A N A L Y S I S
DANCING FOR THE CONQUERED
AND THE SLAIN:
Vedette, a flamenco heroine for our times
b y t a m a
r a k a y e s e l l m a
n ~ m a r g i n
VEDETTE, by Stephen Siciliano and released by iUniverse, enters the realm of the epic
novel from the vantage point of a young girl in the southern Spanish region of Andalusia in the
days preceding World War II and the rise of the Franco regime. Her picaresque, Gitano-inspired
adventures (and misadventures) are written against the politically transformative
landscapes of both the Andalusian countryside and the city of Seville. Readers witness the
growth of a young, independent flamenca who, born with an intrinsic sense of duende,
defines revolution through her honesty, haunting charm, charismatic leadership and capacity for pure love.
From the publisher comes this summary of Vedette:
"Born to a Gothic social order, branded a haunter of men's dreams, Vedette is traumatized when
her small town in the magical wetlands of southern Spain's Guadalquivir River is overrun by
hashish-smoking anarchists promising free love and a life without sadness to those who would
follow them. … Entranced by their flamenco music, their philosophy of revenge and the concrete
ability to deliver political results, the young woman joins a movement destined to annihilation
and becomes its sole survivor, burdened with the task of keeping its memory and project for a
better world alive through conversations with their flamenco shadows. … Transcending political
viewpoints, Mr. Siciliano opens a new chapter in the understanding of the Spanish Civil War,
opting for a literary interpretation that looks beyond right and wrong to more universal lessons
only the passage of decades and the healing effects of time can reveal."
WHAT IS A VEDETTE?
The term vedette (pronounced Beh-DET) isn't precisely defined in the story, but a basic
dictionary definition gives us a couple of clues.
In military lingo, it's a kind of boat or person used as a sentinel. The word has its roots in the
Latin "vigil," to watch, to keep vigil, to see, suggesting the work of a nighwatchman. Vedette in Old French means "watch tower." These
are consistent with the character Vedette, for her role is one of vigilant witness to the injustices
leveled against the poor underclass, and her life is spent in the lunar consciousness of the
flamenco lifestyle; that is, she's up all night and perhaps at her most lucid then, even
when drunk on manzanilla.
In more popular usage, a vedette might be thought of as a "Triple Threat"— a woman who can
sing, dance and act; a showgirl. In Portuguese, vedete translates into the slang terms "star" and "big shot."
This doesn't imply anything but a vocation risen to the level of celebrity.
However, it's in Siciliano's novel, right from the first page, that the term vedette is
given its immoral connotations, which (unfairly?) define our heroine (whose real name is
Gloriella) from the earliest years of her existence, in that a vedette is a title for a
woman of loose morals. This usage first comes in the form of a lascivious chant from her
incestuous and groping father, only to be legitimized by her other "father," Padre Olivares.
" 'It's an outrage of a name,' the priest would say. 'Not a name, but a title. A title given, in
fact, only to the most immoral of women!' he pointed out to anyone in town who would listen.
And there was plenty of them. Of course, he was a priest and the town of Marisalena was so
Catholic that it made more gossip than olive oil and cotton."
By this proclamation, Olivares creates his own monster. Vedette's existence is a kind of torture because she possesses his dreams. She ends up being, being, ironically, both his greatest enemy and his
raison d'etre. That is to say, he can't live in serenity while she's alive, but his life has no real purpose without her in it to define him.
My take on Vedette is a not a character with loose morals, however. There is a certain
picaresque nature to her early womanhood that reminds me of Moll Flanders right off the bat.
And to be sure, her early experiences as a tool for the sexual satisfaction of her father (and
other men, eventually) casts her as fallen from grace (not unlike Dafoe's antiheroine). But, like
Gabriel García Márquez's "innocent" Erendira, Vedette has her reasons for being that kind of girl.
Erendira soullessly services the men in her world in order to pay off a debt to her Grandmother.
It is as if she is asleep or a ghost during her sessions. Her purpose is noble even if her actions
aren't. However, Vedette understands early on that she is no puta; her sexuality exists
as separate from her spirit. She is far more pragmatic about her role as a haunter of men's
dreams; she uses her promiscuity as an art form, a tool for acquiring the most basic elements of
survival: food, shelter, friendship. At the end of their stations in life, both women achieve a
sense of spiritual purity by escaping the social and religious confinements that have ostracized
them.
The difference between these two young women is one of power, however. While Erendira
remains subservient to her Grandmother's crass greed throughout the story (and only in the end
does she escape it), Vedette is owned by no one and, therefore, does not need to escape
herself. Even the man she truly loves, the torero Paula, she refuses to marry, for she knows
inherently that the only person she belongs to is herself.
THE LANDSCAPE OF VEDETTE
Andalusia
The whole of Spain is popularly known for its Inquisition(s), but what isn't focused upon with equal fervor are its multicultural roots. In Spain's earliest and perhaps most golden
times, the communities which comprised its southern region, Andalusia, consisted of several
culturally different groups living for a time in harmony: the Moors (Arabs), the Jews, the Gitanos
("gypsies") and the Christian Spaniards.
Geographically speaking, it makes sense. Andalusia
connects Spain with Africa via Morocco. The trade routes meant commerce between people from
all manner of sensibilities: Christian, Jew, Islamic. The nomadic Gitanos of Spain (who are
presumed to have descended from Indian immigrants) shared in shaping the culture of the times
as well simply by the fact of their transience between villages and cities as they sold their wares and performed their arts.
When the Catholics began cleansing the region of
nonbelievers, it is believed that the different ethnic groups who were oppressed by this forced
conversion unified culturally to protect each other. From this melding of cultures, a new
expression, flamenco, a fusion of Gypsy song with Andalusian folk music, flared to life in the
Andalusian town of Jerez de la Frontera (so named for its frontierland between Moorish and
Christian realms).
Flamenco
Flamenco figures prominently in the growth of Vedette as a charismatic force. She learns the
dance and the cante (singing) from a band of revolutionary Gitanos she befriends after fleeing her
monstrous father and the threat of convent life where her other "father," Padre
Olivares, can't wait to "convert" her.
Flamenco is not simply a form of music, but a way of thinking. Similar examples in American pop culture might include the emergence
of the blues or jazz, as well as the iconography and sensibilities of purist Grateful Dead fans, or
"deadheads." It's as much a lifestyle and a mindset as it is a form of art.
The time that author Siciliano chooses to introduce Vedette to flamenco is an interesting one; flamenco was, by the 1930s, an extremely
old tradition, so when Vedette takes on the task of dancing to
palmas at the cafés cantates in Sevilla for payment in food and wine, she is
actually entering the flamenco "scene" after its heyday. And she dances to the rich
strumming of flamenco guitar, which only became part of the equation at the turn of the 20th
century. Previously, instruments such as violins and tambourines accompanied the dancers, but
they were optional and not the defining aspect of flamenco.
The spirit of flamenco has endured primarily as a combination of interactive clapping (palmas), vocalization of the woes of the underclass and a combined meditation in dance, where the upper body moves in
graceful, sensual form while the feet pound out distinct, percussive patterns that aren't taught
as much as felt.
Vedette was a barefoot flamenco dancer, which sets her apart from the modern interpreters of
the dance, who use specially enhanced shoes to accentuate their rhythms. Vedette could only be the truly free person she was by dancing without shoes. Her barefoot lifestyle
allowed her to be quick on her feet and closer to the earth she loved. Vedette lived as an
authentic and sincere naturalist and pacifist who treasured animals, plants and the life force
that fueled all that was good in the world. When she is forced into shoes later in the story as
part of her internal exile, it comes as no surprise that she loses touch with her flamenco rhythms, or alegría.
Duende
Alegría might be defined as the positive expression of flamenco's duende—a spiritual experience characterized as dark
beauty erupting from the core of the soul. Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca committed his life
to the study of duende and gave the concept its timeless significance. Duende isn't
something that can taught or measured in terms of skill; rather, duende is a life force
that can only be experienced through the magica of a truly authentic practitioner in the arts.
Vedette is one such artist; in fact, she becomes famous throughout the region for being truly
authentic, to the point of being an enchantress, a haunted dancer. Her unflappably positive
personality, her natural beauty and her legendary ability to always tell the truth lend Vedette a
larger-than-life reputation which she fulfills everywhere she goes while she is a free woman. It
is only when she becomes neutered by fascism that the darker aspects of her duende
return, such as at the very end, when she writes a final poem honoring her beloved guitarist and
friend, the gitano Tomatito.
Las Marismas
One of the places she returns to, time and again, is the marshlands (las marismas)
that surround the estuarine Guadalquivir River, or el rios. It's no mistake that someone
as enchanted as Vedette baptizes herself in the waters of the nurturing Guadalquivir early in the
story. The river is the most abundant source of life in the region, next to las marismas,
where water moves in and out from the coast with the pull of the moon. The result is an
expansive wetland region of brackish water that transforms into salt-crusted ponds in the
summer. Animals and wild vegetation characterize both the river and this fertile delta,
metaphorizing the wild fertility and longevity of Vedette's ideas. She frequently returns to the
mysterious and everchanging landscape of the tidal flats to hide or to collect her thoughts. It's
las marismas that ultimately hold for her the secrets of her duende, embodied
by the "shadows of flamenco" she consults there during desperate times.
THE MAGICAL REALISM IN VEDETTE
It's this commerce, with both the living and the dead, which comprises the magical realist
aspects of Vedette.
Antonia, the Card Reader
Early into Vedette's life, she visits the French Gypsy Antonia of Carmona at the demand of her
mother, who wants to learn whether assertions from Vedette's father—that she would haunt and
curse every man in her life—were accurate. In the staunchly Catholic community of Marisalena,
Vedette's mother makes the journey at considerable risk, explaining that, though the local
padres may believe in the cards, the Pope does not. The tarot is read, predictions are
made. Vedette learns that she is "from and part of the eternal other side." Her mother leaves the reading convinced her daughter is a witch.
This is the first of three encounters Vedette has with Antonia, and in every case, her predictions
are accurate to the tiniest details. In the third visit, it is Antonia who proffers predictions
based, not on the cards, but on accurate observations about the coming moral and political reforms within Spain,
suggesting the intricate liaisons bridging the institutions of faith and politics at the time. One did not need the mystery of the occult to forsee that future. Its evidence could be found throughout the countryside where Vedette lived.
Fernando Villalon
While traveling the las marismas via Sevilla to Carmona, where she plans a second
visit to the card reader Antonia, Vedette gets lost looking for the lights of the city. She comes
upon a "lonely rider moving slow," who tells her in a deep voice that "you can rush all you want,
but in las marismas you can never move faster than the speed of el rio taking the water to sea!"
Vedette's reaction: the man's words don't make sense and yet they explain everything. That
should have been her first clue that this mysterious man might be special.
They travel together for a spell and she learns the man is Fernando Villalon, the "poet of las
marismas" and a breeder of bulls. He rode a horse named Clavileño, the namesake of Don
Quixote's steed (another tip off that Villalon is extra-ordinary).
Vedette is familiar with his story, having been told all about him by her friend, El Fariz the
Moor. She discovers that Villalon, in fact, knows her friend. He gives her points for orienting
herself in the marshes and bores her young and impetuous mind with other details about
horses, Moorish poets and the salty landscape. Though her lack of attention bothers him, he
expresses admiration for her honesty and invites her to visit him on his island in el
rio. She mentions how she never sees his eyes under the brim of his hate (a third indicator of something otherworldly
at play).
It isn't until Vedette arrives very late at the cortijo of the card reader that she learns
from Antonia that Fernando Villalon and his horse have both been dead for some time.
This is not the last we hear or see Villalon. In fact, he and his horse appear several times
throughout the course of Vedette's journey, delivering letters from real people, cleaning Vedette
up after being raped by one of her captors, informing Vedette when she is desperate for
wisdom.
He's the shadow of flamenco, just one of many which inhabit the real world of Vedette,
Gloriella. As other spirits of the flamenco pass through her life, she comes to converse with them at
important moments in the story: the troublemaking Rufian, the sacrificed Pilar from Vedette's
early years of rebellion. There is never a question in her mind whether these souls are real; she accepts them as kindred spirits, and they do, in fact, aid in her survival,
even if only she can see them.
ANALYSIS
This is one of the most engaging epic works I've read in a long time, a story which deserves
comparison to the great classics, One Hundred Years of Solitude (for the sincerity of its
political message and for its marvelous humor) and Don Quixote (for its
demands for justice and Vedette's innocent and pure idealism).
I would also compare this novel
to another favorite contemporary epic, Texaco, written by French Martinican author
Patrick Chamoiseau. The timeless structure of the storyline (we are treated to the undeniable
connection between past, present and future) is captured in Siciliano's ability to render,
intimately and honestly, the harsh landscape of oppression reduced to its most personal level in
a way that is universally meaningful.
Siciliano's personal love for Andalusia shows through prominently in Vedette. His use of
the Spanish language to portray an authentic landscape is easily understood even by readers
without fluency in the language. Siciliano builds characters who, through their own voices,
reveal the kaleidoscopic cultural history of the region. I've learned more about Andalusia, and
Spanish history in general, from this book than I've learned in any history class, as a result.
He
incorporates little sketches in his book that add another level of understanding for the reader.
The different images cast in tiles (azulejos) throughout the region, for instance, display the
multicultural influences on Andalusia. Renderings of revolutionary icons used in flags (of moons and suns) support the underlying oppositions in the story: sun/moon, light/dark, "moral"/"immoral"
and the like. And his drawings of lamps in various villages express the underlying differences of
each place and how they are made different by the geography and history of the region.
Siciliano writes:"[These farolas] are simple trophies yielded by my, ultimately, very
costly travels and hopefully reinforce [my] knowledge and affection for that distant land. Each
town, no matter how poor, has its own design, yet they are always variations on the same
flowery, wrought-iron theme. Some forays I made simply to collect my 'sample,' have a
manzanilla and leave."
Perhaps most impressive to me was the way in which Siciliano drew for his readers the portrait
of revolution through the lives and experiences of villagers. There is something of a grassroots
nature to Siciliano's worldview, as expressed in his own real-life writings, which support liberal
ideas, tolerance and peace. His motley crew in Vedette captures all that defines the
formation of a political community at the most personal level. There is the cranky but
sympathetic Santí, whose constant blasphemies and dour attitude yet inspire positive change.
The noble leader Antonio Arleta, whose message of peace evolves over the years, comes too
little and too late to their rescue. The valiant and famous torero, Espla de Paula, becomes a
convert to Vedette's ways, not only out of love but of reason, after her federation usurps the
village. His daughter, Acracia, aka Eva, comes into her own womanhood not as the
French-educated princess she is expected to be, but as a pants-wearing militia leader with her
eyes on undermining Catholicism's oppression of women. La Condesa is an aristocrat who comes
to love Vedette's ideals even as she despises the lowborn ways of the masses. And El Fariz, the Arab complete with camel, the man who bathes himself in the tradition of the desert peoples by scrubbing down with dirt, is the resident keeper of Moorish history and perhaps the best living example from whom Vedette can acquire the Big Picture. These are all
characters rendered completely believable because they are beautiful, yet flawed at once.
Finally, Vedette is a book to read as a way to measure our current global condition. The
reflections of tolerance, freedom, feminism, idealism and creativity rendered as a political act
may be paraded within the confines of this single moment in Spain's history, but their
relevance for all of us is undeniably universal.
ACCESS TO VEDETTE
I must lament that this book was published using the print-on-demand services of iUniverse. My
readers know me as a cheerleader for independent publishing, while being more tenuous about
lending support to those who would self-publish their work or make it available only through
electronic forms which require special technology for access.
I imagine the reason Siciliano took this route has much to do with the fact that his book may
not be "sexy" in the eyes of New York publishing. He doesn't have the literary following of a
García Márquez or an Allende, for one thing. He isn't writing around a trendy theme (writers of
the diaspora, for instance); if anything, he may be criticized for being a white guy writing a
story about a nonwhite girl, which I find one of the more irritating presumptions within the
ranks of our contemporary literary community. It may be that the novel is simply too long, and
that its accompanying timelines of real world events, pronunciation guide and bibliography
might be conveyed as too offputting or demanding to average readers (a New-York-only
misconception that I wish would disappear; people do have brains and they do
like to use them).
For whatever reasons Siciliano holds for choosing the iUniverse route, I have to say I wish he
would have found a "real" publisher, for these three reasons.
He could have used the talents of a real editor. There are far too many copyediting
mistakes in this book. Please don't let this fact keep you from reading this book.
Siciliano could have benefited from extra promotion the publishing world could have
offered his book. Now, while I know it's true that budgets for book tours and promotion have
dwindled to hardly anything, and while I know it's become the domain of the writer to actively
promote his book (which Siciliano, to his credit, did; it's how I got a copy of Vedette in
the first place), there's still more promotional currency to access through traditional publishers
than what iUniverse offers.
Finally, while I think it's a much better climate now than it has been in the past,
self-published, print-on-demand books still possess the reputation for being amateurish,
self-indulgent and of low quality. Despite the copyediting errors I highlight in my argument above, I have to
say that this book is written with the deft hand of a real scribe; the craft within it brings layers of sophisticated texture which rule out any question as to its quality as a work of literature;
and if there's anything self-indulgent about Vedette, it lingers in Siciliano's pure love
for all things Andalusian. This book is not only a novel, but an artful devotion. It deserves
respect.
The good news is this: in May 2005, Vedette was selected as one of thirteen "literary
fiction" finalists in ForeWord Magazine's 2004 Book of the Year Awards, which focus on
sparking the attention of librarians and booksellers by recognizing the literary achievement of
independent publishers and their authors. This is one big leap toward validation and legitimacy
that the print-on-demand press needs if it is going to bear itself out of the literary ghetto that
the New York-centered publishing world has imposed upon it. With excellent novels like
Vedette out there, I'm hopeful that alternative options for writers, like iUniverse, will
continue to supply them with the recognition they have earned.
ABOUT STEPHEN SICILIANO
He's a certified blogger, penning the entertaining and thoughtful Highway Scribery beat. He's also a poet, a
novelist, and a man of political conviction bold enough to put it out there in a politically
conservative time when the voices of liberals and free thinkers are belittled or denigrated.
Siciliano wrote Vedette over the course of four years while living in Andalusia. While living there, he enjoyed reading Camilo José Cela's columns and used to see the famous author hanging around Madrid with his young wife.
He describes himself, in the back jacket text for Vedette, as "a 19th century man
writing his way through a 21st century nightmare. …haunted by this question: Where will the
intelligence and kindess come from that can save us?"
Certainly, he grapples with this question through the depiction of La Vedette, Gloriella as she plays, as Siciliano illustrates in the use of this
Whitman line from Song of Myself, "not a march for victors only…I play great marches
for conquered and slain persons."
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