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CR: The New Centennial Review 2.2 (2002) 89-100



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Ciclón:
Post-avant-garde Cuba

Cuba and Literature1
"Cuba y la literatura." Ciclón 1, no. 2 (March 1955)

Virgilio Piñera


I CONFESS THAT THE TITLE OF THIS PAPER IS AS UGLY AS AN UGLY TITLE CAN be. "Cuba and Literature" is a title lacking in brilliance; nevertheless, it expresses exactly the true relation that exists between my country and literature.

A relation that is purely conventional: the expression "Cuban literature" is used by professors. It appears in textbooks only to ease the presentation of the material. Now, this professor repeats here and there said expression without thinking even for a moment that he is a thousand leagues from the truth. For example, in the course of his lecture he could be interrupted by one of the people in Cuba who try to be writers. One of them might stand up to object: "In truth, professor, I am opposed to such an expression. A man like myself, who suffers the worst of all deaths, civil death, cannot share your point of view. I deny that such a Cuban literature exists, since day by day I suffer this terrible civil death of the writer who does not have a true literature to back him up. I deny that it exists because everything conspires to demonstrate to me that I am very far from being a writer. I deny that it exists because it is incapable of demonstrating to me whether I am a sad madman or a magnificent writer. I deny that it exists because it does not energize me or give me protection in my vocation; I deny that it exists because I do not see anywhere this golden network that writers form who preceded us in their solid glory, the voices of universal recognition, the true literary life with its paradises and infernos. No, professor, taken in its rigorous sense, Cuban literature does not exist at the moment, or if you are too alarmed at my ex abrupto, I can concede you this: Cuban literature exists, but . . . only in textbooks."

I would like to state that, in accordance with this textbook and the one that, on the other hand, does not lie at all, we have had writers since the seventeenth [End Page 89] century. There have been literary movements, generations, publications, and so on. If you follow the textbook you will see that we had such and such a poet in the eighteenth century, or this and the other novelist; that in the nineteenth century Cubans invaded the field of the philosophical; and that in the twentieth century, poets proliferated. There have been many novelists and storytellers, and much theater has been written. And in effect, the textbook does not lie; it has its truth, a truth which smells and fells: such and such a poet really existed; he left these works and he died on this day of that year . . . This textbook has no reason to get mixed up in this matter. It is a mere list; whoever refers to it for information will not be cheated and will instantly see their own names light up in the pages of the manual. But manuals constantly proliferate, since as the years go by one repeats the other and, in addition, adds its ration of conventional truth. It is thus that, at a determinate moment, it turns out that, according to the manual, we have a gigantic, superhuman literature. We can calmly alternate with the other literatures which are truly gigantic, superhuman; an enormous satisfaction invades us, with our task completed, with geniuses in their magnificent immortality letting us feel their influence all over the place, our current works translated to all cultured and uncultured languages . . . A veritable fiesta of the spirit! The textbook is swollen, filled to the brim; its stitches threaten to burst; its sides seem like a gilt dolphin and its pages are almost bursting out in flame. Everyone, in the face of such a great victory, runs to be included in the...

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