About a year ago, in Lisbon, during the Disquiet International Literary Festival, I saw João Pedro Vala read from his debut novel, Grande Turismo. I felt an immediate kinship with his work. Like me, he writes about family, belonging, society, romance, and friendship through the lens of adrift young men, although my novels take place in Rust Belt cities while João writes about Lisbon. Joāo is an award-winning translator. This year, he became the first Portuguese author to win an O.Henry Prize for “Inês”, a self-translated short story. I am the author of three novels, Don’t Stop Snowing, The New Naturals, and Everywhere You Don’t Belong. As two soccer-obsessives, we decided, for the World Cup, to start a conversation around nationalism, parenthood, art, and the sport we both love. The second part of that conversation, which covers the knockout stages, is included below. You can read the first part here.
Gabe,
Yeah, I think that comparison1 between Ronaldo and thriller writers is quite good. I mean, he is (or was) an incredible player, but his life, both outside and inside the pitch, was always spent trying to get to the goal as fast as possible, just as those writers try to trigger our most superficial emotions as fast as they can. Sometimes I felt, when he was at his peak, he could just start scoring goals from the goal kick, you know? And now I fear he will actually try that against Croatia. And yes, I guess that is the goal of sports, to maximize your success, to become just an arrow pointed to an helpless goalkeeper, to be an unstoppable, merciless strength of nature. And there are quite a few players just like that that are amazing (Luis Diaz, Cristiano, Haaland), but I really love a passage in The Catcher in the Rye, in which Holden is talking with Mr. Antolini and he says:
“Oh, I passed English all right. It was mostly literature, though. I only wrote about two compositions the whole term (…) I flunked Oral Expression, though. They had this course you had to take, Oral Expression. That I flunked.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know (…) It’s this course where each boy in class has to get up in class and make a speech. You know. Spontaneous and all. And if the boy digresses at all, you’re supposed to yell ‘Digression!’ at him as fast as you can. It just about drove me crazy. I got an F in it.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That digression business got on my nerves. I don’t know. The trouble with me is, I like it when somebody digresses. It’s more interesting and all.”
Ronaldo never digresses. He would do great at Oral Expression. Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel that my heroes in football are the ones who can dribble the whole team, go back, dribble some more, get distracted while telling me about how their day went, lose the ball, get it back and then score (or, even better, hit the post).
But sorry, I digressed. I’m watching the matches mostly at home, while taking care of my kid (who you’ve met yesterday. He really liked you, by the way). Did you choose literature over football, or is this a plan B?—João Pedro Vala, July 1
João,
Watching the game as we did a few nights ago is my favorite way to watch any sporting event: on the couch, maybe a beer or wine, talking between the action, constantly eating. I’ve watched of these games on my couch, sometimes in bed with Lauren. I tried to stay up for the late games in Lisbon, but I got too tired. Had to go home. That’s when I feel the most old, when staying up to four in the morning ruins me for several days after. I guess we should give the readers some context. I went to the Disquiet Literary Festival this past week, only for a few days. We got dinner a few times, went to a bookstore, read together, alongside D/Annie Liontas, at the Jose Saramago Foundation. Now, I’m back home, with my suitcase filled with good Portuguese books nearby, sitting on the couch watching Portugal and Croatia. I swear we weren’t planning to talking about Ronaldo in all these letters, but he sucks up all the attention. He just scored his penalty, soon after having that goal taken away for being offside. My immediate reaction is that, without him out there, Portugal should be up by two goals. I assume you’re up watching? Oh, oh, oh, Martinez just subbed off Ronaldo. Wow. Did not think he could do it.
And, yes, digressions are the best part! Isn’t that what makes Proust so wonderful, following the threads wherever he wants to take us? I know my own novels should be tighter and cleaner. I have a hard time writing like that. I’m a messy writer, as our readers can tell. I like wandering around the page, stumbling, both while reading and writing. That’s why I love Ulysses so much. You can open up to any page and get lost for a few sentences. I feel the same way with this current France team. So far, their attack is surprising and beautiful. You never know from where the magic is going to come. Speaking of magic, I’m reading Herberto Helder right now and, man, what a genius.
I didn’t really choose literature over soccer. I could have probably played in college somewhere, but I didn’t think playing professionally was ever a realistic dream. I got the most of my high school experience. I was all-conference my senior year. We went undefeated in our league and only allowed one goal, which, if I remember correctly, was an own goal. HIgh school soccer in Chicago is a pretty high level. I was a lost kid, otherwise. I started writing for my school newspaper, liked it, was pretty good at it, so, went to college to study journalism, played soccer with friends every now and then, then took a creative writing class and never looked back. What about you? What was your plan A?
WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA. Ramos!!!!!!! —Gabriel Bump, July 2
AHHHHHHHH. TIED!!!!! —Gabriel Bump, July 2, one minute later
VAR!!!!! —JPV, two minutes later
Gabriel,
I don’t think I ever had a plan A. At least, I’ve never thought about one. I mean, I come from a long line of entrepreneurs on both sides of my family, so I’ve always imagined that I would be one myself, as I never had what you might call a “vocation”. So, when the time came to make a decision, I went on to study management. One of my favorite moments in Proust’s novel is when he is strolling around his family’s house in Combray, always getting distracted by the flowers, and his parents and grandparents keep calling him to get back next to them. I think I project myself onto him: this kid who is trying to find his own path and that keeps getting called back to follow the family’s footsteps, never too far away from home, you know?
At one point, though, I studied in Italy for six months and signed up for a class on Dante and just — there’s no other way to put it — fell madly in love with Hell. Near the end of that semester, I had an oral exam and my professor asked me: what are you doing in management? That question changed my life. I guess it saved me. And I really think that’s what literature does. It poses questions and leaves the answer to us. Sometimes there’s no answer. And yet.
But now that I think about it I guess in the back of my mind, a World Cup memory was playing a significant role too. It was the quarter final of the 2010 World Cup between Ghana and Uruguay. Yes, the one in which Suarez made a deliberate handball in the last minute, was sent off and made a penalty. Asamoah Gyan missed that penalty and the game went to extra-time. I know everybody hates Suarez for doing that, but not me. I thank him for that. Because of what comes next. Because next comes the one and only Loco Abreu. I watched most of that World Cup with my good friend Simão and he told me the story (probably apocryphal) that whenever Loco Abreu entered the pitch, he used to open his arms and scream HERE COMES THE TYPHOON — and later I would recycle that for my DJ name whenever we organized parties amongst friends.
Anyway, that match went to a penalty shootout and Loco Abreu is called to take the decisive one. I can still see it. Forlán, the only grown-up in that Uruguayan squad, goes up to Loco Abreu and talks for what seemed hours with El Loco. He knows what’s coming and he is begging him not to do it. Oh, please, man, just behave now. Abreu is only listening. He doesn’t say a word. And then he walks all the way to the mark and the commentators are saying He always, always does the same but sure he won’t do it now. He can’t. Not here. Not now. Abreu is somewhere else now, lost inside his mind. In a world of its own. He picks up the ball and you see the most random name on a shirt ever: W. S. Abreu G.
O.G.
He runs, and, man, he does a fucking Panenka. He scores. I felt like crying. I guess I desperately wanted to be him. Just thread my own path and let the ball go dancing against the net, my own way.
What about you? What was the most magical moment you ever saw at a World Cup? —João Pedro Vala, July 3
João,
Man, I still haven’t forgiven Suarez for that handball. Or, Gyan for missing that penalty. I wanted Ghana to reach the semifinal so bad. I understand Suarez did something wild out of desperation, hoping it would help his team win, which I typically enjoy, something unexpected and insane, as we’ve spoken about before. Essien and Drogba were my favorite players from that generation. As a result, Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire were my favorite national teams. Only now, over fifteen years later, can I appreciate that Uruguayan madness. And, even then, right after the handball. I knew Gyan had to make the penalty. You can’t let the madmen get to you. I forgot about the Panenka! How can you not love that insanity.
I’m watching Cape Verde and Argentina right now. Tied in the 64th minute as I write. And the goals have been great. The stadium appears to be made up mostly of Argentines. Vozinha is having another great match. What would be more magical than this?
Apart from this match, I still think Zidane in 2006 is the most magical moment I ever saw. I was in New York City with my best friend, doing a summer program at Columbia University. I was taking a writing class and he was taking photography, if I remember correctly. We found a restaurant in Little Italy that would serve us wine. We were fifteen and only starting to get in trouble. I think we only had a glass of wine each, but were certainly drunk. Maybe that’s why most of the match is a blur. When the headbutt happened, we didn’t know the backstory, what Materazzi said to Zizzou. To us, in that small restaurant, it appeared as if the greatest player in the world had gone crazy. Did seeing him break the rules on the biggest stage in the world make our small transgression of drinking too young and getting drunk in public give us permission to break the rules on our little stage? Who knows? Then, after Zidane’s surreal transgression, we walked outside and were surrounded by Italians losing their minds in a different way, with joy, happy drunks, like us.
Okay. Extra time is starting. Time to lock in.
How do you feel about the World Cup coming to Portugal/Spain/Morocco next? Are people excited? —Gabriel Bump, July 3
Gabriel,
I’m trying to support the USA tonight, only because of our friendship but, man, Infantino is making it incredibly difficult. The removal of Balogun’s red card is probably the most blatantly corrupted thing FIFA did, and the competition was fierce. I missed those times when we tried to hide our flaws, finding lame excuses for our actions. Those were the days. I don’t think it should have been a red card in the first place, but come on. Even his name sounds like a threat: Ball or gun. But most likely it was the allure of money, and not the imminence of violence, that played a role here.
Anyway, about the next World Cup, believe it or not, I haven’t heard a single person talking about it yet. I guess it helps that we will be 2030’s Canada, having only a handful of matches here, but I don’t think that’s the main reason for our lack of enthusiasm. As you know, we organized the 2004 Euro Cup and we ended up losing in the final. I think the hangover of that summer really played a number on us. During that month of competition, I think people were really joyful. I certainly was. Maybe these memories are tainted by me being 14 then, who knows? Everything was just starting for me. But despite that bias, I really believe we were happy then. We lost in the first game to Greece and then we won against Russia, Spain, England and Netherlands only to lose again to Greece. The law of eternal return, I guess. In the day of the final, the bus with our team was followed by people riding horses, there were thousands and thousands of us in the middle of the road, thousands of bikers following the team, and then, when they crossed the bridge to Lisbon, there were dozens of boats and planes on their trail. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing. It was the last time my childhood hero (that would later become a villain for me) Rui Costa would be playing for us. The first major competition for Cristiano Ronaldo. And then we lost. I was crushed. We all were.
And then people started to complain, rightfully, about the investments we made on the stadiums for the competition. We became bitter. I don’t know much about it, but I think it is a good idea to organize the next World Cup. Nonetheless, everytime we think about what’s about to come, we remember what happened before. We fear that, once again, things will begin badly and end in the same way. And they probably will. But, I mean, Gabe, there is so much joy, so much happiness in the middle of it all, you know?
In my heart, I guess I’ll always be a punk rocker (Joy as an Act of Resistance, as IDLES put it; “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up”, as the Ramones sing), and I’m kinda excited about the whole thing. In my heart, I want to be like Dick Advocaat. Have you seen that? He’s coaching Curaçao and they were losing 1-0 against Germany in the first match of the World Cup. And then they scored and this 78 years-old man started crying like a kid. If we were being cynical, we would think: why are you celebrating, man? Don’t you know this won’t last? Don’t you see what’s about to happen? And, of course, they lost 7-1 in the end. But in that minute, they were putting up a fight against one of the best teams in the world. In that second, they still had a chance of winning the World Cup. Why would we impose our stupid rationality over such a tremendous joy? In the end, we’ll all probably lose, I guess. But the amazing thing about football is that the more you suffer, the more you rejoice when your team has this tiny, tiny victory. Of course everything else might still be shitty in your life, but, at that moment, nothing else matters. And being able to live in that second in which everything is still possible, I really think it’s some kind of miracle. I hope we have plenty of those tonight against Spain.
What do you think of hydration breaks? —João Pedro Vala, July 6
João,
It’s a disgrace! I was watching the USA commentary yesterday, after the decision was announced, before Mexico-England, and I was absolutely shocked by how the commentators addressed it. Even Zlatan and Henry were tight-lipped and somewhat polite, shrugging and saying stuff like: “It’s unusual.” “It’s unfair.” “It shouldn’t have been done this way.” What a joke. It’s obvious corruption. Tyler Pager and Tariq Panja wrote a good breakdown of this nonsense. It’s disgusting and ruins the game. You can say Balogun’s red card was harsh. That doesn’t matter. It’s still a red card. He went in reckless and high. He could’ve broken the opposing player’s ankle. He was issued a red card and has to serve his ban, especially during the knockout stages of the fucking World Cup. Maybe there exists some sentiment that criticizing this corrupt bullshit is anti-American. It’s not. This is everything bad about America. This is why people hate Americans and billionaires. This sense that some people are above decency and the law. Morals and consequences are for normal people and losers. What makes this whole situation even more absurd is that Balogun is a US citizen by birthright. He was born in New York while his Nigerian parents were on vacation. Trump and his gang tried to end birthright citizenship recently. The Supreme Court blocked them this time, but they will try again. Balogun is Trump’s least favorite type of American.
I can understand why Trump and his friends would think they could get away with this. They have stolen, apparently, billions of dollars during his second term. They get away with everything because they are surrounded by enablers. And, our other branches of government are broken and afraid. Dan Wang, in his book Breakneck, has a convincing thesis that America is a country of lawyers while China is a country of engineers. It makes sense. Most of America’s Founding Fathers and Presidents were lawyers. I think it’s most fair, right now, to say America is a country of corrupt lawyers for rich people, always looking for a way to bend the law for Trump, to make him the most money, to use the rules to outwit people. Like, they can justify this Balogun nonsense because of some vague interpretation of a vague law. They can justify it because they suspended Ronaldo’s red card for bullshit reasons before the World Cup. I really hope they don’t get away with this. When confronted with such a blatant injustice, it’s easy to sound sanctimonious. I do, truly, believe Balogun should refuse to play, or Pochettino should not play him. I doubt that will happen. What did you think when they overturned the red card for Ronaldo before the World Cup? What was the sentiment in Portugal? I imagine some people would have preferred he didn’t play those matches. It would’ve made the team better haha.
I don’t understand why Infantino would do this. I hope it’s more complicated than a bag of cash, but I doubt it. What a fucking joke.
The hydration breaks are blatant grabs for more cash from American networks. They don’t show ads during the breaks in Portugal, do they? I forget. I apologize for getting so angry this morning. I really wanted to root for America tonight. This team is fun. They’re easy to support. But, again, as seems to happen all the time right now, the worst parts of America are overshadowing the loveable parts. If you root for Belgium tonight, I won’t blame you. Good luck tonight. I’m writing before Portugal plays. Let me know what you think of the match. —Gabriel Bump, July 6
Gabriel,
Man, tough night yesterday, but I guess both of our teams had it coming. I didn’t watch the USA match, as it went on at 1 am here, but Portugal really deserved it. We have amazing players (Nuno Mendes, João Neves, Vitinha) but we had no ambition, and we asked them to limit themselves to a defensive role, so that they seemed almost banal (except Nuno Mendes and, obviously, our goalkeeper Diogo Costa, who was given a chance to shine, as our only goal was to try to prevent our opponents to score). Rafael Leão, who is utterly crazy, was the only one that constantly tried to be more than just a pawn, so he was benched yesterday. In the entire World Cup, I don’t think we pressured our opponents’ central defenders once, since Ronaldo couldn’t do that, so they could build their game at will. It was a shame. Another wasted opportunity.
Let me just say something that perhaps is a little controversial. I guess there are now four teams with a real chance of winning the World Cup: Argentina, England, France and Spain. If you check their teams, you’ll find exactly two players playing in Saudi Arabia: Theo Hernandez, who played in two matches so far, and Ivan Toney, who hasn’t played a single minute yet. Portugal has three: Ruben Neves, Cristiano Ronaldo and João Felix. Ronaldo played almost every minute of the World Cup, João Felix was a regular starter and Ruben Neves played a couple of matches as well.
I think Ronaldo should have been picked for the World Cup, if he had been willing to be benched, because of everything he has done for Portugal, but the other two are players that, quite young, decided to prioritize money over football. They have every right to do so but I can’t quite see how would it be possible to have any kind of ambitions when you pick players like that over others that are trying every day to be the best they can.
João Felix is a great example of what I’m saying. He has amazing potential, one of the most talented players we ever had and yet he made all the wrong decisions in his career. It wasn’t because of him that we lost, of course. He tried his best to be good and he was helping us to contain Spain’s attacks. Yes, yes, sure. But we needed more, we needed a winger that wasn’t just trying to stop Yamal. We needed someone that gave us some hope and he is no longer that player.
I really dislike this idea that you can have it all, you can have all the money in the world while playing against mediocre teams with zero ambition and still be the star of our national team. It doesn’t work that way and, again, we had what was a long time coming.
You could say the same, in a sense, about Messi. But he just doesn’t stop being Messi.
What did you think about the USA x Belgium? —João Pedro Vala, July 7
João,
We got exactly what we deserved. I remember a story from Pochettino’s Tottenham days, where he kept a bowl of lemons on his desk to absorb bad energy, to create a positive atmosphere. Imagine the negative energy around the US team since all this corruption came to light. A poisoned game. A hopeless performance. The first and third Belgium goals were embarrassing for our defense. It’s a shame. This team, when it was working, was fun and energetic and tough, with some flashes of real class. I think, no matter how far your team goes in a competition, you want to be remembered for putting together an entertaining performance before getting knocked out. Like Cape Verde, like Mexico. We gave nothing last night and will be remembered as corrupts cheaters. The worst way to go out. I guess both of our teams were unceremoniously pushed aside. What do we do now? One of my best friends is French. Supporting the favorite is never very fun. What about Norway? Who is your team now? —Gabriel Bump, July 7
Gabriel,
It is quite hard for me to pick a team now. I guess I’ll pick one for every match and go from there. Instinctively, my heart would go out to Argentina because of Messi and Maradona but their team is not very exciting and it is hard to forget the shameful way they celebrated their win against France four years ago. I think I’m for Morocco against France, but if France wins, yeah, I’ll be supporting them, because they play beautifully and actually deserve to win. I also have a thing for England because of their absolute inability to get to the final stages of major competitions, despite always having a strong team. I have a hard time supporting underdogs in these competitions because I always feel envious of their glory. When they win, it becomes clearer for me that we (Portugal, Benfica) could be in their place, you know? That doesn’t come from a good place, I know, and I try to fight it but it is something I just can’t help (usually this gets worse in the Champions League). So, to fight my bad instincts, maybe I’ll try to support Norway. My head is a mess right now, as you certainly can see.
I know we’re supposed to only talk about football here, but I know you’re excited about the Cubs. Could you please explain to me what’s so cool about baseball? It should be easy for me to like a sport you can play while eating a hotdog but my European heart just doesn’t permit me to. —João Pedro Vala, July 8
João,
Did you stay up for Argentina last night? I watched the final forty minutes on mute while Lauren slept. I was fuming after the red card against Switzerland. With some hours to digest it, I still think it was a horrible and unjust decision, but my initial thoughts, of course, went toward a FIFA conspiracy to make sure Messi plays in the World Cup Final. Lisandro Martinez was getting in Embolo’s head all match. You could tell Embolo was getting frustrated and losing his judgement. He shouldn’t have dived, sure. And, you definitely shouldn’t dive with a yellow card. Still, what a shame. A horrible shame. I thought Switzerland looked strong and ready to take the lead before that happened. I saw Alvarez’s wondergoal in total silence, half-sleep. I didn’t even cheer. I couldn’t enjoy it. Am I still going to root for Argentina to beat England? I think so. My bitterness is passing. Maybe this USA-Trump stuff has heightened my paranoia. I’m not a big conspiracy person. Or, I don’t think of myself as a big conspiracy person although, recently, the world’s cynicism is getting to me. How could Alvarez’s brilliance make me feel so sour. I feel neutral toward the Swiss, in general. Joyce spent time in Zurich. That’s a plus. I feel like this World Cup was made for a France and Argentina rematch. I need something, quick, to bring my joy back.
Man, man. You mean the White Sox. The Cubs are the other Chicago team. It’s not as heated as Benfica and Sporting. The Cubs are in the National League and the White Sox are in the American League. We are not direct competitors for the championship. In basic terms, the Cubs play on the North Side of Chicago and most North Siders are Cubs fans; the White Sox play on the South Side and most South Siders are White Sox fans. I played some baseball growing up. A few unspectacular seasons of Little League. I like watching it because throwing and catching a baseball is fun. And hitting a baseball is, I think, the hardest thing to do in all professional sports. There are plenty of romantic essays about going to a game, how baseball is America’s Pastime, although American Football has overtaken it. Home runs are amazing. An unhittable pitcher is beautiful to watch. What I love most, however, is that it’s always on. The White Sox play almost every day. They play 162 games. During the season, you rarely take a break. I put the game on, read a book, write, look up when something exciting happens, get invested in the players. Have you read Underworld by DeLillo? The prologue is about a baseball game and might be some of the best writing in English. I can scan it and send it to you.
Since the semifinals don’t start until Tuesday night and we have a break, I’d like to ask you a few questions about translating. We’re translating your first novel into English right now. Well, you’re doing most of the work, but it’s been a fun and enlightening experience for me, to see how your humor and style and heart moves from Portuguese into English. I’m loving it. You, however, are having a harder time dealing with your own work. Can you say a little about the difficulties in translating your own work? —Gabriel Bump, July 12
Gabriel,
I didn’t watch the Argentinian match, because it was on at 2 a.m. I did watch England vs. Norway, though. I liked it, even though it was quite hectic and anarchic in some moments. For a while, I thought England’s defense wouldn’t be able to cope with the speed and strength of Norway’s offense, but in extra time, probably because of Jude Bellingham’s early goal, Norway just couldn’t put up a fight. Still, they were brilliant.
Please forgive me for my rookie mistake, I would lose it if you took me for a Sporting fan, but you’re too kind. I haven’t read Don Delilo’s take on baseball, no (I will soon), but I’ve read several other great writers (Roth and Pynchon, for instance) discussing baseball and I guess I’ll have to watch a full match one of these days. I think I’ve only tried like once or twice to hit a ball with a baseball bat, so maybe that’s what’s missing.
Anyway, regarding our translation, yes, it’s been quite a challenge for me. Just to put it in some context, I’ve finished writing GRANDE TURISMO six years ago, it was my first novel, and I’ve put it in a shelf, never reading any of it after its publications — besides my own translations of my favorite chapters at Disquiet, the literary festival where we met. Going back to it is quite an ordeal to me, because there are some pages I still consider full of beauty but the thing is, while you’re writing a book, you live inside the story and you fall in love with it: its phrasing, its characters, its structure, everything. You want others to love it, sure, but that’s secondary because the main thing is that you love it, you’re doing your very best and it’s the best thing you could write in that moment. You are there. The thing is, reading it now, with all of this distance, it all seems too naïve, too fragile, maybe also too personal for me to endure. I guess it encapsulates all of my personality, all of my virtues and, above all, all of my shortcomings in an object that is now fixed and too remote, too distant for me to improve. I’ve written one and a half novels since and, even though the first novel will always have a dear place in your heart, the most recent ones just shine brighter.
Also, when you’re translating, you have to accept that something will be lost in the process, and I guess it is easier for you to do that when you’re translating somebody else’s book, or when you’re translating into your mother tongue.
You know, when you put a book out there in the world, there will always be some people who don’t like it and usually they tend to be quite vocal about it. Those are the rules of this game and I’ve always accepted them quite easily, just trying my best not to read what anyone says (be it good or bad) about my work. I always fail, though. I do read that stuff and now, going back to this novel that meant (still means) so much to me, I remember all of those criticisms and I’m not confident enough to believe they are wrong. I guess you can’t be a writer if you don’t learn how to be vulnerable, but in moments like these, you should be able to get rid of all your vulnerability and really, really believe in yourself, so I don’t know, man. It’s not easy, that’s all I’m saying. Not easy at all. I guess I’ll just finish it and pray for someone else to find in it the beauty I once saw there. It helps a lot to know you do.
How about you? Do you ever go back to your old books? —João Pedro Vala, July 13
João,
I don’t think about my first book that often. I accept it as imperfect. It came out about six years ago, like yours. Whenever I have looked at an old page, I see, at least, three things I’d change, entire chapters I’d change. Characters I’d expand. I ‘d rewrite most of the second half of Everywhere You Don’t Belong, if I had to rewrite it, which I don’t. I love that about novels, how they serve as snapshots of your writing life. I’m a different writer than I was six years ago. I think I’m better, more mature, but that’s only my perspective. I know some people will always think my first novel was my best. I think about my second novel, The New Naturals, all the time, more than I should. It was a difficult and strange book told with a distinct style. I love it, think it’s a lot better than my first, but some people didn’t like the structure, the way the story was told. I tried to take the criticism into my next books as best as I could. For example, some people didn’t like my use of repetition. I thought the story called for it, created a sense of these characters really stuck in their minds. Still, I’ve pulled back on using repetition as a challenge, to prove I don’t use it as a crutch, although I still love it. I guess, looking back at old work, we can see the habits we have no chance of breaking, those ticks we can’t change.
Your novels are the first Portuguese novels I’ve worked on translating. I didn’t approach the project looking to start a career in translation. I loved your novels and want to help you find an American audience. I think that relationship makes me really enjoy our work together. I can feel myself getting better, even looking over your translations and trying to find the perfect representation of your voice in English. It’s like taking a fun class. I can understand how spending so much time with your old work might make you a little crazy and insecure. I would never do it lol.
I’m writing after Argentina beat England. Maybe we should talk a little about that? Two assists from Messi. That cross to Martinez for the winner was perfect. England sat back and invited crosses for about thirty minutes. If you give Messi all those opportunities to create something special, he’s going to take advantage. I found it hard to root for either team during the match. Still, I cheered when the goals went in. I forgot about the dubious calls from earlier rounds and forgot all the racist nonsense for about five minutes and cheered. Messi, Enzo, and Lautaro. I do like them. I’m going with Spain in the Final. What about you? —Gabriel Bump, July 15
Gabriel,
I think now I won’t be able to support Spain, because it would be amazing to witness a 39 year old player winning, almost alone, a World Cup. During the match, the commentators were talking about a statistic that said during the World Cup matches Messi spent 65% of his time just walking (just to have some term of comparison, Yamal was walking 45% of his time in the pitch). I remembered what Guardiola once said about Messi spending the first 15 minutes of every game stopped in in the middle of the pitch, only moving his head and “smelling what is the weak point”. I love that video because it is like a National Geographic documentary about lions, you know? He is a predator sensing the prairie to see how he will haunt a gazelle. That’s exactly what I saw in that semifinal. My kid woke up, so I had to go take care of him with 30 minutes left in the game. When I went there, it seemed England had it under control. When I came back, I saw those frightened kids retreating and retreating, fighting skill with size. I saw fear in their eyes and Messi was out for blood. He just smelled it.
Yesterday, we were having a chat and you were very excited about that second goal, about how Messi sensed that Spence (who was having a good match) was slightly injured and he just went for the kill. It was amazing. I love the fact that Spence played the entire World Cup with a mask on his face because he had a broken jaw. In this match, he got rid of the mask, I bet because he didn’t want Messi to sense his frailty, but then, just for a second, he was vulnerable. In that second, this monstrous player won the game.
How could someone not love Messi?
Do you think he should win the Ballon d’Or if Argentina wins the World Cup? That would be something special for your League, right? —João Pedro Vala, July 17
João,
Well, now that it’s done, I feel the result is fair. Spain was the best team, clinical, and dominated the ball without their two superstar wingers at 100%. With all the corruption and weirdness, and attempts to spoil the game, it’ s a little nice to see a great team playing good technical ball stay above the insanity and come down alright. Also, Spain winning and only failing to beat Cape Verde makes the Cape Verdean performance more memorable. I have a special affinity for the Basque players. I liked Nico getting the winning assist. And, I love Rodri. It’s hard to root with him on Man City, but I love watching him control the game with Spain. So, I like that he won the Ballon d’Or. If Argentina had won, I think it would’ve had to have been Messi, right? I watched the match as closely as I could with the two kids running around. I didn’t seem like Argentina ever had a chance. Dibu kept them in. Then, with Enzo’s recklessness, they were playing for penalties. Given how the game went, I can’t imagine a different outcome. I guess the question is, now, if Messi comes back for the new one?
What did you think about the tournament? How does it compare to your other memories? It’s strange to think how this World Cup, in history, might be more remembered for America’s crude influence. The hydration breaks, Trump’s corruption, the Peace Prize, giving public relations cover to ICE murdering people in the street, America continuing this stupid war with Iran, the halftime show, Tom Cruise’s bizarre pregame speech, so much strangeness and evil. Russia and Qatar came out looking better than America, I think. We did try to make the game ugly. It’s such a beautiful game. I played pickup soccer near our town this morning. Almost two hours with some men I hadn’t met before, from different backgrounds. And, immediately, because of the game, we were friends, encouraging each other, moving the ball around, understanding where a player was going to run because we all have studied the game and love it. I didn’t know what the score was. I was just running around and trying to keep the ball moving too. When we put five or more passes together and the ball went in the net, what feels better than that? And that’s the beauty of this game, seeing it played on a high school football field in the suburbs of New York City, then watching it played about an hour away in a massive NFL stadium, in front of celebrities and presidents, played for the biggest prize in sports, you look at the game in the those contexts and the objective is the same. Keep the ball moving, find your teammates, and put the ball in the net. And when I was playing in midfield, I could think to myself, play like Rodri, play like Busquets, and, of course, I could never play like them, but I could try. Phew. I love this game. Okay, maybe it’s time to wrap up this conversation, for now? —Gabriel Bump, July 19
Gabriel,
Yes, it was quite fair that Spain won the tournament, even though a part of me was expecting that Messi might score a last minute goal. But I’m happy for our neighbors, they played quite well and had the hardest path to the final.
It seems rather obvious that FIFA is not going to improve any time soon. The ridiculous behavior of Trump and Infantino all through the tournament and especially during the final, the rumors that indicate Trump might nominate Infantino to be the Secretary-General of the United Nations, I mean, come on. I was hoping that after Russia and Qatar, the U.S. might improve things a little, but I guess Trump is unmatchable. Let’s hope the next World Cup improves, but they are already talking about expanding it even further, with 64 teams, so I wouldn’t keep my hopes up. It is a shame that they just keep adding more and more games to the season, only to improve the market value.
But, man, I don’t want to be this guy. I mean, sure, this is all quite awful but still the World Cup is the World Cup, the most joyful competition in the world. And yes, no World Cup will match the World Cups from our childhoods, but I guess we’re parents now, Gabe, so I should stop being so cynical and try seeing the world through their marvelled eyes and think of 2030 as the new 1998. I’m afraid the moment we mean to talk about this amazing and beautiful competition and start mentioning Infantino, Trump and hydration breaks is the moment we become grown-ups. Let’s not. —João Pedro Vala, July 22
- “I don’t think there is a truly great writer like Ronaldo. Maybe these popular thriller writers who seem to have cracked a formula for writing bestsellers and making millions of dollars with books. They are competent writers, sure, but the sentences don’t do anything for me. I also don’t want to learn anything while reading a novel. And I don’t really care about plot as much as I should. I want to see interesting people experiencing life’s complexity and, through that experience, coming to some greater understanding of their place in the universe. Maybe achieving that “greater understanding” is the same as learning something. I guess I want the characters to learn something. Teach the characters, not the reader, if that makes sense?”
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