La noche insular y urbana, habanera, es el protagonista de la novela y todas las noches quieren fundirse o se funden en la sola, larga noche del libro, que al final comienza a amanecer, lenta y reveladora. Y aunque Tres tristes tigres (el título viene de un trabalenguas infantil cubano) semeja una colección de camafeos (no de retratos) de Dorian Gray, sus personajes no son estos hombres y mujeres, ni siquiera las "desventuras de unos pocos" en los que vio "una historia, el mito". Sus héroes son la nostalgia, la literatura, la ciudad, la música y la noche y, a veces, esa forma actual de arte que parece reunirlas en una sola cosa: el cine. El único villano es la traición, pero no el delito humano, comprendido y perdonado, sino ese fatal crimen de lesa literatura que es la traducción y el libro termina en realidad con una inscripción doblemente dantesca: la palabra tradittori escrita en el sueño.

Nothing to see here people. Move along.

At least, if you’ve read any Sterne (1759) or later Joyce or Tristram Shandy or Ulysses (1904) in particular, you will find all this (1967) has been done long, long before, and it will start to pale on you very shortly after you begin the novel.

Worse, though, is that it hails from Latin America, an area of the world I’ve long had no literary inspiration from, with one minor exception. That only compounded my misery.

In fact, I’m betting the only reason it’s on the 1001 books list is its Cuban origin, as if to say, “Look, they finally figured out how to write copy crazy stuff over there, too.” ( )

I was dizzy and short of breath when I finally saw this on the shelves at Twice-Told back in my Boom days. My vertigo may have been induced by the fact that I lived on espresso and spent all food money on books and cds. Those were strange times of death-trap automobiles and working two full-time jobs to remain poor but literate.

The friendship displayed in the Three Trapped Tigers was beyond moving. The erudition itself was arresting but the emotional bond within the text captured me. I have felt those sinuous bonds throughout my life but this was a confirmation, especially at such a vulnerable juncture. One's youth is so vulnerable, later it becomes simply debatable. ( )

A picaresque trawl through the bars and clubs of pre-revolutionary Havana. It's La Dolce Vita in Latin America, a whirligig of language, jokes, anagrams and puns - it's a humid Cuban fever dream of sex and jazz. ( )

The book is indescribable. The back jacket says something along the lines of it being a Cuban Ulysses. It's not really a book you can read; it's more of a book that you sink into and let the words swirl around you. I enjoyed much of it, was confounded by even more, and it's LONG. Reading it is a commitment. ( )