It all started with a true story...

FYI: This story is brought to you by Condor Book Tours. Find out more during a live chat with the author this Friday, June 11, 7-8pm EST and Friday, June 18, same time.

One thing Vietnam and Nicaragua have in common besides bananas, frangipani trees, and me, is war. Specifically, guerilla war. Specifically, dirt poor communist guerrillas fighting the United States of America.

basically the same.


Except different. Because in Vietnam they were called the Viet Minh, and later the Viet Cong, and later the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, Freedom-Independence-Happiness because they won. In Nicaragua, the situation was far less clear, so today they are still just called the Sandinistas.

The Sandinista revolution is the setting for Bernardo and the Virgin, and it goes something like this:

• 1979: The Sandinistas overthrow the oppressive dictatorship of Anastasio Somoza Debayle.
• 1979: The U.S. decides it doesn't like communists in its backyard and things get complicated.
• 1979: The Nicaraguan people discover that the Sandinistas aren't so perfect themselves.
• 1980: The Virgin Mary decides to appear to a sacristan named Bernardo in the humble rural town of Cuapa, bringing the following message:

"Make peace. Don't ask Our Lord for peace because, if you do not make it, there will be no peace."






Pretty straightforward message, hey? And what's more, all of this is true.
Until, that is, my friend Silvio got his hands on the tale and turned it into a novel. Then all sorts of lies started being told about the whole situation. But as is the way with fiction, they were lies that were somehow still true. The following is an interview my mom did with Silvio to find out just what possessed him to do such a dastardly thing. 
Feel free to read and post your own questions, today, Wednesday, June 6, and Silvio will answer!

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 in which Bernardo’s character narrates 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 that 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 creations, 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 there anything you learned in writing Bernardo and the Virgin that has helped you in working on your subsequent books?

S.S.: Writing Bernardo, above all, gave me the confidence I needed to continue writing fiction.  I also learned to enjoy the art of revising, and I learned the importance of selecting a good structure for the story I have to tell.  I’m convinced that the success of most novels hinges on the structure a writer chooses.

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 every day. I think Americans got sick of hearing about Nicaragua every evening while they were eating dinner. Although the war ended twenty 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 several 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.

Okay guys, now it's your turn. Ask away!


Note that if you buy his book from Condor Book Tours, they will donate 100% of their commissions to Unicef's Storybook Gift project. This project sends culturally appropriate storybooks to children in need throughout the world (more infohere).