One of the most enjoyable discoveries since starting my site has been the work of Javier Marías, so it was with great sadness that I heard of his death last year. His final novel, published in Spain in 2021, appeared posthumously in English earlier in 2023 and was another of those lengthy books full of the usual mesmerising sentences. In addition, it was also a sequel of sorts to his penultimate novel, Berta Isla, so please be aware that there may be minor spoilers ahead for that work. In fact, that’s not the only book this final release plays on, as the culmination of the Spanish writer’s oeuvre looks backwards on several occasions, reacquainting us with old friends, with one familiar face, in particular, stealing any scene he’s in…
*****
Tomás Nevinson (translated by Margaret Jull Costa) turns the spotlight from Berta Isla to her husband, the spy who has finally managed to walk away from his British employers. He’s back in Spain after two decades of undercover work (and lying low after his cover was blown), trying to make a life for himself in Madrid and slowly rebuilding his relationship with his long-suffering wife and teenage children.
Alas, at the start of 1997, after two years back in Spain, he receives a call from his old boss Bertram Tupra, asking the spy to come in from the cold for a mission only he can carry out. Spanish intelligence believe an ETA operative involved in at least two fatal bombings is lying low in a regional town. Having narrowed their suspicions down to three possible women, they have chosen Tomás to work out which one the terrorist is.
While initially reluctant, especially given how he was deceived by Tupra and co. in his previous life, Nevinson finds it hard to resist the thrill of the chase and soon takes up his new identity as English teacher Miguel Centurión Aguilera, getting as close as possible to the three suspects. We follow Tomás/Miguel as he sets about discovering which of the three is the guilty party and which are merely innocent bystanders, a decision he can’t afford to get wrong. You see, there’s one more part of the mission he’s informed of at the last minute – once the decision is made, it’ll be his job to remove the terrorist from the scene, permanently…
A tense spy novel, then? Well, not really, even if the middle third of the novel does read that way at times. The plot of Tomás Nevinson has the titular hero scrutinising the women, looking for the merest hint that one of them is not who she claims to be. His target is María Magdalena Drúe O’Dea, a bilingual English/Spanish speaker (like Tomás himself), and an IRA operative on loan to ETA. But is she restaurant owner, Inés Marzán, fellow English teacher Celia Bayo or politician’s wife María Viana? Miguel is on the case, getting as close as he can (very close at times) in order to sniff out any potential flaw in the disguise.
Marías isn’t that kind of writer, though, and Tomás Nevinson is less about tracking down the terrorist than pondering the reasons for doing so. Early on, we’re privy to Tomás’ doubts as to the point of pursuing someone for crimes committed long ago. Predictably, Tupra is having none of it:
“And isn’t someone who took part in all that,” he said, “isn’t that person a constant, albeit shadowy threat? And even if that person isn’t a threat, doesn’t she deserve to be punished and made to pay for the role she played?”
p.109 (Hamish Hamilton, 2023)
Despite Tupra’s conviction, those doubts never really leave Tomás, and at times the reader believes he’d rather just go on living his life as a teacher in the sleepy provincial town, keeping himself and his target in a permanent state of suspense.
Part of the problem is that the months he spends on his mission give him time to reflect on his former life in a way he couldn’t when standing outside it all back in Madrid, and the more he thinks, the greater the doubts as to the legitimacy of his actions:
And little by little, you start to ask if it was all necessary, every action, every promise, every half-truth and every deceit, and the torment begins to eat away at you and overwhelm you. You wake in the middle of the night in a cold, guilt-ridden sweat, assailed by terrible feelings of remorse, caught in the spider’s web of what you have done and for which there is no remedy. (pp.140/1)
As much as Tupra and others might stress the need to bring the woman to justice, Tomás finds it difficult to truly convince himself of the need to follow his orders to their brutal end.
A major feature of Tomás Nevinson is a view of the spy as old-fashioned, a throwback. Tomás has been chosen for the mission for his unique skillset, his ability to mimic accents and blend in completely thanks to his bilingual upbringing. However, time has moved on, and a new generation of operative has come through, seeing him and his like as dinosaurs, suspecting he’s lost his edge – and the truth is that they’re not wrong:
But above all I had become fragile, that is, hesitant. While I was on active service, I had followed orders, which I didn’t usually question unless they placed me in an absurd amount of danger, and I never ever hesitated, or only when plans and circumstances took a bad turn. I never lost sight of my objective, not even when I had to improvise or change tack or rethink. I realized now that I didn’t really want to find Magdalena Drúe O’Dea. Or, rather, I didn’t want any of my three candidates to be that pitiless woman, a mixture of Northern Irish and riojana… (pp.295/6)
Which doesn’t bode well for what might happen if he does identify the right woman…
Tomás Nevinson could easily be read as a stand-alone novel, and Marías does his best to fill in the gaps for those who haven’t tried Berta Isla, with the protagonist reflecting on the events of the previous book where necessary. On the writer’s ‘Acknowledgements’ page, he describes his final work as a ‘companion piece’ rather than a continuation. However, I certainly wouldn’t recommend trying this one before Berta Isla as the reader will get so much more out of the book from having lived through (and not just having been told about) Tomás’ early career. There are also frequent allusions to the earlier book that appear more vividly to those who were there (and I certain enjoyed my Berta Isla reread before trying this one).
Berta Isla isn’t the only book the writer looks back at, though. While Tomás Nevinson is Marías’ final novel, its 1997 setting means the action takes place before the Your Face Tomorrow series, and there are many hints to the trilogy throughout. On several occasions, there are mentions of a new group Tupra is working on, people who have an ability to read the gestures of others (unfortunately, an ability the otherwise talented Nevinson does not possess). There’s also a major cameo not just from Tupra but from another of the trilogy’s major characters, a prime example of the new generation, one destined to take over from the spies of the cold-war era.
It’s Tupra, though, who tends to steal the show, and the excellently uneasy relationship between Tomás and his former boss is one of the highlights of the novel. Their conversations are like chess matches, with Tomás searching for any chinks in Tupra’s armour – usually in vain, as Tupra is an enigma who always manages to have the last word. Their meetings are especially charged given that Tomás, subconsciously, at least, appears to have cottoned on to certain events that happened while he was missing, presumed dead by his wife…
Tomás Nevinson may not be one of Marías’ best books, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first I’d recommend to readers new to the Spanish writer. However, for those of us who have spent many an hour in the company of his characters, it makes for one last enjoyable trip through his style and themes, with Jull Costa, as ever, guiding the Anglophone reader through it all in majestic fashion (and, rightly, being acknowledged for her work on the cover). There’s a poignant feel to it all, particularly as we approach the last pages, but the novel also culminates in what, for Marías, could even pass as a happy ending. All that’s left to say is a big thank you to the maestro, and to MJC, for the memories – and here’s to some enjoyable rereads of Marías’ work in the years to come.