Savršena prošlost

Mario Conde #1

by Leonardo Padura

Novogodišnje jutro 1989. poručniku Mariju Condeu počinje grozno. Mamuran je, boli ga glava, ima samo jednu cigaretu, a šef ga, jasno je iz telefonskog poziva kojim ga budi iz kratka sna, ne namjerava poštedjeti – novi misterij čeka njegovu pozornost. Netragom je nestao Rafael Morín Rodríguez, uspješni i poznati Kubanac, a okolnosti njegova nestanka potpuno su mutne. Osebujni Morin pritom nije samo još jedan slučaj u nizu, on je trn u Condeovu oku još iz vremena nježne gimnazijske mladosti, kada je, uza sve uspjehe, osvojio i oženio Condeovu najveću ljubav – fatalnu Tamaru. Conde i Tamara ponovno će se sresti u opakim okolnostima, a slike iz davne prošlosti tjerat će poručnika na mnoga promišljanja, kao i na niz otkrića u još jednoj igri sjena po živim kubanskim ulicama.

Savršena prošlost prvi je u nizu kriminalističkih romana velikog Leonarda Padure, s Marijem Condeom u glavnoj ulozi. Kao i Zbogom, Hemingway, i ovaj roman donosi mnogo više od užitka potrage za počiniteljem – širom otvara vrata u šaren i kulturom bogat prostor Kube osamdesetih te ocrtava život kubanskog društva u svoj njegovoj dinamičnoj raskoši.

Genres: Mystery, Fiction, Crime, Noir, Spanish Literature, Mystery Thriller, Thriller

216 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1991

About the author

Leonardo Padura Fuentes (born 1955) is a Cuban novelist and journalist. As of 2007, he is one of Cuba's best known writers internationally. In English and some other languages, he is often referred to by the shorter form of his name, Leonardo Padura. He has written movie scripts, two books of short stories and a series of detective novels translated into 10 languages. In 2012, Fuentes was awarded the National Prize for Literature, Cuba's national literary award and the most important award of its kind.

Leonardo Padura nasceu em Havana, em 1955. Licenciado em Filologia, trabalhou como guionista, jornalista e crítico, tornando-se sobretudo conhecido pela série de romances policiais protagonizados pelo detetive Mario Conde, traduzidos para inúmeras línguas e vencedores de prestigiosos prémios literários, como o Prémio Café Gijón 1995, o Prémio Hammett em 1997, 1998 e 2005, o Prémio do Livro Insular 2000, em França, ou o Brigada 21 para o melhor romance do ano, além de vários prémios da crítica em Cuba e do Prémio Nacional de Romance em 1993.
Sua tetralogia Las cuatro estaciones, com histórias do detetive Mario Conde, começou a ser publicada em inglês. Os livros são:
Pasado perfecto ("Havana Blue", 2007), 1991
Vientos de cuaresma ("Havana Yellow", 2008)), 1994
Mascaras ("Havana Red", 2005), 1997
Paisaje de otoño ("Havana Black", 2006), 1998.
Padura publicou também dois livros subseqüentes apresentando o detetive Conde: Adios Hemingway e La neblina del ayer Neste momento, Padura está a finalizar um romance em que os protagonistas são o revolucionário russo León Trotsky e o seu assassino, Ramón Mercader.
Livros de Padura editados em português (Portugal, Edições ASA)
Adeus, Hemingway
Morte em Havana (Máscaras)
A neblina do passado
Paisagem de Outono
O Romance da Minha Vida
Um Passado Perfeito
Ventos de Quaresma

http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leonardo...

Reviews

[Jim Fonseca · Rating 4 out of 5]

Cuba, 1989. A high-level government official is missing and pressure is coming down from the top: Find this guy. He wheels and deals on important trade negotiations for Cuba with foreign countries. Maybe the missing man has been kidnapped? Maybe he fled the country on a boat to Florida? He cuts financial deals, so could money be involved? Women?



SPOILERS FOLLOW about the general story, but not about the investigation.

Police detective Lieutenant Mario Conde is assigned to the case. And guess what? He went to high school with both the missing man and his wife. In high school this couple was the superstar couple and every guy was in love with beautiful Tamara including Mario. In fact, fifteen years and two marriages, two divorces later, he’s still in love with her. Yes, he’ll take on this case.

The really interesting question, though, is does ‘The Count’ really want to find him? That’s Mario’s nickname and it’s how he thinks of himself. (Conde means count in Spanish.) Maybe he’s happy with the chance to make a move on the not-too-terribly-distraught Tamara? Maybe he should be thinking of her as a ‘person of interest’ in the case?

Mario and his side-kick partner go through all the motions of interviewing the missing man’s friends, women friends and co-workers. But most of the story is not about the case, but about The Count.

All fictional police detectives have to have quirks. One of the Count’s main quirks is that while he may be the best detective – that’s why he’s leading this important case – he frustrates his superiors with his lackadaisical attitude. He can’t tell you why he became a cop. He really wants to be a writer. Now and then he rolls a blank sheet of paper into a typewriter but nothing comes out.

Maybe the Count needs another drink? During the day the Count and his partner can’t pass a bar without running in for a few straight shots. Don’t they have rules about drinking and driving in Cuba? Oh, that’s right - they’re cops. Never mind. (I'm sure the Count would take offense but I put this book on my 'alcoholism' shelf.)

We learn a lot about class distinctions in Cuba. Does it surprise us to learn that communist Cuba has a whole class of people, often government officials (like Tamara and her husband), who live in fancy houses in fabulous neighborhoods while most people live in shanties in the barrios? No, we’re not surprised.

The Count lives in a dump – dead dogs in the street. But he has most of his meals and spends most of his time with another old high school buddy, Slim. Slim of course is a huge man, confined to a wheelchair. Just about every day the Count visits Slim. The Count eats meals cooked by Slim’s mother and then he and Slim drink themselves into a stupor on rum. The Count will be late to work again tomorrow.

The book doesn't give us a lot of local color in a geographical sense but we learn some about Cuban culture. Lines around the block to buy potatoes, coupon ration books, apartment complexes run by ‘revolutionary committees,’ mass meetings at the workplace where people come ‘under criticism’ and ‘party cell’ meetings. Officials often refer to each other as ‘Comrade.’

And I guess some might call it ‘stereotypical Latin American culture’ when the Count calls his partner at home, his wife answers the phone, and his wife tells him that his partner is at his partner's girlfriend’s house. Women have a hard life. The Count looks at Slim’s mother slaving over the stove and tells us ‘she’s 60 but looks 80.’

Overall, the story is more about the Count than it is about the police investigation and the mystery of the man’s disappearance. There aren’t a lot of twists and turns to the plot. Current events are interspersed with flashbacks to the Count’s high school days with Tamara, her missing husband and Slim, who was also in the high school group.

While the writing style is mainly straightforward, it’s very much a mixture. There are long passages of both prose and dialog. Sometimes the prose is Saramago-style full-page paragraphs with only commas as punctuation. When the Count listens to taped interviews conducted by his partner, those are presented, like a tape, as a run-on paragraph with no indication made of questions vs. answers. I’ll give it a 3.5 rounded up.



The author (b. 1955) has written about 15 novels, nine of them in the Mario Conde investigator series of which Havana Blue is the first. (It turns out this first one is one of the lower-rated ones on GR.) All nine appear to have been translated into English. Padura won Cuba’s highest literary prize in 2012.

Top photo in Havana from time.com
The author from cubastudies.org

[Revised 7/1/23]

[Lance Charnes · Rating 3 out of 5]

What does crime look like on a tropical island isolated for two generations from its nearest neighbor, laboring under an authoritarian gerontocracy? Surprisingly (and, perhaps, disappointingly), it looks much like crime in that much richer, less tropical neighbor. This is the state of things in Havana Blue, the first installment in Cuban mystery writer Leonardo Padura's now-famous Mario Conde detective series.

Conde, a lieutenant in Havana's police force, is called on to track down Rafael Morin, a wheel in the Ministry of Industry who's turned up missing on New Year's Eve. Conde and Morin grew up together, and Conde grew to resent Morin for (a) being nakedly ambitious, and (b) swiping and marrying Tamara, Conde's high-school crush. You already know where this is going: in digging through Morin's affairs, Conde also digs through his memories of his youth and his lingering feelings for Tamara. Naturally, all is not what it seems to be.

Conde is a vividly realized character. We're immersed in his thoughts, feelings and memories (including copious first-person flashbacks) from page one. However, he's also a type. He has a drinking problem, still hangs out with bros he grew up with, and (like many of his literary ilk) doesn't seem to be able to hold together a relationship with a woman for any length of time. He grumbles about his superiors and takes advantage of Manuel Palacios, his long-suffering detective sergeant. Does all this sound familiar? Of course it does -- Conde is a Cuban Inspector Morse, except he listens to jazz (natch) instead of opera and does occasionally get laid. Still, he's an earthy, relatively okay guy to hang around with.

And that's what you'll be doing: hanging around. Conde spends a great deal of time eating or drinking with old friends. The cross-talk feels real and unforced, full of the kinds of jibes that people throw around when they've known each other for too long. Which is fine as far as it goes, but it usually doesn't have much to do with the case.

Indeed, the case is mostly something that interrupts Conde's socializing and philosophizing. The boss occasionally nudges him to get on with it, but otherwise there's little urgency displayed by anyone connected with the investigation. The only one who seems more than passingly concerned is Tamara, and then only to a certain point. Perhaps this is a byproduct of the setting: it's the tropics, and an island, and nobody's going anywhere very fast because there simply aren't that many places to go.

If so, that's the largest contribution the setting makes to the story. The island's peculiar politics play very little role in anything any of the characters do. The author drops place names regularly and you could follow Conde's travels with a good map of Havana, but unless you've been there you'll end up with only a hazy idea of what these places look like. You won't find the Cuban answer to Donna Leon's Venice or Alexander McCall Smith's Botswana here. This is for me the book's greatest disappointment: change the place names, cut down on people calling each other "comrade," and the story could just as easily be set in any other poverty-stricken, semi-corrupt tropical locale... Miami, perhaps.

I have to wonder if the translation is part of the problem. It's a UK production, and at times the prose feels clunky, but not in any consistent way that would indicate an underlying flaw in the original. Also, it's an exercise in cognitive dissonance to have these Cuban characters speaking like working-class Brits, something I never quite got over.

Havana Blue isn't a bad story; it's a very ordinary one, steeped in all the detective-story tropes that have become so familiar. It could be that I missed the point since I'm a gringo; perhaps Padura is writing in code, and Conde's rambles and flashbacks will bring knowing nods from a home-grown audience ("Ah, yes, it was just that way back then..."). Don't pick this up if you expect a Havana travelogue, or a twisty plot, or a lot of excitement. If you want to spend some downtime with Mario Conde and his crew, pounding Cuban rum while listening to vintage jazz or The Mamas and the Papas, then dive right in.

[Algernon · Rating 3 out of 5]

[7/10]

... while I’m a policeman I’ll never stop smoking or stop thinking that one day I’ll write a very romantic, very sweet, very squalid novel, but I’ll also plug away at routine enquiries. When I’m no longer a policeman and write my novel, I’d like to work with lunatics because I love lunatics.

Introducing Mario Conde, a Havana investigator with a sideline in existentialist anguish and a keen eye for the beautiful shapes of women passing by. I’ve always wished I could visit Cuba, hike up in the mountains, swim in the blue Caribbean, dance late at night to popular music. It might take a while for me to actually get there, but in the meantime I was psyched when my friends over in Pulp Fiction voted for Leonardo Padura this month.

Mario Conde’s strolls down memory lane always ended in melancholy.

The novel delivered the goods, most of the time. I felt transported into the ‘squalid’ splendor of the tropical metropolis, with many details in the detective flashbacks or in his present day [1990] strolls through town evoking my own experiences behind the Iron Curtain, starting with the very first morning when Conde wakes miserably after a late drinking night, blaming his hangover on the half-shitty Rumanian plonk he drank to excess. Ironically, in my student days, we used to drink Havana Club rum and smoke cheap Populares cigarettes that Castro was sending over to Romania in exchange for oil and weapons.

The Count, as he is known at the police headquarters, is called back from weekend leave in order to investigate the disappearance of a high ranking government official. Right from the start, Mario Conde feels out of his comfort zone, despite his ten years experience in the force and his reputation as the best detective on the team. Because the missing man, Rafael Morin, is not a stranger to the Count but a former school colleague and the current husband of a girl he was in love with.

Rafael was as squeaky clean as ever, and Conde shouldn’t let his prejudices get the better of him.
His memories were scars from wounds he’d thought had healed a long time ago and a case under investigation was quite another matter, and investigations have antecedents, evidence, clues, suspicions, hunches, intuitions, certainties, comparable statistical data, fingerprints, documents and many, many coincidences but nothing as tricky and treacherous as prejudice.

I liked the way the author uses this old relationship as a catalyst for frequent flashbacks, fleshing out the characters of the policeman and of his prey, building up an entire edifice of youthful dreams and resentments, shared experiences and character traits that will eventually become clues to the reasons a man with a monumental ambition, a successful career and a beautiful wife has gone AWOL.

The focus on social issues, on a clinically depressed detective and on the minute procedural details of the investigation made me think often of parallels between this first Havana novel by Padura and his Swedish mentors Maj Sjowall and Per Wahloo. Mario Conde feels like a carbon copy of Martin Beck, with the main difference residing in the Count’s hot pursuit of anything in a skirt ( Mario Conde savoured her lusty feminity. ) and his self-destructive drinking habits. while Beck was a laid-back introvert. The disillusionment with humanity and the professionalism are shared.

He hardly read nowadays and had even forgotten the day when he’d pledged before a photo of Hemingway, the idol he most worshiped, that he’d be a writer and nothing else and that any other adventures would be valid as life experience.
Life experience.
Dead bodies, suicides, murderers, smugglers, whores, pimps, rapists and raped, thieves, sadists, twisted people of every shape, size, sex, age, colour, social and geographical origins. A load of bastards.
And fingerprints, autopsies, digging, bullets fired, scissors, knives, crowbars, hair and teeth extracted, faces disfigured.
His life experiences.

I also feel the author often identifies with his detective, a psychologist who dreams of becoming a writer and who likes to insert in the text references to Hemingway, Cortazar or Thornton Wilder. They are all appropriate in context and helpful in making a mental picture of Mario Conde and of the reasons he became such a wreck at barely thirty years of age. It’s not an easy job, dealing with the worst of humanity on a daily basis. In another oblique reference to a Sidney Pollack movie we get a possible glimpse at how the author visualizes his lead character : Al Pacino in “Bobby Deerfield” , another personal favorite from my school days.

Just imagine, man, my old dad couldn’t even give a hundred and forty pesos to buy myself a guitar!

On the plus side, Padura has a vibe of authenticity, of a genuine witness account of the problems faced by Cubans in their day to day pursuits. He is critical of the system and of those petty tyrants and small crooks who seem to thrive in totalitarian regimes. Yet I find it easier to relate to these issues, when they are not needlessly politicized or used as propaganda for a regime change. The Count and his friends are equally critical of the greed and duplicity inherent to a money driven system, one where the wolves are appointed as shepherds to the flock.

“Boss, I don’t know why you’re shocked at the lack of controls in an enterprise. Whenever and wherever they do a really surprise audit, they find dreadful things that beggar belief, that nobody can explain, but which are for real.”

I have spoken very little about the actual investigation, not so much out of a fear of spoilers, but because the whole point of the novel seems to be the psychology of the main actors, The Count and Rafael Morin, as revealed through memories and small investigation clues. Together with the side characters, the canvas is expanded to a multi-layered portrait at the city at this particular moment in time – 1990 – a time for change and for re-evaluation of the system of values. More that the expected local colour of rum and cigars, hot-blooded women and popular love songs, the key word that the author returns to time and time again is ‘squalor’ – something of an artistic credo that he builds his story around, an open question that might or might not be resolved in the following books in the series.

I am intrigued enough to follow up.

>>><<<>>><<<

Rating the novel is not easy. I liked parts of it, but my reading experience was not a thrill. It may be the case of a poor translation, but the prose itself left me cold, and the Count himself was half genuine, half a poseur. The sexual details felt gratuitous and the jokes forced, yet a few pages later I felt compelled to bookmark a particularly neat passage. Intellectually, I enjoy the proposition to depict Cuban society as ‘squalid’, but emotionally I was uninvolved in the anguish of the policeman.
The case itself was boring (a deliberate feature in most police procedurals) and the solution entirely predictable, making me think the whole novel is just a pretext for a trip down memory lane.

[Montse Gallardo · Rating 4 out of 5]

El pasado marzo leí Herejes sin saber que pertenecía a una serie -nada menos que la 8ª historia sobre el policía, retirado ya en esta 8ª historia, Mario Conde- y me gustó tanto que decidí iniciar la serie como es debido, con su primer libro, que es este Pasado perfecto cuyo desenlace ya conocía, porque se menciona en el primero que leí. Pero no importa

Este es uno de esos libros de investigación criminal en los que no importa tanto el caso, ni cómo se resuelva (que sí, que por supuesto espero que se resuelvan los casos), sino el "factor humano" de la historia, los personajes, la ciudad, las relaciones.

El personaje principal, Mario Conde, es un policía relativamente joven -en la treintena, que ya se le va acabando- por lo que todavía se siente comprometido con su trabajo, pero ya tiene el cinismo no sé si propio de los policías de novela negra, o de los cubanos, que esto es lo que hay. Quiere mostrarse duro, pero es un cachito de pan, especialmente con su amigo el Flaco; qué relación más bonita, qué amor más puro.

Su visión del caso (la desaparición de un alto directivo de una de las empresas cubanas que hacen negocios con el exterior) nos permite adentrarnos en un sistema social complejo (¿cuál no lo es?), con sus rituales y sus particularidades, que puede que nos quiten algunos prejuicios sobre Cuba y sus habitantes. Y con él nos vamos adentrando tanto en el caso actual como en ese pasado perfecto que ha traído a este presente imperfecto, pues la novela tiene dos tiempos: la adolescencia de Conde y el desaparecido, compañeros de instituto, y los distintos chicos y chicas con los que compartieron esos años, y cómo se han situado ahora en la sociedad, dónde están, qué hacen, qué implicación tienen en el caso... suponiendo que la tengan.

Es como la fiesta del 20 aniversario de la promoción, pero con policía y desaparecido.

Como añadido, visitar La Habana de la mano de Mario Conde -de Leonardo Padura- te lleva a tomarle cariño, a pesar de saber que Cuba es un régimen totalitario, que hay escasez de productos, que la luz se va, que hay miembros del partido en cada edificio encargados de vigilar a los vecinos... Y nada de eso se oculta en la novela, pero se cuenta con la normalidad absoluta de ser la cotidianeidad de los personajes, su día a día, su vida. En la novela visitamos una ciudad con colores, olores, música y un ritmo pausado, que no lento.

Me ha gustado mucho, está claro que seguiré con la serie. Y creo que Conde va a acabar al mismo nivel que mi querido Wallander, otro policía humano, descreído, comprometido y al que seguir, no por cómo resuelve los casos, sino por cómo los investiga.

[Patrizia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mi sono annoiata leggendolo. Una traduzione non sempre impeccabile e una narrazione a tratti confusa, con frequenti passaggi dalla terza alla prima persona, divagazioni e considerazioni ripetute e ripetitive che diluiscono la trama, sviliscono la storia privandola di interesse e di mordente.

[Anna Carina · Rating 2 out of 5]

Das Buch ist unterhaltsamer als die Wertung vermuten lässt. Evtl. weil das Hörbuch in der Stimmvariation recht gut eingesprochen ist.
Mario Conde, Polizist und Ermittler des Verschwundenen-Falls von Rafael, seinem ehemaligen Schulkollegen, ist ein allerwelts Ermittler. Leicht abgehalftert, weiß nicht so recht wohin mit sich.
Trotz intensiver Ausleuchtung der Schulzeit und der freundschaftlichen Beziehung zum "Dünnen" und seiner Mama - Kubananische Mamas mit lecker Essen spielen in dem Buch eine wichtige Rolle- bleibt Mario zu blass. Dem Buch fehlt Intensität. Die fetzigen Dialoge und ruppigen Vorgesetzten und andere spezielle Figuren kommen nicht so richtig zur Geltung, wie sie gedacht sind. Mir ist das alles etwas zu aufgesetzt und schematisch.
Der eigentliche Kriminalfall kommt nur kurzfristig in Schwung. Die politische Dimension und der Lokalkolorit blitzen in der zweiten Hälfte öfters auf, begeistern kurz und erlöschen wieder.
Die Aufklärung ist nicht sonderlich spektakulär, intelligent oder sonst wie anregend. Man stolpert ehr darüber. Der Ganze Fall, maximal ein flackerndes Teelicht.

Die 90er müssen auf Kuba wohl äußerst rassistisch abgelaufen sein. Der Autor wirft damit jedenfalls hemmungslos um sich.

[David Dowdy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lieutenant Mario Conde is a sorry policeman, he's told. He knows that as he chain smokes and broods over the past. Over the 1960s high school days in Havana when he didn't get Tamara. Over the revolutionary regimen that determined to break the backs of teens who longed for the world outside of Cuba. Over the loss of youth, his and his friends. Over the struggle of a baseball game.

Slowly, with the help of his sergeant, Manolo, truth emerges and it tears Conde apart that the man he's looking for, the winner of the girl, is not the prince he was imagined to be. What does he do? He proves, more for himself than anyone, that no he's not a sorry policeman. He is a man who perseveres. It's a wonderfully rich and sexy story told at turns by himself and the narrator.

*****

I appreciate the translation and I'm sorry to rat out the use of explicitly English words such as "bloody", "wankers", and "barmy" that spoil the sense of Cuban locality.

[Encarni Prados · Rating 4 out of 5]

Primer libro de la serie del inspector Mario Conde, un policía en La Habana inteligente y sagaz. Reconozco que hay expresiones que me ha costado un poco pillarlas, nada que el contexto o un diccionario no solucione. El teniente Conde es un escritor que no escribe y que dejar la universidad lo llevo a ser policía, un hombre que se mete hasta el fondo en sus casos y que no para de fumar. Me ha gustado la historia y seguiré con la serie sin duda.

[Rosa Dracos99 · Rating 4 out of 5]

Buena novela policíaca que, a la vez, contiene espléndidas descriciones sobre la vida en La Habana, tanto en el momento actual de la novela (finales de los 80); como unos 20 años atrás.
Mientras investiga la desaparición de un cargo del partido, Mario Conde (policía semi-alcohólico, desengañado...) rememora su juventud, cuando conoció al desaparecido.
Libro muy trabajado, con personajes creíbles, muy desarrollados; y no solo los principales, sino también todos los implicados.
La trama policial, sencilla, queda totalmente camuflada por la narración sobre la política, la sociedad, las costumbres, la vida familiar,.. de La Habana, siempre desde el punto de vista del protagonista, tanto en su vida adulta, como en sus recuerdos de infancia y de juventud.
La narrativa utilizada, alternando 1ª y 3ª persona (pero siempre desde la perspectiva de Mario Conde), puede llevar a confusión en algunos momentos, ya que en la misma página va alternando entre uno y otro; pero esto le confiere la agilidad necesaria a la lectura, ya que apenas hay diálogos.

[Pedro · Rating 3 out of 5]

Primera novela de Mario Conde, y de la saga Las cuatro estaciones. Desaparece un funcionario que fue compañero de Conde en el secundario, y de cuya actual esposa estuvo enamorado; la investigación lleva al doble mundo del socialismo con empresas, y sus tentaciones. Muy buena, con todos los ingredientes del policial negro.

[Helin Puksand · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ma ei tea, et ma oleksin varem mõne Kuuba autori teost lugenud, seega oli see raamat esmatutvus Kuuba kirjandusega.
Raamatu tegevus toimub 1989. aasta alguses, kui kaob edukas ärimees. Juhtumit hakkab uurima Mario Conde (hüüdnimega Krahv), kes on ärimehe kunagine klassivend ja kes oli kooliajal (tegelikult siiani) armunud ärimehe naisesse. Raamatu tempo on aeglane: uurimine ei toimu eriti kiiresti ja vahepeal mõtleb Conde tagasi oma kooliajale ning arutleb selle üle, miks ta on politseinik. Huvitav oli lugeda Kuuba elust, mis oli sarnane nõukaajale: kirjandusringi ajakiri ei olnud ideeliselt korrektne, koolivorminõue ja pikkade juuste keeld, sotsialistlikud võistlused koolide vahel. Mis mulle eriti meeldis, on autori kirjeldusoskus. Toon näiteks ühe Conde kolleegi kirjelduse
* „Sa lõhnad hästi, Pilusilm,“ ütles Krahv kolleegile ja jäi - nagu tavaliselt – seda neegritarist ja hiinlasest sündinud vägevat naisolendit viivuks silmitsema. Ligi meeter seitsmekümne jagu kaheksakümmend hoolikalt ja asjatundlikult jaotatud kilo: väikesed ja kindlasti väga pringid rinnad, Vaikse ookeani mõõtu puusad ning tuharad, mis äratasid paratamatult soovi neid katsuda või ronida nende otsa ja hüpata üles-alla nagu vedruvoodil, et veenduda selle imelise tagumiku tõelisuses. (lk 168)
No kas pole värvikas? Igal juhul mulle tuli see naine väga selgelt silme ette. :)
Raamatus suitsetatakse väga palju - Conde tõmbab sigareti sigareti järel. Meelde jääb aga Conde ülemuse armastus ja lugupidamine sigarite vastu ja seda taas tänu imelisele kirjeldusele:
* Major Rangel jälgis Rey del Mundo sigari automaatset agooniat, nagu vaadatakse hinge heitmas koera, kes on olnud parim sõber. Sigariotsa tuhatoosi asetades kahetses ta, et polnud seda paremini kohelnud, sest Mario Conde selgituste saatel oli vastik suitsetada. (lk 199)
Nii et soovitan. Värskendav lugemine Skandinaavia krimkade vahele.

[Toby · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was another in my selection of forgotten literature found in the $2 section of my shop, which is yet again an absolute shame. This one especially should have a wide appeal. It's a Cuban literary noir novel, what's not appealing about that?

As has already been noted here on Goodreads, this is more of a study of time and place than a straight forward detective story. And Padura really manages to draw a strong image of what life was like in 1990 Havana.

I have never studied the country but there's something about the idea of Cuba that intrigues, that excites the imagination and I couldn't help but be fascinated by the culture described so well and in occasional depth in this enjoyable piece of work.

The conflicts that exist in the heart and in the head for these Cubans are treated in a matter of fact manner, not criticising or condoning the church or communism, merely pointing out the way things are.

There are several sections that stand out as being incredibly well written in what was in the end an enjoyable enough crime story, my favourite of which will be marked as a high point in describing the behaviour of grown men at a live sporting event. When Conde talks about why he pays to go to watch his favourite baseball team Padura manages to capture something so infinitely true of all people who have a genuine love affair with a sports team. It certainly summed up what I have been missing for the past two years.

I can't say I'd rush out and find another in this series but it was good enough to make me think about reading another if it too is also $2.

[Sonia MM · Rating 4 out of 5]

Primera incursión en las novelas de Leonardo Padura y más concretamente en las de su personaje Mario Conde.

Tuve la oportunidad de asistir a una conferencia de Padura, persona interesantísima y chispeante, que se refleja en su escritura y en su personaje de Conde, conjeturo que su alter ego.

Es una novela negra bien armada y con el ambiente cubano tan particular. Me han gustado los giros cubanos no siempre fáciles de descifrar: pisicorre, jeva, bisnero, pepillo, guarincadilla, etc.

El protagonista es bastante arquetípico de la novela negra: solitario, de vida desordenada, fumador y bebedor, poco convencional.

El caso del que se ocupa lo conecta con su pasado adolescente, memorias, un viejo amor platónico y un viejo rival. El título es bastante significativo y nos permite conocer al protagonista y su mundo en La Habana.

[Nicoletta Furnari · Rating 2 out of 5]

“PASSATO REMOTO. UN’INDAGINE DI MARIO CONDE” è il primo noir appartenente alla saga del tenente Mario Conde, dove il protagonista si ritrova ad investigare sulla scomparsa di un suo vecchio conoscente, il direttore della ditta import-export che lavora per conto del Ministero dell’Industria, Rafael Morín Rodríguez.
Per il Conde è un tuffo non richiesto nel passato perché, ai tempi della scuola, si è sempre sentito invidioso di Rafael: il migliore nello studio, popolare tra studenti e insegnanti, ammirato dalle ragazze, fidanzato con Tamara (il sogno impossibile di Mario). Ma ora? Chi è realmente Rafael? Dalle indagini risulta essere un uomo ambizioso (in senso positivo), degno della massima fiducia, irreprensibile sul lavoro, insomma, secondo il modo di dire del nonno del Conde, uno nato asino e morto cavallo, grazie alla strada che si è fatto nella vita. Eppure i conti non tornano, in senso letterale…
Leonardo Padura Fuentes in questo romanzo presenta L’Avana di fine anni Ottanta, in una Cuba decisamente non turistica. Con gli occhi e i continui ricordi di gioventù del tenente, racconta tutto lo squallore che un poliziotto è costretto ad affrontare: la povertà, i crimini, le ingiustizie, le malattie, i tradimenti, l’immoralità, la corruzione, le morti. Ci troviamo di fronte ad un personaggio complesso, molto approfondito, disilluso e tormentato, con il sogno nel cassetto di essere uno scrittore, ma consapevole di svolgere un lavoro necessario perché (testuali parole) non gli «piace che i figli di puttana se la cavino impunemente».
È un libro che scorre lentamente e l’ho trovato piuttosto pesante poiché l’aspetto investigativo è continuamente interrotto da flashback e riflessioni, malinconiche e spesso cariche di rimpianto. Sicuramente non continuerò la serie.

[Gala · Rating 4 out of 5]

Podés encontrar esta y otras reseñas también en mi blog:

http://ceresplaneta.blogspot.com.ar/2...

En Pasado perfecto, la primera entrrga de la serie del teniente Mario Conde, el protagonista deberá investigar la desaparición de un importante empresario. Para Conde no será un caso cualquiera, porque el desaparecido es un antiguo compañero de escuela, Rafael Morín. A su vez, deberá enfrentarse a Tamara, antiguo amor juvenil, quien ahora mantiene una relación con Rafael.

Desde que leí Vientos de cuaresma, la segunda entrega de la serie del teniente Mario Conde, me di cuenta de que el rótulo de "novela policial" le queda muy chico a la obra de Padura. Si bien es innegable que los libros tienen un alto contenido policial o de novela negra, esta saga incluye muchos otros elementos que igualmente la hacen destacar, y que permiten al lector analizarla no desde lo estrictamente policial, sino también desde otros aspectos igual de interesantes.

El caso que narra la novela tiene la virtud de que, más allá de que no sea uno de esos casos impresionantes o llenos de giros argumentales, engancha desde el principio. Así, la trama se vuelve muy fluida y amena, y no es para nada complicado seguirle el ritmo. Las piezas del rompecabezas van poco a poco poniéndose en su lugar, sin elementos que parezcan forzados o demasiado convenientes. Desde ese punto de vista, la novela cumple bien su función.

Padura tiene una prosa que a mí particularmente me gusta muchísimo. Se nota claramente que tiene mucho talento para escribir y contar historias. Más allá de algunas palabras o expresiones que son habituales en el lenguaje coloquial cubano, su estilo es muy claro y no genera confusiones. Es decir que más allá de que alguna que otra expresión pueda perderse, esto no supone un inconveniente mayor a la hora de avanzar con la lectura. La prosa del autor de ninguna manera resulta plana o superficial, sino que los pasajes en los que se aleja de lo policial para tratar otros temas tienen un claro tinte poético. Es un estilo narrativo muy armonioso, en el que cada palabra está donde debe estar y nada suena, por así decirlo, forzado, o lo que sería peor, pretensioso.

A pesar de tratarse de la primera entrega de una serie que actualmente cuenta con ocho títulos, en Pasado perfecto se ve una gran caracterización del personaje principal, Mario Conde, así con también de los secundarios y de los ambientes en los que se va desarrollando la historia. Esto permite, entre otras cosas, que la trama vaya avanzando según bases sólidas, y que de esta manera los hechos tengan coherencia y sentido.

Pero lo que más destaca de Pasado perfecto no es la trama policial, y habiendo leído otro libro de la serie pienso que esto probablemente represente una constante a lo largo de los demás libros. En cambio, lo que hace que esta novela tenga tanto valor es cómo el autor va narrando los hechos, la forma en la que transmite no solo lo que ocurre sino cómo se van sintiendo todos los personajes con respecto a ellos. Padura llega a la combinación perfecta entre escenas de acción policial y momentos de reflexiones sobre distintos temas. En la novela, y bajo una constante atmósfera nostálgica y melancólica, el Conde piensa sobre muchísimas cuestiones; el pasado que fue perfecto, el presente que no lo es tanto y el futuro que no tiene otra cosa más que pura incertidumbre. ¿Hacia dónde va Conde, qué es lo que quiere? Si la respuesta no la tiene él, menos la tendremos nosotros los lectores. También se reflexiona sobre muchos otros temas, como los miedos, la soledad, la culpabilidad, las motivaciones, las frustraciones, el amor, etc. Por todas estas cuestiones, pienso que es completamente posible interpretar Pasado perfecto, y seguramente todas las demás entregas de la serie, como una novela que narra la vida de un hombre, cuya profesión da la casualidad que es la de ser policía. Más que un relato sobre sus deberes profesionales, Padura cuenta su vida, su personalidad, sus defectos y sus virtudes, entre muchos otros temas.

Pasado perfecto no es una novela que sobresalga particularmente por la trama policial, sino que el gran mérito del autor reside en la genial construcción del protagonista y de los ambientes que lo acompañan. Padura logra esto a partir de su excelente estilo narrativo, en el cual cada palabra está perfectamente colocada. Una novela a la que la etiqueta de "policíaca" puede quedarle muy bien, pero que al analizarla con mayor profundidad, uno se da cuenta de que va mucho más allá. Quizás lo mejor sea dejar de pensar en el género al que pertenece y disfrutarla como la gran novela, así, a secas, que evidentemente es.

[Georgiana 1792 · Rating 4 out of 5]

Si tratta del giallo che apre la serie con protagonista il tenente di polizia Mario Conde, che ci mostra la vita vera a Cuba grazie ai ricordi di Conde, che qui si trova a investigare sulla sparizione di un vecchio compagno di Liceo (il Pre), Rafael Morín, che non gli stava molto simpatico innanzi tutto perché era il classico primo della classe un po' lecchino ma, soprattutto, perché si era fidanzato e poi sposato con la donna dei suoi sogni, Tamara.
Il Conde conosceva queste biografie che assecondavano la direzione del vento e immaginava il sorriso infallibile e sicuro con cui lui spiegava a Fernández-Lorea, il ministro, come sarebbero andate bene le cose grazie alle sue ultime disposizioni, “compagno ministro”. Rafael Morín non aveva mai discusso con un superiore, con loro aveva solo scambi di opinioni, non si era mai rifiutato di eseguire un ordine assurdo, faceva solo critiche costruttive e attraverso i canali più opportuni; non aveva mai spiccato il volo senza prima verificare la sicurezza della rete che l’avrebbe accolto, amorosa e materna, in caso di eventuale caduta.
Il caso è piuttosto semplice, ma serve a far immergere il lettore nell'atmosfera disincantata di Cuba del 1989 e a farci conoscere il protagonista, Mario Conde, un compagno comune, ma forse proprio per questo speciale. Sicuramente continuerò a leggere Padura.

[Aida Santillán · Rating 5 out of 5]

Estoy gratamente sorprendida con la pluma de Leonardo Padura; su personaje de Mario Conde se ha ganado mi corazón y voto de confianza para seguir conociendo sus historias.

Entre la cotidianidad de quehaceres cubanos, e inmerso entre las calles de La Habana, el Teniente Mario Conde investiga la desaparición de su antiguo y vencedor rival en amores, Rafael Morin. Para ello, tendrá que encontrarse de nuevo con la bella Tamara y abrir esos recuerdos y sinsabores de una juventud compartida también con su gran amigo “El flaco”.

De la mano de su compañero Manolo, emprende la investigación sobre Rafael Morin y ese “pasado perfecto” que le envidió siempre, y que quizás no lo fuera tanto.

Una historia que me gustó muchísimo, a pesar de que sobresale mucho más el pasado del detective que el propio caso que investiga; y como muchos recuerdos de adolescencia, el autor describe los detalles y añoranzas como si fueran nuestros.

Continuaré con esta saga llamada “Las cuatro estaciones” y que la complementan: Vientos de cuaresma, Máscaras y Paisaje de otoño, cada una con menos de 200 páginas.

Me gusta esta iniciativa #abrilantillano de @lectoracaribena que nos permite descubrir, o redescubrir, autores maravillosos como Leonardo Padura y Maryse Condé.

@libros_aidasantillan

[Daniela libroscomoalas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Mi primer experiencia con Padura. Una muy grata. Su manera coloquial de escribir te remite a La Habana, aunque a veces no entendía nada jaja. Quiero destacar la maravillosa descripción de personajes, lo bien caracterizados, parece que los estuviera viendo. Y el Conde es lo más, lo quiero casi tanto como a Miss Marple 😂. Su melancolía, sus ganas de hacer un mundo mejor, su amor por los suyos, no sé me gustó.
Hubiese querido más descripciones y ver un poco más de Cuba, espero que haya más en los siguientes libros de la saga.
El misterio en sí no me atrapó mucho la verdad, poco rebuscado, poco complejo. Pero todo lo que lo envuelve es lo que hizo que me guste el libro.

[Carolina Quintero · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.3
Pasado Perfecto es el primer libro de una serie de 8, protagonizados por el famosísimo policía y detective Mario Conde (por fin conozco al Conde). Es la historia de la desaparición de Rafael Morín, pero también de la corrupción que envuelve y que sobresale en Cuba.

[Alfonso D'agostino · Rating 3 out of 5]

Passato remoto rappresenta la tappa cubana del mio giro del mondo letterario. Una tappa imprevista non dal punto di vista geografico (andando in ordine alfabetico, era difficile non immaginare cosa sarebbe venuto dopo la Crozia), ma certamente inattesa per ciò che riguarda il genere letterario: pur essendo un frequentatore abbastanza accanito delle "pagine gialle" (tutto minuscolo), il poliziesco alle latitudini de L'Avana mi era ancora piuttosto sconosciuto.

E tutto sommato sarebbe stato un peccato perdersi questo poliziesco atipico in salsa caraibica: una possibile perplessità iniziale ("ci sarà una festa ballerina ogni tre pagine") è stata spazzata via quasi nell'immediato mentre facevo la conoscenza del tenente Conde: uno di quei poliziotti complessi che piacciono a me. Disincantato, incasinato come pochi, sacro vincolo dell'amicizia e un'indagine da portare avanti per un misto di orgoglio e di curiosità intellettuale, fra un rum diviso con un amico e ricordi passati. Passato remoto, appunto: la trama ruota interamente attorno al passato del detective (amori mai risolti inclusi) e si insinua nelle pieghe della Cuba che conta, quella di manager di aziende di stato che hanno il privilegio di poter viaggiare all'estero, gestire valuta straniera e rispondere più o meno solo a se stessi.

Il ritmo può apparire compassato, ma funziona. Trama, personaggi dotati di un certo fascino e ambientazione del tutto originale contribuiscono alla riuscita di giallo solido, complessivamente ben riuscito.

[Makis Dionis · Rating 4 out of 5]

Romance and duty in the time of Revolution

[Leah · Rating 1 out of 5]

Locker room talk…

Mario Conde is awoken from his morning hangover by his boss, demanding his presence even though it’s his day off. A prominent business man with political ties has been missing for a couple of days, and Major Rangel wants his best detective on the job. When Conde learns that the missing man is Rafael Morín Rodríguez, he finds himself conflicted. Morín had been at school with Conde, though a couple of years older, and even back then his intelligence and looks meant he was clearly destined for great things. One of those great things was Tamara, a beautiful girl whom all the boys loved, especially Mario. It’s Tamara who has reported her husband missing, and Conde, still in love after all these years, isn’t so sure he really wants to find him.

Sadly, this was a major disappointment after me being so impressed by his The Man Who Loved Dogs, so I’ll be brief. I read it primarily because of its Cuban setting under the communist regime of Castro, but the setting doesn’t come through in the writing – it could be any place where poverty sits side by side with wealth and the authorities are riddled with corruption. Street names are used as a replacement for description, and fail to give a feel for the place. Instead the book is filled with dialogue, most of which is unnecessary. And rather than concentrating on the disappearance, the case acts as an excuse for Conde to reminisce about his youth, with the result that it is more coming-of-age tale than mystery.

In his present, Conde drinks, smokes and lusts after women. That’s all I can find to say about his character. His friends and colleagues also drink, smoke and lust after women, though to be fair some of them smoke cigarettes while others smoke cigars.

But what bored me most was the sad, adolescent sexism. Women are described purely in terms of their sexual allure or otherwise (except old women – like too many male writers, Padura only allows his women to become people once they’ve passed his upper age limit for attractiveness). Maybe it’s the translation that’s partly to blame, but I really don’t relish discussion of women in terms of the hardness of their “ass” or the size of their “tits”. Why is it we have to censor and even distort our language in a futile attempt not to offend every minority, but language like this about women is considered acceptable, even literary? Padura must have been in his mid-thirties by the time he was writing this in 1991, but apparently he still thinks that his readers should be excited to know what kind of woman makes his hero masturbate. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but if so, it’s time Cuba changed its culture. (I bet there are actually people who find that sentence more offensive than Padura’s language. *eyeroll*) Think I’m exaggerating? Here, have a sample…

“...her knees were rounded, her thighs compact and long, her legs appeared well-thrown and handmade, and her buttocks – as Skinny would say, using one of his catastrophically poetic similes – were as hard as hunger at five am, and yet all that was balanced out, compensated as it were, he added, by her not having an inch of tit.”

Enough already. I wouldn’t spend a moment with a man who talked that way about women in real life, so why would I want to read a book full of it? I struggled through to 45%, thought about skipping to the last chapter to find out what happened to the missing man, then realised I didn’t care.

[Arantxa Rufo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Admito que no albergaba excesivas esperanzas en esta novela, un absurdo prejuicio me hacía imaginarla confusa, por los localismos en el lenguaje, y política, por su procedencia.
Qué idiota fui.
Todo el lenguaje es un localismo, desde luego, y en vez de hacerla confusa la eleva en la autenticidad de la historia y los personajes. ¿Política, sí, como todas las novelas negras, que reflejan la realidad de su mundo con una naturalidad impecable. Así es La Habana, así es Cuba, esto es lo que hay.
Los localismos y el retrato social son solo algunos de los elementos que me han conquistado en esta novela.
El otro, básico, es su protagonista. Qué maravilla, Mario Conde, él mismo, su pasado y su presente y ese futuro como escritor al que no llegará nunca. Qué maravilla su cinismo, que no es más que una máscara para ocultar un corazón tan grande como su isla. Qué maravilla la relación con sus amigos y qué maravilla el Flaco y la Josefina.
Al fin, la investigación ha sido lo de menos, y hasta ella ha estado bien ejecutada, con un final correcto y bien cerrado.
Prejuicios derrotados. A por la siguiente.

[Laura · Rating 3 out of 5]

From BBC Radio 4 - Saturday Drama:
The first story in Padura's much-loved detective series set in Havana. It's New Year's Day 1989 and Lieutenant Mario Conde wakes up with another terrible hangover and a case which is close to home - his schoolboy rival, now a party grandee, is missing.

Leonardo Padura's series, published in English as the Havana Quartet, is set over the course of 1989 - starting with Havana Blue which opens on New Year's Day.

Leonardo Padura is a novelist and journalist who was born in 1955 in Havana where he still lives. He has published a number of short-story collections and literary essays but he is best known internationally for the Havana Quartet series, all featuring Inspector Mario Conde.

In 1998, Padura won the Hammett Prize from the International Association of Crime Writers and in; 2012, he was awarded the National Prize for Literature, Cuba's national literary award.

[Ana Martin · Rating 1 out of 5]

Es un libro que encontré en la libreria de mi padre y siento que es un libro escrito por un hombre para hombres, no le veo ninguna gracia al libro y estoy enfadada por habermelo leído. Es que ni siquiera el crimen es interesante, es simplemente un policia con pocas ganas de vivir haciendo de algo que puede ser interesante lo más aburrido del mundo… Lo siento I hated it.
Además, la cantidad de veces que habla del cuerpo de una mujer desde una perspectiva tan masculina y sexualizando??? Es que la chica que le gusta al protagonista solo destaca por su cuerpazo… Chico, eres un hombre adulto, a lo mejor estas solo por esa razón

[Sergio · Rating 3 out of 5]

A grande estrela deste romance policial é Havana… o personagem principal é caricato, o policial detetive frustrado que se afoga no álcool, na solidão. Isso é decepcionante. O mistério é apenas uma desculpa para o desenvolvimento de um enredo psicológico que tenta ser denso e cheio de camadas. Nenhum grande personagem, estilo esperado. É uma leitura fácil, prazerosa e divertida.
Não sei se lerei toda a série… talvez, na praia sem compromisso.

[Anabela Mestre · Rating 4 out of 5]

Um livro duro (ao bom estilo latino-americano), mas com uma escrita fluente e agradável. Um romance negro, em que o polícia Mario Conde ao resolver um caso complicado, tem um encontro com um passado. Este policial deixa-nos suspensos na sua trama e leva-nos a querer ler mais, sempre mais, portanto fiquei rendida a Padura e com vontade de voltar a este escritor.

[Pili · Rating 5 out of 5]

¡Qué alegría haber descubierto a este autor! Me cautivaron los personajes, el diálogo y la agudeza del estilo narrativo. La lectura fue como haber conocido la versión cubana de Eduardo Mendoza. Este libro es el primero en la saga del inspector, y poco me faltó para correr a la librería a comprar el resto de entregas.

[Mish Middelmann · Rating 2 out of 5]

Disappointing. Nice idea but poor execution, characters and plot felt shallow, dominated by a rather childish preoccupation with cigarettes, booze and unresolved childhood jealousies and crushes.

[Monisha · Rating 1 out of 5]

It was the longest 244 pages of my life... I hate giving a bad review but the constant change between past and present narratives was really annoying..