before night falls (reinaldo arenas)

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. 

the doorman [reinaldo arenas]

​

​

A long, long time ago, New York felt like it had to be the centre of the universe.
On both a political and personal level. Even though I’d never been there.
It was culturally dominant. The films, Scorsese, Allen, natch, and a whole
lot more besides. The music, The Velvets, Dylan, Lou Reed, Laurie Anderson
and what the kids now call post-punk. Blondie, Richard Hell, Johnny Thunders,
all that jazz. The art. Warhol, Basquiat, Schnabel. The club scene, which to
the ears of a curious youth sounded like the apogee of a new Roman Empire
(And from subsequent accounts it probably was.) The literature.
Interesting to note that this periodemerged before NY became ‘gentrified’ to the
extent that it supposedly has today. When there were still no-go areas. Also
interesting to note the role that a type like Kushner has occupied in this
cleansing of the city. Kushner, the mini-me Trump, the bruiser who will also
have played his part in the process of remodelling it as a sanitised, deracinated
environment which has little to do with its earlier incarnation.

The literature was spearheaded at that time, by Tom Wolfe’s Bonfire of the
Vanities. A vast book which we read with avid expectation. One of those
books which is no longer in fashion, but, in its moment, felt as though it
defined the shape of the world.

The first half of Arenas’ novel, which is a profoundly New York novel,
reminded me of Bonfire of the Vanities. Its premise is the travails of a
spiritual doorman in a high-end NY block of flats, and his interactions
with the residents, who seduce him, abuse him and ignore him. The
clash of cultures, which made the city seem so vital, is present in
spades. Juan, the doorman, is the beautiful immigrant ingenue, the
type who will go on to help construct the city. Although many of the
characters have a Cuban connection - Juan is a recently arrived Cuban
immigrant, others have been there longer or have more tenuous links to
the old country, Arenas succeeds in keeping this theme and his personal
issues regarding Castro’s regime in the background. In the foreground
is the satirical vision of the city.

At least for the first half of the book. The second half veers off into
the realm of metaphorical fable. Perhaps, it could be argued by the
PhD student that this fable, which involves a biblical exodus of the
rich owners’ pets, presages the way in which the city would be stripped
of its vibrant, animal life over decades to come. Although, as is the
way with metaphorical fables, it could be read in many other ways.
Needless to say, Arenas’ novel is something of a tale of two halves,
and the first Wolfeian half is the one that engaged this reader more
effectively than the second. The Doorman is one of those books which
is perhaps more interesting for the position it takes up within a cannon
than the text itself, but its a fine example of the author’s Swiftian aesthetic,
capable of mixing extreme satire with what might pass for a children’s book.