“Writers are Like Vampires of Life”: Ana Maria Shua

The author’s presentation was not as much a reading as it was a performance. Ana Maria Shua read each piece in her native Spanish, with an engaging energy and a magnetic rhythm that drew in the audience at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.

When Shua – considered one of Argentina’s foremost writers living today, finished each piece in Spanish, an assistant professor followed with an English translation. The stories delivered quick, relatable messages, often as comical as they were thought provoking.

“We writers are like vampires of life,” Shua said, laughing. “We go everywhere trying to absorb everything from life listening to the way people speak, to copy them and use all this information for a story.”

Shua’s stories, poems, and collections have been published in multiple languages across the world. A varied crowd of students, faculty, staff, and curious attendees gathered in the conference hall on Golda Meir’s fourth floor.

“Ana Maria Shua is the author of over 80 books of poetry, short stories, short short stories, and novels,” began Cesar Ferreira, UWM professor of Latin American literature. To his left, Shua took a seat beside Assistant Professor Leah Leone, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek.

Students could be seen flitting in and out of the room like moths, illuminated by the building’s dim lights. The energy in the room was subdued, but excited. Many attendees had never heard of the author before and didn’t know what to expect. Others, as a sliver of conversation here or there would attest, were more familiar, and eager for her to arrive.

While final preparations were being made, a small woman entered from a pair of double doors. She was small and tan, with a bouquet of curly brown hair and brown eyes that scanned the room placidly. One or two attendees clapped uncertainly. The rest stared, rustling their papers and belongings in preparation. With little warning and less fanfare, Ana Maria Shua had arrived.

She was born to a Jewish family in Buenos Aires, where she attended university and earned a master’s degree in literature. During the political unrest in 1976 that followed the death of Pres. Juan Peron, Shua, who was a journalist at the time, was exiled to France.

Upon her return in 1980, she published Soy paciente (Patient), her first novel. Four years later, she published La sueñera, a collection of microfiction, or “short short stories.” Due to the continued success of her popular microcuentos, Shua has earned the title of “The Queen of Microfiction” among her Spanish-speaking audience. As the evening progressed, it became apparent why.

In one story, titled “Werewolf,” she describes the eponymous monster in familiar detail, noting its sharp claws and teeth and its viciousness. The familiarity of the microstory then takes an unexpected turn with the ultimate line:

“The werewolf is scared. So is the dentist.”

Shua gave no definite answer when asked where her inspiration comes from or what influences her writing. She often indicated she herself was unaware of where her ideas come from, or what feeds her imagination. She draws her material from everyday life, letting the elements of reality inform what she records on paper.

Ask a thousand writers where their ideas come from, and you are likely to get a thousand different answers. One writer may have his artistic muse while another may draw his imagery and themes from personal experience. Shua, it seems, draws hers from the people and places she surrounds herself with.

One Argentinian man in the audience, commenting on one of Shua’s stories, said he recognized the patterns of speech Shua gave the character, the expressions she used. It reminded him of home.

Despite her celebrity, Shua shied away from direct praise, gave credit to the men and women who translated her work, and thanked and praised Leah Leone for her part in the presentation. Just as her entrance was subdued and understated, her closing remarks were no less modest.

“In your short life you’ve written 80 books,” said one attendee.

“I’m 63, so my life isn’t that short,” was her response.

“You are the master of microfiction!” said another.

“So they say.”