Salt Water

  • By Josep Pla; translated by Peter Bush
  • Archipelago Books
  • 454 pp.
  • Reviewed by Kathleen R. Hammond
  • December 31, 2020

There’s a lot to say about fish in Fornells.

Salt Water

Josep Pla has been recognized as one of the great Catalan writers. He was born in 1897 near the fishing port of Calella de Palafrugell, Catalunya, a province in the northeast of Spain bounded by France to the north and by the Mediterranean on its eastern shores, the Costa Brava. Catalunya has its own language, culture, and history.

Pla’s life spanned a turbulent era in Spanish history: the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera (1923-1930); the abdication of Alfonso XIII and the emergence of the liberal-left Second Republic (1931); the right-wing rebellion against the Republic (1936); the devastating Spanish Civil War (1936-1939); the victory of the fascist forces headed by Francisco Franco; and the ensuing dictatorship that ended with Franco’s death in 1975.

Pla observed and reported on these events as a foreign correspondent until the end of the Spanish Civil War. Upon his return to Spain, his passport was revoked because of articles he’d written critical of Franco. He lived on the Costa Brava, writing prodigiously, until his death in 1981.

Salt Water is a compilation of narrative essays in which Pla describes the experiences of his youth on the Costa Brava. Translator Peter Bush tells us that though Pla asserts the pieces were written in the 1920s, they were actually written in the 1940s, when Pla “refashioned” earlier works. The narratives did not appear in print in Catalan until the 1950s, when Franco lifted restrictions on literary works in the Catalan language.

In the first of 10 essays, Pla takes us on a coastal expedition in the fall of 1918. The young Pla sets out with the savvy and hospitable Hermós in a dinghy headed for France. The title, “A Frustrated Voyage,” foretells their lack of success, but arriving in France really doesn’t matter. What does matter is the Costa Brava — its geography and tricky winds, the idiosyncratic generosity of its inhabitants, and, of course, the abundant cuisine and the tradition in which it is wrapped.

Pla writes of his guide in Cadaqués, where the travelers pause in their journey: “The smallest detail becomes a pretext for him to speak vividly and at length, drawing on his prodigious memory, about this fascinating remote place. His words flow with curiosity, emotion and love.” That is, it seems, Pla really speaking of himself, and that is the heart of Salt Water.

In the next essay, “One from Begur,” a Catalan named Miner ends up aboard a German submarine. Miner describes the shuddering, poisonous insides of the vessel and the sailors’ monotonous existence. Monotonous, that is, until the unutterably sad ending. It concludes with Miner’s query: “Some things are best forgotten, don’t you agree?”

I do.

Two of the succeeding essays, “Bread and Grapes” and “Smuggling,” introduce wily, mysterious characters hip-deep in the intrigues of the bustling smuggling trade along the Costa Brava. As with most of the narratives in Salt Water, the actual progress of the plot is second to description and insight: depictions of geography, sea, and weather — always the weather — and insight into the human (and, above all, the Catalan) condition.

In “Out to Sea,” Pla sets off in a small yacht for Majorca. Before the inevitable storm hits, he treats us to a charming description of the first sips of coffee at sea. It is delightful. Less delightful is a lengthy commentary on the various sorts and characteristics of birds at sea, and Pla’s judgments on their greed and stupidity.

At this point, readers will have become more or less accustomed to Pla’s style. The plot is a thin wire from which hangs a heavy, immensely embroidered cloak. You read slowly, very slowly, but you do progress through the pages. Then, you arrive at “Still Life with Fish,” set in Fornells. Pla flat out tells us that Fornells “was an astonishingly tedious place.”

He then proceeds to reflect on the world of fish, how to catch them, and the manner in which they should be cooked. It is mind-numbing stuff, broken by an occasional pithy comment on mullets’ beards or the guile of sea bass. Halfway through this piece, I was hoping it would end. Pla, I think, knows exactly the moment when the reader has had enough. However, instead of tactfully drawing to a close, the essay continues: “There is much more to say about fish in Fornells.” Just as the tedium of Fornells marches on, so does the narrative.

The book ends with accounts of disasters off Costa Brava, “Shipwrecks: A Reportage,” “On the Rocks,” and “The Sinking of the Cala Galiota: Conversations with Dalí the Painter’s Father.” The essays span the shipwrecks of sanguine vacationers ignorant of wind and sea to tragic wrecks of centuries past.

These are fast-moving, compelling narratives. “The Sinking of the Cala Galiota” is particularly interesting because it touches, however briefly and obliquely, upon the Spanish Civil War and the turbulent politics of the moment. One would like to know more about Pla’s views as well as those of Dali’s father, but given the censorship to which Pla’s works were subjected, it was probably impossible to say more.

If you choose to read Salt Water, you will need three things: patience, a good map, and a notebook. Each essay represents unfamiliar territory that you will traverse, searching for paths and landmarks. Unless you are a native of the area, you will struggle to find things you recognize, even if you are somewhat familiar with the region’s culture and history. Use your map, record your questions, and investigate names and references.

Above all, draw upon your patience as you confront thickets of exquisite — and sometimes exquisitely tiresome — detail. Josep Pla will reward you with a sudden phrase, a reflection, a judgment: on the eyes of fish, on the exhaustion of the open air, on insignificant humanity, or on the prickly nature of Catalans. You’ll want to record those phrases in your notebook. I considered sharing the ones I wrote down, but I won’t. You will know them when you see them.  

Kathleen R. Hammond is a former dancer and lawyer. She writes short stories of anthropomorphic fantasy based on characters from the village at the bottom of a mountain where she lives. Two have been published. Kathleen currently teaches Spanish in the ALTEC program at the University of Colorado.

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