever known of any case of brother-brother incest personally?

AH: No. If I knew, I would not see it disgusting; I would try to get to know them ― though I would feel a kind of awkward, or curious about their living through it, no doubt. I think that this issue is still quite taboo, at least in our society.

SGF: In “El colgante,” when the male protagonist has sex with his friend, you say: “It is his pureness what he likes the most; there is nothing artificial around him. Nothing surrounding him, squeezing his body; there are no watches or necklaces, no earrings or makeups” ― Can it be considered the very author’s declaration of principles?

AH: No, there is usually no declaration of principles in my writings; not that clear, at least ― there must be principles, for sure, though accidentally ―. Anyway, it is the character’s thoughts what is shown in that quote. He seems to have a too narrow view of the circumstances around him; it may be a sexist, or at least patriarchal, view. Connecting falseness to the image of a woman is something absurd and old-fashioned: from ancient times, almost from original sin.

SGF: You work as a member of the protection staff in a museum. If any given day you had to face a situation like the one narrated in “Artistas terroristas,” what would be your reaction?

AH: People who must handle visitors daily in their workplace know from experience that surrealist situations are commonplace, and you meet people who could inspire a short story or a short film, at least. In “Artistas terroristas” I tried to invoke a recurring fear: visitors trying to damage the exhibited works in a fit of madness ― though they do it in such a strange way in my story. In that case, my reaction would be like anyone else’s, I guess: I would get scared and use my walkie talkie to call the security guards.

SGF: The portrait of a sexy man with a small penis in a non-negative, non-problematic way seems to be a taboo in erotic fiction.

AH: Hot men with small penises, with no six-packs, of a certain age. . .There are so many taboos and prejudices, and we must break them all down; not only in erotic fiction (not only in general literature, in fact) but also in real life, in the way we interact with the others.

SGF: Tell us about your upcoming projects.

AH: I have finished a vampire novel full of blood and glitter, now being tested by beta readers. If everything goes as planned, it will be launched after summer. If published by a company or myself (in that case, it would be on Lektu), that remains to be determined. Besides, during this quarantine period I am back to another unfinished novel; it deals with criminal investigation and investigative journalism on serial murders in a small town where corruption is king. I hope that the draft will be completed this month or the next one. Also during this confinement I have finalized the script for a web series, and the filming could start this year. I keep managing my two blogs as well: Armado de impaciencia and Gayumbos Ezine. And I will continue to upload unpublished material on Lektu.

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[1] This short story collection won publishing company Luhu’s 1^st queer literature contest award.

[2] Romance novel set in the 19^th century London.

[3] New online marketplace for selling digital (mainly e-books) and physical products with the aim of becoming a meeting point for the rights of authors, publishers, and readers.

[4] Original title: Las edades de Lulú, 1989. Grandes’s first published novel, astonishingly successful back then, is a highly-praised erotic narration about a woman’s sexual awakening. A homonymous film based on the book was released the next year.

[5] Spanish LGBT-themed monthly publication, extremely popular during the first decade of 2000s, which served as a suitable platform for coming out nationwide. The cover boys? From show business celebrities to priests and soldiers; quite a stink in certain circles.

[6] The pun has already been explained in the post reviewing the book (footnote 1).

This Sporting Lust

On Antonio Heras’s Un blanco fácil[1]

Cover design by
Héctor Valdivia

Here in spanishgayfiction.blogspot.com we believe in the old saying that if life gives you lemons, make lemonade; just put an end to foul mood all along this quarantine period with this recently-published collection: nine short stories in kaleidoscopic tones displaying a wide range of gay erotic amusement. Are you ready?

In the first story, “Un blanco fácil,” we meet Tidiane, a French footballer of a leading team from the Spanish league first division, who usually suffers sexual touching when tackled by other players during both training sessions and matches. In one of those matches Tidiane trips up a player of the rival team, and this guy vows revenge. When the game is over, Tidiane is pushed into a dark room; he is afraid that he is going to be forcibly assaulted ― nothing could be further from the truth: the rival makes the most of Tidiane, who has a great time in turn. This very first homosexual experience rouses our superhot hero’s deepest desires; he needs to repeat with another guy. . .why not a sexy teammate?[2]

“El cuarto de la plancha” (“The Laundry Room”) narrates a constantly interrupted vague dialogue between two 15-year-old boys; they use to shut themselves in the room which the title reads to jerk each other off. One of them finds the situation awkward; moreover, they are cousins. . .The other boy advises him to think of his dream girl in the process ― May it eventually work?

“Hermanos” (“Brothers”) shows how two apparently antithetical siblings behave by themselves when parents are away for the weekend and friends pass up a gathering for a wild house party. Heaven knows what this chance for intimacy may come―

In “El colgante” (“The Pendant”) eroticism and horror are all mixed up due to a supernatural event: a woman runs into a strange pendant lying on the street, and immediately she feels a quirky fascination; she does not even imagine that this moment will make her life all upside down, eventually leading her boyfriend into the loving arms of the most unexpected bedmate ― By contrast, the woman will face a much more different fate.

“Con-tacto,”[3] the shortest story, tells an anecdote with a comical result: an office worker rides the subway after a hard working day; he feels a hand on his right thigh, and he initially thinks it belongs to a pickpocket. Wait! Is that another hand? ― To sum up, let us say that this man is eager to go back home and make use of his own hands. . .while taking a steamy, satisfying shower.

“El tenista yugoslavo” (“The Yugoslavian Tennis Player”) is Mirko Kerkovich, who is said to be really nasty. Ricardo, a gay physical therapist for elite players unceasingly repressing his lust for his patients, has got the short straw: today he must render his services to that brute. More closely, Ricardo will realize that barking dogs never bite; the session will result in a really exciting party, at which Kerkovich’s Dunlop racket will be the king!

“Cruising Interruptus” has the same atmosphere as a good mystery novel. A properly concealed huge drainage pipe is used as a discreet cruising point for many anonymous lovers in a park. However, a series of bloody, atrocious murders committed in the place will wholly empty this locus amœnus, since every man fears for becoming the next emasculated victim. Months go by and the police still do not catch the killer. . .Nevertheless, a hot Moroccan called Moha is determined to look into by himself; his scheme cannot be riskier: Moha will use himself as bait ― Whatever the means so that new homo generations can enjoy a peaceful spot for cruising.

The title of the next story is explicit enough: “Homo Sci-Fi.” A starship commanded by a woman travels to a space station on a scientific-business mission, the author says. The crew: two men. One of the guys, the scientist, alters the anaphrodisiac pills B-13 so that the other one, a 19-year-old boy, can feel sexual appetite again; they need to take advantage of a few days left before a long-lasting hibernation!

The last story in the book, “Artistas terroristas” (“Terrorist Artists”), deals with a weird wave of terrorist attacks on museums worldwide. Singular is the word for the offense: they jerk off and shoot the seminal fluid against mankind’s biggest works of art ― even the religious-themed ones! ―; to make things worse, the corrosive sperm destroys the pieces hopelessly. Is there any possible way to stop this chaos?

Isn’t it grand? Isn’t it great? Isn’t it swell? Isn’t it fun when a single book includes a miscellany of genres? Horror, romance, mystery, satire, fantasy, queer. . .The great achievement in Antonio Heras’s incisive style is injecting an outstanding humor into his detail-oriented erotic fiction; Un blanco fácil is the puissant combination of a kicky exhibition of sexual activities ― sport fetishism is predominant throughout the book ― and a delightful illustration of skillful writing. In short, an invitation to relax and enjoy yourself.

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[1] The title is a pun based on the plot of the title story. Blanco means target as well as white (like the color of the protagonist’s team uniform; i.e., a synecdoche for the player himself); fácil signifies easy: like the English term, it can express both not difficult and promiscuous. Thus, the title can be translated as An Easy Target, and also as A Promiscuous Player.

[2] The whole story is a funny joke grounded in the use of names that thinly disguise the real players from Real Madrid CF’s galactic era ― as it was popularly known ― in this fictional República de Madrid squad: apart from Tidiane (a.k.a. Titou), we can find Rigoberto, Oker (the goalkeeper) and a Portuguese player called Filipe.

[3] The author inserts the hyphen in the original term contacto (“contact”) to make a play on words: con tacto can be translated as courteously, making clear the character’s agreeable impression when being fondled.