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The Red Night Trilogy #1
Cities of the Red Night
While young men wage war against an evil empire of zealous mutants, the population of this modern inferno is afflicted with the epidemic of a radioactive virus. An opium-infused apocalyptic vision from the legendary author of Naked Lunch; the first of the trilogy with The Place of the Dead Roads and his final novel The Western Lands.
286 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1981
About the author
William S. Burroughs
454 books7,137 followersWilliam Seward Burroughs II, (also known by his pen name William Lee) was an American novelist, short story writer, essayist, painter, and spoken word performer.
A primary figure of the Beat Generation and a major postmodernist author, he is considered to be "one of the most politically trenchant, culturally influential, and innovative artists of the 20th century".
His influence is considered to have affected a range of popular culture as well as literature. Burroughs wrote 18 novels and novellas, six collections of short stories and four collections of essays.
Five books have been published of his interviews and correspondences. He also collaborated on projects and recordings with numerous performers and musicians, and made many appearances in films.
He was born to a wealthy family in St. Louis, Missouri, grandson of the inventor and founder of the Burroughs Corporation, William Seward Burroughs I, and nephew of public relations manager Ivy Lee. Burroughs began writing essays and journals in early adolescence. He left home in 1932 to attend Harvard University, studied English, and anthropology as a postgraduate, and later attended medical school in Vienna. After being turned down by the Office of Strategic Services and U.S. Navy in 1942 to serve in World War II, he dropped out and became afflicted with the drug addiction that affected him for the rest of his life, while working a variety of jobs. In 1943 while living in New York City, he befriended Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, the mutually influential foundation of what became the countercultural movement of the Beat Generation.
Much of Burroughs's work is semi-autobiographical, primarily drawn from his experiences as a heroin addict, as he lived throughout Mexico City, London, Paris, Berlin, the South American Amazon and Tangier in Morocco. Finding success with his confessional first novel, Junkie (1953), Burroughs is perhaps best known for his third novel Naked Lunch (1959), a controversy-fraught work that underwent a court case under the U.S. sodomy laws. With Brion Gysin, he also popularized the literary cut-up technique in works such as The Nova Trilogy (1961–64). In 1983, Burroughs was elected to the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, and in 1984 was awarded the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by France. Jack Kerouac called Burroughs the "greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift", a reputation he owes to his "lifelong subversion" of the moral, political and economic systems of modern American society, articulated in often darkly humorous sardonicism. J. G. Ballard considered Burroughs to be "the most important writer to emerge since the Second World War", while Norman Mailer declared him "the only American writer who may be conceivably possessed by genius".
Burroughs had one child, William Seward Burroughs III (1947-1981), with his second wife Joan Vollmer. Vollmer died in 1951 in Mexico City. Burroughs was convicted of manslaughter in Vollmer's death, an event that deeply permeated all of his writings. Burroughs died at his home in Lawrence, Kansas, after suffering a heart attack in 1997.
A primary figure of the Beat Generation and a major postmodernist author, he is considered to be "one of the most politically trenchant, culturally influential, and innovative artists of the 20th century".
His influence is considered to have affected a range of popular culture as well as literature. Burroughs wrote 18 novels and novellas, six collections of short stories and four collections of essays.
Five books have been published of his interviews and correspondences. He also collaborated on projects and recordings with numerous performers and musicians, and made many appearances in films.
He was born to a wealthy family in St. Louis, Missouri, grandson of the inventor and founder of the Burroughs Corporation, William Seward Burroughs I, and nephew of public relations manager Ivy Lee. Burroughs began writing essays and journals in early adolescence. He left home in 1932 to attend Harvard University, studied English, and anthropology as a postgraduate, and later attended medical school in Vienna. After being turned down by the Office of Strategic Services and U.S. Navy in 1942 to serve in World War II, he dropped out and became afflicted with the drug addiction that affected him for the rest of his life, while working a variety of jobs. In 1943 while living in New York City, he befriended Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, the mutually influential foundation of what became the countercultural movement of the Beat Generation.
Much of Burroughs's work is semi-autobiographical, primarily drawn from his experiences as a heroin addict, as he lived throughout Mexico City, London, Paris, Berlin, the South American Amazon and Tangier in Morocco. Finding success with his confessional first novel, Junkie (1953), Burroughs is perhaps best known for his third novel Naked Lunch (1959), a controversy-fraught work that underwent a court case under the U.S. sodomy laws. With Brion Gysin, he also popularized the literary cut-up technique in works such as The Nova Trilogy (1961–64). In 1983, Burroughs was elected to the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, and in 1984 was awarded the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by France. Jack Kerouac called Burroughs the "greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift", a reputation he owes to his "lifelong subversion" of the moral, political and economic systems of modern American society, articulated in often darkly humorous sardonicism. J. G. Ballard considered Burroughs to be "the most important writer to emerge since the Second World War", while Norman Mailer declared him "the only American writer who may be conceivably possessed by genius".
Burroughs had one child, William Seward Burroughs III (1947-1981), with his second wife Joan Vollmer. Vollmer died in 1951 in Mexico City. Burroughs was convicted of manslaughter in Vollmer's death, an event that deeply permeated all of his writings. Burroughs died at his home in Lawrence, Kansas, after suffering a heart attack in 1997.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 385 reviews
October 10, 2023
Cities of the Red Night follows a dual narrative, slipping fluidly between the early 18th century exploits of a libertarian pirate crew, led by gunsmith Noah Blake, and the late 20th century “private asshole”, Clem Snide, hired to find the decapitated remains of one Jerry Green -- victim apparent of a bizarre hanging/sex cult. It is worth noting that hanging and the spontaneous erections/ejaculations induced by this mode of execution factor heavily into both tales, at times serving as the literal and symbolic connection between the two. Looking to the invocation, we find that the book itself is dedicated (amongst many others) to:
"Ix Tab, Goddess of Ropes and Snares, patroness of those who hang themselves, to Schmuun, the Silent One, twin brother of Ix Tab, to Xolotl the Unformed, Lord of Rebirth, to Aguchi, Master of Ejaculations, to Osiris and Amen in phallic form, to Hex Chun Chan, the Dangerous One, to Ah Pook, the Destroyer, to the Great Old One and the Star Beast, to Pan, God of Panic, to the nameless gods of dispersal and emptiness, to Hassan i Sabbah, Master of Assassins, [and to] all the scribes and artists and practitioners of magic through whom these spirits have been manifested...."
This intercultural pantheon of creative and destructive deities embodies the underlying mythos of the novel, which centers on transmutation of the soul through the simultaneous experience of orgasm and bodily death. Suggested is the notion of the spirit itself erupting from the inflamed, blistering body, its distinctive musky aroma being that of the “Red Fever” (a.k.a. Virus B-23), a disease originally endemic to the ancient mythical cities for which the book is named: Tamaghis, Ba’dan, Yass-Waddah, Waghdas, Naufana, and Ghadis. In one early episode, the enigmatic Dr. Peterson explains his theory on the virus:
"Now let us consider the symptoms of Virus B-23: fever, rash, a characteristic odor, sexual frenzies, obsession with sex and death.... Is this so totally strange and alien? [...] We know that a consuming passion can produce physical symptoms ... fever ... loss of appetite ... even allergic reactions ... and few conditions are more obsessional and potentially self-destructive than love. Are not the symptoms of Virus B-23 simply the symptoms of what we are pleased to call ‘love’? Eve, we are told, was made from Adam’s rib ... so a hepatitis virus was once a healthy liver cell. If you will excuse me, ladies, nothing personal ... we are all tainted by viral origins."
This equating of human biology and behavior with that of a viral organism is perhaps nothing new, but in Cities of the Red Night it is employed as a vital first premise to the thesis postulated by the Western Lands trilogy, which this book serves to open. In the world put forth by Burroughs, it is the soul itself which is the virus, bound to spread from one corporeal form to the next, at least until it finds a host hardy enough to transcend life as we know it.
Up next, The Place of Dead Roads.
"Ix Tab, Goddess of Ropes and Snares, patroness of those who hang themselves, to Schmuun, the Silent One, twin brother of Ix Tab, to Xolotl the Unformed, Lord of Rebirth, to Aguchi, Master of Ejaculations, to Osiris and Amen in phallic form, to Hex Chun Chan, the Dangerous One, to Ah Pook, the Destroyer, to the Great Old One and the Star Beast, to Pan, God of Panic, to the nameless gods of dispersal and emptiness, to Hassan i Sabbah, Master of Assassins, [and to] all the scribes and artists and practitioners of magic through whom these spirits have been manifested...."
This intercultural pantheon of creative and destructive deities embodies the underlying mythos of the novel, which centers on transmutation of the soul through the simultaneous experience of orgasm and bodily death. Suggested is the notion of the spirit itself erupting from the inflamed, blistering body, its distinctive musky aroma being that of the “Red Fever” (a.k.a. Virus B-23), a disease originally endemic to the ancient mythical cities for which the book is named: Tamaghis, Ba’dan, Yass-Waddah, Waghdas, Naufana, and Ghadis. In one early episode, the enigmatic Dr. Peterson explains his theory on the virus:
"Now let us consider the symptoms of Virus B-23: fever, rash, a characteristic odor, sexual frenzies, obsession with sex and death.... Is this so totally strange and alien? [...] We know that a consuming passion can produce physical symptoms ... fever ... loss of appetite ... even allergic reactions ... and few conditions are more obsessional and potentially self-destructive than love. Are not the symptoms of Virus B-23 simply the symptoms of what we are pleased to call ‘love’? Eve, we are told, was made from Adam’s rib ... so a hepatitis virus was once a healthy liver cell. If you will excuse me, ladies, nothing personal ... we are all tainted by viral origins."
This equating of human biology and behavior with that of a viral organism is perhaps nothing new, but in Cities of the Red Night it is employed as a vital first premise to the thesis postulated by the Western Lands trilogy, which this book serves to open. In the world put forth by Burroughs, it is the soul itself which is the virus, bound to spread from one corporeal form to the next, at least until it finds a host hardy enough to transcend life as we know it.
Up next, The Place of Dead Roads.
December 8, 2020
"To all the scribes and artists and practitioners of magic through whom these spirits have been manifested….
NOTHING IS TRUE. EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED.”
Reading William S. Burroughs' Cities of the Red Night is like experiencing a fevered dream or trance where one event runs into the next without rhyme or reason. Ostensibly, it is about a strange and deadly epidemic that is running rampant through the 'cities of the red night.' It is also about finding a missing person and then investigating his murder/sacrifice, or maybe it's an alternate history about pirates fighting against authoritarian governments and societal norms. I'm fine with a nonlinear narrative and/or novels without a recognizable plot. They can highlight the present and how disconnected someone might be from the past. I really enjoyed Burroughs' Naked Lunch; however, Cities of the Red Night, beyond some bizarre imagery and a sense of writing in an ecstatic state, didn't really stay with me after I put it down.
“This book is dedicated to the Ancient Ones, to the Lord of Abominations, Humwawa, whose face is a mass of entrails, whose breath is the stench of dung and the perfume of death, Dark Angel of all that is excreted and sours, Lord of Decay, Lord of the Future, who rides on a whispering south wind, to Pazuzu, Lord of Fevers and Plagues, Dark Angel of the Four Winds with rotting genitals from which he howls through sharpened teeth over stricken cities, to Kutulu, the Sleeping Serpent who cannot be summoned, to the Akhkharu, who such the blood of men since they desire to become men, to the Lalussu, who haunt the places of men, to Gelal and Lilit, who invade the beds of men and whose children are born in secret places, to Addu, raiser of storms who can fill the night sky with brightness, to Malah, Lord of Courage and Bravery, to Zahgurim, whose number is twenty-three and who kills in an unnatural fashion, to Zahrim, a warrior among warriors, to Itzamna, Spirit of Early Mists and Showers, to Ix Chel, the Spider-Web-that-Catches-the-Dew-of-Morning, to Zuhuy Kak, Virgin Fire, to Ah Dziz, the Master of Cold, to Kak U Pacat, who works in fire, to Ix Tab, Goddess of Ropes and Snares, patroness of those who hang themselves, to Schmuun, the Silent One, twin brother of Ix Tab, to Xolotl the Unformed, Lord of Rebirth, to Aguchi, Master of Ejaculations, to Osiris and Amen in phallic form, to Hex Chun Chan, the Dangerous One, to Ah Pook, the Destroyer, to the Great Old One and the Star Beast, to Pan, God of Panic, to the nameless gods of dispersal and emptiness, to Hassan i Sabbah, Master of Assassins.
To all the scribes and artists and practitioners of magic through whom these spirits have been manifested….
NOTHING IS TRUE. EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED.”
― William S. Burroughs, Cities of the Red Night
NOTHING IS TRUE. EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED.”
Reading William S. Burroughs' Cities of the Red Night is like experiencing a fevered dream or trance where one event runs into the next without rhyme or reason. Ostensibly, it is about a strange and deadly epidemic that is running rampant through the 'cities of the red night.' It is also about finding a missing person and then investigating his murder/sacrifice, or maybe it's an alternate history about pirates fighting against authoritarian governments and societal norms. I'm fine with a nonlinear narrative and/or novels without a recognizable plot. They can highlight the present and how disconnected someone might be from the past. I really enjoyed Burroughs' Naked Lunch; however, Cities of the Red Night, beyond some bizarre imagery and a sense of writing in an ecstatic state, didn't really stay with me after I put it down.
“This book is dedicated to the Ancient Ones, to the Lord of Abominations, Humwawa, whose face is a mass of entrails, whose breath is the stench of dung and the perfume of death, Dark Angel of all that is excreted and sours, Lord of Decay, Lord of the Future, who rides on a whispering south wind, to Pazuzu, Lord of Fevers and Plagues, Dark Angel of the Four Winds with rotting genitals from which he howls through sharpened teeth over stricken cities, to Kutulu, the Sleeping Serpent who cannot be summoned, to the Akhkharu, who such the blood of men since they desire to become men, to the Lalussu, who haunt the places of men, to Gelal and Lilit, who invade the beds of men and whose children are born in secret places, to Addu, raiser of storms who can fill the night sky with brightness, to Malah, Lord of Courage and Bravery, to Zahgurim, whose number is twenty-three and who kills in an unnatural fashion, to Zahrim, a warrior among warriors, to Itzamna, Spirit of Early Mists and Showers, to Ix Chel, the Spider-Web-that-Catches-the-Dew-of-Morning, to Zuhuy Kak, Virgin Fire, to Ah Dziz, the Master of Cold, to Kak U Pacat, who works in fire, to Ix Tab, Goddess of Ropes and Snares, patroness of those who hang themselves, to Schmuun, the Silent One, twin brother of Ix Tab, to Xolotl the Unformed, Lord of Rebirth, to Aguchi, Master of Ejaculations, to Osiris and Amen in phallic form, to Hex Chun Chan, the Dangerous One, to Ah Pook, the Destroyer, to the Great Old One and the Star Beast, to Pan, God of Panic, to the nameless gods of dispersal and emptiness, to Hassan i Sabbah, Master of Assassins.
To all the scribes and artists and practitioners of magic through whom these spirits have been manifested….
NOTHING IS TRUE. EVERYTHING IS PERMITTED.”
― William S. Burroughs, Cities of the Red Night
October 29, 2011
An amazing roller-coaster ride through the unconscious. The main plot lines (a pirate story, a detective story, a sci fi/fantasy story) run parallel at first, but frustrate any hopes of proceeding in a straightforward fashion - they get more and more confused, hazy, and collapse into one another, until eventually you have no idea what you're reading. But this is misdirection, and here lies Burroughs' genius: even as you try to make sense of the inexplicable, he is painting in your peripheral vision an image of the greatest beauty, colors glowing and shining and pulsating in the dim, drug-damaged light.
Burroughs mixes these vivid colors from a palette of ghastly violence, ghost stories, hangings, war, disease, and magical homoerotic rituals that are described quite explicitly so it's not for the faint of heart. Indeed, one of my first observations about the book was that nearly every character seemed to be a gay junkie. That was before it began to click on a deeper level, before I saw what was unique about the novel's worlds and why they mattered, even if I didn't know which of those worlds I was on. Ultimately, Cities of the Red Night is an impressionistic work with elements of satire; sometimes shocking, sometimes quite funny, always surprising, and ever insightful about the little-explored corners of the human condition.
Only the ending let me down slightly; it seemed to fizzle out, neither answering my questions nor posing more. But I still give this novel my highest recommendation. It's the longest and weirdest dream you never had. It'll make you think Kafka had no imagination. It's fucked up, and awesome. Read it.
Burroughs mixes these vivid colors from a palette of ghastly violence, ghost stories, hangings, war, disease, and magical homoerotic rituals that are described quite explicitly so it's not for the faint of heart. Indeed, one of my first observations about the book was that nearly every character seemed to be a gay junkie. That was before it began to click on a deeper level, before I saw what was unique about the novel's worlds and why they mattered, even if I didn't know which of those worlds I was on. Ultimately, Cities of the Red Night is an impressionistic work with elements of satire; sometimes shocking, sometimes quite funny, always surprising, and ever insightful about the little-explored corners of the human condition.
Only the ending let me down slightly; it seemed to fizzle out, neither answering my questions nor posing more. But I still give this novel my highest recommendation. It's the longest and weirdest dream you never had. It'll make you think Kafka had no imagination. It's fucked up, and awesome. Read it.
October 7, 2021
Father: What you reading?
Cbj: This book by Burroughs.
Father: Haven't read any Burroughs yet, he looks boring. I hate pretentious twats.
Cbj: I liked Junkie. Now reading one called Cities of the Red Night. Can't seem to get into it. Yes, pretentious is the word. No character development. Characters introduced and then never appear again. About a bunch of pirates and then a murder investigation into some bizarre cult. Burroughs himself is like a cult leader who only wants a certain kind of esoteric follower. I don't want to join his cult.
Father: Fuck it, Bail on it. Nobody is gonna give you a kiss for finishing it. Read stuff that are enjoyable, you're not in school anymore, my man.
Cbj: Hahaha! Yes, fuck it then. I'll read some Richard Stark.
Cbj: This book by Burroughs.
Father: Haven't read any Burroughs yet, he looks boring. I hate pretentious twats.
Cbj: I liked Junkie. Now reading one called Cities of the Red Night. Can't seem to get into it. Yes, pretentious is the word. No character development. Characters introduced and then never appear again. About a bunch of pirates and then a murder investigation into some bizarre cult. Burroughs himself is like a cult leader who only wants a certain kind of esoteric follower. I don't want to join his cult.
Father: Fuck it, Bail on it. Nobody is gonna give you a kiss for finishing it. Read stuff that are enjoyable, you're not in school anymore, my man.
Cbj: Hahaha! Yes, fuck it then. I'll read some Richard Stark.
January 5, 2023
"A halál a testtől való kényszerű elszakadás. Az orgazmus a testtel való azonosulás. Tehát az orgazmus pillanatában bekövetkező halál maga a testet öltött halál."
Picassóról hallottam az anekdotát, miszerint valaki a szemére vetette, nem tud rajzolni, mire rittyentett róla egy olyan élethű portrét, hogy majd leugrott a papírról. Tanulság: nem elég a dekonstrukció. Előbb létre kell hozni egy érvényes konstrukciót, amit aztán dekonstruálhatunk.
Burroughs tudja ezt. Először teremt, mégpedig rögtön két regényt is. Az egyik egy határozottan Joseph Conradot idéző történet tengerészekkel, eldugott trópusi szegletekkel, vitorlákkal, amelyekbe belekap a sós szél. A másik meg egy virtigli noir krimi magánnyomozóval, eltűnt személlyel, vészjósló rejtélyekkel. Mindkét szint - úgy fest - tartja magát a műfaj törvényeihez, ráadásul magunk közt szólva bitang jól vannak megírva. Kicsit akartam is, hogy maradjanak azok, aminek indultak.
De nem maradnak, persze.
Előbb csak finoman szűrődnek be a disszonáns elemek, amelyek kezdetben nem feszítik ugyan szét a műfaj kereteit, de azért alaposan megbirizgálják. A detektív például erotikus mágiával kíván közelebb kerülni a megoldáshoz, a tengerészek meg valami gyanúsan pszeudotörténelmi utópiába navigálják magukat. Aztán elkezdődik a trip, a totális széthullás eksztázisa. Az események egyre abszurdabbak, egyre több sperma, egyre több vér fröccsen, az idő elveszti lineáris jellegét, a szálak összegabalyodnak, a szereplők átrándulnak a párhuzamos történetekbe, alakot és személyiséget váltanak, a határokat előbb megsértik, majd felszámolják - és már meg is érkeztünk a villódzó hallucinációk honába, abba az irodalomba, ahol a szabály az, hogy köpjünk a szabályokra. Igen, ez a totális dekonstrukció: a Vörös Éjszaka birodalma, maga a Téboly és maga a Káosz.
Elfáradtam a végére. A korlátok nélküli irodalom marha megterhelő valami - a "korlát" ugyanis nem feltétlenül rossz, nem csak "korlátoz", hanem mellesleg kapaszkodni is lehet bele. Ami azt illeti, a szakadék elé is azért szokták odarakni, hogy ne zuhanjunk le, nem pőre kekeckedésből. De még a legnagyobb szövegkásában fuldokolva is emlékeztem rá, hogy honnan indultunk. Hogy milyen piszok jó szöveget épített fel Burroughs, csak hogy szétszedhesse. Mert nem arról van szó, hogy hagyja szétesni, hanem ő szedi szét a két kezével. Azzal a két bámulatosan ügyes kezével.
Picassóról hallottam az anekdotát, miszerint valaki a szemére vetette, nem tud rajzolni, mire rittyentett róla egy olyan élethű portrét, hogy majd leugrott a papírról. Tanulság: nem elég a dekonstrukció. Előbb létre kell hozni egy érvényes konstrukciót, amit aztán dekonstruálhatunk.
Burroughs tudja ezt. Először teremt, mégpedig rögtön két regényt is. Az egyik egy határozottan Joseph Conradot idéző történet tengerészekkel, eldugott trópusi szegletekkel, vitorlákkal, amelyekbe belekap a sós szél. A másik meg egy virtigli noir krimi magánnyomozóval, eltűnt személlyel, vészjósló rejtélyekkel. Mindkét szint - úgy fest - tartja magát a műfaj törvényeihez, ráadásul magunk közt szólva bitang jól vannak megírva. Kicsit akartam is, hogy maradjanak azok, aminek indultak.
De nem maradnak, persze.
Előbb csak finoman szűrődnek be a disszonáns elemek, amelyek kezdetben nem feszítik ugyan szét a műfaj kereteit, de azért alaposan megbirizgálják. A detektív például erotikus mágiával kíván közelebb kerülni a megoldáshoz, a tengerészek meg valami gyanúsan pszeudotörténelmi utópiába navigálják magukat. Aztán elkezdődik a trip, a totális széthullás eksztázisa. Az események egyre abszurdabbak, egyre több sperma, egyre több vér fröccsen, az idő elveszti lineáris jellegét, a szálak összegabalyodnak, a szereplők átrándulnak a párhuzamos történetekbe, alakot és személyiséget váltanak, a határokat előbb megsértik, majd felszámolják - és már meg is érkeztünk a villódzó hallucinációk honába, abba az irodalomba, ahol a szabály az, hogy köpjünk a szabályokra. Igen, ez a totális dekonstrukció: a Vörös Éjszaka birodalma, maga a Téboly és maga a Káosz.
Elfáradtam a végére. A korlátok nélküli irodalom marha megterhelő valami - a "korlát" ugyanis nem feltétlenül rossz, nem csak "korlátoz", hanem mellesleg kapaszkodni is lehet bele. Ami azt illeti, a szakadék elé is azért szokták odarakni, hogy ne zuhanjunk le, nem pőre kekeckedésből. De még a legnagyobb szövegkásában fuldokolva is emlékeztem rá, hogy honnan indultunk. Hogy milyen piszok jó szöveget épített fel Burroughs, csak hogy szétszedhesse. Mert nem arról van szó, hogy hagyja szétesni, hanem ő szedi szét a két kezével. Azzal a két bámulatosan ügyes kezével.
April 27, 2014
AIDS-era Burroughs tale of a killer virus, pirate shenanigans and boys doing what boys do best(guess). After re-reading it I kicked it up one star to four because it reminded me of Alejandro Jodorowsky and Dusan Makavejev movies from the early Seventies. If you liked Holy Mountain or Sweet Movie you'll like this. The plot is a dog's breakfast but I'd read it in small spurts, yes spurts - we need to use that word in a Burroughs review.
May 26, 2022
I would probably class this as later Burroughs (and oddly the first part of another trilogy, though obviously not in the traditional sense) and it takes a different type of structure than his earlier cut up books... at first starting out quite coherently for the first two thirds, before suddenly collapsing into the usual Escher like vortex of hellish bumming in the final section. Sort of interesting because it makes it feel like a steady decline in Burroughs madness... even though the start is mad, it could also be called plotted. Not sure if it loses something by the end, or if it's lost something in the middle, or at the start, something about it doesn't really glue together into giving an overall impression.
August 23, 2017
Extremely strange with loads of extraneous jabber tossed into the mix about naked boys, rectal mucus, and the like. The narrative wasn't terrible but it bounced around so much it was nearly impossible to follow. Some of Burroughs's more autobiographical stuff is phenomenal (i.e. Junky & Queer). But this opener to a series is just too jumbled to be great.
October 29, 2012
I loved Cities of the Red Night, as well as the Red Night trilogy as a whole. I have been through the trilogy twice now, and plan on reading them all at least one more time. When discussing literature with friends, I always tell them I think Bill Burroughs should be ranked up there with the greatest of American writers and that, if it weren't for the level of homophobia in this country, he would be considered the American James Joyce. I was an honors student in a university English program, and I don't think William Burroughs was even mentioned in any of the American Literature surveys I took. If he was mentioned, it was only in passing. This is an unforgivable oversight and a huge injustice for a writer of such talent and vision. You don't have to take my word for it that Burroughs was an unparalleled genius. Research the matter and discover for yourself how well he was thought of by such luminaries as Norman Mailer and Allen Ginsberg.
Before tackling this novel, or any others in the trilogy, I recommend you find some sample pages on the interwebs and determine whether this is your cup of tea. I say this because the style of these books is very confusing. It is like "stream of consciousness" in that it jumps around a lot. There is lots of fantasy and sequences that can only be described as dreamlike, and you'll be hard pressed to tell exactly what is happening at any given moment in any of these 3 novels. If you are uncomfortable with any book whose plot line doesn't follow a standard linear progression, then you aren't likely to enjoy this book. If you are prepared for some mental calisthenics, then read on.
Cities of the Red Night defies categorization. Is it sci-fi? Is it fantasy. Is it the drug addled ramblings of a loon and an outcast at that? One thing for certain...it is weird! And deliciously so. I loved it.
Before tackling this novel, or any others in the trilogy, I recommend you find some sample pages on the interwebs and determine whether this is your cup of tea. I say this because the style of these books is very confusing. It is like "stream of consciousness" in that it jumps around a lot. There is lots of fantasy and sequences that can only be described as dreamlike, and you'll be hard pressed to tell exactly what is happening at any given moment in any of these 3 novels. If you are uncomfortable with any book whose plot line doesn't follow a standard linear progression, then you aren't likely to enjoy this book. If you are prepared for some mental calisthenics, then read on.
Cities of the Red Night defies categorization. Is it sci-fi? Is it fantasy. Is it the drug addled ramblings of a loon and an outcast at that? One thing for certain...it is weird! And deliciously so. I loved it.
June 26, 2019
Superb. I have long been a devotee of the prose of William Burroughs. This is perhaps his best novel and also one of his most accessible works. There are passages near the end that are more reminiscent of The Soft Machine in which the gestures of language and the images they contain or express have been fractured and reassembled in odd and confusing ways. But those passages are incidental to the main thrust of the text and are wholly framed by it, and the main text is mostly clear, extremely well-written, heavy with symbols, allusions and arcane patterns, saturated with irony. This marvel of a novel is libertarian in its politics and frenzied in its development, yet ultimately there is a cool and devastating intelligence controlling all.
February 28, 2008
Five stars for the first two hundred pages. After that, not so good.
I really loved this book in high school. Not anymore. I cannot handle non-linear books right now.
The first two hundred pages uses a dual narrative with the occasional chapter related to a virus. One story is about a pirate utopia while the other is about a private detective. I liked them both a lot. It was nice to read Burroughs using a hardboiled style with a detective.
After about two hundred pages, the stories collapse. Burroughs loses interest in them. He forgets about the stories. They do not end. He just stops working on them.
After, the protagonists travel in time, they go to other settings, they enter in the bodies of other characters. This is not as cool as it sounds. The reader is rarely aware of who is character is. And the things that they're doing have nothing to do with the earlier story. There is no connection between the two.
I really loved this book in high school. Not anymore. I cannot handle non-linear books right now.
The first two hundred pages uses a dual narrative with the occasional chapter related to a virus. One story is about a pirate utopia while the other is about a private detective. I liked them both a lot. It was nice to read Burroughs using a hardboiled style with a detective.
After about two hundred pages, the stories collapse. Burroughs loses interest in them. He forgets about the stories. They do not end. He just stops working on them.
After, the protagonists travel in time, they go to other settings, they enter in the bodies of other characters. This is not as cool as it sounds. The reader is rarely aware of who is character is. And the things that they're doing have nothing to do with the earlier story. There is no connection between the two.
October 11, 2020
Whoa! What a ride!!
November 30, 2023
We start out so young w the Beats, especially we dumb and invincible kids of a dispatched working class of latchkeys that wanted only Perfect Sound and Perfect Stoned forever. You read your Lunch, you Howl through blowjobs and beers in the predawn public parks. You’re on the same Road as the genuine pituitary cases, but the feeling of chrome in your chest when they really start to trend aggression and violence keeps your soul, if not your ass, in better stead. You read Queer and Replacement lyric’s get greater dimension; you read Junky to confirm you aren’t one (which is likely why you read Queer, if we’re being honest).
This isn’t that, none of it (except Lunchable), but a rather continuous celebration of Burroughs’ twin infinitives: young cock and plasma ecto- or homo plugging up holes in the universe’s way too sensitive folds. This is Father Tom Fucking Murphy erasing the patriarchy by, effectively, erasing most distinctions between physical sex and certainly gender. This is William, and he was the best out of the whole goddamn bunch of fools. May glorious coppers rest on all of their beautiful faces—
This isn’t that, none of it (except Lunchable), but a rather continuous celebration of Burroughs’ twin infinitives: young cock and plasma ecto- or homo plugging up holes in the universe’s way too sensitive folds. This is Father Tom Fucking Murphy erasing the patriarchy by, effectively, erasing most distinctions between physical sex and certainly gender. This is William, and he was the best out of the whole goddamn bunch of fools. May glorious coppers rest on all of their beautiful faces—
April 1, 2026
I used to read William Burroughs books while trying to keep track of the characters and sort out the plots. This works with
Junky
, but not much else that he wrote. Now when I read him, I don’t worry about details, just the themes. When you do that, if you have the patience to do so, even when you feel like you’ve had it, it ends up being worth the time. Not for everyone. But certainly, for some few somewhere.
Cities of the Red Night is the first of the a “trilogy” that Burroughs wrote near the end of his life. The plot(s) take place in different places throughout the globe and beyond, in different times – sometimes the same plot takes place in differing times and/or circumstances, with surreal acts, often involving homosexuality. Sperm and various smells, mostly bad, play important supporting roles. And private detective Clem Snide is brought back for another case in a Burroughs novel to share his unique voice one more time.
But it’s really Burroughs’ prose that brings me back. Or at least occasionally yearn to do so. Like listening to a good song, whether it’s opera or by R.E.M., the words matter less than the rhythm, harmony and melody. I hope this conveys my point. Plus there are the many smells, few of them appealing. And every now and then there are paragraphs and phrases that won’t let you go, that demand that you reread them, always from a different angle to appreciate and realize it has something eternal about it.
After a while, if you’re open to be immersed in Burroughs’ worlds, strange things don’t seem so strange. Especially when read in these times. When people are killed by a powerful government for no reason – whether they are in Minneapolis, off the coast of Venezuela, or in or around Iran – descriptions of young, nubile teenage boys in the nude, with erections, marching, carrying weapons, don’t seem as weird anymore. The next two in the series will have a hard time keeping up with our reality.
Cities of the Red Night is the first of the a “trilogy” that Burroughs wrote near the end of his life. The plot(s) take place in different places throughout the globe and beyond, in different times – sometimes the same plot takes place in differing times and/or circumstances, with surreal acts, often involving homosexuality. Sperm and various smells, mostly bad, play important supporting roles. And private detective Clem Snide is brought back for another case in a Burroughs novel to share his unique voice one more time.
But it’s really Burroughs’ prose that brings me back. Or at least occasionally yearn to do so. Like listening to a good song, whether it’s opera or by R.E.M., the words matter less than the rhythm, harmony and melody. I hope this conveys my point. Plus there are the many smells, few of them appealing. And every now and then there are paragraphs and phrases that won’t let you go, that demand that you reread them, always from a different angle to appreciate and realize it has something eternal about it.
The virus information was genetically conveyed, in orgasms that were often fatal. It seems likely that the burnings, stabbings, poisonings, stranglings, and hangings were largely terminal hallucinations produced by the virus, at a point where the line between illusion and reality breaks down. Over a period of generations the virus established a benign symbiosis with the host. It was a mutating virus, as if the colors themselves were possessed of a purposeful and sinister life. The books are probably no more representative of life at the time than a Saturday Evening Post cover by Norman Rockwell represents the complex reality of American life.Eerie, ain’t it?
After a while, if you’re open to be immersed in Burroughs’ worlds, strange things don’t seem so strange. Especially when read in these times. When people are killed by a powerful government for no reason – whether they are in Minneapolis, off the coast of Venezuela, or in or around Iran – descriptions of young, nubile teenage boys in the nude, with erections, marching, carrying weapons, don’t seem as weird anymore. The next two in the series will have a hard time keeping up with our reality.
June 23, 2012
There are times when you know something is probably good and you know others think its probably good and for some reason, you should probably read that something but no matter how many times you try, you just can’t ever get over the mind-fuck that ensues. And yes, there are good mind-fucks but sometimes, there are also bad mind-fucks. This one is a terrible mind-fuck.
The premise is awesome: lots of people are dying because of an epidemic/plague/what-have-you and some queer stuff takes place (it is Burroughs after all) and then there aspects of time-travel and alien beings.
“Great, fantastic… I can’t wait to read this book. Sign me up!”
That’s what I thought the first time I tried to read this book, back in 2009. CITIES OF THE RED NIGHT is one of those books you really must read in spurts. It’s just so fucking dense and confusing that, I feel, it’s less confusing to take one-step at a time, or in my case, one day at a time. I tried to read it for a month. I couldn’t.
After about 200 pages, I couldn’t do it anymore. The mind-fuckery was oozing into my social life and friends said I was starting to look glum and down and sad, all for no apparent reason. That's because they didn't realize/know I was reading CITIES OF THE RED NIGHT. I was too busy thinking about the damn book and asking myself why it was so damn hard to understand.
Then I thought: is it maybe because he’s British? But then I realized that was a stupid notion since there are plenty of other British authors I know and love. So I guess I tried to read this again, this time December 2011 and yeah, I would read this during bathroom breaks over the holidays and yes, I even started from the beginning, again.
This time around though, I found myself liking the beginning a whole lot more, maybe because I already sort of knew what to expect. But yeah, I read about 10 pages a day and kept at it. Until sometime in January, where it just got to reading seeming like a chore—which is a problem really since I think reading is usually fun. But if I dread going to the bathroom (since it is in the bathroom that I forced myself to read CITIES OF THE RED NIGHT) then something is wrong.
And that’s when I decided to toss the book. Or, I guess, erm… pass it off as a present to some friends. Poor bastards.
Edit: As it turns out, Burroughs isn't even British...
The premise is awesome: lots of people are dying because of an epidemic/plague/what-have-you and some queer stuff takes place (it is Burroughs after all) and then there aspects of time-travel and alien beings.
“Great, fantastic… I can’t wait to read this book. Sign me up!”
That’s what I thought the first time I tried to read this book, back in 2009. CITIES OF THE RED NIGHT is one of those books you really must read in spurts. It’s just so fucking dense and confusing that, I feel, it’s less confusing to take one-step at a time, or in my case, one day at a time. I tried to read it for a month. I couldn’t.
After about 200 pages, I couldn’t do it anymore. The mind-fuckery was oozing into my social life and friends said I was starting to look glum and down and sad, all for no apparent reason. That's because they didn't realize/know I was reading CITIES OF THE RED NIGHT. I was too busy thinking about the damn book and asking myself why it was so damn hard to understand.
Then I thought: is it maybe because he’s British? But then I realized that was a stupid notion since there are plenty of other British authors I know and love. So I guess I tried to read this again, this time December 2011 and yeah, I would read this during bathroom breaks over the holidays and yes, I even started from the beginning, again.
This time around though, I found myself liking the beginning a whole lot more, maybe because I already sort of knew what to expect. But yeah, I read about 10 pages a day and kept at it. Until sometime in January, where it just got to reading seeming like a chore—which is a problem really since I think reading is usually fun. But if I dread going to the bathroom (since it is in the bathroom that I forced myself to read CITIES OF THE RED NIGHT) then something is wrong.
And that’s when I decided to toss the book. Or, I guess, erm… pass it off as a present to some friends. Poor bastards.
Edit: As it turns out, Burroughs isn't even British...
February 1, 2018
So this is a book about jizz I guess? Starts with some really cool settings and interesting ideas but then just sorta devolves into erotic gibberish for the last 200 pages.
March 8, 2013
A Warning of the Faustian Decline to Come........and it has already started.
I'm not sure why but this was a really enjoyable book to read over the summer. (Read this during the summer of 2011)
Many criticisms have been levelled at this book. However, I feel the reviewer of December 2, 2005 on amazon.com in particular has hit the nail on the head. It is not easy reading and is definitely not for the faint-hearted or prudish.
As the above reviewer points out, this trilogy is for thinking people and while Burroughs' devastating exposure of human lust and depravity may turn some people off his work, to my mind he is much more open and honest in his assessments of 'the human condition'. So if people are turned off by its homoerotic lewdness or find other aspects of the narrative repulsive (such as all the hanging scenes which are in fact an exaggerated indictment of capital punishment which he was avidly against!), that's fine, but to my mind they are missing out on seeing the bigger picture of Burroughs' message and warning to Manking - the real messages and themes underlying Burroughs' work.
First of all, know what an artist is trying to do! Some artists like to shock because that is the only way they will get their points across to the lay audience. This might seem like a really inappropriate example but remember the killer from Seven (played by Kevin Spacey) - he said in one of the closing scenes of the film that, "sometimes you have to hit people over the head with a sledgehammer for them to notice" or something to that effect - well Burroughs was all about doing this in a figurative sense.
At times it reads like a post-holocaust (divine?) comedy, at other times like a jump-through-time pulp novel and at other times like a moralistic diatribe. Each of the cities corresponds to one in which Burroughs was firmly ensconced for some considerable length of time. I'm pretty sure that at least two of the real cities referred to obliquely in the text are Mexico City (remember Joan Vollmer Adams, Burroughs wife, and the notorious William Tell incident?) and Tangiers (where Kerouac and Ginsy helped typed up his Naked Lunch novel). The third city could either be Paris (where he lived for a while with other beat writers like Gregory Corso in the 'Beat Hotel') or more likely New York City.
All in all though, this book, in my opinion, is pure art at its best - challenging, confrontational, notorious even! and above-all, absolutely visceral and riveting reading.
I think it may have been Burroughs himself who once said, 'it is the job of the artist to raise people's consciousness'. Burroughs obviously sees humanity heading full-speed towards a gaping abyss and seems to be warning us that we may be on auto-pilot towards our own destruction unless we dramatically change gears right now.
The final trilogy by Burroughs is excellent. The only book by Burroughs that I possibly like better than this one is the final instalment, The Western Lands, which is unbelievably good.
I'm not sure why but this was a really enjoyable book to read over the summer. (Read this during the summer of 2011)
Many criticisms have been levelled at this book. However, I feel the reviewer of December 2, 2005 on amazon.com in particular has hit the nail on the head. It is not easy reading and is definitely not for the faint-hearted or prudish.
As the above reviewer points out, this trilogy is for thinking people and while Burroughs' devastating exposure of human lust and depravity may turn some people off his work, to my mind he is much more open and honest in his assessments of 'the human condition'. So if people are turned off by its homoerotic lewdness or find other aspects of the narrative repulsive (such as all the hanging scenes which are in fact an exaggerated indictment of capital punishment which he was avidly against!), that's fine, but to my mind they are missing out on seeing the bigger picture of Burroughs' message and warning to Manking - the real messages and themes underlying Burroughs' work.
First of all, know what an artist is trying to do! Some artists like to shock because that is the only way they will get their points across to the lay audience. This might seem like a really inappropriate example but remember the killer from Seven (played by Kevin Spacey) - he said in one of the closing scenes of the film that, "sometimes you have to hit people over the head with a sledgehammer for them to notice" or something to that effect - well Burroughs was all about doing this in a figurative sense.
At times it reads like a post-holocaust (divine?) comedy, at other times like a jump-through-time pulp novel and at other times like a moralistic diatribe. Each of the cities corresponds to one in which Burroughs was firmly ensconced for some considerable length of time. I'm pretty sure that at least two of the real cities referred to obliquely in the text are Mexico City (remember Joan Vollmer Adams, Burroughs wife, and the notorious William Tell incident?) and Tangiers (where Kerouac and Ginsy helped typed up his Naked Lunch novel). The third city could either be Paris (where he lived for a while with other beat writers like Gregory Corso in the 'Beat Hotel') or more likely New York City.
All in all though, this book, in my opinion, is pure art at its best - challenging, confrontational, notorious even! and above-all, absolutely visceral and riveting reading.
I think it may have been Burroughs himself who once said, 'it is the job of the artist to raise people's consciousness'. Burroughs obviously sees humanity heading full-speed towards a gaping abyss and seems to be warning us that we may be on auto-pilot towards our own destruction unless we dramatically change gears right now.
The final trilogy by Burroughs is excellent. The only book by Burroughs that I possibly like better than this one is the final instalment, The Western Lands, which is unbelievably good.
January 2, 2021
Like anything by William Burroughs, Cities of the Red Night is a wild ride that doesn't give up its secrets easily. The book initially seems to be about Virus B-23, a plague that begins as a rash around a victim's private parts, giving the author leeway to incorporate quite a lot of erect penises into his narrative. Early in the novel, we are even treated to a guest appearance from Dr. Benway (of Naked Lunch fame), which seems to reinforce the idea that Cities of the Red Night shares many concerns with Burroughs' most famous work.
But as the story rolls along in its wonderfully chaotic fashion, the focus shifts to Captain Mission's legendary colony of Libertatia, with its emphasis on direct democracy and complete human freedom, which becomes the seedbed for an 18th-century arms race. And then things get really crazy, as the various sub-stories and timelines begin to invade each other and key characters become plastic both in terms of personality and physical characteristics.
At the very end of the book, Burroughs arrives at something of a denouement:
"I have blown a hole in time with a firecracker. Let others step through. Into what bigger and better firecrackers? Better weapons lead to better and better weapons, until the earth is a grenade with the fuse burning."
So in the end, Burroughs delivers a parable of humanity's destructive tendencies, not so much as any sort of warning, but rather as a simple recognition of the limits of what we can hope to accomplish as a species. Given that Cities of the Red Night is the first volume of a trilogy, I'm eager to see how Burroughs develops this further, since there is a grim finality to this first installment of the series.
But as the story rolls along in its wonderfully chaotic fashion, the focus shifts to Captain Mission's legendary colony of Libertatia, with its emphasis on direct democracy and complete human freedom, which becomes the seedbed for an 18th-century arms race. And then things get really crazy, as the various sub-stories and timelines begin to invade each other and key characters become plastic both in terms of personality and physical characteristics.
At the very end of the book, Burroughs arrives at something of a denouement:
"I have blown a hole in time with a firecracker. Let others step through. Into what bigger and better firecrackers? Better weapons lead to better and better weapons, until the earth is a grenade with the fuse burning."
So in the end, Burroughs delivers a parable of humanity's destructive tendencies, not so much as any sort of warning, but rather as a simple recognition of the limits of what we can hope to accomplish as a species. Given that Cities of the Red Night is the first volume of a trilogy, I'm eager to see how Burroughs develops this further, since there is a grim finality to this first installment of the series.
Read
July 12, 2014Am I too old for William S. Burroughs? I read Naked Lunch when I was 17, and it was such a breath of fresh air. Obviously, Burroughs wasn't too old for Burroughs, and he was much older than me when he wrote Cities of the Red Night. This is the fourth book of his I've read, and it's easily the least impressive. And I'm not sure, but I think I probably would have liked it a lot more as an impressionable teenager. Some good bits here and there, some rather fun futurism and surrealism, but at the end, it winds up being exactly what a novel full of imaginary cray-cray drugs and anarchist pirates and Mayan gods and gay S&M shouldn't be: boring.
October 6, 2020
NADA ES VERDAD. TODO ESTÁ PERMITIDO.
May 19, 2021
Surprisingly less descriptions of anal mucus that I expected based on everyone else comments.
January 17, 2023
my dads favourite book basically just gay porn
June 10, 2025
I think this is one of my favourite burroughs i have read. It is much more understandable than his earlier works and i really enjoyed the merging narratives, i just thought it was very clever and fun to read and i am excited to read the next one in this trilogy!
Read
March 20, 2021Had trouble connecting with this one. Constantly felt as if there was an opaque overlay over each page, handicapping me.
March 25, 2020
Virus 23 is a virulent and fatal disease which causes sexual frenzies and violent death, threatening to break out into a pandemic. The virus has been latent since pre-history, before the existence of white-skinned peoples, caused by a meteorite / black hole incident in the Gobi Desert, where peaceful townships suffered mutations when the radiation triggered the virus and turned paradise into The Cities of the Red Night.
Burroughs, in an uncharacteristically coherent vein, adopts (mostly) linear twin narratives that coalesce to reveal the history and purpose of the virus, while explicating and indulging in his usual quack theories, illicit chemical ingestion and homoerotic sexual practices at every step along the way.
In one story, a gang of libertarian pirates in the first years of the 18th century, modeled on the historical figure of Captain Mission, establish a free city in Panama and plot to offer their Articles to the whole world. In the second we get a contemporary detective story, with Clem Snide on the trail of ritualistic sex murderers with an apocalyptic agenda.
Cities of the Red Night is the first part of a trilogy. I have read the third part too, The Western Lands, so I know that it is a loose trilogy of concepts and mythologies rather than a fictional trilogy.
Nobody writes like Burroughs, nor about the things he writes about. I am not suggesting that anyone else should, because there is something so insane and awful about what he does - "Children's books against a Bosch background" is a good self-description which appears in this novel.
But there is no question that he is an intense, powerful writer, in small doses at least. With this novel he actually has some success sustaining a comprehensive narrative for once, but in truth things somewhat implode in the last third, despite the astral projections and time traveling devices that are adopted to pull the threads together.
I read it before, twenty years ago now, and before reading it again I wondered if I had only imagined that the ending was something of a mess, but no, it really is something of a mess!
Still, he almost pulls it off, and what's not to like about a writer that can come on all sensible and didactic while talking crap like this:
"The only thing not prerecorded in a prerecorded universe are the prerecordings themselves. The copies can only repeat themselves word for word. A virus is a copy".
You gotta love him.
Burroughs, in an uncharacteristically coherent vein, adopts (mostly) linear twin narratives that coalesce to reveal the history and purpose of the virus, while explicating and indulging in his usual quack theories, illicit chemical ingestion and homoerotic sexual practices at every step along the way.
In one story, a gang of libertarian pirates in the first years of the 18th century, modeled on the historical figure of Captain Mission, establish a free city in Panama and plot to offer their Articles to the whole world. In the second we get a contemporary detective story, with Clem Snide on the trail of ritualistic sex murderers with an apocalyptic agenda.
Cities of the Red Night is the first part of a trilogy. I have read the third part too, The Western Lands, so I know that it is a loose trilogy of concepts and mythologies rather than a fictional trilogy.
Nobody writes like Burroughs, nor about the things he writes about. I am not suggesting that anyone else should, because there is something so insane and awful about what he does - "Children's books against a Bosch background" is a good self-description which appears in this novel.
But there is no question that he is an intense, powerful writer, in small doses at least. With this novel he actually has some success sustaining a comprehensive narrative for once, but in truth things somewhat implode in the last third, despite the astral projections and time traveling devices that are adopted to pull the threads together.
I read it before, twenty years ago now, and before reading it again I wondered if I had only imagined that the ending was something of a mess, but no, it really is something of a mess!
Still, he almost pulls it off, and what's not to like about a writer that can come on all sensible and didactic while talking crap like this:
"The only thing not prerecorded in a prerecorded universe are the prerecordings themselves. The copies can only repeat themselves word for word. A virus is a copy".
You gotta love him.
March 26, 2022
La de Burroughs es una prosa arriesgada, caleidoscópica, produciendo momentos que acaban por reflejarse en sí mismos y visiones mágicas donde las reglas de las emociones humanas se escapan. La amistad, el amor, el miedo, el odio son abstracciones que los personajes conocen a medias o, simplemente, ignoran.
Son tres los tomos que componen este viaje, este pasaje, esta transición hacia un lugar que es, a la vez, diferentes lugares y ninguno. Una rueda que gira y retorna al inicio porque de eso se trata la búsqueda de legado e inmortalidad que aqueja tanto a los protagonistas como al autor; autor que, mediante un alter ego, vuelca sus propias inquietudes a través de una autobiografía ficticia atrapada en los intersticios de un texto ambiguo y abanderado del cruce de géneros: relato histórico colonial, western, policial, erótico gay, fantasy, ciencia ficción, crónica.
«Ciudades de la noche roja» transcurre bajo dos focos: los jóvenes piratas comandados por Noah Blake que aterrizan en una Panamá a inicios de 1700 para liberarla; y el detective Clem Snide que busca a un chico desaparecido a fines del siglo XX. «El lugar de los caminos muertos» es un Far West con tintes porno y recargado de esoterismos que persigue el ascenso y caída de Kim Carsons: pistolero convencido de ser él mismo un factor decisivo para luchar en contra de los extraterrestres que intentan librar una guerra bacteriológica. «Las tierras occidentales» pone el punto final donde convergen los hilos argumentales presentados en las anteriores entregas mientras se recorren mundos más allá del tiempo y el espacio, realidades teñidas de vestigios egipcios, los restos y los cimientos de las seis ciudades de la noche roja, centros de la civilización y el conocimiento.
Así, Burroughs confirma su inclasificable maestría contracultural colocando piratas, detectives, pistoleros, alienígenas, dioses egipcios, científicos, espías rusos y norteamericanos, indios, psíquicos, monstruos interdimensionales en una misma obra, y se deja llevar por los delirios conceptuales de una narrativa que, desde el principio –parafraseando a Hassan-i Sabbah, el jefe de la legendaria Secta de los Asesinos– advierte que nada es verdad y todo está permitido.
Son tres los tomos que componen este viaje, este pasaje, esta transición hacia un lugar que es, a la vez, diferentes lugares y ninguno. Una rueda que gira y retorna al inicio porque de eso se trata la búsqueda de legado e inmortalidad que aqueja tanto a los protagonistas como al autor; autor que, mediante un alter ego, vuelca sus propias inquietudes a través de una autobiografía ficticia atrapada en los intersticios de un texto ambiguo y abanderado del cruce de géneros: relato histórico colonial, western, policial, erótico gay, fantasy, ciencia ficción, crónica.
«Ciudades de la noche roja» transcurre bajo dos focos: los jóvenes piratas comandados por Noah Blake que aterrizan en una Panamá a inicios de 1700 para liberarla; y el detective Clem Snide que busca a un chico desaparecido a fines del siglo XX. «El lugar de los caminos muertos» es un Far West con tintes porno y recargado de esoterismos que persigue el ascenso y caída de Kim Carsons: pistolero convencido de ser él mismo un factor decisivo para luchar en contra de los extraterrestres que intentan librar una guerra bacteriológica. «Las tierras occidentales» pone el punto final donde convergen los hilos argumentales presentados en las anteriores entregas mientras se recorren mundos más allá del tiempo y el espacio, realidades teñidas de vestigios egipcios, los restos y los cimientos de las seis ciudades de la noche roja, centros de la civilización y el conocimiento.
Así, Burroughs confirma su inclasificable maestría contracultural colocando piratas, detectives, pistoleros, alienígenas, dioses egipcios, científicos, espías rusos y norteamericanos, indios, psíquicos, monstruos interdimensionales en una misma obra, y se deja llevar por los delirios conceptuales de una narrativa que, desde el principio –parafraseando a Hassan-i Sabbah, el jefe de la legendaria Secta de los Asesinos– advierte que nada es verdad y todo está permitido.
May 28, 2014
Cidades da Noite Vermelha terá necessariamente que ser um dos livros mais confusos, estranhos e repulsivos que eu já li… William S. Burroughs foi muito bem-sucedido nesse propósito. É também um livro que eu não gostei de ler…
As narrativas, separadas pelo tempo, espaço e sabe-se lá mais o quê (!), tornam-se cada vez mais caóticas e bizarras até um final do qual é muito difícil tirar algum sentido. Contudo, não foi sua complexidade que me impediu de apreciar a obra.
Também não foi a sua violência visceral, fulgurantes descrições homoeróticas ou atmosfera grotesca de luxúria e depravação que me afastaram do livro. Pelo contrário, é através desta loucura que Burroughs se patenteia como um escritor possante, intenso, enérgico e desafiante, criando uma sátira poderosamente artística. Esta sua extraordinária capacidade imaginativa e originalidade, aliadas ao carácter autobiográfico do livro, impedem-me de o desconsiderar por completo. Sem apelar necessariamente à lógica, a prosa de Burroughs é muito exigente e o seu conteúdo muito variado, combinando elementos do fantástico com ficção científica.
É na realidade uma obra única. Uma daquelas que se lêem pela experiência que representa ...E é aqui que se esconde o motivo pelo qual eu não apreciei esta leitura: não gostei particularmente da experiência. Mesmo reconhecendo todo o potencial do livro e o génio do seu autor, este livro não era, muito simplesmente, para mim.
As narrativas, separadas pelo tempo, espaço e sabe-se lá mais o quê (!), tornam-se cada vez mais caóticas e bizarras até um final do qual é muito difícil tirar algum sentido. Contudo, não foi sua complexidade que me impediu de apreciar a obra.
Também não foi a sua violência visceral, fulgurantes descrições homoeróticas ou atmosfera grotesca de luxúria e depravação que me afastaram do livro. Pelo contrário, é através desta loucura que Burroughs se patenteia como um escritor possante, intenso, enérgico e desafiante, criando uma sátira poderosamente artística. Esta sua extraordinária capacidade imaginativa e originalidade, aliadas ao carácter autobiográfico do livro, impedem-me de o desconsiderar por completo. Sem apelar necessariamente à lógica, a prosa de Burroughs é muito exigente e o seu conteúdo muito variado, combinando elementos do fantástico com ficção científica.
É na realidade uma obra única. Uma daquelas que se lêem pela experiência que representa ...E é aqui que se esconde o motivo pelo qual eu não apreciei esta leitura: não gostei particularmente da experiência. Mesmo reconhecendo todo o potencial do livro e o génio do seu autor, este livro não era, muito simplesmente, para mim.
January 31, 2019
This is arguably one of the most bizarre, unusual, horrifying, craziest books I have ever read. It is a very entertaining read. It shares these characteristics with The Place of Dead Roads which I read almost two years ago and I am almost certain that the final book in the Red Night Trilogy, The Western Lands, will be just as bizarre, unusual, horrifying and crazy.
August 11, 2023
I’d greatly appreciate it if somebody could give me even a bloody rough idea of what the hell I’ve just read.
February 18, 2026
This novel was an insanely wild and surreal trip through the brain of William Burroughs. Was this a good novel? Is Burroughs a good writer? I can’t answer either of those questions, but he was certainly good at painting extremely vivid images of orgiastic lust and horror. (And, I’m not being hyperbolic in my word choice in that last sentence. That’s strictly literal. lol.)
He did such a good job that I was completely and utterly mesmerized - so much so that I’m debating giving it another read. There is a narrative in here, a couple intertwining plots, and an incredible amount of raunchy gay sex and sexual behavior that I can’t believe anyone (*anyone*) would be aroused by. Lol, again. What a fucking nutter.
It’s part Sci-Fi, part gumshoe noir, part pirate story, part magical realism, part occult, part historical fiction, part action novel, BIG part drug novel, and probably a whole bunch of other genres that I didn’t pick up on. (Why is it not a “gay novel” as well? I briefly skimmed a queer literary analysis of Burroughs, and it enumerated a list of reasons why he’s shunned by the LGBTQ literary community and canon - basically, because of the combination of his machismo and lack of angst over his sexuality. Burroughs, was written off as just a gun-loving, drug addled pervert. I don’t buy that though. This novel is as gay as Giovanni’s Room.)
Anyways. This is a wild, bloody, political (is libertinism a political ideology?), drug and sex-fueled ride that envisions utopian (or dystopian, I can’t tell) societies, and cataclysmic wars.
I have a feeling I’m just scratching the surface here, trying to nail this thing down. I just realized that, although I’ve been a Burroughs “fan” since adolescence, this is the first novel of his that I’ve read. (Go ahead, YOU read Naked Lunch.) It’s a solid, beguiling novel if you’re interested in something really, really weird, not bound by any type of normal conventionality. Burroughs has quite the imagination, and the literary chops to pull it off.
Not recommended to anyone squeamish about anything. (*ANYTHING*)
He did such a good job that I was completely and utterly mesmerized - so much so that I’m debating giving it another read. There is a narrative in here, a couple intertwining plots, and an incredible amount of raunchy gay sex and sexual behavior that I can’t believe anyone (*anyone*) would be aroused by. Lol, again. What a fucking nutter.
It’s part Sci-Fi, part gumshoe noir, part pirate story, part magical realism, part occult, part historical fiction, part action novel, BIG part drug novel, and probably a whole bunch of other genres that I didn’t pick up on. (Why is it not a “gay novel” as well? I briefly skimmed a queer literary analysis of Burroughs, and it enumerated a list of reasons why he’s shunned by the LGBTQ literary community and canon - basically, because of the combination of his machismo and lack of angst over his sexuality. Burroughs, was written off as just a gun-loving, drug addled pervert. I don’t buy that though. This novel is as gay as Giovanni’s Room.)
Anyways. This is a wild, bloody, political (is libertinism a political ideology?), drug and sex-fueled ride that envisions utopian (or dystopian, I can’t tell) societies, and cataclysmic wars.
I have a feeling I’m just scratching the surface here, trying to nail this thing down. I just realized that, although I’ve been a Burroughs “fan” since adolescence, this is the first novel of his that I’ve read. (Go ahead, YOU read Naked Lunch.) It’s a solid, beguiling novel if you’re interested in something really, really weird, not bound by any type of normal conventionality. Burroughs has quite the imagination, and the literary chops to pull it off.
Not recommended to anyone squeamish about anything. (*ANYTHING*)
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