El autor escribe sobre su vida, de cómo siendo niño, su familia no comprende su afición a las letras y su necesidad imperiosa de escribir y de desarrollar un rico y mágico mundo interior que lo ayuden a sobrellevar su triste y pobre realidad.

«Creo que la época más fecunda de mi creación fue la infancia.(. . .) Aunque en la casa había siempre mucha gente, para llenar aquella soledad tan profunda que sentía en medio del ruido, poblé todo aquel campo de personajes y apariciones casi míticos y sobrenaturales.» Estas palabras de Reinaldo Arenas, escritas en otro lugar, nos dicen que Celestino, el niño de esta historia, no es otro que su alma gemela. Para Celestino, su casa también es un endiablado enjambre; tampoco su madre y sus abuelos entienden por qué no cesa de escribir por todas partes, hasta en las hojas de los árboles; a él también le gritan y amenazan mientras se hostigan entre sí. No en vano, cuando el narrador se asoma al pozo de la casa, ve reflejado a Celestino; tampoco es de extrañar que éste, como el narrador, pueble su mundo de fantasmagóricos espíritus, seres y hechos extraordinarios, que habitan también sus escritos, refugio de su insufrible pobre realidad.

1993 Santi

It's hard to know what to say about this novel. On one hand, it was a deeply engaging novel about a boy, his cousin Celestino, his mother, his Grandma, and his Grandpa. On the other hand, it was a story that I didn't quite understand but felt compelled to read to completion. The story, as much of it as I undestood, was about a boy in Cuba who was brought to live with his grandparents because his mom had no husband. His cousin Celestino, whose own mother was no longer alive, was dropped off into this household as well because Celestino's father no longer wanted him. The family was very poor, subsisting on corn, eggs, plaintains, wild pineapples, star apples, roasted pig for Christmas, and water brought from the river and stored in a crock. Their house with a thatched roof was in constant disrepair and always at the verge of falling down.

That was the simple version of the story. In the real story, there are elves and witches and the characters constantly die and come back to life. Despite not being able to tell reality from what was surreal, I found most of the narrative mesmerizing except for the last quarter of the book which was written in the style of a play.

This is a book which was the first book of a quintet called the Pentagonia. As difficult as this story was for me to grasp, I was fascinated by the lyrical writing of Reinaldo Arenas, who was a Cuban dissident who later lived in exile and who died of AIDS at the age of 47 in New York City. I would like to read more of Arenas' work, especially Before NIght Falls, his autobiography. ( )

Fantastically surreal this book jumps from factual descriptions to complete fantasy from one word to the next and paints an amazing picture of a child's difficult upbringing in Cuba, where the only release is to escape from reality. ( )