Taking a number of steps outside of a narrative, Goytisolo proves capable of dissemination and ignition. Employing Torquemada’s need for closure, an absolute extinction of impurity, the sordid traditions of Christianity and Colonialism are given the torch in these pages. Juan the Landless may allude to a traitor who allowed the forces of Islam purchase into the Iberian peninsula. It may also be a statement of self exile, as in Senor Goytisolo knows no land as home. The opening sections literally wallow in shit and I was thinking along the lines of Gravity’s Rainbow. Alas, I now think that Goytisolo is declaring war on Franco, not moving in lockstep with Pynchon. It isn’t really that reductive.

Much like Mark of Identity, so much of the murk of the novel is autobiographical. The awakened passions for a musky sensuality is a call to arms on a number of fronts and bottoms, I must cheekily pun (or double pun). His recurring scene of the Couple, so necessary for the ongoing machination of the West, as they prepare for intimate congress in a store window: that is an amazing device.

Thanks to Mike Puma for the impetus to tackle this here and now. ( )

uan sin tierra marca un quiebre definitivo en relación a Señas de identidad y a Reivindicación del Conde don Julián, obras en las que permanecen algunos valores de la novela tradicional. En la presente, Goytisolo ya no sólo ajusta cuentas con la tierra de origen, además con su tradición literaria y crítica oficial del país establecida a lo largo de los últimos siglos. Adentrándose en consecuencia en los territorios del Islam, su nueva morada. La única realidad palpable en el texto es la apuesta por una topología del discurso, gracias a la cual ese no lugar del discurso cobra una figuración por su pura superficie.

Si bien esta obra puede leerse de forma autónoma, en verdad es el último último eslabón de la trilogía Mendiola, integrada por Señas de identidad y Reivindicación del Conde don Julián ( )

In the first line of his afterword to my edition of this book, Goytisolo writes, "I have always rejected the term "experimental" in relation to my novels . . . Every book that aspires to be innovative does just that, experiment . . ." And yet, if this novel isn't experimental, I don't know what is! Not only is it written in completely run in sentences divided by colons (with nary a period in sight, and no capital letters to start), but it is very difficult to follow what is going on. And, indeed, not much "happens," in the traditional novelistic sense; it appears to be more a series of vignettes that frame scenes fraught with some meaning that is developed at length, in almost poetic language, but opaque to me.

There are several recurring themes and images. Perhaps the most recurring is the use, which requires a strong stomach, of different approaches to defecation as a metaphor for the difference between poor, powerless, people of color and rich, powerful white people. Goytisolo first uses these images in the first section, which refers to his ancestors, slave-owning sugar cane farmers and processors in Cuba. Another image/metaphor Goytisolo uses is the of the writer's pen as analogous to a penis. Needless to say, the Catholic church doesn't come off well in this book.

Reading this book drove me constantly to the dictionary, Wikipedia ,and Google Translate: not only are there references to writers, places, etc., but some subsections have Latin titles, and indeed there are passages in Latin, French, and other languages.

What is this book about? I hesitate to say. Some descriptions I have read say it reflects Goytisolo's attraction to the pariahs of the world. This book has been on my TBR for several years, and I read it for the Reading Globally theme read on the Iberian Peninsula. I'm glad I read it, but it mystified me. (It has been almost a week since I read it, and perhaps I could have said something slightly more meaningful if I'd had a chance to review it earlier, but definitely only slightly.)