It’s hard to tell Argentina’s story without moments of despair. Even those who are fond of this country — like me — can struggle to identify the bright spots in its history. It’s been a tale of genocide, shrinking borders, pointless wars, hyper-inflation and vicious dictators. Even the end of the second world war brought little joy, given that Argentines had spent much of it egging on the Nazis.
Part of the problem has been one of grandiose expectations. A century ago, Argentina believed itself on the brink of greatness, its fortune built on meat. Immigrants arrived in their millions, and a few — like Aristotle Onassis — became unhealthily rich. Here was the new USA, and all sorts of people turned up to admire it (including Noël Coward, Corbusier and Albert Einstein). One ranch even laid out a mile of carpet for the visiting Prince of Wales. Meat money was always washing around. By 1927, British companies had covered Argentina with 16,300 miles of railway track, and it was the world’s biggest importer of American cars. Within 30 years, however, the country was bust.
Despite the disappointments, Argentines have never given up hope, or at least their sense of entitlement. With exuberant optimism they’ve made jets that didn’t work, and cars that sounded like tractors. Desperate for flattery, they’ve found some unpromising champions: a crooner (Gardel), a bully boy (Peron) and a B-rate actress (Evita). Even the seizure of the Falklands had hopes soaring. I was travelling in Corrientes then, and remember people talking about sun-drenched islands, and a glorious new future. How had the Argentine century gone so badly wrong?
Andrew Graham-Yooll has devised a brilliant way of telling this tale with Goodbye Buenos Aires.
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