There is very little Argentine literature that is just for fun. I can count with the fingers on one hand the instances I’ve read Argentine fiction, and it was completely devoid of political commentary. But more so, Argentine literature seems to be perpetually intertwined with the political situation the country is going through.
Many cite Martin Fierro as the first literary work in Argentina. Published in 1872, the 2,316-line epic poem written by José Hernandez tells the story of a “gaucho”, named Fierro, who during the course of the narrative commits a crime and becomes an outlaw, pursued by the militia. It is in itself a social and political commentary, dealing with almost every aspect of Argentine history.
From then on, most of the literary words produce in this country seem to have to serve a purpose. They are like small, artistic battles against the ruling power. This literature has the moral responsibility of telling the truth, of reporting the reality.
Probably because a lot of our political tradition involves people in power attempting to hide their political crimes and abuse of power, misinforming their citizens. And so the artist is like a reporter in many ways, a narrator and a teacher that resorts to imaginative stories to bring the truth to the surface.
Writers in Argentina, have been persecuted by political authorities and exiled because of their work. Far from discouraging the literature of the complaint, the subgenre grew to the point that today it is very hard to find Argentine literature that is not a form of protest.
Even before Martin Fierro, you could find Facundo: Civilization and Barbarism published by writer, journalist, and seventh president of Argentina, Domingo Sarmiento, in 1845. The novel is not only narrated by a politician, but it is an exploration of modern politics in our territory, which had become independent almost three decades ago, and the role that every individual and group of individuals would play in shaping the new nation.
Since then, almost every Argentine novelist to come would follow this sort of artistic mandate. A mission to reveal what was happening both to their contemporaries and to the generations to come. This is why to read and understand Argentine literature many times one needs to understand the political context in which it occurred.
Even in the most recent works—The Secret In Their Eyes, by Eduardo Sacheri, comes to mind—the complexity behind the story can only be grasped after learning about the political and judicial context of the characters. It would seem that Argentine novelists feel the urge to narrate the truth, unveil the facts, and help people remember their own history.