Leaving the Atocha Station

Ben Lerner’s debut novel, Leaving the Atocha Station (2011), received widespread critical acclaim. Reviews praised it as “hip, smart, and very funny” and “unusually brilliant.” Gary Sernovitz’s comment in The New York Times that the novel’s “plotting is scant,” and “the real action of the novel is interior,” also mirrors prevailing takes on the narrative. At face value, the story is about a young poet from Kansas, Adam Gordon, living in Madrid on a literary fellowship during the 2004 terrorist bombings. Afflicted with imposter syndrome, Adam, fearing he’s nothing more than his “face value,” obsessively broods over his authenticity as a person and a poet.

Adam Gordon narrates his year living in Madrid with an equivocation that results from non-stop self-medication, a loose grasp of the Spanish language, and his conviction that language can only imperfectly convey reality. Doubts that he (or anyone) can experience reality directly, without any mediation, foster his abiding sense that he’s a fake. His belief in “the incommensurability of language and experience” and that experience is always preconceived, never purely itself, leaves him in a state of alienation and insecurity.

This is where readers find Adam when the novel opens. After receiving a prestigious scholarship to research the literary legacy of the Spanish Civil War, he has installed himself in a small apartment in Madrid. Although entirely uninterested in his project, Adam develops a routine that he calls the “first phase” of his research. He begins each day with a dose of espresso, marijuana, and prescription pills (for anxiety), then packs his books and goes to the Prado museum.



Adam’s only objective at the museum is to stand before Roger Van der Weyden’s Descent from the Cross. His pilgrimage to the painting anchors his morning ritual, but then a “turning point” occurs. He enters the gallery only to see another man standing in his spot, and he briefly thinks he’s looking at himself looking at Descent. The man startles Adam by bursting into tears. This emotional display prompts Adam to wonder if the man is having “a profound experience of art,” something Adam himself has never had and suspects he’s incapable of.

Adam trails the man through the museum. In each room, he stops before a painting and starts sobbing again. At this point, several museum guards have joined Adam’s surveillance mission, and they glance uncomfortably at one another. Is the man having “a profound experience of art,” and thus fulfilling the purpose of the museum, or is he mentally unstable and an imminent threat to the paintings? Observing the guards’ indecision as to their appropriate course of action, Adam admits he finds “their performance of these tensions more moving than any Pietá” or other treasured painting. Ultimately, the man collects himself and leaves the museum.

While Adam remains mostly solitary, deliberately distancing himself from fellow American students, he spends weekends during his first phase camping with his Spanish tutor Jorge and Jorge’s friends. The Spanish camping contingent refers to Adam as “El Poeta,” and although he sits by the campfire and smokes weed with them, he rarely talks. Because his limited understanding of Spanish prevents him from following their conversation, Adam simply smiles a lot, hoping to imply his engagement with the chatter.



His pretense fails him one evening when Jorge’s friend Isabel tells a story. Adam, who is very high, spaces out with the habitual smile on his face. Noticing Adam’s amused countenance, several campers shout at him. Clearly, Isabel had been sharing something tragic, as tears drench her cheeks. Adam gets punched for his inopportune smile. Realizing his offense, he smears blood from the blow around his face to elicit Isabel’s sympathy.

It works. They talk privately, and Isabel, speaking Spanish, repeats her sad story. It centers on a house, or buying a car, or crashing a car. In Adam’s uncertain translation of her words, meanings proliferate. Such semantic richness intrigues Adam, and he notes that the “ability to dwell among possible referents […] while listening to Spanish – this was a breakthrough in [his] project.” It’s also the beginning of his romance with Isabel.

Adam strikes up a friendship with Arturo, a gallery owner, thereby ascending to the hip, cultured circles of Madrid society. He feels very out-classed and inadequate, fearful they’ll perceive he’s not a poet but an imposter.  When Adam meets Arturo’s beautiful sister Teresa, his self-doubt escalates, and he impulsively tells her that his mother is dead. This is a lie, but it creates the desired effect: Teresa softens toward him, shares her own sorrows, and they feel a connection. (The lie is such a success, Adam repeats it to Isabel.) Adam and Teresa, a poet herself, establish an affectionate working relationship, but Adam pines for more.



Adam’s sense that he’s a fraud intensifies as he fails to accomplish anything on his project while producing poems that are essentially creative translations of Federico Garcia Lorca’s verse. Increasingly, he depends on silence and lies to compensate for his self-perceived deficiencies in depth and intrigue. With Isabel, he exploits his bad Spanish, allowing her to assign “a plurality of possible profound meanings,” to his enigmatic sentence fragments. Moreover, when a friend in Mexico relays via instant messenger the details of a drowning he witnessed, Adam appropriates the experience, passing it off as his own.

Then, Adam wanders into the immediate aftermath of the bombing at Madrid’s Atocha train station and, ironically, flees the direct experience, choosing to watch the event unfold on a computer in his nearby apartment. He later tags along with Teresa to a protest against the government response to the terrorist attack, but, failing to muster the passion other protesters express, he leaves.

Adam’s Lorca-inspired poems win admiration, despite his doubts that he – or poetry itself – is meaningful. When he still questions his talent, Teresa insists, “Adam, you are a wonderful poet,” and he’s forced to admit, “Maybe only my fraudulence was fraudulent.” The novel ends as he prepares to read his poems at a party to launch his freshly published collection.



The title of Lerner’s novel links it to a John Ashbery poem of the same name. Pondering Ashbery’s work, Adam concludes that Ashbery’s best poems describe the experience of reading his poems. This insight relates to the novel’s themes of alienation and authenticity. Adam despairs that experience is always mediated, and so inauthentic, but his meditations on experience are authentic. Although he disputes any profound experience of art, Adam ultimately achieves, in Ashbery’s words, a profound “experience of experience.”