FHB interviews DOLORES PAYÁS
Dolores Payás has presented her latest “literary artefact” at the Fundación Hispano Británica. The novel, titled Ultimate Love, tells the story of a passionate relationship between two seniors: he – English, she – Spanish, and raises several questions that will not leave readers indifferent. Speaking from Hawthornden Castle, a Scottish retreat for writers in need of silence and peace, the author offers some reflections and poses a few challenges. Is passionate love viable in old age? Or is it better to opt for a companionship that involves less risk? And if we decide to take the gamble, where and with whom? English gentleman versus Latin lover?
FHB Y DOLORES PAYÁS
(Translated by VICKY ASCORVE HARPER)
April 2025
What is the plot of Ultimate Love, your latest novel?
Ultimate Love is the chronicle of a highly unusual love affair. A fiery romance between a worn-out country aristocrat from northern England and a very working-class translator from Cádiz would be rare enough on its own. Add to that the fact that together they’re 131 years old, and we’re firmly in the realm of extravagance—and recklessness. Supposedly, wild passions, turbulent emotions, and out-of-control hormones are the stuff of youth, not something we expect from our elders, from whom we expect prudence, calm, realism. But we’re very wrong. Romantic love lurks around every corner of life—for the simple reason that it is fiercely subjective, built from intimate obsessions and personal pathologies, the sediments of personality that stay with us until the end of our days.
To wrap up this little summary, I would say that, despite its madness, potholes, and erectile dysfunctions, Ultimate Love is a redemptive and joyful story—and in its own peculiar way, also a sublime one. Redemptive because the main characters pursue their dreams against all odds. Joyful because they laugh and enjoy themselves like crazy along the way. And sublime, because romantic passion, wherever it appears, always carries a hint of the epic. Age doesn’t matter. As long as we have a breath of life, love will continue to be the most powerful force in our existence.
Isn’t it anachronistic to publish a romantic novel nowadays?
I don’t really like categorising literary artefacts, because doing so somehow reduces their scope. But let’s say yes, UL is a romantic novel. And as such, it could be considered anachronistic, since all love stories, every kind imaginable, have already been told. But in literature, what matters isn’t the “what” but the “how.” The author’s personal voice, how they tell their story. We live in a time of great confusion where collective emotions swing between savage cynicism on one hand and nauseating sentimentality on the other. In this context telling a story of passionate love in old age – without sensationalism or morbidity, but instead with truth, dignity, humor, and respect- could almost be considered the height of modernity. Oh, and definitely no soppiness. Love in old age is a blessing and a wonder, and it has nothing to do with Disney-style silliness.
Is love through written correspondence just something for novels?
Oh, no. Written words as a vehicle for love have been a constant throughout history. What changes is the form or medium. Lovers in real life have always found ways to correspond and connect from afar. Messenger pigeons or mailbags carried on stagecoaches or bicycles now take the form of WhatsApp or email. But the essence is the same: I love you, I want you, and again: love is the most repetitive thing ever (ha). Written words have one unbeatable quality—they stay with us. We can read them again and again. How many times have we reread a love letter or a message? Spoken words, on the other hand, vanish with the wind.
There’s a dating website in the novel. What do you think of them?
I have many reservations. I acknowledge that they’re practical tools, especially at an age when going out to prowl the bars is no longer appealing or when you live somewhere where it’s hard to meet new people. But they’re dehumanising and cruel per se. The fact that someone can be dismissed, or dismiss you, so lightly based on a few superficial traits is brutal. And then there’s the emotional buying and selling, choosing human beings like products on a shelf. The whole concept is savage. But we live in savage times. That said, I know people who have been successful with it. So…
We’re living longer, but love in old age is still barely discussed. Why?
Good question. You’ve uncovered a paradox that’s not really a paradox – it’s a trap, and a pretty twisted one at that. Let me explain. We’re constantly bombarded by messages that as we age, we should stay active, vibrant, and fit, never letting our guard down. This especially applies to women. The general idea is that men, like good wine, get better with age, while we tend to sour, if not worse. So, we’re expected to make huge efforts, particularly regarding physical appearance. We’re told age is just a number, that seventy is the new forty, eighty the new fifty, and so on. And to help us embrace this perpetual cheerfulness, the market offers a whole arsenal of products. Admirable. How much they care about us, how much they pamper us.
In short, beneath a veneer of understanding and sympathy, we’re actually under immense pressure to pretend we’re not aging. Old age has stopped being a natural stage of life (like childhood or adolescence) and instead of being a wonderful victory over time, it’s now seen as something shameful to be hidden. We’re expected to freeze at fifty and stay there until, well, it’s time for the grave. To put it bluntly, we’re being denied a stage of life that’s beautiful, free, and fulfilling. So how can love in old age be taken seriously when we can’t even confidently proclaim that we are aging?
Is it difficult to find love at a certain age?
It is, but not for the reasons people think. I believe the difficulty isn’t so much in finding love, but in making it work, even for the short or medium term. We have long, complex life stories, our worlds are already well-established, and there’s little room to grow together like younger couples do. That means chemistry and understanding have to arise naturally, there must be a harmony from the start. Also, our standards are higher. We’re not willing to settle. We want quality relationships.
English gentleman or Latin lover?
Generally speaking, and in terms of behavior, English men tend to be less sexist than Latin ones. The reason is historical: their mothers and grandmothers were already independent, liberated women. In English schools they study the women’s suffrage movement – a great way to teach boys to respect and value women from an early age. This carries over into everyday life, and certainly into the bedroom and sexual relationships. The Latin lover might be more passionate and fiery, sure, but my English gentleman is genuinely interested in his partner’s pleasure. He explores her body, figures out how to make her happy in bed. And that is priceless, especially at a certain age. Voluptuousness and a slower tempo are privileges of seniors—something intelligent men understand and take seriously. A win for us women.
What was the starting point for Ultimate Love?
I’d been wanting to tackle the subject for years, but I wasn’t sure how I wanted to talk about love, or what kind of love, or at what stage of life. A personal experience sparked it (although let me be clear: Ultimate Love is fiction). I started reflecting. Juliet was thirteen, Romeo barely older. Dying for love isn’t impressive – it’s just hormones in overdrive. Pure chemistry; they didn’t have to put in much effort. But what happens when the hormones are gone? Are we still capable of loving with the same intensity? (No need to die, of course.) And I say yes—definitely, yes. I show that in this novel, where the two protagonists manage to love like wild teenagers, but going against the current, without the boost of biology. Because in people of worth and intelligence, Eros lives in the brain. Any active, imaginative mind can conjure desire through fantasy and creativity alone.
I also wanted to reclaim passion as a realm without age limits. After the reproductive and child-rearing years, love no longer serves a practical function—it becomes an end in itself. To enjoy and be enjoyed. Nothing more. Love in old age is pure magic. A bonus life gives us, and gifts should be accepted with generosity, without fuss.
Why an English title?
Book titles are always a headache, and this one was no exception. My editor, my agents, and I nearly lost our minds. The general idea is that a title should reflect what readers will find inside. But we couldn’t find the right words in Spanish. We considered Romance, but it was too vague. Último Amor didn’t work either – because in romantic love there’s no such thing as “last love.” Romantic love addicts are always hoping the next one will be “the one.” That’s when we hit on the word Ultimate – which doesn’t have a precise translation in Spanish. “Ultimate” means the absolute best, the final word, the pinnacle. After considering it, we took the risk of using the English title. Since much of the novel takes place in England and the male protagonist is English, we hope readers will forgive us this little affectation.
You define yourself as an irredeemable Anglophile in literature. Why?
England is my literary homeland, a choice that began unconsciously in childhood and that I’ve nurtured over the years as a reader, writer, and translator. I was a voracious reader from a very young age, and our family library had shelves full of British books for young readers, by both male and female authors. My first great literary love was William Brown (Richmal Crompton)—I still adore him. He’s the funniest and most anarchic hero in all of children’s literature. Then came many others, of course. Over time, my command of English improved, so I could read in the original, which is an immense pleasure. English—along with Spanish—is my favorite language. It’s a fascinating language, full of tricky twists and irrational quirks, and nearly impossible to pronounce. Translating it is always a major challenge (Dickens, for example, was my latest project). And I thrive on challenges.
We’ve heard you’re headed to Scotland for a sort of literary/spiritual retreat. Can you tell us about it?
I’m radically Aristotelian—I never use the word “spiritual.” But yes, I’m off on a literary retreat. Actually, I’m already here. A foundation, set up by a benefactor who has a soft spot for writers, has awarded me a fellowship to live for a month in a Scottish castle with four other writers, all as crazy as I am. We’ll be spending an entire month under the same roof, writing in near-monastic conditions. Communal breakfast, whisky by the fireplace, dinner. The rest of the time: silence, work, and walks, if you like. The rooms are named after writers, and they leave a basket with lunch at the door each day. The castle is old and beautiful, and the surroundings are breathtaking (talk about romanticism…). I’ve only been here a few days, but I already know—without a doubt—that this is going to be an unforgettable experience. Like living inside a dream. My idea of heaven. And of happiness!
