Padura: dressage lessons

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Are there decent people in Cuba? There is, but cynicism has become a way of life, it is pure practice not to say what you think; moreover, surviving in Cuba forces us to forget the morals of decency. This reflection is opened by reading Well-Being. Leonardo Padura He returns to the detective and social novel from the hands of the recurring Mario Conde, demonstrating and reinforcing his status as a great novelist with a master story.

In Cuba, as in many other places, there is a long tradition of political dictators, corrupt and tyrants, “big sons of bitches”, before respectable people trying to survive. used to sing in his own language, director Mario Conde; politicians who have also lost their shame and shamelessly try to deceive themselves into believing they are stupid.

Loves historical plots and going back in time, Padura presents a two story story, both completely Cuban of course. One in 2016, the other in 1910, when comet Haley threatened to destroy the world; The second is narrated by Arturo Saborit, a police inspector who starts out as a decent person and eventually becomes involved in the corruption plot of Havana’s “zone of tolerance” prostitution boss Alberto Yarini, whose story he plans to turn into a novel. .

The topic today is different, but similar to that of 1910. In 2016 Cuba was a party, an invitation to the Cuban dream if Hemingway lived. A short time later, the visit of US President Barack Obama coincides with the concert of the Rolling Stones, one of the bands that had been banned on the island until then, and the fashion show of the Chanel brand embodying the most imperialist glamor. . Other characters also appear that were then impossible in Cuba, such as Rihana or the Kardashian sisters.

The whole pure Cuban dream is that Obama would come and a lot of guys with dollars and maybe “they will lift the blockade and we’ll be free from backwardness.” Havana is crazy. Havana dreams.

Leonardo Padura Decent people Tusquets 22.90 Euro

But then the dance begins. In the 1960s and 1970s, Reynaldo Quevedo, the great interrogator of Cuban culture and “a certified son of a… son” who served in the name of ideological purity, was assassinated and mutilated.

Overwhelmed by the scene of celebrity visits, the Police turn to Mario Conde for help. The ex-detective, now in his sixties, but forever keeping his chronic skepticism and brotherly circle of friends, accepts and starts an investigation that is at times complicated by the appearance of other bodies and the pressure to solve the case urgently. demanded by events on the island.

Well-crafted, excellent for its entertaining ability, the detective novel simultaneously weaves another plot of massive political and social atrocities, where Padura puts the state of social degradation black on white, this time taking on more risks than other stories. Cubans are deprived of almost everything, trapped in endless despair, condemned to immorality in order to survive. Padura is not the suicidal person who uses the net to jump with some safety, like trapeze artists. In this case, this network is the other liberal Cuba of 1910, where political and social corruption already reigns in the highest strata of society and in the lowest strata of misery.

Leonardo Padura softened a powerful voice to spread the frustrations of a generation whose hopes for a better future were pinned on Castro’s Cuban revolution, shattered like waves crashing on the sidewalks of Havana long ago.

Modern-day literature sees Padura as our man in Havana, and like Graham Greene, he used detective novels and detective Mario Conde to portray Cuban reality.

Padura insists on not abandoning that detective who moved with him through time and allowed him to reflect on Cuban reality. A detective whose creator wants less and less cops and more social, which leads him to the tremendous challenge of writing a cop novel with almost no cops. But the reader will meet a 15-year-old Count who is more mature, more sensitive, and fears the injuries that seem inevitable in this unlucky Cuba.

Rereading Leonardo Padura, this time with Good People, means rediscovering a narrator with historical depth and a brilliant treatment of characters; Depositions of Caribbean and universal tradition.

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