Gabriel Mamani Magne

Seúl, São Paulo
Reviewed in its original Spanish-language version

Periférica, 2023

168 pages

€17.99 print, €10.99 e-book

Reviewed by Nina Kirkegaard

Gabriel Mamani Magne’s Seúl, São Paulo does not suggest by its title that it recounts a precise Bolivian experience. The cities of Seúl (Seoul in Spanish) and São Paulo are instead featured, strategically concealing that this novel is about Bolivians, written by a Bolivian. Mamani Magne puts forth a coming of age of Indigenous identity, migration, diaspora, cross-cultural affinities, teenage sexual exploration, and mandatory military service for young Bolivians. Two 17-year-old Aymara boys (the Aymara are an Indigenous group of people who live in the Andes) serve as protagonists; the unnamed narrator, born and raised in El Alto, Bolivia, and Tayson, born in Brazil to Bolivian parents living in an immigrant neighbourhood. Tayson returns to Bolivia after over a decade of living in São Paulo and brings tales of adventure and teenage passion to pass onto his cousin. Both are enrolled in the Fuerza Aérea (Airforce) to fulfill their mandatory service. Together, the two Bolivian boys go on a quest for their evolving identities. Mamani Magne crafts a sincere narrative told through the eyes of a teenager not only looking for himself, but also for his own definition of Bolivia. By showcasing an Aymara family, the Pacsis, who are divided between those who have chosen to stay in Bolivia and those who have emigrated to neighbouring Brazil to work in the textile industry, Mamani Magne successfully grasps how having an identity is not as simple as answering the eternal “Where are you from?” In a globalized world, interactions with other cultures are inevitable and encouraged; the narrator often speaks of his affinity for K-pop and desire to engage with Korean culture, sometimes more so than with his own Andino culture. Tayson inevitably carries with him Brazilian culture and is more comfortable in Portuguese than Spanish. 

Mamani Magne’s Andean Bolivia is funny, unique, and self-referential: the novel is filled with Bolivian references that are so rare in literature that they feel surreal to read, but are most welcome, for they contribute to my feeling represented for the first time in a contemporary Latin American novel. Although Seúl, São Paulo is grounded in a Bolivian culture that I have not been exposed to, to read Mamani Magne is to be seen. With his novel, Mamani Magne paves the way not only for himself, but for aspiring Bolivian novelists who wish to participate in an evolving literature that can represent them and their complex Bolivian identities. In the early pages of the novel, Mamani Magne’s narrator is introducing some of his family members with the following demonyms: “la tia Zulma (boliviana-boliviana) [ . . . ] la tia Ana (boliviano-brasileña) [ . . . ] abuela Nilda (boliviana de nacimiento, argentina por el padre, italiana en sus sueños)” [Aunt Zulma (Bolivian-Bolivian) [ . . . ] Aunt Ana (Bolivian-Brazilian) [ . . . ] Grandma Nilda (Bolivian by birth, Argentine through her dad, Italian in her dreams), my translation]. The author of this review is French Canadian-born, Bolivian through her mom, and Bolivian and Danish through her dad, now living in Texas. As complex as it might be to try to determine what it means to be Bolivian, having ties to the country is not a prerequisite to reading the novel. Bolivian or not, the reader will accompany the two protagonists on an exploration of who they are and who they want to be. 

Winning the National Novel Prize of Bolivia (Premio Nacional de Novela de Bolivia) in 2019, Seúl, São Paulo is gaining traction and cementing Mamani Magne’s promising career as a novelist. While you patiently wait for an English translation, consider picking up the novel in two of its published translations: Seúl, São Paulo has been translated to Brazilian Portuguese (Editoria Todavia, 2024) and the French translation is forthcoming in April 2025 (Éditions Métaillé).