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Sara Mesa's "Oposición" (Spain 2025) is probably the most recent office novel to be published. After her short novel "Silencio administrativo" (see entry from 28.05.2025) focused on bureaucratic hurdles in the context of social benefits and homelessness, Mesa now delivers a novel that fits perfectly into the social discourse on reducing bureaucracy. We are presented with a sluggish bureaucracy that can hardly be surpassed in terms of wasted resources and paragraphism (e.g. pp. 40 & 52f.): the protagonist is fresh out of university and is supposed to take on a temporary role in a state institution - but initially has to wait in isolation at a makeshift table for days in order to receive an introduction to her area of work. This, she finally learns, consists of supporting the establishment of a new department, which from now on will be entrusted with receiving and resolving complaints from employees and citizens: OMPA, the Oficina de Mediación y Protección Administrativa, "[u]n buzón abierto al que cualquiera podía dirigirse en el uso legítimo de sus derechos. Lugares de escucha para la resolución de problemas administrativos" (p. 24f.).
"Oposición" - while we perceive the gray, melancholy atmosphere of the office, which reminds us of the Russian tradition of office literature and Kafkaesque panoramas, but at the same time also describes assembly-line-like work processes (e.g. p. 34) - works off numerous tropes that can be found in our sub-corpus focused on Latin American office literature. For example, we are presented with several sovereign figures for whom we (or the protagonist) explicitly ask ourselves: What do they actually do in their offices all day? At the same time, the aspect of waiting, which is particularly central to the plot in "La Directora" (Gonzalo Guillermo Rodríguez Balmori, Mexico 2013) and "La última puerta" (Rodolfo Usigli, Mexico 1934), also plays a not insignificant role here. And from a spatial-semantic perspective, Oposición also fits into patterns we have identified so far - initially with regard to hierarchy-based positioning in space (e.g. p. 44: "[...] yo en un sillón tan bajo que me veía obligada a flexionar las piernas hasta que las rodillas me quedaban a la altura de la nariz, o a cruzarlas aparatosamente en una postura ridícula."), later also in the juxtaposition of the safe "allí dentro", which is characterized by a special "tranquilidad", with the "ahí fuera", which is depicted as "hostile" and "muy inestable" (p. 62). This antithetical stylization of the 'inside' and the 'outside' can already be found in a very similar way in Guillermo Saccomanno's "El oficinista" (Argentina 2010) and Roberto Mariani's "Balada de la oficina" and "Santana" (Argentina 1925).

Eduardo Rabasa's novel "Cinta Negra" (English title: "The Black Belt"), published in 2015, could be classified as relevant in every respect - both in terms of the office setting and the power structures depicted there. The myth of meritocracy in the capitalist system as well as aspects of the control society according to Deleuze, the self-optimization of the individual and the distance of the sovereign, who at best appears in the form of his voice and resounds through the loudspeakers of the office space, stand out in particular. The ultimate goal of success in the company depicted is to end up at the top of the daily updated scoreboard and to be awarded a "black belt" as a reward for absolute self-optimization for the benefit of the employer. Anyone who doesn't deliver is dismissed and - very similar to Saccomanno's Argentinian novel "El oficinista" (2010) - is ejected by cheerleaders in a ceremony accompanied by rehearsed choreography: "It was the girls from the farewell committee. When they joined in and formed a circle around the group in which the next ex-employee of Soluciones was sitting, it was clear that their victim was in that very group. [...] Freilooos / Freilooos / You are the work looos / and there is no one else to blame / Sayonaraaa / Sayonaraaa / We hope / That we will never see you again" (p. 88f.). Furthermore, it remains unclear until the end which - or whether any - form the highest superior, Señor Sonrisa, takes. The protagonist, through whom the novel is heterodiegetically perspectivized, muses: "Was Señor Sonrisa perhaps floating in an immaterial sphere from which he monitored, evaluated and classified all his employees while controlling access to the Black Belt, in an indefinable space without beginning and end, without a top and bottom, without victory and defeat, without ...?" (S. 47).

Sara Mesa's short novel "Silencio administrativo. La pobreza en el laberinto burocrático" (Spain 2019) is not a Latin American text, but a very interesting and engaging one that can be categorized as office literature in a broader sense. While it does not focus on the office per se, it also impressively describes the bureaucratic hurdles and labyrinths that the homeless and multiply marginalized Carmen has to face. Focalized by the character of Beatriz, who initially assumes that applying for social benefits and housing 'can't be that difficult', it soon becomes clear that it is. Beatriz initially adopts a patronizing and downright infantilizing position towards Carmen, saying that she "no supo explicarse bien. Quizá sea bueno que alguien la acompañe y exponga sus problemas con mayor precision" (p. 25), she soon detaches herself from this initial attitude towards Carmen's fate, whose personal responsibility for it becomes increasingly difficult to argue. In the institutional context, she notes how "muchas veces -no siempre, pero sí muchas veces- los funcionarios, técnicos y asistentes sociales se dirigen a Carmen. Entre la arrogancia y el paternalismo. Hablándole despacio y alto, como a los niños. Sin desarrollar la información, dando por descontado que no la entiende" (p. 44). The downward spiral that has dominated Carmen's life for many years and makes any improvement seem unlikely continues with tedious administrative procedures, rigid bureaucracy and frustrating notifications and demands; set in Andalusia in the 2010s, the novel takes the status quo of Spanish state bureaucracy to task and does not fail to reflect the ongoing discourse on the subject with references to newspaper articles (e.g. El País of 23 March 2010).e.g. El País from July 23, 2018: "De las chabolas al alquiler social").

In addition to a large number of Hispano-American texts from the field of office literature, we have now also been able to include various Brazilian short stories and novels in our 'office' sub-corpus. The first novel to be mentioned is "A datilógrafa loura" from 1934, written by João de Minas, which focuses on the precarious role of the young woman in the modern office, a role that we already know from "44 horas semanales" (Josefina Marpons, Argentina 1936) and which can also be identified in German-language texts from this period (e.g. by Irmgard Keun or Rudolf Braune).

In addition, relevant short stories by various authors could be identified, particularly on the basis of Raimundo Magalhães Júnior's collection of "Contos da vida burocrática" (Brazil 1960) and Marco Antônio Rodrigues' dissertation entitled "Contos da Vida Burocrática: o funcionário público na narrativa curta de ficção brasileira" (Brazil 2015), which was written at the Universidade de Brasília. While Nelson Rodrigues' "A Vida Como Ela É" (Brazil 1960) contains several texts suitable for the project, in which he focuses on the sexualization of young women in the workplace, for example, there are at least a few office stories from other authors that are no less relevant. Instead, some of them even take motifs already known from the Spanish-language corpus to a new level, take them up, negotiate them in a similar way and thus fit perfectly into the series of our previous discoveries.

In "A aposentadoria", for example, Josué Montello tells us a story whose protagonist can be placed somewhere between Mariani's "Santana" (Argentina 1925), Benedetti's "La tregua" (Uruguay 1960) and Saccomanno's "El oficinista" (Argentina 2010); it is the tragicomic tale of the retirement of the protagonist, who has been in his job for 35 years without any delays or taking days off. He is firmly convinced that he will receive a lavish thank-you party from his colleagues and the management on his 35th anniversary and gets so lost in thoughts about these expectations that he begins to make mistakes in his work. Instead of the hoped-for celebration, he is summoned to the principal on the day in question and scolded for these very mistakes (cf. p. 282). In response, he asks to retire, but becomes severely depressed and even contemplates suicide. He finally returns to the office and dies of a heart attack a year and a half later, but is in his element: at his desk in the office (p. 299).

The short story "Mar Oceano" by Fran Martins from 1948 is no less grotesque, but all the more ironically exaggerated. Set in the context of colonial heritage, an employee researches the ancestry of his superior in order to prove his 'noble roots'. This superior is soon to receive an award from the minister; in order to save face and not give the impression that he could receive this solely on the basis of his wife's social capital, he needs to find ancestors who make him appear worthy of the award in his eyes. The search for suitable ancestors proves to be difficult - it reveals above all criminals, immoralities and slave traders, people from whom the 'noble chief' could in no way be descended in the eyes of his employees, who downright idolize and pay homage to him.

Reading notes from the advanced seminar WS: 2024/25, 'Women in the world of narcotráfico: The novel Coleccionistas de polvos raros (2007) by Pilar Quintana'

Blog entry by Emilia Stella Härty and Janina Schneider (from 26.03.2025)
Formal design and reading impressions
Pilar Quintana's novel Coleccionistas de polvos raros is characterized by a special formal design that uses both linguistic and narrative elements to emphasize central themes. The unconventional punctuation, in particular the absence of quotation marks in literal speech, forces the reader to actively engage with the text. Dialogues are marked exclusively by dashes, which requires increased concentration. In addition, the italicized English text emphasizes certain passages, such as the Pink Floyd song (see opening motto), and thus creates a conscious differentiation of the linguistic levels.
The linguistic design is strongly influenced by Colombian argot, which not only contributes to the authenticity of the characters, but also reflects their social background and level of education. At the same time, this can be a challenge for non-Spanish-speaking readers or readers less familiar with the Colombian context. The novel also evokes a wide range of emotions - from oppression and disgust to anger and social shame. The explicit depiction of social inequalities, power relations and sexualized violence creates an affective level that stimulates deeper reflection. The multi-perspective narrative style in particular reinforces this effect, as it allows for different perspectives on the events.
On a narratological level, the novel is characterized by a complex focalization. The story is divided into two main sections, which are structured with the time indications "9:45 p.m." and "11:45 p.m.". In the first section, the story is told from La Flaca's point of view, whereby her view of the world is already influenced by a culturally male perspective. In the second section, the main point of view is shifted to Mono Estrada, whose perception can be generalized as representative of patriarchal structures. Although this multi-perspective narrative style makes it difficult to grasp the plot coherently, it also allows deeper insights into the multi-layered social dynamics.
Quintana uses different levels of focalization, which can be described according to Gérard Genette, and alternates between variables of internal focalization. While Mono Estrada appears in some passages as an omniscient narrator, in other sections a heterodiegetic narrative style or experienced speech is used. The fragmentary structure of the text contributes to the fact that the connections only gradually become clear, which can be an additional challenge for inexperienced readers.
Despite its comparatively short length of around 200 pages, the novel unfolds a complex network of characters and plots that draws the reader into a web of love relationships characterized by power imbalances, which are under the very ambivalent 'patronage' of the narcotráfico. The ambiguity of the text allows for (controversial) discussions about the thematic focus - from social inequalities and mother-daughter conflicts to the depiction of male desire. The interweaving of formal and thematic aspects makes Coleccionistas de polvos raros a demanding but extremely insightful novel that challenges readers both emotionally and intellectually.

Blog entry by Rosalie Nadler and Natascha Lea Schmolz (from 26.03.2025)
Relevance of the novel for gender studies and for the research project
The novel "Coleccionistas de polvos raros" addresses gender-specific power relations and patriarchal structures. The first half is told from the perspective of La Flaca, whose self-image is shaped by the male gaze. She uses her sexuality strategically, but is not perceived as an equal partner, but as an object of male desire. Her goal is to achieve status and wealth beyond her education. Other female characters are also characterized by patriarchal stereotypes: Estelita embodies the self-sacrificing mother role, while Susana, as a wealthy politician's daughter, stands in contrast to La Flaca. Both women (La Flaca - Susana) are divided into the traditional dichotomy of "saint" and "whore", which illustrates the internalized competition between women concerning two different male needs: desire on the one hand, reproduction and care on the other.
In the second half, the narrative perspective shifts to Mono Estrada, who shows how men suffer from patriarchal expectations without reflecting on them. Although he is privileged by his gender and social status, he feels insecure due to the pressure of masculinity norms. He measures himself against other men, sees them as competition and reduces love to power and superficial heteronormative physicality. However, the narrative of his character makes it clear that the mono Estrada has homosexual or bisexual tendencies. His fascination with travesty artists points to a repressed sexuality, while at the same time reproducing sexist stereotypes of women.
The novel combines materialist feminism with a critique of narcocapitalist structures and shows that all genders suffer under patriarchy - be it through objectification, self-doubt or internalized role models.
The book is a suitable work for the "Small Sovereignty" research project, as it sheds light on the subtle mechanisms of power and control in everyday, often inconspicuous contexts. Rather than focusing on classical power structures, the book shows how sovereignty is negotiated in personal relationships, social margins and informal networks - a central theme of the research project.
A key aspect is the way in which power is distributed in interpersonal relationships. Quintana's characters are often trapped in situations in which they are confronted with invisible hierarchies. Her protagonists operate in precarious social and economic conditions in which state institutions either fail or are barely present. Instead, individual strategies of survival, informal rules and personal dependencies determine the dynamics within the narratives. These small shifts in power, which are not legitimized by official positions, reflect precisely the kind of sovereignty that the research project investigates: a power that is not decreed from above, but is exercised in everyday life through relationships and social constraints.
In addition, Quintana addresses the role of marginal figures in society - people who live in remote regions or in unstable social contexts. Alternative forms of order emerge in these spaces, which are of particular interest to the research project. Quintana's book shows that sovereignty exists not only in large political structures, but also in everyday struggles for autonomy and influence. The book illustrates how individual agency is exercised in an environment characterized by insecurity and social inequality.

After more than a year, we were finally able to gain access to a volume whose title sounded promising for our sub-corpus on office literature: Ricardo Feierstein's Cuentos con rabia y oficina, published in 1965 by Stilcograf in Buenos Aires. We would like to take this opportunity to express our special thanks to those institutions and individuals who supported us in obtaining this text. Our thanks go to the team at the Landes- und Murhardsche Bibliothek at our university (in particular Dorothea Behnke and Anja Nowitzki), who have been committed to assisting us with interlibrary loans and acquisitions since the beginning of the project, and to the team at the Ibero-Amerikanisches Institut Preussischer Kulturbesitz (in particular Ulrike Mühlschlegel), who, after a long wait and many detours, were finally able to provide us with access to Feierstein's stories in cooperation with the Red de bibliotecas del Instituto Cervantes. We would also like to express our gratitude to those librarians and researchers who have given us access to any primary texts and/or our own research in other contexts: the team at the Biblioteca del Poder Legislativo del Uruguay (especially Alejandra Larrosa) as well as Paul R. Jordan, Fernanda Righi & Graciela Queirolo.

The wait was worth it: with the first half of the volume (pp. 13-53), we now have several new stories that take place in the Argentine office - but now in the 1960s. Similar to Mariani's office stories from the 1920s, the office depicted and its employees seem to extend over the entire narrative cycle; even if the focalization and diegesis change between the individual cuentos, each of which has a separate title, the themes, character inventory and the general atmosphere in the office described in each case remain the same and illuminate the pronounced conformism of the staff and the resignation of the employees to external events in a diverse, sometimes ironic and grotesque manner; For example, in the two-page story "La araña", we read about a spider caught in the office, which "ya se había acostumbrado al frasco, al reducido espacio entre paredes" (p. 50), or, when reading the "Monólogo del Empleado", witness how the aforementioned employee only musters the courage to rebel against the authorities in his imagination and promises himself again and again: "La próxima vez que venga se lo digo, seguro" (p. 31). Although a small degree of sovereignty is only marginally noticeable, the figure of Srta. Torres - similar to Rodríguez Balmori's La Directora (Mexico 2013) - is once again a rare example of a female superior in our corpus, so that a more detailed study of the volume would appear to be fruitful in any case.

After reading the novel 'Leopardo al Sol' by Laura Restrepo, the longer narrative text by the same author, which appeared later, also proved to be relevant to the project: 'Delirio' was first published by Alfaguara in 2004 and has been translated into German since 2009 ('Das Land der Geister'). Here, the anamnesis of the mentally ill protagonist Agustina is tackled from a polyperspective, whereby her family background is unrolled, revealing its links to organized crime in Colombia at the beginning of the 1990s. This is certainly a criticism of Bogotá's social elites, who sought to consolidate their social position by collaborating with organized crime and Pablo Escobar.
This narrative reconstruction is realized in four storylines, each of which is focussed on Agustina's grandfather, her husband Aguilar, herself and her former lover, who goes by the name Midas McAllister. The autodiegeses are suddenly interrupted by heterodiegetic insertions, which also makes the reading aesthetically appealing.
The character Midas McAllister - a money launderer for Pablo Escobar - is thematically relevant. He not only enriches himself, but also willing investors in his circle who help with the transactions. It becomes clear how the drug money is used to draw outsiders, who also want a piece of the pie, into a web of connections and dependencies. However, the resulting position of power of the 'drug king' is also counteracted by various refractions of his myth. The limits of his power (his failed political career, the approaching end of his reign of terror) are also hinted at.

With Carlos R. Serra's "La oficina del futuro y otros cuentos" from 2016, we have recently been presented with a fairly recent text - in the office literary sense. The Uruguayan author's collection consists of 14 stories, most of which unfold around the office setting.
The story "La oficina del futuro. Siendo virtual ahorramos tiempo", which tragicomically deals with the hurdles of virtual bureaucracy: Pensioner Marcos has to navigate his way through a labyrinth of telephone hotlines, WhatsApp customer services and a government version of Skype (Syskay) to renew his identity document, but fails miserably. Accordingly, his battle against the "oficina del futuro" is likened to Don Quixote tilting at windmills - our protagonist and the new age are incompatible.
Also noteworthy is "El contribuyente", whose setting is reminiscent of Kafka's posthumously published "The Castle" (1926). With the aim of settling a debt, an employee gets lost in the gigantic administrative apparatus of the Palacio Municipal. To avoid having to go back to his apartment for a few hours, he waits on site to visit the responsible Case administration early the next morning - and nests himself in the building for the long term.
With "La secretaria", Serra not only delivers an office narrative which - alongside Pedro Mairal's "El año del desierto" and Josefina Marpons᾽ "44 horas semanales" - is an absolute exception in that it depicts the plot from the perspective of a female employee. Her thoughts reveal that it is actually she who is pulling the strings in the office: "Seis gerentes, algunos incompetentes, otros ladrones, habían caído por la secreta obra de ella" (p. 87f.). Accordingly, this is a reversal of the internal office power structure seen in previous literature (boss/manager > secretary) and thus an extremely promising office text for the project.

'Paradais' (2021) by Fernanda Melchor (read by me in German translation) is an unsparing text about machismo and crime, about structural and physical violence. Using a sophisticated technique of internal focalization, the author shows in an extremely oppressive way the fine line between social exclusion on the one hand and a willingness to commit crime and violence on the other. In a gated community, a strange alliance forms between Franco, who lives there and is an outsider because he is overweight, and Polo, who works there and is exploited. The story ends in an almost incomprehensible bloodbath. The middle section of the story is particularly interesting for our project. Polo's cousin Milton gets caught up in a youth gang led by a woman called Licenciada. She only appears on a few pages. But it is worth following this sketch of juvenile delinquency and the power mechanisms at work here.

In the meantime, we have been able to secure a second novel with female authorship as relevant to the project: 'Los perros no ladraron' (1966) by Costa Rican author Carmen Naranjo.
This text stands out from the previous ones in particular because it is written entirely as a dialog, i.e. there is no diegesis in the narrower sense. This means - in combination with the fact that the dialog contributions are not provided with speaker names - that the reader must approach the text extremely attentively in order to fill in the blanks on their own. For example, the setting in which the dialogues take place is only revealed very fragmentarily, for example through the mention of a "jefe", a "director" and various "empleados públicos". In addition to these key words, various themes that we have already seen in office literature also come up: e.g. subservience and sycophancy towards superiors (cf. Saccomanno's 'El oficinista' (2010)), the inertia of the office apparatus (cf. Benedetti's 'El presupuesto' (1959) & Denevi's 'Los expedientes' (1957)) and gender equality issues affecting female employees (cf. Marpons᾽ '44 horas semanales'). In order to be able to finally secure the suitability of the novel with regard to the small sovereignty, it will require an extremely thorough re-reading - and certainly also a certain freedom of interpretation.

With '44 horas semanales' (1936), the Argentinian writer Josefina Marpons provides a particularly exciting novel for us - because so far it is the only text written by a woman that we have been able to open up for the field of office literature. Particularly in view of the fact that our project also aims to focus on the power dynamics associated with gender issues, further primary texts from a non-male perspective would certainly be an advantage. Previous searches, e.g. also specifically for (office) works by selected female authors such as Alfonsina Storni or Herminia Brumana, have so far come to nothing.
In terms of the themes dealt with, the novel fits gallantly into the series of German-language secretary novels, which were written above all by Irmgard Keun and Vicki Baum, but also, for example, by Rudolf Braune as a male representative in the period of New Objectivity, immediately before the National Socialists came to power. Just as in that tradition, '44 horas semanales' is also about the lives of young women who, in keeping with the crux of the 'New Woman', linger between the private and public spheres, i.e.: household/family/motherhood and work, but are hardly able to emancipate themselves as they would wish due to social expectations and a precarious existence in working life.
Marpons᾽ novel seems predestined for our research interest: Not only does it give us a view free of the 'male gaze' and denounces gender-related power dynamics as well as the sexualization of female employees, but at the same time it has several potential sovereign figures to offer, which will be examined in more detail as the project progresses. In addition to three male characters (Señor Oviedo, Señor Perelli, Rómulo), each of whom is located at a different management level in the office described, there is also a female character (María Delia) who, as the lover of one of the men, falls into a 'power complicity' and exploits it to the full.

The novel 'Leopardo al sol' (1993) by Colombian author Laura Restrepo is about the conflict between two families from La Guajira, Colombia, who are related to each other. The Barragáns and Montsalves are both in the drugs business and control entire districts. The gang war is extremely brutal and is fought to the bitter end. The text is extremely relevant for us, not least because it addresses the formation of the bosses' legends - a process that ultimately creates an aura of the powerful, is part of the business, but also allows them to become part of a collective, albeit rather local, memory. In fact, both Nando Barragán on the one hand and his rival Mani Montsalve on the other can each be characterized as small sovereigns who, beyond state controls, develop a considerable scope for action, which they contest with each other. Stylistically, Restrepo's narrative prose is reminiscent of the grotesque of García Márquez, specifically also through the dialogical play with a collective voice, which is once again divided into individual voices and represents the chatter of the people - this refers back to a certain extent to the Autumn of the Patriarch.

'El ruido de las cosas al caer' (2011) by Juan Gabriel Vásquez was a novel that was not one of our top priorities. It tells the story of the first-person narrator Antonio's acquaintance with a man, Ricardo Laverde, whom he meets while playing billiards. A short time later, both are shot down in a moped attack on the streets of Bogotá, with Laverde being the actual target. Laverde dies, Antonio survives, but after his convalescence - also in the sense of coming to terms with the trauma - he tries to find out what happened behind the scenes, which is why he comes into contact with Laverde's daughter. An impressive text, told in a very traditional way and - in my opinion - brilliantly written. In my opinion, it is not actually narcoliteratura, but there are still very revealing passages in the text that are hard to do without, as the little sovereign Pablo Escobar does not appear here directly as a character, but as a component and trouble spot of a generational memory - above all through his legacies, such as the Hacienda Nápoles or the hippos (cf. the entry below on Juan Pablo Villalobos), which have escaped from his zoo, multiplied and make the area unsafe - as the successful beginning of the novel reveals, which not only encouraged me to read on for project work reasons. We should also keep an eye out to the left and right of our primary list when reading literature in the future.

The '5 cuentos de oficina' (1985) by Argentinean author Jorge A. Vilches are undoubtedly office literature in the narrower sense: all five stories have the office as their setting, at least in part. In contrast to Mariani's Cuentos de la oficina (1925), however, we are not dealing here with a collection of stories that, due to their intertwined content, form a larger body of work, but with clearly distinguishable cuentos that each make use of a different cast of characters. Thus Vilches provides several potential sovereign figures: Dr. José Manuel Villegas in "Zafaron a tiempo" (pp. 9-19), Domínguez in "Caricatura del sueño que sufre un oficinista" (pp. 39-49) and Tom Reyes in "Llanto en el Proyecto Patagonia" (pp. 67-86). Accordingly, only these three cuentos will be considered further.

Reading Rosario Tijeras (published by Alfaguara: México 2018) by Jorge Franco was not productive. This is the genre of the sicaresca. A narrator, who moves between homodiegesis and autodiegesis, tells of his close friend Rosario, who in turn has a love affair with his friend Emilio. It is therefore a love triangle, as the narrator himself is secretly in love with Rosario for a long time. Through her brother, she is drawn into a maelstrom of drug-related crime, prostitution and violence. I find the short novel somewhat clichéd at times. However, the emotional love triangle does contain some revealing psychological dynamics.