Boulder by Eva Baltasar - exploring desire, denial and parental destiny.
*N.B - contains spoilers *
In ‘Boulder’, Catalan author Eva Baltasar explores how our relationships shape and erode us. The novella is punchy, erotic and existential, rich in imagery and quiet torment, mapping the journey of the protagonist’s stifled and suppressed inner truths as she yields to her partner’s desire to have a child. It explores contrasting perceptions of motherhood as both innate and alien, explores parenthood as a threat to intimacy, and navigates the shifting landscape of desire within a long-term, same-sex relationship. Boulder ultimately poses the question of how far we are willing to betray our own instincts in order to fulfil our partner’s, and what is required to chart our own, true path.
Baltasar begins the narrative on a merchant ship, immediately giving us a sense of confinement, claustrophobia and charged intimacy through the setting. We learn that that narrator has been fired from her previous job and took on the contract ‘looking for true zero’ - seemingly wearied by life, noting that ‘if we have to reduce life to a story, it can only be a bad one.’ Over the three-month contract on board, the narrator meets and becomes infatuated with fellow shipmate, Samsa. Samsa brings an electric sexuality and intensity to the prose, offering a self-assuredness and assertiveness that almost moulds the protagonist to her - her name remains unknown, instead replaced by ‘Boulder’, the eponymous nickname Samsa gives her:
‘She doesn’t like my name, and gives me a new one. She says I’m like those large, solitary rocks in southern Patagonia, pieces of world left over after creation, isolated and exposed to every element.’
Perhaps, Boulder is searching for warmth and structure in an otherwise grey and lacklustre life, admitting she had ‘come from nothing, polluted, and year[ning] for windswept lands’ and is thus grateful for Samsa’s direction and unwavering attention - or, perhaps, she is an individual who likes freedom, and who has an insatiable hunger for novel experiences.
We are introduced to Boulder’s ritualistic and sensory satisfaction in her work as an amateur chef, preparing seafood and pastry for the crew, ‘develop[ing] an interest in empanadas’ almost like ‘a simpleminded god about to beget a new tribe’. Her existential dread is paused in these immersive and sensory moments which distract her from ‘the perfect flesh of a woman beneath [her] hands.’
Baltasar turns our attention to the protagonist’s new-found lust and sexual solace as Boulder admits she feels ‘stronger with Samsa’s body underneath [hers], like she is [her] foundation.’ The author further explores this codependent ‘enmeshing’ relationship through her intense natural imagery of expansive ‘fungus’ and we gain insight into Boulder’s character here through her discomfort shown though the metaphor of ‘dropping anchor’. Baltasar explores an irony here, that in mooring ourselves to others in order to feel secure within a shared landscape, that we must relinquish the unrestrained freedom of our individual journeys, which may lead to insecurities or resentments later in life.
‘The coast of Chile is black, and it shrouds every last hint of humanity in a way that’s almost romantic, moving. Wooden piers whose piles are constantly soaking, like the swollen legs of someone with gout. Crevices where life is a teeming kingdom of mollusks. The dark oxide that the ocean breathes out and that crawls upland like fungus - the simplest, most expansive creature on earth. My breath catches when we drop anchor. I feel like I’m following it down into an ocean-deep silence where everything dies. The galley is too small, my bunk bed’s a joke, the few common spaces on board are unbearable.’
Following Samsa’s acceptance of a Geologist job in-land, however, the protagonist follows her to Reykjavik, Iceland, where the couple are thrust into a passionate and fiery love affair. As Samsa, the breadwinner hints at settling, Boulder claims she has not ‘come all this way to play house’. But, after eight years together it seems this is on the cards, with Boulder becoming increasingly restless and marginally resentful:
‘Eight years with Samsa and every millimetre of land has been chartered. All of it. How can existence exhaust itself? I contemplate disappearing […] I need an inlet, I need time. That’s when I decided to start my own business. […] I open a food truck.’
It is a pleasure to see Boulder’s success as she carves out space for herself and reconnects with her culinary passions, and this seems to give brief equity and more balance to the relationship - Boulder claims ‘I know she loves me, I know we barely see each other. But I need to keep her away from this thing that is all my own’ - and it is here that the reader gets a sense that the purposeful distancing in the relationship is necessary to reconnect Boulder with her own sense of self, which perhaps subconsciously, she has surrendered too much of. It is a reassertion, a boundary drawn and essentially, a small victory.
It is then that Samsa announces her desire to have a child. Perhaps, feeling herself a little too distanced, lacking in purpose or merely feeling hopeful and ready to progress the relationship with her partner’s business contributing a sense of financial stability at last. Boulder explains:
‘it comes to the house like a Jonah. Unexpected and unfortunate. I want a baby, Samsa says, our baby. Your baby. She says this and I feel nothing, like I’ve drunk arsenic.’
Here, Boulder starts to unravel internally, seeking external gratification from other women. The relationship appears functional but appeasing, with Boulder going through to motions to love and care whilst feeling fundamentally unseen. Baltasar depicts how Samsa’s natural yearning for motherhood feels completely alien and almost disgusting to Boulder. We are unsure whether it is the idea of parenthood that disturbs her, the fear of losing herself, losing her intimacy with Samsa, the weight of the lifelong commitment or the possibility that veiled fractures in the relationship would surely deepen with the added pressures of a child - (Samsa increasingly begins to notice the beauty and eroticism of other women here). Perhaps then, it is a sense of guilt, self-loathing or insecurity that Boulder herself is no longer enough - or, merely a tension in timing as she has just begun to reassert herself and reclaim a space for herself within the relationship. Certainly, the couple’s time and regard for one another seems already strained, and the writer’s stunning language and metaphor throughout this section of the novel illustrates Boulder’s unvoiced truth as a malignant surrender and ultimately as a catalyst for the relational decay:
‘The decision precedes a living being that already exists and takes over everything. Its presence has dimension; it occupies the house with concrete tentacles, sinks into the skulls of people who live there, and clings to the fine membrane that sheaths their gray matter. I can’t get away. It follows me wherever I go like a sinner harassing another sinner, stoning him and hissing all of his fears into his ear. The decision hinges so much on me that it only sleeps when I do. Samsa, on the other hand, is radiant.’
Boulder seems unable to voice her concerns and the pregnancy continues through IVF. Here the writer explores moral and romantic dilemmas about how far we betray ourselves as humans to meet our partners’ needs, expectations and life goals, and ironically, how in meeting and facilitating Samsa’s needs, Boulder goes on to betray her by seeking to fulfil her own unmet needs. Baltasar almost eroticises Samsa’s pregnancy and the stages of early motherhood to emphasise how it is a taunting and inaccessible competitor to Boulder’s sexual satisfaction, lack of maternal instinct and care claiming, ‘Samsa’s motherhood is exclusive.’ Readers are left begrudging Boulder’s cowardice until a surprising moment in the narrative reasserts that perhaps, her instincts were right all along. Though clearly thriving in her new role, Samsa has ultimately alienated Boulder and committed an undeniable betrayal.
The novella ends with a cyclical structure, back on board a ship as the protagonist reflects on her decisions and the fallout of the decision to have a child. Having vocalised her needs and preferences, Boulder navigates how to best structure her life around ‘Tinna’ - the child character - introducing a third dynamic in the relationship. Tinna brings a ‘mooring’ quality to Boulder’s life, giving her a sense of home and contentment.
This is truly a stunning piece of work which will chime with readers looking for a racy, moral and melancholic read. Praise also to the fabulous translator, Julia Sanches who captured the essence of this work beautifully. 5/5 stars - no question!
