THE IMPOSTOR

Acclaimed Spanish novelist Cercas (The Blind Spot: An Essay on the Novel, 2018, etc.) looks deeply at the curious case of a man who wasn’t there.

Enric Marco (b. 1921), a Catalonian metalworker, became a cause célèbre first for having supposedly survived a Nazi concentration camp, for which he received medals and honors, and then for having been exposed for bending the facts to the point of breaking, apparently precisely in order to cash in on the fame. As Cercas digs into the story of this “swarthy, balding, thickset, burly, mustachioed gnome,” Marco moves from object of “moral disgust” to something at once more understandable and more mysterious. Yes, Marco, an anarchist who was on the losing side of the Spanish Civil War (“his memories of this farce, however, are scant and unclear”), did go to Germany during World War II—but apparently voluntarily, having joined a labor detachment for a decent wage. Yes, he did run afoul of the Nazis, but apparently for an ordinary crime. Yes, he was jailed briefly, but he did not do time in the concentration camps, as he attested. Other claims of having been a hero of the Resistance melt away, leaving Cercas with what novelist Mario Vargas Llosa, his friend, had divined at the beginning: “Don’t you get it? Marco is one of your characters!” Cercas ponders the case from every angle: Is it possible, he wonders, that even with the evasions and lies, Marco might tell us something truthful about the experience of fascism? Even though he “needed to be admired, to be a star,” might he not have something to say after all? Who doesn’t enjoy a little self-aggrandizing confabulation? The answers come slowly, deliberately, and certainly not definitively even as Marco transforms himself from man on the street to Holocaust survivor “just as, at a certain point, Alonso Quixano became Don Quixote.”

Though long and occasionally repetitive, this is a charged examination of a surpassingly strange matter and of the masks and fictions we construct.