An Interview Revisited

All that writers can do is keep trying to say what is deepest in their hearts.
Lloyd Alexander


Nina Forsythe, who conducted this interview, is a very dear friend. Although distance and time continue to separate us, she is someone I hold close to my heart, and I think of her often. We met in Nicaragua, were a group of us that worked together formed a remarkably strong community. This community is The Gang at Lario’s to whom Bernardo and the Virgin is dedicated. Nina is a gifted writer and poet herself—her poems regularly appear in the leading literary journals of the United States. She is also an excellent editor, and thanks to her diligent work, the manuscript of Bernardo was in virtually impeccable state when it reached Northwestern University Press, the publishers.

Nina also wrote the review I posted last week. I treasure her thoughts on the Bernardo because she knows the novel as well as anyone. I admit that her review is very flattering; and when I first read it I suspected that Nina might be biased in my favor. However, when other favorable reviews followed in Rain Taxi, The San Antonio Express, Bookslut, Catholics Today, and The Scruffy Dog Review, I was relieved—as well as delighted—to see that Nina opinions were shared by other critics.

Nina’s interview appeared in The Siouxland Weekender of Sioux City, Nebraska, in the July 14-20, 2005 issue. Because I had so much fun answering Nina’s questions, I’ve decided to revisit our friendly chat. At one time the piece was accessible on the journal’s website. The site, however, was recently refurbished and the interview can no longer be found online. Thus, I was to preserve our conversation on this weblog.

Tailor’s visions of Virgin Mary captured in fiction

By Nina Forsythe


Picture yourself in a tropical town in the evening. Cool breezes stir the palms and bougainvillea, salsa music is in the air, cigars have been lit on the front porch, and the Cuba Libre is flowing. This is the setting in which I first heard the story of Bernardo Martínez as the author, Silvio Sirias, was writing it.

Sirias, a Nicaraguan-American, had come back to Nicaragua—after many years in academia in the U.S.—and discovered the story of the poor tailor who experienced several apparitions of the Virgin Mary soon after the Sandinistas overthrew the Somoza dictatorship.

“Upon hearing Bernardo’s life story,” says Sirias, “I immediately knew that the best way to capture its many dramatic and magical dimensions was through fiction.” The result is Bernardo and the Virgin just out from Northwestern University Press. Sirias will be reading from his novel from 6 to 8 p.m. Wednesday, July 20 at Barnes and Noble. A book signing will follow.

Nina Forsythe: Why fiction? Why not a biography?

Silvio Sirias: I love reading biographies; however, they appeal mostly to the intellect. Fiction, though, aims straight for the reader’s heart, and that was my target. In addition, a novel allows us to suspend disbelief. That lets me say to the reader: “Sit back a spell to enjoy this incredible story I came across while in Nicaragua.”

N.F.: How close to the truth did you stick to portraying Bernardo, who was, after all, a real person?

S.S.: The only times in the novel where Bernardo’s character speaks directly is when he describes the apparitions. At these times I stay very close to his version of events because of a promise I made to him while he was still alive. But outside of that I had considerable creative license. That’s why I chose to tell the rest of his story through other characters. However, I always sought to stay true to the essence of the man and to the defining moments of his life.

N.F.: You seemed to have a lot of fun with the other characters. There’s the Nicaraguan émigré who constantly botches English expressions, the priest who’s nostalgic for the Inquisition, and—my favorite—the literary theorist who’s so impressed with himself. Were the secondary characters created out of whole cloth?

S.S.: Well, Nina, while living in Nicaragua and conducting research I had many delightfully surreal experiences, and I met many interesting folk who ended up—vastly exaggerated, of course—in the novel. To give you one example, toward the novel’s end there’s a Spanish priest who shoots fish with an AK-47. This actually happened. He invited me and an English friend (also in the novel) to go “hunting” with him. He drove us to a nearby river, told us to hide behind a fallen tree trunk because the bullets might ricochet, fired his weapon three times into the water, jumped in fully clothed, and came out holding three large fish, which we ate for lunch while he told bawdy jokes about bull testicles. And that’s just one of many incidents.

N.F.: Do you have a favorite character?

S.S.: They’re all my children, and I’m terribly fond of each one. I do confess, though, a preference for the ones who make me laugh out loud. In my favorite chapter, they all come together during a mass pilgrimage to the apparition site. I still enjoy reading that chapter—for me it’s like attending a fun and touching family reunion.

N.F.: Is one of your goals to change the way Americans think about Nicaragua?

S.S.: Definitely. Throughout the 1980s, the decade of the Contra War, Nicaragua was in the news everyday. I think Americans got sick of hearing about Nicaragua every evening while they were eating dinner. Although the war ended fifteen years ago, it left a lasting impression that Nicaraguans are hopelessly violent people, and because of this the country has been placed in the drawer of things Americans would prefer to forget. But you lived in Nicaragua for three years and you’ve seen that most Nicaraguans are gentle, caring people with incredibly generous spirits. That’s a great part of what I wish to convey in Bernardo and the Virgin.