By Fabiola Santiago. Published Sunday, January 21, 2001, in
the Miami Herald
Dirty Havana Trilogy.
Pedro Juan Gutiérrez.
Translated by Natasha Wimmer.
Farrar Straus & Giroux. 416 pages.
$24.
Despite its allure as a piquant, if raunchy, literary experience, Dirty
Havana Trilogy is a sad book. Precariously strung together as stories, it is the
semi-autobiographical tale of Pedro Juan Gutiérrez's life as a
disenchanted ex-journalist who roams Havana in the early 1990s, hustling food
and spirits (not always in that order) during the worst economic stretch of the
island's history.
On these wretched streets, Pedro Juan -- namesake, protagonist and narrator
-- finds little nourishment but plenty of sex, and in this version of life in
the Cuban capital, this is the only abundant commodity. It's sold to tourists
for dollars and exchanged between natives at the slightest hint of desire in
return for a $1 hot dog or a tin bucket to sell.
This debut novel, originally published in Spain two years ago as Trilogía
sucia de La Habana, became one of the most talked-about books in Europe. Gutiérrez
has since published two more equally provocative novels.
This edition is a lively translation, despite some cultural references (such
as papi) which when translated ("daddy'') in a sexual context are
laughable. Likewise "Ay, mi hijo,'' which, no matter how hard one tries,
never quite compares to "Oh, child.'' There also are references to blacks
and gays that U.S. readers may find offensive.
The vulgarity is so prevalent -- and in context so necessary -- that it's
tough to find material appropriate to quote. But the novel is important for
those who value reality-based fiction for its portrayal of a society, crude as
this one is.
In anecdote after anecdote, Gutiérrez embroiders the portrait of a
hopeless people, almost soulless in their pursuit of survival. As Gutiérrez
did, Pedro Juan quits his job in the official press and cuts short his
journalistic career. "I always had to write as if stupid people were
reading me,'' he says.
Without employment, hopelessness and hunger loom powerfully. They drive
Pedro Juan from woman to woman, whether there's another man in the house or not.
He drinks "cheap kerosene-tasting rum'' on an empty stomach, and on some
nights sits on his rooftop apartment in a crumbling building along the Malecón
to contemplate a beautiful full moon over the Caribbean.
But such serene moments are rare. He's interrupted by a screaming neighbor
who ends up seducing him.
Gutiérrez uses the sexual act as a powerful metaphor for the stifling
oppression, and some of his graphic scenes are full of unfathomable
grotesqueness. His message seems to be: Cubans are constantly raped and ravished
by the system, by circumstances, by one another.
His characters are loaded with social commentary. One loathes and feels for
them at the same time. There's an old lover, an artist named Flavia who went off
to Spain and New York and sold her paintings for $1,000 each. She "toasted
with California wine'' and forgot all about her pact to live with Pedro Juan
forever.
After her return, Pedro Juan visits her on a whim. "She seemed more
relaxed,'' he notes. "After all, she had dollars, and dollars are a good
sedative.''
And there's Hortensia, an aging policewoman, a diehard Castro supporter who
was captain of state security, who lives in "a filthy mess'' without money,
food, water or soap and is "half-crazy.''
"Even squashed flatter than a cockroach, she was still bossy and
dictatorial as ever, which is why even her daughter avoided her. . . . Her
daughter said to me, 'I can't stand her, let me know when she dies,' '' Pedro
Juan says.
At one point, his lover is Luisa, a jinetera, a woman who hangs out with
tourists for money. Luisa has found a "twenty-four-karat-gold Spaniard''
who wants to take her with him to Asturias. Before leaving, she swings by Pedro
Juan's room to give him $10 she has stolen from the Spaniard.
"Oh, honey I miss you,'' she says.
Pedro Juan insults her: "If you missed me that much, you would have
given me more than just ten dollars. I'm about to starve to death.''
Pedro Juan does survive. Despite his machismo, his racist observations, his
sometimes pedantic portrayal of himself as a victim, he manages to remain
engaging and sympathetic. He's not unlike his creator, a complicated character
at times dissident, at times appearing as an opportunist who is part of the
system.
Whatever the case, Dirty Havana Trilogy is a courageous book from someone
who still lives on the island, a singular chronicle of the "dirty'' reality
of today's Cuban society. Gutiérrez's prose exudes the rage and
indignation of a native, and reading him is a memorable experience for those who
don't shy away from a little suffering with their literature.
Fabiola Santiago is a Herald feature writer.
Copyright 2001 Miami Herald
Dirty
Havana Trilogy
| 