Ariana Harwicz: "I have something to say, and I say it, I don't care if they think it's right."

“I never thought I was going to be a writer, that I would end up being on their side, the ones I read, like Virginia Wolf,” says Ariana Harwicz , who quickly launches into explaining that she doesn’t compare herself to the author of The Waves, and laughs at having made the clarification, but at the same time becomes serious because sometimes in these times we live in it is necessary, and she picks up the thread of the conversation , which at the same time branches out and builds the tree of the conversation , which with her is like that: it grows in height and produces oxygen.

Harwicz came to Argentina directly from France, where he has lived since 2007. He arrived on July 14th and will stay until August 26th. He is currently in Buenos Aires for a while. He has just returned from the 9th Tucumán International Literature Festival (FILT) . He will soon be leaving for Entre Ríos, for the 13th Paraná Book Fair . He has been involved with the Literature program at the National University of Mar del Plata , taught an online course at the San Martín Cultural Center , and participated in a series of talks for the Master's program in Latin American Literature at the School of Humanities of the National University of San Martín (UNSAM) . In between, he presented Perfect Beasts. The Lucio Case , by Mariana Komiseroff, went through the Editors' Fair (FED) , saw friends, gave notes and is already planning its May 2026, when it will return to the country for the premiere at the Teatro Colón of the opera Dementia , for which she wrote the libretto.

Still? Never. Harwicz arrives from somewhere. She opens the door, wearing her overcoat, saying she has time for a chat and then has to go somewhere else. Time in her hands ticks by at x2. She talks, gets distracted, hears a noise outside that could be a dog, looks at ideas she's jotted down in her notebook, and returns to the conversation. To explain something, she shows the notes she's taking on her cell phone for what will be her next book, her first of short stories. The notes are just like her: a random collection of thoughtful concepts, music, philosophical thoughts, reflections, and various arguments.

She didn't think she'd be a writer, but in 2024 she was awarded a Diploma of Merit in the Konex Letras Award, for the 2021-2023 period. She says that as a child she imagined herself a film director. Perhaps that's why her five novels— Matate amor (2012), La débil mental (2014), Precoz (2015), Degenerado (2019), and Perder el juicio (2024)—are so visual. It's only fair, then—and a task she took—that they are more than just books. Of the first three, there were and are plays. Now , there are also two films, one ready and the other in pre-production.

The Feeble-Minded Woman was directed by Paula Herrera Nóbile, who also made a short film in 2019 and was selected at several international festivals, including Bafici. Precoz hace años (Precoz for Years) is in theaters across the country, starring Valeria Lois with a production by Lorena Vega. In 2018, Harwicz was a finalist for the prestigious Booker Prize for Die, My Love , Sarah Moses' English translation of Kill Yourself, Love , which—and here the information branches out—is a one-woman show starring Érica Rivas, directed by Marilú Marini, and also a film, directed by Lynne Ramsay, produced by Martin Scorsese, and starring Jennifer Lawrence and Robert Pattinson. A break to breathe. The hostess, who is visiting her mother's house, offers coffee.

Die, My Love had its world premiere at the Cannes Film Festival , where it was a favorite for the Palme d'Or and received a nine-minute standing ovation . "I saw it for the first time there," says the book's author. But that was in May, a century in its rhythmic life. Still, she remembers several details.

–What was it like being in Cannes?

–Strange. The fact that the first impression of the film is with so many people around and Jennifer Lawrence two seats away left me still working on the subject. It's premiering on Mubi in November, and that's when the feeling will finally set in. I'm also going to see it the way I like: alone in a theater where no one knows I'm there, with only a few other people in the room, at an afternoon screening.

–What did the nine-minute ovation bring you?

–It was incredible, but it wasn't for me. I wasn't involved in anything. They didn't let me be part of the scriptwriting process, nor did they show me or consult me ​​about anything beforehand. In the end, it turned out to be very cool and strange, because the film is very faithful to the book. It goes deeper, in fact. The director, when thanking me, repeated "I hope I did well" like a mantra; she said it three times. I thought, watching it, that this is what a true artist feels like, going all in and then not knowing what's going to happen. If not, you're following a formula. And that's something else, but not a creative or artistic process.

–Would you have liked to participate in the script?

–I'll get my revenge next time, ha ha.

–Is it concrete that there will be another film based on another of your novels or is it just a wish?

–Yes, it's concrete. The play and film " Losing the Judgment ." I'm involved in the scriptwriting for the play. For the film, we're already at the beginning of production. We don't have a director yet, and we're looking. When we do, we'll decide what's best, what the working method is, if we'll write the script together, if someone else is called in... it all depends on how the team is put together and who the person is. And yes, I have some ideas in mind about who that could be.

–I don't need the director to be a woman, although that's kind of what's expected from outsiders. I want it to be someone who makes auteur cinema. There's a Nordic director who interests me, for example, because I like that cold, thriller quality, although that's not what you'd expect from that novel. I think it would infuse, I could capture, another of the things that are in the story.

–From Cannes to Tucumán and Paraná. Is it the same thing?

–It would be politically correct to say that for me there's no difference in all those spaces, that Cannes and Tucumán, for example, are the same. And it's not that that's not the case, to a point. I think so. But it's also true that it's different. It's different to be at Cannes, for example, or any international festival, in the sense that there are other interests at play. But yes, I give them the same importance. All those worlds matter to me. And I love that Scorsese is producing a film of my first novel, of course. I'm also interested—I need to know—what's happening in Tucumán, whoever writes in Córdoba, to meet other authors, to be in my country in that way. Here in Buenos Aires, you go into a bookstore and you don't find authors from other provinces as easily. I'm also interested in reaching other readers, because I engage in dialogue there. It's my way of not isolating myself, of remaining present in my country politically, literary, and humanly.

–Does your use of social media, where you are quite controversial, have anything to do with that?

–Of course. Imagine I'm somewhere lost in the countryside, in France. The term "polemist" is interesting. I accept it to a point, but I think it has more to do with courage: I have something to say, and I do it, regardless of whether it's right or wrong.

–Some intellectuals have criticized you for not saying something specific against Milei. Why don't you address the issue?

–Look how interesting that is. For example, I never said I agreed with Milei, but silence is interpreted as support. There's a lot of pressure to speak out on certain issues. I don't know what I think about Milei because I don't live here. It's not that I'm afraid to say what I think, or that I don't know what I think because I'm retarded. There's a lot of censorship from the progressive movement these days, regarding many issues. That varies. Sometimes the censorship is exercised by the right.

“It's good to say everything with courage and be cared for at the same time,” Harwicz reflects after the chat, now on WhatsApp. She never ends conversations, interviews, or photoshoots. Everything interests and matters to her, so she continues , picks up, branches out, sprouts, germinates. In reality, she keeps thinking. She says this because sometimes her opinions are used for something other than what she intended to express. It's post-truth, and I'm all about it.

He uses his X account a lot. There he says things like: “It’s becoming very fashionable among some artists to hate Israel and Jews on social media and award ceremonies, but to make films with Jewish producers and play survivors of the Shoah, the Bataclan, or 7/10. They later receive awards for those roles. How strange.”

And he doesn't back down from the widespread demand of the time. He ups his game and denounces : "Bookstores and theaters in Berlin and Paris rejected readings about 7/10 for fear of reprisals. Literary agents advise their authors not to work with certain authors so as not to damage their careers. The entire culture is divided between those who are intimidated and those who are not."

He has no trouble speaking about this topic in person, but first, he wants to know exactly where his interlocutor stands. It's not difficult: he gauges everything with two questions and an informed intuition. " Many Jews change their last name, like before . Those who cancel are sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other. Now it seems like you have to take a stand against Zionism, or you're a Nazi, they kick you out of conferences and festivals. When I say this, they respond, 'But you're here.' I, in my personal case, maybe I'm in one of those 'heres,' but it's not what happens in general," he says. He adds: " There are many artists who feel they have to come out and say something about Palestine so they won't be condemned . I truly believe there is a state of fragility and threat of death hanging over Jews in the world, which is currently not being seen."

–I'm not a specialist in the Middle East or Israel, nor am I a specialist in religion or history. I'm a sort of cultural anthropologist in the literary field, which is something that a writer inevitably becomes. From that perspective, I find it interesting to think that today there's a situation, at least in the West, where intellectuals and artists are refusing to take the risk of thinking alone.

–In which artists or situations do you see it?

–For example, with what happened with Rosalía, now with David Grossman. I think there's an extortion and pressure being put into effect so that intellectuals and artists all say the same thing. And to the extent that an artist or intellectual doesn't say the same thing about categories like feminism, LGBT issues, minorities, Jews, if they don't join or conform to the general discourse, then they suffer the consequences: marginalization, erasure, self-renunciation due to harassment, death threats...

Ariana Harwicz, author of "Mate Amor" with Jen and Robert in Cannes. pic.twitter.com/xJWXqjca5M

— mila (@buzcuttseasons) May 18, 2025

–Do you think it’s a seasonal illness?

–Well, let's say those are the things that intellectuals have always suffered: pressure. But today it's pressure, quote, in the name of good. As if it were: "We're pressuring you to say this, but in the name of humanism and progressivism." That pressure exists, and a large majority—I'd say almost everyone—accepts it. Perhaps this will be revealed in five, ten, or fifteen years, but it will be too late for those who were marginalized in life. And I see this in bookstores, at festivals, for example. It's like a cultural climate, the cultural atmosphere of 2025.