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Arturo Pé-rez--Reverte lives near Madrid. Originally a war journalist,
he now writes fiction -full--time. His novels The Flanders Panel, The
Club Dumas, The Seville Communion, The Fencing Master, The Nautical
Chart, and The Queen of the South have been translated into
-twenty--eight languages and published in fifty countries. In 2002, he
was elected to the Spanish Royal Academy.
On the writing of Captain Alatriste:
I have always been drawn to the dangers and fascinations of 17th
century Spain, to its narrow and poorly lit alleyways, its taverns,
its brothels and its gambling dens, a time when Madrid was at the
heart of a Europe at war, and the capital of the greatest empire in
the world. It was an arrogant and proud Spain in which often a man
earned a living with his sword. Recreating that panorama in a series
of novels was both a challenge and an entertaining labor. The series
owes as much to history books and the events of the period as it does
to the swashbuckling novels I loved as a child-Dumas, Feval, Sabatini,
and many other writers to which the North American cinema has paid due
homage. I created a character and put myself into him, a politically
incorrect adventurer, a soldier of the old Spanish tercios, a sword
for hire who nonetheless maintained a code of honor regarding certain
behaviors and certain friendships. Thus was Captain Alatriste born.
To my surprise, what was initially intended to be a few popular
novels became a publishing phenomenon in Spain. Four million copies
of the five titles thus far in print have been sold, and this year a
graphic novel and the film currently in production will expand the
audience. The reason for the success of these novels among students,
young readers, readers of all ages, could be that despite their basis
in historical adventure, they are a world apart from the topics of
today's novels for youth, recapturing the values of dignity, valor,
and the harsh solitude imposed upon the hero confronting the hostile landscape of life.
In Madrid, tours have been organized that lead tourists through what
city officials have dubbed "Captain Alatriste's Madrid." When I
myself stroll through those old neighborhoods, I can't help feeling
that around any corner I might come upon slender figure of that
taciturn Diego Alatriste, see the glimmer of the sword of his mortal
enemy, the Italian Gualterio Malatesta, hear the great Velazquez's
Andalusian accent, listen to actors reciting lines from Lope de Vega
or Calderón in El Príncipe, the famous open air theater of the time,
performances that sometimes were ended by actual sword play, or walk
into a tavern and find the poet Quevedo composing verses between sword
fights, flirtations, and bottles of wine.
Erasing the boundary between history and fiction, and in the end
being unable to differentiate between the real and the imagined, is a
source of particular pleasure for the author. After all, that is why
I write novels.
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