The Journey

Trilogía de la memoria #2

by Sergio Pitol, Álvaro Enrigue (Introduction), George Henson (Translator)

The Journey features one of the world's master storytellers at work as he skillfully recounts two weeks of travel around the Soviet Union in 1986. From the first paragraph, Sergio Pitol dislocates the sense of reality, masterfully and playfully blurring the lines between fiction and fact.

This adventurous story, based on the author's own travel journals, parades through some of the territories that the author lived in and traveled through (Prague, the Caucasus, Moscow, Leningrad) as he reflects on the impact of Russia's sacred literary pantheon in his life and the power that literature holds over us all.

The Journey, the second work in Pitol's remarkable "Trilogy of Memory" (which Deep Vellum is publishing in its entirety), which won him the prestigious Cervantes Prize in 2005 and inspired the newest generation of Spanish-language writers, represents the perfect example of one of the world's greatest authors at the peak of his power.

Genres: Fiction, Travel, Literature, Russia, Literary Fiction, Latin American, Essays

192 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2000

About the author

Sergio Pitol Demeneghi was a prominent Mexican writer and diplomat. In 2005 he received the Cervantes Prize, the most prestigious literary award in the Spanish-speaking world.

Pitol studied law and literature and served in the Mexican foreign service at Rome, Belgrade, Warsaw, Paris, Beijing, Moscow, Budapest and Barcelona. He started publishing novels in the late 1960s.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

The journey of The Journey is Sergio Pitol’s trip to the Soviet Russia on the eve of great social changes.
He visits Russia on invitation from the Writers’ Union.
There is world literature…

The eccentric lends levity to the European novel from the eighteenth century to the present; in doing so, he breathes new life into it. In some novels, all the characters are eccentrics, and not only they, but the authors themselves. Laurence Sterne, Nikolai Gogol, the Irishmen Samuel Beckett and Flann O’Brien are exemplars of eccentricity, like each and every one of the characters in their books and thus the stories of those books. There are authors who would be impoverished without the participation of a copious cast of eccentrics: Jane Austen, Dickens, Galdós, Valle-Inclán, Gadda, Landolfi, Cortázar, Pombo, Tomeo, Vila-Matas. They can be tragic or comical, demonic or angelic, geniuses or dunces; the common denominator in them is the triumph of mania over one’s own will, to the extent that between them there is no visible border.

And there is Soviet literature… While there are already certain shifts in the intellectual consciousness and eddies in society and culture, at the top of the Writers’ Union there are hardly any ripples…

Forces are being dangerously radicalized. In some sectors, there’s a feeling of enthusiasm, at universities especially, among the intellectuals, but in others the resistance is stunning. The country could come to a halt with a general strike by the miners. A number of writers who during my time moved within the liberal sphere, in important positions, such as Valentin Rasputin, the Siberian, have become frightened by the pace of change; Rasputin believes that Western influence is excessive, and he has partnered with a despicable group. Like he, there are others who during the times of Khrushchev passed for liberals and are now the opposite.

Literary chieftains aren’t real writers… They are officious functionaries of the official literature… Their duty always was to trample on sprouts of originality and to weed out flowers of free thought… Nothing will make them change.
But there still is the underground literature… Literature of exile… And the grand Russian literature bequeathed to the future by the beginning of the twentieth century…

I have an urgent need to reread Andrei Bely’s Petersburg, perhaps the most important Russian novel of the century. Mann read it in his youth and that reading marked him forever. At that time he detested that the novel had not remained in Stendhal, Tolstoy, or Fontane. They were extraordinary, no one could doubt it, but he found in Bely an almost secret parodic form. The culminating scenes, the violent climaxes that abound in the story are bathed in a gentle sarcasm that almost nobody noticed at the time. He did, and he began to study the construction of situations that could combine pathos with caricature.

Literature is capable to be of value only if it doesn’t serve anyone but races ahead in the vanguard.

[Katia N · Rating 5 out of 5]

I've written a detailed review of the first volume of this trilogy. So this would be brief. Here, Pitol reveals his sense of humour for the first time. Here he becomes almost Rablesian and shows how a basic bodily function could sway the mind into many unpredictable directions. He travels to Russia and then to Georgia. It is amazing how many serendipitous connections exit in the world and especially the world of books. I was reading a bit about Georgia and its history recently (Edge of Empires: A History of Georgia) inspired by the modern family saga The Eighth Life. So i was pleasantly surprised by him making that far. He arrives there in 1986 just before the time everything has gone upside down in the region. Another connection is Marina Tsvetaeva. She is a superb Russian poetess of the 20th century with very difficult life story. I was just talking another day with my good friend here that I plan to read her diaries. Pitol has provided me with the fantastic essay about her to start with.

This is wonderfully composed shorter part and there is lot to enjoy in it. Oh, and my advice - there is an introductory article by Alvaro Enrique. I really recommend to read it after the book. It is a good one, but it reveals too much from the book's structure and events in it.

[Alberto Delgado · Rating 4 out of 5]

Otra nueva joya del escritor mexicano en esta segunda entrega de la trilogía de la memoria. Aquí nos trasladamos al momento histórico del fin de la unión soviética y Pitol durante su viaje nos describe mejor que cualquier libro de historia como era esa sociedad y como vivían los cambios radicales en su forma de vida tras décadas de control férreo de la dictadura comunista. Todo ello aliñado con sus grandes conocimientos de la cultura rusa.

[Jonfaith · Rating 3 out of 5]

Not wanting to be harsh but the construction of this hybrid text grated on me as did the supercilious tone. The author was the Mexican cultural ambassador to both the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia in the 1980s. This is the middle volume of trilogy of memoir/literary criticism. He becomes aware of a cultural thaw in the Republic of Georgia only to succumb to a barrel of almost black wine. His dreams filter the hopeful insecurity of the time. Perhaps as a counter weight to his patrician detail is an indulgence for excremental punchline.

Pitol did make me want to return to Tsvetaeva. His portrait of the poet was gripping and thus I’ll continue with the other books.

[ReemK10 (Paper Pills) · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Journey can only be read as an ode to Russia, a country steeped in literature! This is really a love letter to all that is Russian literature.

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sergio Pitol's The Journey takes a Mexican literary figure through Czechoslovakia, Russia, and Soviet Georgia during Mikhail Gorbachev's era of Perestroika. As this is the first book I have read by the author (and, I promise, not the last!), I had a hard time classifying it. It is so unusual to see a Mexican author traveling around Eastern Europe -- though not so unusual when you consider that throughout Latin America, many ambassadors are literary figures.

There are little pieces about Marina Tsvetaeva, one of my favorite Russian poets, who committed suicide in 1941. Many other writers are cited, such that I will have to take copious notes, highly suspecting that Senor Pitol is sending me to some interesting places and people.

[Paromita · Rating 3 out of 5]

This installment was disappointing. The focus was much narrower (which is fine by itself), the literary references continued but the elegance was missing so it felt like name-dropping.
The good part was learning about Marina Tsvetaeva through this book. But otherwise, an inconsistent installment that didn't leave motivation to complete the final book in the trilogy.

[Oscar Calva · Rating 5 out of 5]

La segunda de tres obras que componen el tríptico de la memoria junto con El Arte de la Fuga y El Mago de Viena, y la más breve de las tres. La memoria, los recuerdos y las experiencias pasadas constituyen el hilo conductor de estas tres obras, y en el caso de El Viaje, estas memorias se presentan en la forma de un diario de viaje a la antigua Unión Soviética de finales del siglo XX en plena Perestroika cuando Pitol es invitado como conferencista siendo miembro del cuerpo diplomático en Checoslovaquia.

Como una mera crónica de viaje, el libro podría resultar suficientemente interesante como para ameritar una buena lectura, pero lo que Pitol consigue en este librito breve de apenas unas 140 páginas va mucho más allá de un simple relato de eventos y experiencias. En El Viaje, Pitol brinca alegremente entre géneros y estilos literarios sin el menor esfuerzo, saltando entre la crónica, el ensayo y la novela/ficción de una manera tan homogénea y fluida que es apenas perceptible para el lector; tomando como pretexto el diario de viaje, Pitol construye una obra, parcialmente (o totalmente) ficticia donde se coloca como protagonista, narrador en primera persona y observador omnipresente de la trama que nos está contando, y donde de manera muy sutil intercala algunos ejercicios ensayísticos de corte sociopolítico en forma de críticas al régimen soviético, y al status quo cultural, así como un recorrido amplio de la literatura rusa abarcando opiniones y matices sobre todos los grandes (Tolstoi, Dostoievsky, Gogol, Chéjov, Pasternak, Solzhenitsyn, et.al.)

[Justin Evans · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had a hard time getting through the first volume of this trilogy, but took the chance to jump right into the second one, and I'm glad I did. This is much more unified, much easier to get through, and maintains the high qualities of the first volume (lovely prose--well translated--and intelligence). But it's mostly interesting for the form. I'm not sure this justifies the adoration the blurbs ooze, but it does justify moving on to the final volume.

[Felipe · Rating 5 out of 5]

Me permitió cumplir, aunque sea desde mi cuarto y durante unas cuatro horas, mi viaje soñado. Rusia será siempre mi patria del espirítu.

Ante la crueldad de siglos y una historia implacable, frente al robot contemporáneo lo único que les queda es el alma. Y en el alma del ruso incluyo su energía, su identificación con la naturaleza y la excentricidad. El logro de ser uno mismo sin depender gran cosa de los demás, deslizarse por ese camino hasta donde sea posible, sencillamente dejarse llevar. Las preocupaciones del excéntrico son diferentes a las de los demás, sus gestos tienden a la diferenciación, a la autonomía hasta donde sea posible de un entorno pesadamente gregario. Su mundo real es el interior.

Me emociona y me sorprende siempre la asimilación de Rusia con el cuerpo de Dios.

Mendigos, visionarios, indigentes, peregrinos, plañideras, santones, lisiados, trotamunodos, adivinos, profetas, imbéciles, dementes, mentecatos, inocentes, todos ellos formaban las variantes obligadas de la vida cotidiana de la Santa Rusia...

o c h o

[carson · Rating 3 out of 5]

*read for class
- the goldfish
- ivan: the russian boy

[Nohemí · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lo tenía que leer por Marina Tsvetaeva y la anécdota de Ivan, niño ruso me conmovió. Me costó un poco leerlo porque el narrador protagonista es achacoso y rutinario pero al final lo amé.

[Joe Kraus · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’m glad I read the introduction to this – written by George Henson – because otherwise I’d really have been lost. Henson argues that we should read Pitol as someone who (and I paraphrase) lives in text. He’s not writing a conventional memoir, nor a conventional novel. This is a book that simply moves forward in a space we may never have realized was a literary space.

In practice, that means Pitol is writing the story of his visit to the former Soviet Republic of Georgia, but that his actual journey is only a frame for him to excavate his memories and his thoughts on other writers. It’s hard sometimes to tell where his dreams end and his opinions begin, and then there’s the deeper question of what he’s seeing and experiencing during his Georgian visit.

I don’t know Pitol’s other work (a friend gave me this one to read), but I understand that he’s one of Mexico’s major literary figures. On the plus side, then, it’s striking to see how he finds affinities with Eastern European figures that have no reference to the U.S. perspective I generally take for granted. I’m happy to overhear him speaking with Georgian officials, and it’s a comfortable reminder that there are times I – as a U.S. reader and thinker – should just be quiet and listen.

I do have two larger concerns, though. On the one hand, this has a whiff of the deep excavation of self that has irritated me above all in David Foster Wallace but that I’ve been troubled by in Karl Ove Knausgard and even Elena Ferrante. Maybe I’ve missed some essential 21st Century aesthetic move, but I still value craft, and, for me at least, the central job of such craft is to focus an account. There’s a sloppiness of form to all these generally acclaimed writers. They boast the chance to live within the interesting mind of an other, but I find it overwhelming and distracting. I want to know what the central story is rather than to be subject to the changing whims of my narrator.

In other words, I think authors have a responsibility to exclude much of what they might otherwise choose to put in. Craft dictates that we cut out things that don’t fit or, more imposingly, that we find the form that can accommodate such movement. I love ideas that clash with the main argument; I’m troubled here and elsewhere when I feel as if I’m being asked to accept a complete change of gears.

On the other hand, I am intrigued by the play of Pitol’s mind, and I’d be interested to see what he might do in a form that called on him to work more with narrative. There’s a peculiar moment in the chapter dated “30 May” when he interrupts his descriptions of meals with various Georgians to write, “My approach to all these activities is real, but there also lives in me the project of the novel of the lower bodily stratum. I long to get to Prague [where he’s been living], to the shelf where Bakhtin’s book…is located.”

In other words, in the middle of this strangely formed book, we get the writer telling us he’s more interested in a book he’s hoping to write.

I can conceive of an argument that privileges such an approach to literature. I can see how some people would prefer the raw materials of a project to the potential project itself. I guess I can see how some would praise what I might call a deconstructed piece of literature.

Still, if I can conceive all that, I can’t quite experience it. There’s a lot that’s interesting here, but I think I’d rather read the novel he went on to write about this trip to the notebooks, dreams, and outlines that we get here.

[Michele · Rating 5 out of 5]

I became interested in the writings of Sergio Pitol after reading an article by Paulina Villegas in the New York Times bout Pitol's recent death last April.

"When the Mexican writer Sergio Pitol arrived to pick up his fellow writer Margo Glantz at the Vienna airport in the mid-1980s, he complemented his impeccable suit with a Venetian carnival mask.
Sounding a trumpet he carried, Mr. Pitol, who was the Mexican ambassador to Czechoslovakia at the time, shrugged off the formality of his position and, as Ms. Glantz emerged from customs, cried out, 'My best friend has arrived, my best friend has arrived!”

I decided that I had to read what this man wrote. I am limited to reading international authors in English translation, however. And few of Pitol's books are available yet in English. I was able to get a copy of The Journey through interlibrary loan. This is the work for which he won the Cervantes Prize, is the second book in his "Trilogy of Memory" his collections of essays and fictionalized autobiography which Pitol said summed up his life and literary work.

Another description relates that "Pitol assembles his memoirs using a collage technique that includes fragments of diary, drafts of farcical stories that arose from conversations, essays of literary criticism, and short treatises on translation that are camouflaged between paragraphs on his long and unhurried trip through Europe.

I loved this book - his breadth of knowledge in art, literature, love of people, his earthy sense of humor - all revealed in a book which I could NOT put down. I found myself falling in love with his descriptions of the great authors of Russian prose and poetry - I will be getting a copy of this book and refer to the handy bibliography in the end matter to educate myself on the artists that Pitol goes on about in this book.

His stories about the human side of life were delightfully earthy, complete with a haughty dowager shouting praises of Pitol's reading which included descriptions of "sneezes of the backside," and an over-the-top description of public lavatory facilities at one of the dinner parties he attended.

Be careful - if you read this, you will then have to read everything he has written. A delightful burden, however. I am looking forward to digging in to The Art of Flight, which Pitol called - “the most perfect, the most intense and most entertaining” of his works. He described it as a mix of “trivia, winks, gossip, dreams galore, digressions about Thomas Mann, but also about my dog.” And then there's the Magician of Vienna, which I have heard he wrote, in part, to keep the effects of the progressive aphasia he suffered from at bay.

Deep Vellum Publishing, which has released the English translation of Pitol's Trilogy of Memory is slated to soon release his Mephisto's Walz: Selected Short Stories.

[Mann · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Journey is a captivating blend of memoir, travelogue, and intellectual exploration. While ostensibly a record of a two-week trip to the Soviet Union in 1986, the book transcends its geographical confines to delve into profound questions about memory, history, and the nature of writing itself. The book is not a linear narrative but rather a series of interconnected vignettes, each offering a unique perspective on the world. His observations of Soviet life are sharp and insightful, but they are always filtered through the lens of his own intellectual and literary pursuits.

One of the most striking aspects of The Journey is Pitol's ability to seamlessly blend the mundane with the profound. A seemingly ordinary encounter with a stranger can lead to a deep exploration of human nature or a discussion of a beloved author. This juxtaposition of the ordinary and the extraordinary is a hallmark of Pitol's writing style.

The book is a testament to the power of memory. Pitol's recollections of his travels are not merely nostalgic reminiscences but rather a means of exploring the complexities of the past and its relationship to the present. He invites the reader to consider how our memories shape our identity and how the act of writing is a form of memory preservation.

The Journey is a rewarding read for those who appreciate a writer's deep engagement with the world. It is a book that invites multiple readings, each revealing new layers of meaning. Pitol's intellectual curiosity, coupled with his elegant prose, make The Journey a truly exceptional work of literature.

[Nolan Hawkins · Rating 4 out of 5]

I mean, a personal predilection for just a little bit of pretension, for the fluency with literature and the literati, definitely does have an impact on my opinion of Sergio Pitol - lists of names and works and influences and times that are not known to me make me a bit jealous and admiring. I think without a little bit of that, you could get a bit fed up with this book and likely the whole of his Trilogy of Memory - although how you have gotten past The Art of Flight to this sequel is a bit beyond me.

Anyways this is a wonderful melange of biographical travel, literary and artistic criticism, sociopolitical insight into the latter USSR and perestroika, and involuntary memory à la Proust. A quick foray from Prague to Tbilisi via Leningrad and later Moscow leads us through museums and discussions and performances with an occasional snapshot of a character, bits and pieces of Pitols past slipping through the cracks here and there; disjointed and insightful, with some sort of logic-defying cohesion that I guess must only point to the one static, center point of Pitol himself. I found it pretty enjoyable! Although not as good as The Art of Flight. I look forward to The Magician of Vienna.

[Leopoldo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Libro extraordinario. Pitol propone, en la segunda parte de su Trilogía de la memoria, un viaje físico (su breve periplo tras la cortina de hierro) y espiritual (de la memoria).

Además de ser una espléndida narración de sueños, visitas a museos, hoteles ilustres, calles y librerías de viejo, es una fascinante visita guiada por la literatura rusa del siglo XX, una de las más deslumbrantes de la historia. (Estoy convencido de que si uno se lee al menos un libro de cada autor ruso mencionado por Pitol en este libro, uno ya tendría suficiente para llamarse conocedor.)

Por mi parte, la sagacidad narrativa del autor, su inmensa erudición y honestidad, su pasión desmedida por la literatura de todos los ámbitos y muchas cosas más son las que me hacen querer leer todo lo escrito por él. Traducciones, ensayos, novelas, cuentos: creo que Reyes, Pitol y Pacheco fueron los más completos hombres de letras de nuestro país.

No puedo hacer otra cosa mas que recomendarlo ampliamente, y salir corriendo a buscar algunas de sus novelas, que son las que me faltan.

[Yitein Gastélum · Rating 5 out of 5]

Qué gran conocedor era Sergio Pitol de la literatura rusa. En este libro queda plasmado un universo de autores, corrientes literarias y datos a los que será necesario regresar en un futuro.

Su descripción del alma eslava es simplemente maravillosa, llena de sensibilidad hacia su perspectiva del arte y de la literatura.
Su profunda admiración por los escritores rusos se siente en cada página, y sumergirme en los chismes y anécdotas de la época me brindó horas de disfrute mientras recorría Varsovia. Siento una necesidad de leer más de Pitol, y sin duda será una de mis metas este año. :)

[Carlos Ch · Rating 4 out of 5]

Más allá de su obra literaria, admiro a Pitol por aventado, por andar a sus anchas y moverse entre ambientes muy lejanos y muy ajenos, y hacerlo de una manera -me parece- solitaria. Se debe tener bastante soltura y bastante habilidad social para estar rodeado de literatos rusos y hablar ruso mocho, o bien, depender de un traductor para formar parte y enterarse de lo que se está platicando. Mi mejor pasaje fue cuando anticipaba ir a Georgia con bastantes ganas, y cuando finalmente fue. Me dio la impresión que se sintió en un lugar más natural, y en cierto sentido más común con lo mexicano. Con su experiencia en Rusia y República Checa, me parece que deambuló entre el gusto y la indiferencia.

[sarah eli]

i cannot stop thinking about the way this book smells.

it's like a scratch n sniff sticker. like artificial strawberry scent over paper.

anyways, i cant really rate this book because i do not think i was in any way the target audience. its very reflective (significantly more so than i like) and talks A LOT about Russian writers, whom i know nothing about.

overall i spent a lot of the book bored and would give my experience two stars

[Mateu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Relato de un segundo viaje a la URSS en los 80, donde los cambios se empiezan a vislumbrar, todo desde un prisma cultural, principalmente literario, con un juego de contraposiciones: Moscu con Leningrado, Rusia con Georgia, conservadores del statu quo con precursores del cambio..

[Hugo Fauzi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Son algunas notas trabajadas de su diario y de algunas lecturas de un viaje de Praga-Rusia-Georgia. Despierta una envidia sus viajes, su vida, sus lecturas, y se agradece enormemente su pluma. Es un buen libro, que cobija y comparte imágenes de un mundo tan pocas veces visto por mexicanos.

[Juan Nadie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Diario de viaje? Memorias? Unos días en Rusia y Georgia en la Perestroika. Será una apertura real? Habrá vuelta atrás? Cómo lo están viviendo los artistas? Una visión personal pero magnífica sobre esa Rusia, aderezado con toda una lección sobre la literatura rusa desde Gógol en adelante.

[Nate · Rating 4 out of 5]

Beautiful, gorgeous prose. Introspective and meditative. The last couple pages were phenomenal.

[Javier Ponce · Rating 2 out of 5]

Aunque Pitol es alguien muy simpático y que vive muchas "aventuras", El viaje no me pareció tan memorable como El arte de la fuga.

[Tomás · Rating 4 out of 5]

de la trilogía, el mejor sin dudas. lindo recuento de una época, agradable.

[Mario Amaya · Rating 5 out of 5]

Otra joya del maestro mexicano.

[Paulina Solis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Amo los diarios de viaje y este me ha cautivado, especialmente porque se centra en la parte cultural de su viaje a la ex Unión Soviética, en 1986.

[Agua De Calcetín · Rating 4 out of 5]

En unas cuantas ocasiones he comprado libros sin tener la más remota idea de quién es el autor o de qué es la obra; ni siquiera me molesto en leer la sinopsis a detalle, sino que compro el libro y espero hasta leerlo para poder descubrir qué diablos adquirí. No es falta de interés. Ni es comprar por comprar. Supongo que me gusta sorprenderme de vez en cuando, y he tenido la suerte de que todos los libros que he adquirido de esta manera me han sorprendido favorablemente.

No todos son increíbles, pero ninguno ha sido propiamente “malo”, y eso me da gusto. Espero que esta racha nunca se acabe.

En todo caso, eso fue lo que me sucedió con este breve volumen de Pitol (esa oración suena a albur, pero qué hacerle). A pesar de que he oído hablar del autor en repetidas ocasiones, y de que sé que tiene bastante renombre en la literatura nacional, jamás había tomado uno de sus libros para saber qué es lo que lo hacía tan especial. Lo primero que me llamó la atención fue que la sinopsis abre diciendo “Sergio Pitol se mueve de un género literario a otro sin encontrar la más mínima barrera”. Esa es una oración que a muchos autores les gustaría escuchar sobre sí mismos. La segunda cosa que me llamó la atención fue que lo publicó Editorial Era, casa editorial en México de uno de mis autores favoritos, César Aira, por lo que algo bueno debía tener este libro.

Tuve la suerte de encontrarlo en una feria del libro en Auditorio Nacional, y el precio no fue demasiado elevado. Así que una vez hube acabado con el libro que estaba leyendo previamente, tomé este volumen de mi estante y me senté a leer esperando encontrar una novela, cuando el texto que tenía en mis manos era en realidad una crónica.

Verán, en los 80’s Sergio Pitol fue a Rusia (unos cuantos años antes de que dejara de ser la URSS) y a Praga, y durante dos semanas documentó sus actividades en un diario cuyas páginas son ahora las que comprenden este libro. Al principio estuve un poco decepcionado, pero mientras leía me encontré atrapado entre las cavilaciones, reflexiones y debrayes del autor. Sus molestias, sus enojos, sus aventuras, su breve encuentro con una recia oficial que creyó atraparlo poseyendo pornografía homosexual de soldados, sus sueños huajiros y su inspiración para escribir la que sería su siguiente novela, Domar a la Divina Garza (la cual tendré que leer en algún futuro cercano).

Me sorprendió que los periplos y las actividades del autor en tierras eslavas fueran tan interesantes, y me sorprendí a mí mismo sintiéndome curiosamente identificado con algunas de sus experiencias en Europa del este. Creo que es un libro que llegó muy atinadamente a mi vida, ya que entendí desde otra perspectiva lo que Pitol quiere decir y explica en este libro. De haberlo leído un par de años antes quizás no le habría encontrado chiste alguno.

O quizás sí.

Aún en sus diarios, Pitol es un narrador nato. Algunos episodios me recordaron brevemente a la Rayuela de Cortázar, pero como es de esperar de un autor así, encuentra su propia voz y hace de la experiencia de lectura algo muy personal.

Me parece que en mi caso particular empecé a leer a Pitol con el libro correcto. Deberé conseguir otros de sus trabajos para poder formarme una opinión concisa del autor mismo, pero por el momento este libro fue bastante agradable y disfrutable. Si tienen la oportunidad, échenle un ojo.

Por Jectoons

[Manuel · Rating 3 out of 5]

Es una pena que don Sergio haya tenido que ir hasta Moscú, Leningrado y Georgia en los ochenta no para mostrarnos una visión única de la URSS, sino para repetir los mismos tópicos acerca del estalinismo, eso sí, todo muy bien escrito. Lo mejor, cuando se deja llevar por el delirio novelesco de un mundo de ensueño, tan repelente como inolvidable.