A brief and claustrophobic book, which feels especially claustrophobic – and especially brief – in the light of its author's suicide. Set in a Miami home for the mentally ill, it does bring to mind other classics like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest or The Bell Jar, but only tangentially. Here the tension comes not so much from escaping the institution (in fact the door is open, for anyone who thinks they can make it on their own), but rather in how and why people choose to survive in that environment.
Rosales's characters are grotesque and their behaviours cruel and revolting. It's all a big shock for our protagonist, who, like the author, is a young writer from Cuba who boasts of having read Proust, Hesse, Joyce, Miller and Mann by the age of fifteen. Novels haven't prepared him much for the exigencies of living in a place where people are urinating in the hallways and beating each other, and where those in charge are only out for themselves.
If William, the narrator, was merely suffering at the hands of others, the book would just be unpleasant. What makes it disturbing is how easily he becomes abusive himself. Soon he is beating and punching other residents, and sexually assaulting a fellow Cuban inmate before strangling her to the point of unconsciousness.
The Cuban background is vital, because the whole book seems to be saying something complicated about William's politics. He did not leave Cuba because of Castro (‘I'm not a political exile. I'm a total exile’), but nor does he seem strongly opposed to the Revolution, at least in principle. The monstrous owner of the halfway house is described scornfully as ‘bourgeois’, and when William visits Miami's Little Havana he appears to feel no kinship with its (virulently anti-Castro) residents, who ‘flaunt thick gold chains on their necks’ and listen ‘to loud rock and exasperating drum solos on their portable radios’. He is exiled both from Cuba, and from Cuban America.
William and Frances, his victim-lover, eventually confess to each other that they were both communists once – ‘At the beginning’. William lived, he says, ‘twenty years within the revolution, as its victimizer, witness, victim’, which are precisely the roles he occupies within the nightmarish mental home. The book is in part an examination of the damage that living under a capricious regime does to your own sensibilities.
This is a key book in Cuban literature, and in Miami literature, so it's great to have this very natural translation from Anna Kushner published by the charming New Directions press. Rosales destroyed most of his work before he killed himself; this manuscript survived to be published posthumously, and given its obvious strengths, one can only imagine what else he might have produced.