Orphans of Eldorado, by Milton Hatoum
A tiny Roman numeral at the top of the spine announces (in a whisper) that Orphans of Eldorado is the thirteenth instalment of Canongate’s critically acclaimed Myths series. However, it seems that Canongate have relaxed their branding, as Hatoum’s slim novel is issued as a trade paperback, and a colourful one at that. The decision to publish in paperback has prompted a flurry of angry comments on the novel’s official page on the Myths website, but binding aside, Orphans of Eldorado doesn’t disappoint.
The myth that underpins the story concerns Amazonian tales of an enchanted underwater utopian city. Hatoum suggests in his afterword that these stories, which involve people being seduced by dolphins or anacondas and taken down to the riverbed to live an enchanted life, may have been the inspiration for the conquistador’s search for the chimerical golden city of Eldorado. Supernatural rumours and whispers abound in Hatoum’s depiction of early twentieth century Brazil: the novel opens with two vignettes about a man who is strangled by his own enormous penis and a woman who copulates with a male tapir. However, the narrative is driven by an ancient, universal trope firmly rooted in reality: the story of the prodigal son.
Arminto Cordovil is despised by his powerful father, Amando, because his mother died giving birth to him. He is sent to a boarding house in the port of Manaus where he soon succumbs to licentious whoring and carousing. Unexpectedly summoned to his father’s “white palace” downriver in Vila Bela, he arrives in time to see Armando die at his feet before they’ve uttered a word to each other. Arminto inherits the fortune and freight company, but not the strong arm of the Cordovils. His lassitude is compounded by misfortune: the freighter Eldorado sinks with eighty tonnes of cargo aboard; the clients sue and land must be sold to make good the debt. To make matters worse, Arminto becomes hopelessly infatuated with the beautiful Dinaura, a ward of the Carmelite Orphanage who never speaks and runs away at the slightest hint of intimacy. When at last his lust is consummated, Arminto rouses himself to secure and shore up his inheritance. He leaves for Manaus to conduct negotiations but returns to discover that his betrothed has vanished without a trace. The citizens of Vila Bela all agree: she has been seduced by a river dolphin and resides in the enchanted city. But the truth, when finally uncovered, proves far more prosaic and disturbing.
Orphans of Eldorado is a strange, rich and dense novella, so effortlessly and seamlessly told that it is only on reflection that one notices there are no chapters. Hatoum’s short, simple sentences build up into a rising and falling rhythm that lends a breathless quality to a narrative that takes us up and down the Amazon and from calamity to calamity with admirable economy and aplomb. The supernatural is never quite allowed to occupy the foreground, but the peripheral, anecdotal hubbub of myth and legend is so insistent that even plausible events begin to feel somehow distanced from reality, a sense that is heightened by Hatoum’s sparse, dialogue-light style. The majority of these legends and stories are overtly sexual and there is strong undercurrent of sexual violence and abuse: a young Arminto draws his father’s ire for sleeping with Florita, Armando’s ward-cum-maid, though it was she who initiated their liaison; Armando executes a man for interfering with his wife; a river pilot in Arminto’s employ produces a girl who has been raped by her father as a replacement for the lost Dinaura. Cruelty, poverty and exploitation are also ever-present. One memorable passage describes workers blinded by the smoke-curing of rubber settling in a new neighbourhood in Vila Bela.
For such a short novel, Orhpans of Eldorado is remarkably rich and evocative. It is difficult to assess a translation with no knowledge of the original language, but John Gledson’s certainly achieves fluidity. A compelling tale that insists on being devoured but would also reward a second reading, it deserves a wide readership in English. Incorporating it into the Myths series is a clever marketing wheeze on Canongate’s part (it was published in Brazil in 2008, so has enjoyed a previous, independent life). Let’s hope it pays dividends. With the higher origination costs associated with translations, perhaps a trade paperback was the only financially viable option, and in any case, anyone annoyed by the binding should just relax and open the book.
