La lucha por la vida (The Struggle for Life): La busca; Mala hierba; Aurora roja. (In this trilogy, Don Pío evinces a “spirit of opposition to the present social organization and the prejudices that embitter life and kill human spontaneity.”)
El pasado (The Past): La feria de los discretos; Los últimos romanticos; Las tragedias grotescas.
Las ciudades (Cities): César o nada, El mundo es así (incomplete).
El mar (The Sea): Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía (incomplete).
Besides these trilogies, Baroja has written several novels under the general title of Memorias de un hombre de acción (Memoirs of a Man of Action), long winded affairs in which any real action is sadly lacking.
In addition to his novels, he has published several volumes of essays, and not a little verse. Few of his works have been translated into other languages; none (except the present novel) into English.
Personally, Señor Baroja is somewhat of an enigma, a mystery. He is extremely modest and retiring, and seldom appears prominently before the public. It has been said of him that, although he apparently knows what every one else thinks and believes, there is no one who can say for sure just what his thoughts and beliefs are. He is an ardent, pious Catholic, with very advanced ideas. One is led to believe from some of his works that he is an ardent Republican. Some even go so far as to assert that he entertains strong anarchistic views. But, just as we have about made up our minds as to his political creed, along comes a novel like La feria de los discretos, in which he ridicules Republicans and Anarchists, and we are forced to reject our conception.
While his name is often coupled with that of V. Blasco Ibáñez, there is more difference than similarity between the two, especially in their style. The Valencian spreads his canvas with the broad, brilliant, impressionistic strokes of a Sorolla, while Baroja employs the more subtle and delicate methods of a Zuloaga. He is a stylist. His vocabulary is remarkably extensive, and he employs it in a masterly fashion—not as one who would overwhelm his readers with a flood of ponderous verbiage, but rather as one who, knowing all the delicate shades and nuances of his language, employs words as an artist uses his colours—to produce the proper effects. His power of description is marvellous. In a sentence, sometimes in a single phrase, he brings a character or scene vividly before our mental vision. The chapter headed “Spring,” in The City of the Discreet, fairly aches with the drowsiness of an Andalusian Spring.
La feria de los discretos has been chosen for this series mainly on account of its Spanish atmosphere. Though not his best novel, it is perhaps the best one with which to introduce him to the English reading public. Above all else, it demonstrates his powers of description, and his subtle, quaint humour. It is not my purpose in this paper to write a criticism of this novel. I shall leave that to abler pens. I might say, however, that in this work, Pío Baroja has no special message to convey, no propaganda. His purpose here is essentially to entertain, to amuse. One suspects that he derived no little pleasure himself from its creation. It is said that its appearance aroused a storm of protests from Republicans on account of the sorry light into which he put them. Be that as it may, the details of his description of Cordova and its environs are accurate in the extreme. The City of the Discreet might almost serve as a guide book to that ancient city. One can follow Quentin’s adventures on any accurate map of Cordova. Of his knowledge of Masonry, one cannot speak quite so highly!
J. S. F., Jr.