“Gabo said that his last book had to be destroyed, but he didn’t have the conscience to make that decision”

—There are two questions that, long before the book goes to press, you are asked and have been asked within the family: Why and why publish “See you in August.” What was the decision to share with readers a book that your father did not consider publishable?

When all of Gabo’s working papers went to the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin, the book was seized. As it was not considered finished, it was not digitized for your archives. Seven years later it was digitized and the academic community was able to access it. Scholars, doctoral candidates, journalists, etc. Once it began to be read, Gonzalo and I also decided to reread its versions. And we thought it was much better than we remembered. We didn’t understand why Gabo said that the book didn’t make sense, that it didn’t work, that it couldn’t be understood. It was then that it occurred to us that, perhaps, he was the one who no longer understood it. In his illness, there came a time when he was unable to read. He didn’t recognize anyone. It was Alzheimer’s own loss of faculties. Since it was already being read and we liked it, why not publish it? We thought that the best possible version could be made, and it was done with the help of editor Cristóbal Pera, who had already worked with Gabo on the different versions of the book. He made a version that we considered optimal, without adding or changing a single word. We have even left some small contradictions. It is a book that is not completely polished, not completely finished because Gabo’s powers ran out, but we always thought it was worth reading. Let the readers themselves judge whether it is worth it or not. We are also freed by the desire of Gabo, who said very clearly: “when I am dead, do what you want.”

—There is an anecdote from your childhood that says that your father asked you and your brother for help to tear up the pages of manuscripts that were of no use to him, so that there would be no trace of them beyond the finished original. If this text did not go through the shredder, is it because there was an outstanding debt?

I think Gabo no longer had the conscience to make that decision. He said that the book had to be destroyed, but he didn’t destroy it because he forgot. We are speculating about decisions of a person who was beyond everything, incapable of making them. It is impossible.

—A few days ago, at El Comercio we surveyed a group of Colombian writers about their expectations for this release. Piedad Bonet told us that she was curious, but also a little afraid. John Jairo Jinieles hoped to find “bursts, moments, epiphanies of his wonderful way of seeing the world.” How do you see the issue of readers’ expectations? Do you feel the responsibility of someone who works with an enormous cultural heritage?

There is some responsibility, yes. But first, we considered that the book was more than readable, I insist: on balance, there is much more than bursts and moments. I think there is a lot of good Gabo writing in the book. Finally, since the decision to publish it was ours, we will always be exposed to judgment. But it doesn’t worry us too much. If the book was deficient, we would not have published it.

—Whoever reads the book will encounter those García Márquez characters whose names are so anachronistic and so delightful to hear, some collected by your father from the tombstones in the Cartagena cemetery. However, the protagonist Anna Magdalena Bach is named after the wife of Johann Sebastian Bach, a well-known German soprano in her time. It is very interesting that the protagonist has this link with a historical figure.

Well yes. I think she liked the name. It is curious, because it is a link with a well-known person from another century and at the same time it is his most contemporary novel. The decade is not stated, but there is a lot of use of phones and digital hotel keys. Gabo does not have books with such contemporary situations.

—The name of the character excites me: Her husband dedicates two manuscripts to Ana Magdalena Bach, called “the little book” that are part of the history of music. I know your father really liked Bach. Perhaps my reading is whimsical, but isn’t “In August See You” a book of tribute to his wife, Mercedes de, your mother?

Could be. It doesn’t seem crazy to me. He could also have done it unconsciously. You already know that writers often don’t know where their ideas come from. It is possible that he chose the name of a wife in a famous couple like the Bachs. He always said that Mercedes permeated all of her books. On the other hand, we found the book very feminist. It seems very valuable to us at this moment.

—Part of the book’s contemporaneity is its way of addressing the sexual freedom of a mature woman. It’s not a topic your father talks about very often.

In novels with many characters like “One Hundred Years of Solitude” there are men and women with all kinds of attitudes toward sex and love. But in this book, sex is a very powerful expression of what you want and what you don’t want, how you define yourself. That Ana Magdalena Bach decides to give this to herself is definitely a gesture of individualism. And in her case, feminism.

—Feminist critics did not read “Memoirs of my Sad Whores” well, a book that was unfairly criticized. But I think that “See you in August” will mean a reconciliation between your father and his more feminist side.

I hope so. I think it is a feminist book. And well, each crazy person with their theme.

—And we men are left in a very bad position. Incapable of thinking of a free woman who is not a prostitute.

The husband is a more sophisticated character, definitely. But it’s true: in the novel, many men don’t understand the other person.

—One of the greatest pleasures that comes from reading “See you in August” is returning to that world outside of time; today, being subjected to so many technological stimuli, it turns out to be a kind of oasis. Could you specify the geographical and temporal references that are revealed to be so subtle and indeterminate in the novel?

We assume that, unless otherwise specified, every Gabo novel takes place in a version of the Colombian Caribbean. As for time, certain details tell us that we are talking about a reality twenty years ago, when he began writing this book. There are still no cell phones and that allows a particular management of time and space, so that people can take a few days in peace, not be permanently connected. I don’t know how Gabo would have treated the world we live in, with immediate access to everything. It worked more for him that his books were in these kinds of bubbles, free of time.

—Does the island where Ana Magdalena Bach arrives every year to visit her mother’s grave have any specific reference? Is there an island in your father’s imagination to which you always return?

I do not remember. I tried to think if it was some island near the coast of Cartagena, but there are no places like that, with ferries and cities with cemeteries. It is an imaginary space, although I suppose that, like every writer, it has some real reference, perhaps outside of Colombia.

—The theme of cemeteries for your father was a very important reference, they are very present settings in all of his literary work. How do you feel when you see that in his farewell novel, the cemetery is a privileged place?

Writers are always obsessed with death. That uncontrollable and inevitable thing. You could say that the novel is an effort to control a universe, to decide the destiny and choices of people. It does not surprise me that the cemetery has such a captivating force. It is true that in his books there are always cemeteries, some are washed away by the river. It is the museum of lives lived, the cellar of the dead.