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191 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 1985




Harriet looked at the old gringo exactly as he wanted to be looked at before he died. He felt that her gaze completed the fragmented sequence of his imagination of Harriet Winslow that had begun in the reflections of the mirrors in the ballroom that was but a threshold of the road to dream, atomized into a thousand oneiric instants & now joined again in the words that told the old gringo that Harriet would not allow a living testimony to her sensuality, that she was giving the old man the right to dream about her, but not Arroyo.This was my first encounter with Carlos Fuentes & much of the prose in the Old Gringo is magical, playing on things that are at times dreamlike, occult, paranormal--drawn from Mesoamerican folk traditions. One guesses that Fuentes was influenced by James Joyce & other "modern" authors & aims to merge some of the fabric of his novel with more deeply-rooted Mexican folk aspects. The author intones...
Were all these bodies lying around the square carefully stretched out there like bleached dolls simply the proof that they themselves--the old man & the young general, her errant father & her abiding mother, little Pedro & the moon-faced woman--were all bodies occupied by the dead, carcasses presently inhabited by people called Harriet Winslow, Tomas Arroyo, Ambrose Bierce...who was a dead name printed on the covers of 2 books the old man traveled with.Like Ambrose Bierce, Fuentes had 2 children who predeceased him & perhaps there are other parallels shared by the authors. Old Gringo is a figure whose identity is tied to two wars, one American & the other Mexican and Fuentes is a Mexican who grew up in large part in the U.S. & was very keen on the war stories of Ambrose Bierce. While I found the novel rather slow-going occasionally, the time spent in dissecting it was time well-spent & ultimately an enjoyable literary experience.
She could not call him Cervantes, the author's name on the other book. So maybe calling him Bierce was just as far-fetched. It was an invisible name, simply because the old man had no name; it was already a dead name. As dead as the corpses neatly laid out around the village square. Did they ever have names?