This was a challenging book for me to read. I kept putting it down and not wanting to pick it up again. Some of that might have to do with the chaotic, rambling style, in which sentences are very long and we jump frequently from viewpoint to viewpoint. It wasn't until after page 150 or so (so more than halfway through) that I really started to "get" it. So this might not be the best introduction to Evelio Rosero's work (the unrelentingly bleak yet monumental "The Armies" still takes the cake, followed closely by the darkly satirical "Good Offices"). But if you're interested in Colombian literature or Latin American history, then this is definitely a worthwhile read.
I found the themes of this book moving and compelling, especially the deeper I got into the book. The book opens with a doctor dressing up in an ape suit in preparation for the famous Carnaval de Blancos y Negros in Pasto, a scene that reminded me of the opening sentence of Rosero's "Good Offices" ("He has a terrible fear of being an animal, especially on Thursdays, at lunchime." What a hell of an opening sentence, right?). Anyway, with this scene we meet the doctor, who is a bit of an unlikeable character. His marriage has basically descended into mutual loathing, and he's obsessed with writing a book that exposes Simón Bolívar as a tyrant and a coward, a book he's gotten nowhere near close to completing. However, he is presented with the opportunity to build a carnival float that will depict Simón Bolívar's atrocities in the Pasto region, both the massacres and the sex scandals. However, the building of this float catches the attention of local Marxist students, to whom Bolívar is an important revolutionary icon...
It was fascinating to read this book shortly after reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude," another book concerned with representations of Colombian history (interestingly, "Feast" is set the year before "Solitude" was published, in 1966). García Márquez often writes about carnivals and festivals, and it would be interesting to contrast him with Rosero's depiction, in which the festival is frequently emphasized as an event where people are disguised and hidden.
The parts of the book discussing the perception of Simón Bolívar as a cowardly tyrant were also extremely interesting to read, at times disturbing. However, there were a lot of names and battles listed in these sections, and I kind of wish I'd been reading this book with wikipedia on hand (I read most of it on a train) so that I could look them up. I wouldn't be surprised if other readers found themselves feeling a bit lost and overwhelmed. I wonder sometimes if the confusion was intentional, to emphasize to murkiness of history, or something. I also wish there'd been an author's note at the end discussing the research he'd used (specifically, I'd love to know if the oral testimonies shared by certain characters in the book true or fictional). Because while reading them, I was definitely like, is this TRUE? I just looked at wikipedia, and apparently, YES: Karl Marx even wrote a biography of him (which is a big plot point in this book).
In a way, I'm almost proving the book's main point, which is that the perception of Bolívar as anything other than a liberator and hero is NOT a mainstream view in Latin America. Hell, my school was named after him. Anyway, I sure wish I knew more about the Latin American wars for Independence after reading this. And it was fascinating to be presented with a view of Bolívar completely different than the one I was raised with.
So after we get these long sections discussing these negative views of Bolívar in history, that's when the book really started to pick up for me, specifically with the introduction of my favorite character, a young wannabe poet who wouldn't be out of place in Bolaño's universe. "Feast" emphatically reinforced to me how key the intersection between politics and literature was to a specific generation of young Latin Americans, almost tragically so. The way Rosero uses the young poet character was deeply compelling to me: basically, without giving anything away, Rosero introduces someone who ends up being one of the most important characters more than halfway through the book, a very risky move. What ends up happening to this poet evoked SO much for me in terms of Colombia's history with violence and youth that I found it personally very moving, almost difficult to endure.
Another provocative aspect of the book is its depiction of women and sex. I'm sure some people would find it offensive. Personally, I found it liberating. The wife and daughter characters (Primavera and Florencia) were, to me, very clearly the strongest and most determined characters in the book, the ones who are most capable of enacting agency (I especially liked the way the daughter took revenge on the little prat that threw flour on her). IDK, maybe I'm completely misunderstanding it, and they're actually, like, oppressed by their sexuality, or sociopaths in the making. But what impressed me was their bad-assness, especially after frequent depictions of women on the receiving end of violence and oppression (not just in this book but in "The Armies"). It felt to me like Rosero was compensating for that, somewhat. It also can't be a coincidence, surely, that the doctor's specific branch of medicine is gynecology? A job where you're "looking" at women in the most intimate of ways? I wonder how that connects...
Overall, I'm glad to see Rosero's work continue to get translated. I really want his early books to get translated (I've only read one, and it was a trip). It would be fascinating to discuss this novel alongside García Márquez's "The General in His Labyrinth" (there were also certain links with "Crónica de una muerte anunciada"). This book has made me rethink certain things I've always taken for granted, which is a terrific thing for a book to have accomplished.