LIFE ON A COCA-COLA BILLBOARD

This book by a Chilean author is so engaging that I want its name to be splashed across every billboard around the world.

Translated from the Spanish by Elizabeth Bryer, this work by María José Ferrada was published by Tin House.

I’ve never smiled or laughed outright during the course of reading as I have this week while relishing How To Turn Into A Bird by María José Ferrada. This Chilean author has written numerous books for children and young adults in the Spanish language, and her work has been widely translated. It seems as if writing for children and young adults gives her work a light, unpretentious touch that makes this novella such an effortless read. This is in truth a heavy book. While it feels as light as a feather, it’s a dense work that lets so much light shine through that I would like every reader to order it right away. It’s also one of those books that will be featured on a personal billboard inside (or outside) your home once you have read it.

I hail from a land of billboards. Surely India, with its 1.5 billion population, must own one billboard for every thousand people? I’m afraid I never imagined all along that life may be lived atop a Coca-Cola billboard.

How To Turn Into A Bird tells us exactly how and every discovery about how our protagonist Ramón goes about his daily life put a smile on my face. What makes this read particularly riveting are the guileless and cheeky observations of our young narrator, Miguel, a boy of 12, who is fascinated by his uncle Ramón’s decision to live way up above everyone else in Santiago, Chile.

With the help of several ropes and a pulley system he invented himself, he moved from his apartment to the billboard in record time: no more than three or four hours. When he finished, he uttered words that he alone heard, because, up there, in addition to having a panoramic vista of the city, Ramón was just the way he liked to be: alone.

Pictured on the billboard was a giant woman. The convertible she was driving was the same shade of red as the can of soda, and one of its doors had white lettering that read: OPEN HAPPINESS.

Here is a billboard from India that I saw on Pinterest (Photo credit to https://www.pinterest.com/pin/665195807437245460/). Notice the wide berth in front of the hoarding. There’s place for a sofa and a table, I suppose.

The problem, however, is that the world does not want to concede the fact that someone who lives on a billboard may, in fact, be fine in the head. Such is our human condition that everyone imagines that there is a universal notion of what is wrong and what is right, and that anyone who strays from the norm must be insane and therefore to be categorically shunned. Miguel cannot fathom the many attitudes of the people in the neighborhood around a personal decision made by his uncle.

The main thing is that looking out those windows was how the neighbors noticed there was a house inside the Coca-Cola billboard. From the outset, opinions were divided.

Some neighbors went “Ha, ha, ha” and deep down wanted to say—without actually taking the risk of doing so—that Ramón was a moron. Some neigbors asked, “What’s he doing up there?” trying to provoke a knowing response that would confirm the smirking individuals’ hypothesis: “Yes, he’s a moron.” A third, more serious group existed, and they went straight for a psychiatric diagnosis: “He’s mad.” “And what difference is there between a madman and a moron?” “Zilch.”

In this wonderfully illuminating and endearing book, I learned how when many events in the world happen, causality is often attributed to them without seeking clarity on how and what exactly happened. In no time at all, sides are taken. Fingers are pointed. Sparks fly. Violence ensues. The truth, however, lies in a place that has no connection to what may be happening “on the ground.” This powerful message is at the core of this book. Life is complicated. In order to process it all, the best possible recourse is take a step back (or above, if you please), and introspect on it. If all of us could do this at every juncture of our lives, would we be onto something wondrous?

Ramón’s presence several hundred feet above the ground is, literally, like a muezzin call from up above to people in his community to consider this possibility. The people are too busy, unfortunately, labelling him a moron, instead of wondering what exactly may be at work. They’re also way busier trying to diss the homeless people making a mess around their neighborhood, oblivious, during their recriminations, that they too were once on the streets before they found themselves a secure haven in the janky housing complex where most residents barely make ends meet.

From up above, on his frequent visits with Ramón, Miguel himself begins to see how life as it happens on the ground is full of incoherence and injustice. Belonging in society didn’t mean that you were not alone.

From up above, life showed you its transparent threads. Sometimes you wanted to open your eyes and follow their course. At others, you preferred to squeeze your eyes shut and not let in any kind of light.

“Don’t you get sad, being up here by yourself?” I asked, moved by a sense of sorrow I couldn’t shake.

“No.”

Ramon’s monosyllables and silences forced me to find the answers to my questions. This time, the answer went roughly like this: it didn’t matter if you were a young boy or a decrepit old man, down below you didn’t have any more company than what you had up here.

By the time the story winds down, we’ve been presented with several truths. Acceptance in society cost us. It means toeing the line of the many simply in order to remain inside the borders drawn for us. Sometimes, just in order to be part of the herd, it behoves us to stick to the rules, even at the risk of losing one’s compassion and humanity.

Ferrada’s unforgettable tale ends with a debacle that leads those in the housing complex to cast aspersions, with no basis whatsoever, on the homeless people sullying their existence. We begin to see why Ramón never wished to descend to the level of the rest of the people in the town.

Cries rang out. From one side and the other. Or sobs, I don’t know. At that stage, not even the individuals who had started the whole thing and were so sure of being right understood what was happening. Brave as they were, they fled.

This war was not written in any book, but those of us who took part still remember that it started with somebody who was right, and that it was kept alive by words launched to and fro.