Welcome to our Indie Spotlight series, in which TNBBC gives small press authors the floor to shed some light on their writing process, publishing experiences, or whatever else they'd like to share with you, the readers!
Today's spotlight shines on Eugene Costello who released Puta Madre on August 5th.
Why I Made a Colombian Migrant and Former Sex Worker the Heroine of My Novel
I arrived in
Spain to begin my new life just a couple of weeks before the country entered
one of the strictest pandemic lockdowns in the world. Arrangements to connect
the electricity, water, gas and Wi-Fi in my rented apartment ground to a halt.
For weeks, I was permitted to leave only to walk the hundred metres to my
nearest grocery store for essentials.
Shortly before lockdown, I had decided to
employ a cleaner and, through word of mouth, found a Colombian single mother
then in her late thirties, with a four-year-old son.
It proved a wise decision for reasons
that had little to do with cleaning. We became immediate friends, her
infectious laughter and singing filling the apartment like sunlight. When
restrictions permitted, she welcomed me into her home, where I could take my
laptop and work in her son’s bedroom using her Wi-Fi. Love is as love does, and
she made me feel at home when I was far from my own family.
Valencia is compact enough to feel less
like a metropolis than a collection of barrios and interconnected
villages. It is also home to sizeable communities from Colombia, Venezuela,
Ecuador, Cuba and elsewhere in Latin America. As I applied myself to learning
Spanish, my friend introduced me to people, stories and food that revealed
lives very different from my own.
There was always food.
Somebody died? We’ll cook.
Won the lottery? We’ll cook.
A son scored a goal at his football
match? We’ll cook.
Food marked sorrow, celebration and all
the ordinary moments between them. The voices, jokes, anxieties and ambitions I
encountered began crowding my imagination. Over time, elements of them were
made flesh in the characters I tried to create—not as portraits of particular
individuals, but as fictional people shaped by the world in which I was now
living.
The story of the world is the story of
migration. People leave because they are hungry, frightened, ambitious, trapped
or simply convinced that another life must be possible somewhere else. Usually,
it is a mixture of all five. They arrive carrying recipes, memories,
obligations and expectations, and begin the exhausting business of constructing
a new life.
Daniela emerged from that world, but she
was never intended to represent every Colombian woman, every migrant or every
mother. No character could bear that burden, and no writer should impose it.
She is one woman confronting a particular set of circumstances and making
choices that are sometimes courageous, sometimes questionable and always her
own.
Through SofĂa
— whose name I have changed — I met several women whose circumstances had led
them into sex work. They were among the warmest, funniest and most generous
people I encountered. What also struck me was how little moral judgement they
faced within their own communities. Migrant life can mean badly paid work,
insecure housing, uncertain legal status and almost no employment protection.
People do what they need to do to survive, and their friends understand that.
I did not want sex work to define
Daniela, still less to present her as either a fallen woman or a helpless
victim waiting to be rescued. It is something she does during a difficult
period of her life; it is not the sum of who she is. She remains a daughter,
sister, mother, friend and, eventually, entrepreneur.
That is why I gave her the idea for Empanadas
de Puta Madre, the food business through which she transforms her
life. She does not escape poverty through luck or the intervention of a
benevolent man. She builds something from the skills, recipes and determination
she already possesses. Her son’s eventual literary success extends that story
into the next generation: the child of a migrant woman who was denied an
education becomes an acclaimed writer.
I wanted to celebrate the contribution
migrants make to the societies in which they settle without pretending that
migration is easy or that every struggle produces a triumphant ending. Above
all, I wanted Daniela to be permitted the same complexity that fiction has
traditionally granted more privileged characters: to make mistakes, take risks,
survive compromises and create a life larger than the one circumstances
appeared to have allotted her.
I hope I have done her justice.
You can buy the English paperback of Puta Madre here and the Kindle version here.
The sequel Beyond Puta Madre is available in paperback and Kindle.
After surviving through sex work and cleaning jobs, she becomes a mother and begins building something of her own: Empanadas de Puta Madre, a food business rooted in the recipes, resilience and communal spirit she brought with her from home.
As Daniela’s fortunes change, so does the life of her son, Daniel, whose literary ambitions carry the family’s story into another generation.
Set against the streets, neighbourhoods and migrant communities of Valencia, Puta Madre is a novel about motherhood, migration, friendship and the stubborn human capacity for reinvention.
Eugene Costello is a
British-Irish journalist and author based in Valencia, Spain. During a career
spanning more than thirty years, his work has appeared in numerous British
national newspapers and magazines. He is the founder and editor of Valencia
Life and writes about Spain, migration, public health and the glorious
absurdities of everyday life. His novels Puta Madre and Beyond Puta Madre
follow a Colombian migrant who rebuilds her life in Valencia through
motherhood, friendship, food and formidable determination.


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