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Cocuyo
Cocuyo fue la última novela de Sarduy publicada en vida. En ella se relata la historia de Cocuyo, personaje poco agraciado físicamente y de evidente ambigüedad sexual que, al sentirse rechazado por su familia, decide envenenarla en medio de un ciclón. Para no ser descubierto, ingiere una pequeña dosis de una pócima y simula ser una víctima más del crimen. A partir de aquí comienza un verdadero camino iniciático que marcará las experiencias vitales del protagonista en un mundo mágico-simbólico muy característico de la cultura cubana, en el que el lenguaje asume también un papel primordial.
214 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1990
3 people are currently reading
229 people want to read
About the author
Severo Sarduy
71 books56 followersSevero Sarduy was a Cuban poet, author, playwright, and critic of Cuban literature and art.
Sarduy became close friends with Roland Barthes, Philippe Sollers, and other writers connected with journal Tel Quel. His third novel, Cobra (1972), translated by Sollers won the Prix Medicis for a work of foreign literature in translation. In addition to his own writing, Sarduy edited, published and promoted the work of many other Spanish and Latin American authors first at Editions Seuil and then Editions Gallimard.
In Sarduy's 1993 obituary in The Independent, James Kirkup wrote, "Sarduy was a genius with words, one of the great contemporary stylists writing in Spanish. ... Sarduy will be remembered chiefly for his brilliant, unpredictable, iconoclastic and often grimly funny novels, works of a totally liberated imagination composed by a master of disciplined Spanish style. He encompassed the sublime and the ridiculous, mingling oral traditions with literary mannerisms adopted from his baroque masters.
Sarduy became close friends with Roland Barthes, Philippe Sollers, and other writers connected with journal Tel Quel. His third novel, Cobra (1972), translated by Sollers won the Prix Medicis for a work of foreign literature in translation. In addition to his own writing, Sarduy edited, published and promoted the work of many other Spanish and Latin American authors first at Editions Seuil and then Editions Gallimard.
In Sarduy's 1993 obituary in The Independent, James Kirkup wrote, "Sarduy was a genius with words, one of the great contemporary stylists writing in Spanish. ... Sarduy will be remembered chiefly for his brilliant, unpredictable, iconoclastic and often grimly funny novels, works of a totally liberated imagination composed by a master of disciplined Spanish style. He encompassed the sublime and the ridiculous, mingling oral traditions with literary mannerisms adopted from his baroque masters.
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
January 16, 2013
Rating: 4.5 stars.
Severo Sarduy has written a novella that reads like a large novel. There are no casual lines. Every phrase is filled with poetry and purpose. The quality of Sarduy’s syntax is impeccable. He is a master of literary prose and artistry. Sarduy writes as if from a subconscious dream. And, like a dream, there is abstract imagery with an underlying, powerful message.
While Sarduy’s script is beautiful, his story is harsh. It is pre-war Cuba. A young boy experiences coming of age against a cruel and dissolute backdrop. He feels separate from the world – poignantly unhappy and alone. Revenge for the corrupt is his only consolation, allowing emotional survival. This ability to combine beauty and darkness is Sarduy’s genius. It also shows his capacity to understand and express the human condition.
This is the first book I have read of Sarduy’s. I have a passion for Latin American authors. Sarduy is definitely one I will continue to explore. It is unfortunate the world lost this Cuban author while at the pinnacle of his craft. He is a fascinating and brilliant novelist.
Severo Sarduy has written a novella that reads like a large novel. There are no casual lines. Every phrase is filled with poetry and purpose. The quality of Sarduy’s syntax is impeccable. He is a master of literary prose and artistry. Sarduy writes as if from a subconscious dream. And, like a dream, there is abstract imagery with an underlying, powerful message.
While Sarduy’s script is beautiful, his story is harsh. It is pre-war Cuba. A young boy experiences coming of age against a cruel and dissolute backdrop. He feels separate from the world – poignantly unhappy and alone. Revenge for the corrupt is his only consolation, allowing emotional survival. This ability to combine beauty and darkness is Sarduy’s genius. It also shows his capacity to understand and express the human condition.
This is the first book I have read of Sarduy’s. I have a passion for Latin American authors. Sarduy is definitely one I will continue to explore. It is unfortunate the world lost this Cuban author while at the pinnacle of his craft. He is a fascinating and brilliant novelist.
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February 19, 2024This was an odd one, to say the least. Shades of Schulz and Faulkner and Huysmans, just a fever dream of life in a very different place at a very different time. It’s hard to remember what actually happened – it’s just a stream of sensuous experiences, of haunting images, of a hurricane-battered and magic-infused society that has long since ceased to be. And how glad I was to spend a couple of afternoons there, courtesy of Severo Sarduy.
June 23, 2021
Pienso que este texto puede leerse como una contra-novela de formación, en tanto su protagonista, Cocuyo, abandona el cenit familiar y comienza un viaje iniciático que, en vez de guiarlo hacia el desarrollo personal y social, lo relega a la más extrema marginalidad. La influencia del género picaresco en la novela no hace más que reforzar este punto, al forjar una estética de lo monstruoso que posa su atención en, por ejemplo, los personajes leprosos de un hospital, la violencia sexual, mujeres desdentadas, cuerpos raquíticos.
Quizás el mayor logro de este texto sea la sutileza con la que emplaza el lugar de lo real hacia vericuetos oníricos y surrealistas. De un momento a otro el protagonista, como en una katábasis antiheroica, visita lugares deformados por prismas grotescos y espejos abominables. La imagen de la ruina se potencia si pensamos que la subjetividad de Cocuyo se construye por medio de la identificación con los cuerpos monstruosos.
Esa identificación con lo monstruoso me conduce, finalmente, a una interpretación más obvia del texto: el monstruo en su vínculo con la subjetividad marica. El personaje de Cocuyo representa el estorbo social de una identidad no hegemónica que no logra encontrar un lugar definitivo. Y por eso pulula, se mueve, vuela con sus alas de insecto roto en busca de un espacio que nunca le ha sido concedido.
Quizás el mayor logro de este texto sea la sutileza con la que emplaza el lugar de lo real hacia vericuetos oníricos y surrealistas. De un momento a otro el protagonista, como en una katábasis antiheroica, visita lugares deformados por prismas grotescos y espejos abominables. La imagen de la ruina se potencia si pensamos que la subjetividad de Cocuyo se construye por medio de la identificación con los cuerpos monstruosos.
Esa identificación con lo monstruoso me conduce, finalmente, a una interpretación más obvia del texto: el monstruo en su vínculo con la subjetividad marica. El personaje de Cocuyo representa el estorbo social de una identidad no hegemónica que no logra encontrar un lugar definitivo. Y por eso pulula, se mueve, vuela con sus alas de insecto roto en busca de un espacio que nunca le ha sido concedido.
July 31, 2015
Sarduy writes you a dream you can almost remember but certainly feel.
Each sentence of this book is laid out like a string of pearls.
While the book seemed to end abruptly it will linger in the back of my head for a long time.
Each sentence of this book is laid out like a string of pearls.
While the book seemed to end abruptly it will linger in the back of my head for a long time.
February 3, 2020
¿Cómo crecen los niños humillados y abandonados por su propia familia?¿Qué pasa con los vástagos que traicionan sus raíces? Estas parecen ser las preguntas que Severo explora en Cucuyo (1990), última novela que alcanza a publicar en vida.
El ámbiente esta vez es la decadente Cuba de Batista, eso sí, descrita por el lirismo barroco de Sarduy.
La trama, un niño que se convierte en hombre bajo los designios de la vergüenza, el desencanto y la soledad.
Lo destacable, como es usual en la narrativa sarduyesca, el lenguaje preci(o)so que crea imágenes vivas, acompañado de referentes que van desde la alta cultura hasta el pop. También destacan las reflexiones del narrador cargadas de ternura, que permiten la identificación con el protagonista, pues nos recuerda aquel niño perverso que alguna vez fuimos.
Esto;
Cocuyo es la infancia terrible llena de humillaciones de adultos despiadados que se ríen en la cara ante la senibilidad exacerbada de la infancia, por lo que solo queda descubrir el mundo con el miedo en la boca. De ahí la venganza.
En esta línea pienso en otras novelas que abordan este tópico: Celestino antes del alba, de Arenas, La carne de René, de Piñera y Papi, de Rita Indiana. Las historias de lxs antihéroes.
Finalmente, lo único que dificulta la lectura de esta novela es la descripción obsesiva de los espacios que la alargan más de la cuenta.
El ámbiente esta vez es la decadente Cuba de Batista, eso sí, descrita por el lirismo barroco de Sarduy.
La trama, un niño que se convierte en hombre bajo los designios de la vergüenza, el desencanto y la soledad.
Lo destacable, como es usual en la narrativa sarduyesca, el lenguaje preci(o)so que crea imágenes vivas, acompañado de referentes que van desde la alta cultura hasta el pop. También destacan las reflexiones del narrador cargadas de ternura, que permiten la identificación con el protagonista, pues nos recuerda aquel niño perverso que alguna vez fuimos.
Esto;
Cocuyo es la infancia terrible llena de humillaciones de adultos despiadados que se ríen en la cara ante la senibilidad exacerbada de la infancia, por lo que solo queda descubrir el mundo con el miedo en la boca. De ahí la venganza.
En esta línea pienso en otras novelas que abordan este tópico: Celestino antes del alba, de Arenas, La carne de René, de Piñera y Papi, de Rita Indiana. Las historias de lxs antihéroes.
Finalmente, lo único que dificulta la lectura de esta novela es la descripción obsesiva de los espacios que la alargan más de la cuenta.
July 16, 2014
Severo Sarduy (1937-1993), celebrated Cuban poet, fiction writer, playwright and literary critic. When Fidel Castro came to power in 1959 Sarduy managed to achieve a grant to study art in Paris, although never considering himself to be an exile or an immigrant he became a French citizen but is quoted as saying “I am a Cuban through and through, who just happens to live in Paris”, unfortunately he never returned to his native Cuba, dying as a result of complications from AIDS in 1993.
His obituary in “The Independent” says that in a 1986 interview Sarduy declared “I write only in order to make myself well. I write in an attempt to become normal, to be like everybody else, even though it's obvious I am not. I am a neurotic creature, a prey to phobias, burdened with obsessions and anxieties. And instead of going to a psychoanalyst or committing suicide or abandoning myself to drink and drugs, I write. That's my therapy.” The same article also quotes his as saying “Language, the desire to give life to things through words, is what makes us human.”
And “language” is the striking point as soon as you enter the world of Firefly, from page one, rich with such depth, you feel that every single word is of value, there is not a single shred of wastage here, a meticulous use of style, which can be challenging throughout, however I imagine nowhere near as challenging for us as readers compared to Mark Fried the translator.
Around a fountain, as if drawn by its cool waters, the feverish patients lie under archways on wobbly cots with no more accoutrements than a few mosquito nets of course tulle rolled up on spindles during the day and unfurled at night to reach the brick floor.
Beside the beds stand large copper pitchers for their ablutions, as well as bowls, enema hoses, white ceramic jars with green unguents, a sieve of vein-hungry leeches swimming over one another, and an archipelago of cotton swabs stained with pus, saliva, and blood. Farther off, an amphora of wine. A crystal vase with an iris.
Muscular nuns with ruddy cheeks and severe mannerisms make their rounds under the archways in a perpetual scurry and always in the same direction, collecting refuse and tendering salves and consolation, or little wool sacks with camphor stones, which they slide brusquely under the pillows.
Carefully, they close the eyes of the moribund and tie their jaws up with white cloths so that rigor mortis will not catch them by surprise; they give the thirsty salt to suck; they oblige those suffering boils or anemia to gulp a gelatinous and searing fish soup, which they shove at them with an enormous wooden spoon.
So heavily starched are the edges of their polyhedral cornets that the patients fear getting sliced open when the nuns go rushing by, busy as leaf-cutter ants throughout the night.
For my full review go to http://messybooker.blogspot.com.au/
His obituary in “The Independent” says that in a 1986 interview Sarduy declared “I write only in order to make myself well. I write in an attempt to become normal, to be like everybody else, even though it's obvious I am not. I am a neurotic creature, a prey to phobias, burdened with obsessions and anxieties. And instead of going to a psychoanalyst or committing suicide or abandoning myself to drink and drugs, I write. That's my therapy.” The same article also quotes his as saying “Language, the desire to give life to things through words, is what makes us human.”
And “language” is the striking point as soon as you enter the world of Firefly, from page one, rich with such depth, you feel that every single word is of value, there is not a single shred of wastage here, a meticulous use of style, which can be challenging throughout, however I imagine nowhere near as challenging for us as readers compared to Mark Fried the translator.
Around a fountain, as if drawn by its cool waters, the feverish patients lie under archways on wobbly cots with no more accoutrements than a few mosquito nets of course tulle rolled up on spindles during the day and unfurled at night to reach the brick floor.
Beside the beds stand large copper pitchers for their ablutions, as well as bowls, enema hoses, white ceramic jars with green unguents, a sieve of vein-hungry leeches swimming over one another, and an archipelago of cotton swabs stained with pus, saliva, and blood. Farther off, an amphora of wine. A crystal vase with an iris.
Muscular nuns with ruddy cheeks and severe mannerisms make their rounds under the archways in a perpetual scurry and always in the same direction, collecting refuse and tendering salves and consolation, or little wool sacks with camphor stones, which they slide brusquely under the pillows.
Carefully, they close the eyes of the moribund and tie their jaws up with white cloths so that rigor mortis will not catch them by surprise; they give the thirsty salt to suck; they oblige those suffering boils or anemia to gulp a gelatinous and searing fish soup, which they shove at them with an enormous wooden spoon.
So heavily starched are the edges of their polyhedral cornets that the patients fear getting sliced open when the nuns go rushing by, busy as leaf-cutter ants throughout the night.
For my full review go to http://messybooker.blogspot.com.au/
October 31, 2023
Si os leéis este libro leed la edición de amarillo
February 15, 2020
I'm so torn. This book had characters and scenarios that deliver the sort of surreal phantasmagoria I long for in literature.
But the sentence structure, the way the paragraphs were put together were maddening. It was as if the translation didn't bother to arrange the sentences in english. That is a bit of an exaggeration. But the droning descriptions never seem to take into consideration the anticipation of the reader. I found that I had to read some sequences three times over just to keep straight what the ornate baroque adjectives and similes were describing.
Still, there were scenes in this book I relished. I wonder if the book is this difficult in Spanish or if this is the translation.
Thankfully, there were some sequences in the middle where either the translation became more careful or honestly, I got into the rhythm of it.
I will have to re-read this at sometime. This could have been my favorite book of the year thus far, if only it wasn't so difficult to hold onto or comprehend.
But the sentence structure, the way the paragraphs were put together were maddening. It was as if the translation didn't bother to arrange the sentences in english. That is a bit of an exaggeration. But the droning descriptions never seem to take into consideration the anticipation of the reader. I found that I had to read some sequences three times over just to keep straight what the ornate baroque adjectives and similes were describing.
Still, there were scenes in this book I relished. I wonder if the book is this difficult in Spanish or if this is the translation.
Thankfully, there were some sequences in the middle where either the translation became more careful or honestly, I got into the rhythm of it.
I will have to re-read this at sometime. This could have been my favorite book of the year thus far, if only it wasn't so difficult to hold onto or comprehend.
August 9, 2025
Me encantó esta novela!!!! Confieso que hace tiempo traté de leer Cobra y me decepcioné por no poder conectar con el neobarroco de Sarduy. Sin embargo, en Cocuyo Sarduy practica un barroco más mesurado, privilegiando la inteligibilidad con un relato vertiginoso, tierno y también muy triste que tiene como protagonista a Cocuyo. En su forma, la novela me recuerda un poco a los textos picarescos, solo que aquí nuestro protagonista no logra encontrar un lugar en el mundo y el mundo, corrupto hasta la médula, no tiene redención posible. Sí, "el hombre es la mierda del universo".
April 12, 2025
En sær, allegorisk roman – muligvis over Cubas moderne historie. Sprogligt original og meget ambitiøs, måske også for ambitiøs. For sproglige feinschmeckere og tilhængere af det groteske og surrealistiske. Læs hele min anmeldelse på K’s bognoter: https://bognoter.dk/2025/04/12/severo...
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January 3, 2020Sarduy’s prose is gorgeous in spots, horrifying in others. This book is madness, read at your own risk.
June 9, 2021
reminded me of angela carter, so much
May 4, 2019
Beautiful story written with poetic discriptive language. The novella is a coming of age about a boy who runs away from a terrible deed committed and deals with life in a harsh and unforgiving port town.
March 29, 2013
Too florid for me; it verges on the affected.
January 20, 2016
The subtitle of Chesterton's 'The Man Who Was Thursday' (A nightmare) seems especially comical when reading this psychedelic cacophony of shriveling body parts and excrement-filled rot. Great stuff.
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February 5, 2016Words.....a sentence is a whole paragraph...is a image/picture.
April 28, 2017
Many novels that I read are without shadow, that human darkness that might terrorize anyone. This little novel is almost entirely shadow. It is terrifying in that the conclusions drawn by the main character seem to make sense, at least within the context of a world that is this story, but they are conclusions no one wishes to draw. What saves the reader is realizing that the shadow is not the whole of human existence. And although this shadowy novel does not teach as much as warn, the real human shadow is a great teacher, one will not find it here because the shadow needs the light. One needs a strong stomach to finish this novel.
Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews