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The Weasel and the Whore
A grim underground portrait of today's Cuba, where young people struggle to shake off the vestiges of Castroism.
From Monday to Saturday, Mary is a young and talented artist in the artistic, bohemian and fringe circles of Havana. But on Sundays, Mary becomes the sex toy of a high official of the regime. Her condition as a woman and artist, bisexual and alienated from Castroism, inevitably pushes her towards social exclusion, and Mary begins to need a strong reason to remain in Cuba.
Martha Luisa Hernández Cadenas is one of the most important new Cuban writers. With this novel she brings us the story of a rebellious and angry generation fighting to escape the vestiges of Castroism.
"The novel that I deem paradigmatic of the generation of Cubans born in the 1990s." Mabel Cuesta, The Cambridge History of Cuban Literature
From Monday to Saturday, Mary is a young and talented artist in the artistic, bohemian and fringe circles of Havana. But on Sundays, Mary becomes the sex toy of a high official of the regime. Her condition as a woman and artist, bisexual and alienated from Castroism, inevitably pushes her towards social exclusion, and Mary begins to need a strong reason to remain in Cuba.
Martha Luisa Hernández Cadenas is one of the most important new Cuban writers. With this novel she brings us the story of a rebellious and angry generation fighting to escape the vestiges of Castroism.
"The novel that I deem paradigmatic of the generation of Cubans born in the 1990s." Mabel Cuesta, The Cambridge History of Cuban Literature
- GenresFiction
156 pages, Paperback
First published March 2, 2023
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February 12, 2026
Longlisted for the 2026 Queen Mary Small Press Fiction Prize
The Cuban way of life doesn't come with sexually disturbing relics, it comes with a hero idolized by weasels. There's no trafficking in flesh-there is nothing. Here, there are busts. That's why men are so evasive in their love, because their romantic ideal is a woman who's asleep, passed out, unconscious, a woman who won’t remember. That woman is Cuba: marble, motionless, she lets herself be trampled by crowds of weasels. She drinks the tea.
The Weasel and The Whore (2025) is translated by Julia Sanches and Jennifer Shyue from the original La puta y el hurón (2023) by Martha Luisa Hernández Cadenas, aka Martica Minipunto, a playwright, writer, and performer and theatre scholar born in Cuba in 1991.
The novel is published by Héloïse Press (see below) and is their entry to the 2026 Queen Mary Small Press Fiction Prize.
It is primarily narrated by Mary, a young bi-sexual Cuban artist (from the same generation as the author), although includes letters to her from Pamela, a friend at the time of the events narrated but who subsequently left Cuban for Paris.
The key reference point, although not really the key event, in the novel is the death of Fidel Castro in 2016, the news of which coincides with Anna's mother have epileptic convulsions:
It isn't Sunday for the Defense or any other day of patriotic volunteerism, it's the Saturday after his death. The house is quiet. The streets are on mute. He died last night, and the hallway where my mother, my sister, and I live has been seized by a strange sense of peace. I say Fidel Castro is dead, and this fact doesn't shatter the calm that lies between the wall, Sunday, my right arm, the gelatinous immanence of mourning, and my mother.
Mary was or is a playwright, but the play she had been working on has been cancelled and the theatre closed by the authorities, leaving her in a state of limbo. The novel is somewhat fragmentary and circular in time, reflecting this and also the experience for her generation in the Cuba of the time (as well as the extended mourning period for Castro), as Mary relates:
I don't have anything to do today. Ever since they "temporarily" closed the theater, I've been in a sort of limbo, which is how most people in Cuba live, a "temporary" limbo. The bruise. My right arm. Epilepsy. My sixteen-year-old sister. My arm. Limbo. Last Friday, a Friday like any other, me getting home. My mother on the floor. Monday. It's Tuesday. I don't know how I made it to Tuesday. Limbo. Sometimes, another day passes us by, and Pamela and I don't even realize.
The 'weasel' of the title is one of the novel's key themes - indeed the text includes 'weasel' 61 times, 'weasels' 67, 'weasally' 5, as well as one each of 'weaseldom', 'weaselfication' and 'weaselstyle' - and represents a certain type of older man in Cuba, including an architype R. a retired military officer, pleasureless creatures who’ve been domesticated and live hypocritically,
tolerating the heteropatriarchal mechanisms of power because it suits them
And Mary is the titular 'whore' (a word which also appears, in variations including whoreforsaken, 43 times), although this is a label imposed on her rather than a choice, "a symbol in a symbolic
country that only engages with theater that is symbolic":
Once you’re a character you don’t get to choose where you want to be, time decides for you and for the men, the directors, the presidents, the playwrights, the dictators, the professors, the academics, the writers, they say: “She’s just a big whore.”
You are the rest, the dregs of a thought, the emptiness of a misrepresentation, you’re this shift’s goods, the patriarchal harbor of concentration camps and jokes cracked in Ukraine about the eyes of women who were born as empowered socialists. And when they open my mouth for me, it’s not
me, I’m not the one speaking when they say a name, my name, and I wrap my arms around this Black body that I am going to protect.
She visits R. at the weekend, where, in the first two weekends he has sex with her, but realising her disgust proposes instead that she drinks a tea, which renders her unconscious and insensate for several hours, while he does with her body what he wishes (her only knowledge of what happens the soundtrack she listens to afterwards, as she leaves her phone on record. She was procured by her relatively Castro-supporting mother (active in the anti-mosquito campaign) for this role - although her mother feigns ignorance of what actually happens, faux naively assuming Mary's role is to help R. with his writing project.
R is one of those men who feels the need to talk incessantly, as if they had real opinions. One of those men who likes to try to pay for car rides with twenty-dollar bills, then apologize and pull a ten-CUC note out of his overstuffed wallet, which the driver doesn't have change for either. At the end f this interaction, R will take out a ten-peso note, one he had all along and could've paid with from the beginning, but at least he got to show the other riders he's got cash and couldn't care less about the exchange rate. The third world produces this kind of man, the weasel man.
I go to his house on Sundays, a routine athletic visit. He has a lot of money, a fortune that I'm sure comes from a misspent family inheritance and renting out a mansion in Varadero. I look at him and know exactly what he is: The man kept it all—the gold and riches passed down-and became a weasel. The male weasel is a rapist. He sinks his teeth into the female's neck when he thrusts into her, a natural part of animal mating.
A novel I perhaps admired more appreciated when reading it, although my appreciation was then aided by this detailed English language dissection of the original Spanish novel at No Country Magazine.
3.5 stars rounded to 4.
Héloïse Press and founder Aina Marti-Balcells
Héloïse Press champions world-wide female talent. Héloïse’s careful selection of books gives voice to emerging and well-established female writers from home and abroad. With a focus on intimate, visceral and powerful narratives, Héloïse Press brings together women’s stories and literary sophistication.
Behind the press, it is just me and a wonderful team of creatives and freelancers that turn each story into a beautiful book. I run the press from my converted garage in Canterbury, where I live with my husband and son. I am originally from northeast Spain, and I lived in Italy and Germany before settling in the UK. I hold a PhD in Comparative Literature from the University of Kent. My book Domestic Architecture, Literature, and the Sexual Imaginary in Europe, 1850 – 1930 came out in 2022 with Edinburgh University Press. Before I decided to shape my passion for literary fiction into Héloïse Press, I worked in academia, education, TV production, and as a manuscript reader. Héloïse Press came into existence while I was reading Rachel Cusk’s Arlington Park. I am on the hunt for stylistically innovative stories with striking content.
Queen Mary Small Press Fiction Prize judge Marina Benjamin writes:
A slantwise take on Cuba, post-Castro. An exploration of disaffected youth in a culture that’s ossified. A roaring, raging novel of grief over heartless mothers and a sick society still in thrall to the old regime. In short chapters rendered as stylish outbursts, Hernández Cadenas’s narrator hurtles through her days falling in and out of love and friendship, the heat and mischief of the action broken only by her bizarre sexual arrangement with ‘R’ who embodies the rot of the revolutionary old-guard from whose clutches she is desperate to free herself.
The Cuban way of life doesn't come with sexually disturbing relics, it comes with a hero idolized by weasels. There's no trafficking in flesh-there is nothing. Here, there are busts. That's why men are so evasive in their love, because their romantic ideal is a woman who's asleep, passed out, unconscious, a woman who won’t remember. That woman is Cuba: marble, motionless, she lets herself be trampled by crowds of weasels. She drinks the tea.
The Weasel and The Whore (2025) is translated by Julia Sanches and Jennifer Shyue from the original La puta y el hurón (2023) by Martha Luisa Hernández Cadenas, aka Martica Minipunto, a playwright, writer, and performer and theatre scholar born in Cuba in 1991.
The novel is published by Héloïse Press (see below) and is their entry to the 2026 Queen Mary Small Press Fiction Prize.
It is primarily narrated by Mary, a young bi-sexual Cuban artist (from the same generation as the author), although includes letters to her from Pamela, a friend at the time of the events narrated but who subsequently left Cuban for Paris.
The key reference point, although not really the key event, in the novel is the death of Fidel Castro in 2016, the news of which coincides with Anna's mother have epileptic convulsions:
It isn't Sunday for the Defense or any other day of patriotic volunteerism, it's the Saturday after his death. The house is quiet. The streets are on mute. He died last night, and the hallway where my mother, my sister, and I live has been seized by a strange sense of peace. I say Fidel Castro is dead, and this fact doesn't shatter the calm that lies between the wall, Sunday, my right arm, the gelatinous immanence of mourning, and my mother.
Mary was or is a playwright, but the play she had been working on has been cancelled and the theatre closed by the authorities, leaving her in a state of limbo. The novel is somewhat fragmentary and circular in time, reflecting this and also the experience for her generation in the Cuba of the time (as well as the extended mourning period for Castro), as Mary relates:
I don't have anything to do today. Ever since they "temporarily" closed the theater, I've been in a sort of limbo, which is how most people in Cuba live, a "temporary" limbo. The bruise. My right arm. Epilepsy. My sixteen-year-old sister. My arm. Limbo. Last Friday, a Friday like any other, me getting home. My mother on the floor. Monday. It's Tuesday. I don't know how I made it to Tuesday. Limbo. Sometimes, another day passes us by, and Pamela and I don't even realize.
The 'weasel' of the title is one of the novel's key themes - indeed the text includes 'weasel' 61 times, 'weasels' 67, 'weasally' 5, as well as one each of 'weaseldom', 'weaselfication' and 'weaselstyle' - and represents a certain type of older man in Cuba, including an architype R. a retired military officer, pleasureless creatures who’ve been domesticated and live hypocritically,
tolerating the heteropatriarchal mechanisms of power because it suits them
And Mary is the titular 'whore' (a word which also appears, in variations including whoreforsaken, 43 times), although this is a label imposed on her rather than a choice, "a symbol in a symbolic
country that only engages with theater that is symbolic":
Once you’re a character you don’t get to choose where you want to be, time decides for you and for the men, the directors, the presidents, the playwrights, the dictators, the professors, the academics, the writers, they say: “She’s just a big whore.”
You are the rest, the dregs of a thought, the emptiness of a misrepresentation, you’re this shift’s goods, the patriarchal harbor of concentration camps and jokes cracked in Ukraine about the eyes of women who were born as empowered socialists. And when they open my mouth for me, it’s not
me, I’m not the one speaking when they say a name, my name, and I wrap my arms around this Black body that I am going to protect.
She visits R. at the weekend, where, in the first two weekends he has sex with her, but realising her disgust proposes instead that she drinks a tea, which renders her unconscious and insensate for several hours, while he does with her body what he wishes (her only knowledge of what happens the soundtrack she listens to afterwards, as she leaves her phone on record. She was procured by her relatively Castro-supporting mother (active in the anti-mosquito campaign) for this role - although her mother feigns ignorance of what actually happens, faux naively assuming Mary's role is to help R. with his writing project.
R is one of those men who feels the need to talk incessantly, as if they had real opinions. One of those men who likes to try to pay for car rides with twenty-dollar bills, then apologize and pull a ten-CUC note out of his overstuffed wallet, which the driver doesn't have change for either. At the end f this interaction, R will take out a ten-peso note, one he had all along and could've paid with from the beginning, but at least he got to show the other riders he's got cash and couldn't care less about the exchange rate. The third world produces this kind of man, the weasel man.
I go to his house on Sundays, a routine athletic visit. He has a lot of money, a fortune that I'm sure comes from a misspent family inheritance and renting out a mansion in Varadero. I look at him and know exactly what he is: The man kept it all—the gold and riches passed down-and became a weasel. The male weasel is a rapist. He sinks his teeth into the female's neck when he thrusts into her, a natural part of animal mating.
A novel I perhaps admired more appreciated when reading it, although my appreciation was then aided by this detailed English language dissection of the original Spanish novel at No Country Magazine.
3.5 stars rounded to 4.
Héloïse Press and founder Aina Marti-Balcells
Héloïse Press champions world-wide female talent. Héloïse’s careful selection of books gives voice to emerging and well-established female writers from home and abroad. With a focus on intimate, visceral and powerful narratives, Héloïse Press brings together women’s stories and literary sophistication.
Behind the press, it is just me and a wonderful team of creatives and freelancers that turn each story into a beautiful book. I run the press from my converted garage in Canterbury, where I live with my husband and son. I am originally from northeast Spain, and I lived in Italy and Germany before settling in the UK. I hold a PhD in Comparative Literature from the University of Kent. My book Domestic Architecture, Literature, and the Sexual Imaginary in Europe, 1850 – 1930 came out in 2022 with Edinburgh University Press. Before I decided to shape my passion for literary fiction into Héloïse Press, I worked in academia, education, TV production, and as a manuscript reader. Héloïse Press came into existence while I was reading Rachel Cusk’s Arlington Park. I am on the hunt for stylistically innovative stories with striking content.
Queen Mary Small Press Fiction Prize judge Marina Benjamin writes:
A slantwise take on Cuba, post-Castro. An exploration of disaffected youth in a culture that’s ossified. A roaring, raging novel of grief over heartless mothers and a sick society still in thrall to the old regime. In short chapters rendered as stylish outbursts, Hernández Cadenas’s narrator hurtles through her days falling in and out of love and friendship, the heat and mischief of the action broken only by her bizarre sexual arrangement with ‘R’ who embodies the rot of the revolutionary old-guard from whose clutches she is desperate to free herself.
March 25, 2023
Un libro que te impregna rápidamente de imágenes confusas y atemporales, el relato transcurre con una negación que se mantiene, esa negativa al duelo impuesto en el país por la muerte de Fidel Castro. «No estoy de luto», señala. «Mi abuelo es el único hombre por el que he estado de luto».
Me ha encantado lo elaborado y preciso del concepto de “hurón”, la forma en que el sistema opresor se inserta incluso dentro del sistema familiar. La autora construye desde lo roto y se erige como “la figura central de la contracultura cubana actual”.
«Fidel es una idea o un retrato (no me decido), mi madre es el ombligo y los dedos largos desenredándome el pelo.»
«No existe otra forma más gloriosa de hacer un duelo que mirar a mi madre y saber que la muerte de Fidel no significa nada.»
Me ha encantado lo elaborado y preciso del concepto de “hurón”, la forma en que el sistema opresor se inserta incluso dentro del sistema familiar. La autora construye desde lo roto y se erige como “la figura central de la contracultura cubana actual”.
«Fidel es una idea o un retrato (no me decido), mi madre es el ombligo y los dedos largos desenredándome el pelo.»
«No existe otra forma más gloriosa de hacer un duelo que mirar a mi madre y saber que la muerte de Fidel no significa nada.»
June 2, 2023
«Fidel es una idea o un retrato (no me decido), mi madre es el ombligo y los dedos largos desenredándome el pelo»
February 5, 2026
Martica eres muy fuerte amiga.
February 15, 2026
The third world produces this kind of man, the weasel man. I go to his house on Sundays, a routine athletic visit. He has a lot of money, a fortune that I'm sure comes from a misspent family inheritance and renting out a mansion in Varadero. I look at him and know exactly what he is: The man kept it all—the gold and riches passed down-and became a weasel. The male weasel is a rapist. He sinks his teeth into the female's neck when he thrusts into her, a natural part of animal mating.
Longlisted for the 2026 Queen Mary Small Press Fiction Prize (the first year of the rebranded Republic of Consciousness Prize).
Published by the Canterbury based Héloïse Press which “champions world-wide female talent. Héloïse’s careful selection of books gives voice to emerging and well-established female writers from home and abroad. With a focus on intimate, visceral and powerful narratives, Héloïse Press brings together women’s stories and literary sophistication.”. This is their first longlisting.
And translated by Julia Sanches and Jennifer Shyue from the 2023 original written by a Cuban born playwright, writer, performer and theatre scholar.
It takes place – at least in the main (time like sexuality and gender is a slightly fluid concept in this novel) – in the weeks immediately after the death of Fidel Castro. Its first party protagonist is the bisexual Mary, a young Cuban costume/theatre designer whose latest play “The Hard and The Soft” (and the theatre in which it was to be staged) were shut down the authorities. Her mother an epilepsy suffer, and desperate for advancement in Cuba’s moribund and black-market dominated command economy, works in an anti-mosquito campaign, befriends a retired military officer R (living off family wealth and we assume probably some corruption) – and effectively pimps Mary out to him (albeit deliberately choosing to believe Mary is actually helping him with his writing sidelines).
Mary thinks of R as one of the “weasels” (note the original would seem to translated more directly as “ferret”) who not just give the book its title but a phrase which repeats well over one hundred times in the novel – a name she and a friend came up with as a description for predatory and powerful men - pleasure-less creatures who've been domesticated and live hypocritically tolerating the heteropatriarchal mechanisms of power because it suits them. After her disgust at their first sexual encounters she submits to being drugged by R with tea prior to him then abusing her while she is unconscious.
And this in itself of course a metaphor for the way in which the powerful treat the country
The Cuban way of life doesn't come with sexually disturbing relics, it comes with a hero idolized by weasels. There's no trafficking in flesh-there is nothing. Here, there are busts. That's why men are so evasive in their love, because their romantic ideal is a woman who's asleep, passed out, unconscious, a woman who won't remember. That woman is Cuba: marble, motionless, she lets herself be trampled by crowds of weasels. She drinks the tea.
The letter is also punctuated by letters to/from Pamela – a trans-woman friend who was the writer of the banned play (and who at one stage before that wrote a play about Mary’s mother as a super-hero fighting off giant mosquitoes), the letters written from a future when she is based in Paris and looking back.
Overall, I think the novel is a perfect fit to the press’s aims – as it is powerfully and viscerally intimate. If I had a criticism it seemed to me to fit a template in much female-author Spanish fiction from central/Southern America, at least as translated into the English literary fictions scene: Charco Press have published many not dissimilar novel and I was also reminded of Reservoir Bitches (with a translator in common) from the International Booker.
However that fiction has found a strong UK following and this is very worth of its place on the Queen Mary Prize longlist.
June 16, 2023
Cuban fiction, read and reviewed for a trial for a literary agency. Mary is driven into sex work in order to support her ill mother, in this disorientating exploration of patriarchy and capitalism in Cuba. Working as an actress, she struggles with the censorship in her theatre in the wake of Fidel Castro’s death. At the hands of R, the encapsulation of the ‘hurón’, she endures rape. I liked its poetic and disjointed form, and the current political issues it covered including sex work and patriarchy. The fragmented form allowed the reader to peer into glimpses of the protagonist’s life, to help to uncover what brought Mary, the protagonist, to the text’s climax. I think it is great considering how Cuba seems to have little voice in the mainstream, being dominated by the United States. I loved how the text showed the country in a way which wasn’t romanticized, showing how the United States has impacted Cuba in the present. It was refreshing to explore the role of the sex worker too, especially in the role of the protagonist, and again, it was not glamourized. I believe that for this to be accessible to an English-speaking audience, there would need to be some more information about the role of ‘hurón’ as this concept is completely foreign to me as a native English speaker. I think that the text could have used a brief explanation or definition at the beginning to clear this up, because I attempted to research the concept and asked fellow non-Cuban hispanists, with no success. Therefore I felt like I didn’t fully grasp the text due to this. Equally I found that there were moments I didn’t fully understand who someone was or what was happening, especially during the middle of the text. There were numerous characters in the text, and a few which seemed to appear and disappear again with little significance. Overall I would recommend the text.
April 7, 2023
Bueno, me ha parecido preciosa esta novela de Martha Luisa Hernandez. Mentiría si digo que en una parte central me sentí un poco sobrepasado con la repetición en los momentos de mayor violencia (aunque necesarios para crear el ambiente tan espeso que te mete la novela)
Me gusta mucho mucho como caracteriza el país y a la figura del “hurón”, asi como el papel de la madre cómplice,esa madre ambivalente que se esfuerza en mostrar un interés constante sobre ti y que al mismo tiempo te expone al mal (¿habla del propio país?)
La relación epistolar pasada entre Mary y Pamela ❤️🩹
Me encantan los temas de la novela
La violencia estructural de la que se desprenden el machismo y la homofobia
La identidad
El olvido
La patria y su contraria
La enfermedad como manifestación de la preocupación
“Lo primero que se olvida es la voz. Tengo nuestros videos fingiendo desnudez y borrachera, te tengo filmada cantando y leyendo poemas de la libreta que nos encontramos en el Coppelia y que fuimos incapaces de devolver a su dueño; pero he olvidado tu voz porque la grabación no creo que se oiga como tú, deduzco que no te oyes así porque tampoco es mi voz la que ha quedado ahí registrada. No es tu rostro. No es tu cuerpo. Pero, sobre todo, no es tu voz.”
“¿Cuándo vuelves? Al preguntar por el regreso se hace una pregunta sobre el olvido. Siento que todos tenemos miedo a ser abandonados, los censores, los muertos de hambre, los hurones, un miedo a la sequía, al vaciamiento, a cambiar de colonia. Yo tengo tremendo miedo.”
Me gusta mucho mucho como caracteriza el país y a la figura del “hurón”, asi como el papel de la madre cómplice,esa madre ambivalente que se esfuerza en mostrar un interés constante sobre ti y que al mismo tiempo te expone al mal (¿habla del propio país?)
La relación epistolar pasada entre Mary y Pamela ❤️🩹
Me encantan los temas de la novela
La violencia estructural de la que se desprenden el machismo y la homofobia
La identidad
El olvido
La patria y su contraria
La enfermedad como manifestación de la preocupación
“Lo primero que se olvida es la voz. Tengo nuestros videos fingiendo desnudez y borrachera, te tengo filmada cantando y leyendo poemas de la libreta que nos encontramos en el Coppelia y que fuimos incapaces de devolver a su dueño; pero he olvidado tu voz porque la grabación no creo que se oiga como tú, deduzco que no te oyes así porque tampoco es mi voz la que ha quedado ahí registrada. No es tu rostro. No es tu cuerpo. Pero, sobre todo, no es tu voz.”
“¿Cuándo vuelves? Al preguntar por el regreso se hace una pregunta sobre el olvido. Siento que todos tenemos miedo a ser abandonados, los censores, los muertos de hambre, los hurones, un miedo a la sequía, al vaciamiento, a cambiar de colonia. Yo tengo tremendo miedo.”
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August 26, 2025Uh! Kakva knjiga! Kako divna, predivna knjiga! Knjiga koja kida!
„Kurva i feretka“ je jedna od onih knjiga u kojima osećate mirise, krv, osećate energiju, gotovo možete da dodirnete muku, da čujete teskobu i zvuk. Knjiga pisana krvlju, nervima, ganglijama, ali pre svega izuzetno vešto i dobro skrojena.
Dugo vremena nisam čitao ovako snažnu i živu knjigu. Ubijala me je anemija ovih koji neće nikome da se zamere i neće nikoga da uvrede i koji pišu i za Silvanu i za Kurta Kobejna.
Marta Luisa Ernandes Kadenas hoće! Prodire u srce. Udara režim, društvo, dušmane, ali i svoje prijatelje, porodicu, sebe… Sirova, surova, direktna, a opet suptilna i višeslojna.
Sjajna knjiga! Velika preporuka!
Malo više o značenju naslova i o samoj knjizi i autorku možete pročitati u malo dužem tekstu na ovom linku: https://www.bookvar.rs/literarna-bomb...
„Kurva i feretka“ je jedna od onih knjiga u kojima osećate mirise, krv, osećate energiju, gotovo možete da dodirnete muku, da čujete teskobu i zvuk. Knjiga pisana krvlju, nervima, ganglijama, ali pre svega izuzetno vešto i dobro skrojena.
Dugo vremena nisam čitao ovako snažnu i živu knjigu. Ubijala me je anemija ovih koji neće nikome da se zamere i neće nikoga da uvrede i koji pišu i za Silvanu i za Kurta Kobejna.
Marta Luisa Ernandes Kadenas hoće! Prodire u srce. Udara režim, društvo, dušmane, ali i svoje prijatelje, porodicu, sebe… Sirova, surova, direktna, a opet suptilna i višeslojna.
Sjajna knjiga! Velika preporuka!
Malo više o značenju naslova i o samoj knjizi i autorku možete pročitati u malo dužem tekstu na ovom linku: https://www.bookvar.rs/literarna-bomb...
August 21, 2023
Hay libros en los que las palabras simplemente son un medio, algo a veces un poco ajeno a lo que se cuenta, y otros en los que, sin duda, forman parte del relato. Este es de los segundos.
Lo he leído en la playa (sitio horrible para leer) y de vacaciones (cuando más pero peor lo hago) e igual no le he prestado toda la atención que se merecía. Aún así: qué manera tan alucinante de escribir, capaz no sólo de contarte algo, sino de transmitir durante la lectura sensaciones muy concretas. Hay detalles y fragmentos, especialmente los de correspondencia, que me han parecido brillantes.
Lo he leído en la playa (sitio horrible para leer) y de vacaciones (cuando más pero peor lo hago) e igual no le he prestado toda la atención que se merecía. Aún así: qué manera tan alucinante de escribir, capaz no sólo de contarte algo, sino de transmitir durante la lectura sensaciones muy concretas. Hay detalles y fragmentos, especialmente los de correspondencia, que me han parecido brillantes.
June 15, 2024
Me he llevado una desilusión con este libro, pensé que iba a hablar mas de la prostitución y de política, pero nada que ver.
Tampoco me ha gustado la forma de narrar de la escritora, todo muy separado sin ninguna conexión.
Tampoco me ha gustado la forma de narrar de la escritora, todo muy separado sin ninguna conexión.
November 1, 2023
Una perspectiva diferente de la Cuba de Fidel. Una escritura punzante.
November 13, 2024
De este libro me gustó, sobre todo, la voz honesta y desapegada de la protagonista. Una realidad descrita sin tapujos y sin demasiados detalles. Por momentos la trama se torna confusa, igual que la mente de la protagonista. Para mí esta novela es el retrato de la desesperanza, que permanece ahí y vertebra la historia hasta el final. Pero aun así queremos seguir leyendo, no tanto para saber lo que ocurre, sino porque queremos más. Para mí eso es lo que hace de una novela, una buena novela.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews