Among the many young novelists writing in Spain today, Elena Quiroga is unquestionably one of the most able and interesting.' This talented author, who in private life is Elena Quiroga de la Vailgoma, the wife of a historian and specialist in heraldry, was born in Santander. A great part of her life, however, has been spent in the region of Galicia, her father's home and the scene of several of her novels. In a letter to the writer she recalls in a delightful manner certain experiences from her childhood spent in a village located on the banks of the River Sil. She now resides in Madrid but continues to pass her summers on the Galician coast at a place not far from Vigo. Her first novel, La soledad sonora, appeared in 1949, sponsored by the Diputaci6n Provincial of La Corufia. Like all her work, it is a penetrating character study. Set for the most part in a rural area of the Montafia country, the story is concerned with an introspective young woman, whose efforts to understand herself are heightened by an acute sense of loneliness in the midst of life. Finding herself a widow at twentytwo after but a few months of marriage to a man she did not love, Elisa Pertierra remarries and discovers happiness she had never known before and a spiritual fulfillment she had not believed possible. It is happiness short lived, however, when news comes that her first husband, who had been reported killed while fighting with the Spanish Blue Division in Russia, is still alive. The novelist's resolution of this crisis -Elisa's renouncement of both men to return to her childhood home and a solitary existence-will strike most readers as hardly acceptable. However, up to this point the work has considerable merit as a first novel and foreshadows many of the attributes of more mature writing to follow. Viento del norte (1951), for which Elena Quiroga was awarded the Nadal prize, may well be her finest work so far although the author herself is inclined to think more highly of subsequent writing. It is the first of her novels about rural Galicia in which one finds that attention to landscape and the elemental nature of life there so characteristic of the literature of the region. The theme is the love of an upper-class landlord for a rude peasant girl, whom he receives into his household as a foundling and whom years later he marries, attracted by beauty and charms of a natural, uncultivated sort. As one would expect, the vast differences in age, background, and social status separate Don Alvaro, the scholarly master of the pazo, and the rustic servant girl, Marcela. But an even greater obstacle than these is the fact that affection is onesided. Alvaro's love, which is tragically real and sufficiently great to overlook his wife's social and intellectual deficiencies, is not reciprocated. After marriage, Marcela continues to be inhibited and inarticulate in the presence of a man for whom she can feel little more than the respect of a former servant toward one who has been her benefactor. In time, this regard degenerates into bitter resentment for having been led into an impossible situation for one of her station. Alvaro endures this painful relationship with dignity and restraint although inwardly suffering immeasurable anguish. Shortly before her husband's death following an accident that leaves him paralyzed, Marcela comes to realize somewhat the extent of his devotion and experiences for the first time a measure of sincere love for him. But acknowledgment comes too late.
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