Cuba is a recurring fever dream in the western imagination. At once an unimpeachable ideal and a communist anathema. Arenas’ sad autobiography comes down firmly on the anti-Castro side, for reasons which the narrative makes clear, even if there is a wistfulness about the early childhood chapters which help to reinforce the idea of an island idyll. The book is more or less from the cradle to the grave. After his rural upbringing, Arenas briefly joins Castro’s cause, but soon finds himself considered an enemy, both for his homosexuality and his criticisms of the state, some of which appear in novels he manages to get published outside the country and the censor’s reach. The repression he receives as a gay writer, which leads to the harshest of imprisonments, also means that Arenas bears witness to the human rights abuses of the Castro regime. Throughout it all, Arenas never loses his lust for life or men and his hope to escape the island. He finally makes it out, reaching New York. Whilst enjoying a greater sense of personal liberty in the US, he is also shunned for his political views and soon realises that the grass may be greener on the other side, but there are still worms. The tragic Padilla is a recurring figure in Arenas’ story, and the way in which a whole generation of poets and writers was crushed is a key part of the book, although Arenas is sassy enough to realise that in the other world, writers are crushed by other forces, those of capital. There are always forces out to crush writers, there’s no getting away from them.
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