Padura’s Expanded Portrait of Havana, Brotherhood, and Diaspora

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Padura’s latest novel invites a long, reflective journey into Havana and the Cuban diaspora

This reader recently revisited a beloved author before picking up a new work. The journey began with Como polvo en el viento (Tusquets, 2020), a title that reinforced the impression that this author consistently delivers a rich, satisfying reading experience. The perspective offered by Padura—rooted in Cuban life yet deeply aware of the diaspora—adds a layer of depth that resonates with anyone who loves character driven storytelling. Readers will sense the warmth, honesty, and quiet intensity that make his narratives deeply memorable. The characters feel both universal and intimately particular, and the writing rewards careful attention to detail and emotion alike.

The novel centers on a close group of Cuban friends living in Havana during the year 1980. The core trio includes Clara and Darío, along with Irving and his partner Joel, and is joined by Horace, Bernardo, Elisa, and Walter. In what Padura calls a time of change, the era is described as the Special Period in Times of Peace, a phrase that signals the Soviet Union’s withdrawal of support and the ensuing hardships for many families. The story traces the lives of these friends as they navigate a country facing upheaval and a diaspora that spreads to Barcelona, Madrid, Florida, Puerto Rico, and New York. The sense of life being scattered, like dust in the wind, echoes the famous Kansas song Dust in the Wind, and the image becomes a powerful motif throughout the narrative.

While watching the lives of the clan unfold, the reader is reminded of a real-life anecdote from the Cuban Language Academy about the taxi driver in Havana who was informally adopted by the group. He had a wife who was an engineer and spoke candidly about leaving a profession that paid less than the freedom and opportunities found in driving a taxi. He himself admitted that money offered a different kind of stability, and his conversations about Spanish television shows and the phenomenon known as El paquete—an elaborate weekly cache of broadcasts—sound like scenes lifted from Padura’s pages. Those stories, brought to life with precise detail, highlight a truth the author captures: many chose to leave Cuba because the country felt broken, and the old solutions no longer worked. In his telling, the city itself seems to tilt toward collapse, with many buildings supported only by makeshift means, a reality that adds gravity to the tale. The narrative makes clear that those who left did so with a mix of sorrow and resolve, and the effect of their exodus ripples through the lives described in the book.

The novel is organized into ten chapters, and Padura’s control of time and character is evident from the first page. Time unfolds in non linear fashion, with deliberate leaps that shape the way each figure is revealed. The storytelling avoids the stumbles of overt serialization and minimizes convenient coincidences, lending a measured distance that many readers associate with enduring literary works rather than straightforward chronicles. Across the pages, readers feel excitement, anger, understanding, justification, and sometimes forgiveness as the relationships and pasts are unveiled and re interpreted in light of new knowledge.

So why read this novel? The answer lies in its deliberate pace and emotional honesty. The prose invites a slow, immersive experience that blends personal action with sincere emotion. The writing carries a literary patina that deepens the impact of each moment, and the theme of Brotherhood emerges as a central thread. This sense of kinship, shared history, and mutual support becomes the book’s enduring value, a reminder that human ties can endure even when circumstances push people apart. In the end, the story circles back to the idea that some connections, even when scattered to the far corners of the map, remain integral to who we are. The lingering impression is that friendship and fidelity endure, like dust in the wind, yet not without leaving a lasting mark on those who tell and hear the tale.

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