Kiss of the Spiderwoman by Manuel Puig, translated by Thomas Colchie
Manuel Puig's 1976 novel tells the story of Valentin and Molina, two vastly different prisoners who are confined to a cell together.
Valentin is a political prisoner, while Molina has been jailed for "corruption of a minor".
Set at the beginning of Argentina's 'Dirty War' under a military dictatorship, the prison authorities have placed Molina in Valentin's cell in the hope that he'll hear something of interest from his cellmate – with the added incentive of a possible pardon if he tells them.
But they don't count on these apparent opposites becoming friends.
Told almost exclusively through dialogue between the two main protagonists, with only a dash to tell us that a different character is speaking, we learn a great deal about the two as Molina alleviates the boredom by relating, in great detail, films that he's seen. Valentin's responses, together with his own brief explanations of his personal philosophy, allow us to see two sides of a coin.
Valentin is initially derisive – for where Molina dreams of beauty and love and romance, he has to set all such distractions aside and concentrate on his 'greater role'. But Valentin himself has forgotten how to dream and how to take pleasure in life. He has forgotten to live, internally as well as externally.
Puig uses the novel partly as a plea for tolerance of homosexuality – he scatters it with lengthy footnotes about psychoanalytic theories on sexuality, but these can feel distracting and you don't miss anything by passing over them – particularly since most readers today won't start from a perspective of seeing homosexuality as the worst thing in the world. Indeed, understanding on sexuality in general has moved on considerably since the mid-'70s, so these notes can feel rather outdated. Perhaps they should be dropped from the book – but then again, they serve as a valuable reminder of just how far humanity has come in terms of understanding the issue and of terms of learning and working for tolerance and equality.
Funny in places, and moving too, Puig's novel is an humane story where two characters gradually learn from each other.
The dialogue format is easy to come to terms with. Puig's prose is straightforward and makes for an easy read. And a good read it is too.
Manuel Puig's 1976 novel tells the story of Valentin and Molina, two vastly different prisoners who are confined to a cell together.
Valentin is a political prisoner, while Molina has been jailed for "corruption of a minor".
Set at the beginning of Argentina's 'Dirty War' under a military dictatorship, the prison authorities have placed Molina in Valentin's cell in the hope that he'll hear something of interest from his cellmate – with the added incentive of a possible pardon if he tells them.
But they don't count on these apparent opposites becoming friends.
Told almost exclusively through dialogue between the two main protagonists, with only a dash to tell us that a different character is speaking, we learn a great deal about the two as Molina alleviates the boredom by relating, in great detail, films that he's seen. Valentin's responses, together with his own brief explanations of his personal philosophy, allow us to see two sides of a coin.
Valentin is initially derisive – for where Molina dreams of beauty and love and romance, he has to set all such distractions aside and concentrate on his 'greater role'. But Valentin himself has forgotten how to dream and how to take pleasure in life. He has forgotten to live, internally as well as externally.
Puig uses the novel partly as a plea for tolerance of homosexuality – he scatters it with lengthy footnotes about psychoanalytic theories on sexuality, but these can feel distracting and you don't miss anything by passing over them – particularly since most readers today won't start from a perspective of seeing homosexuality as the worst thing in the world. Indeed, understanding on sexuality in general has moved on considerably since the mid-'70s, so these notes can feel rather outdated. Perhaps they should be dropped from the book – but then again, they serve as a valuable reminder of just how far humanity has come in terms of understanding the issue and of terms of learning and working for tolerance and equality.
Funny in places, and moving too, Puig's novel is an humane story where two characters gradually learn from each other.
The dialogue format is easy to come to terms with. Puig's prose is straightforward and makes for an easy read. And a good read it is too.