The Nature of
Homosexuality in Carlos
Montenegro’s
Hombres sin mujer
University of California Los Angeles
In the
note to the reader that opens his novel Hombres sin mujer, Carlos Montenegro
clearly states that the purpose of
his narrative is to denounce the injustices perpetrated by the Cuban
prison
system in general, and the prison culture that forces inmates into
homosexual
activity in particular. In his
introduction,
A
contradictory conception of the nature of sexuality is present from
the very beginning of
However,
even in the aforementioned note to the reader,
If, as
the novel suggests, homosexuality is an unnatural and conditional
state caused by the denigrating atmosphere of the prison, then the
farther a
man is from the prison environment (or perhaps the closer he is to a
natural
environment and his natural state), the more removed he would be from
homosexual inclinations. The
protagonist, Pascasio Speek, is representative of
this “natural” man.
On first entering the prison, his rural sensibilities are
scandalized;
Cuando ingresó en el presidio su conciencia de hombre primitivo se asombró de que existiera tanto fango . . . Cada vez que se había acercado a alguien, le había descubierto, más o menos profunda la veta vergonzosa; algunas ya la traían de la calle, de la ciudad, y a él se le hacía como si todos estuvieran leprosos y lo fueran contaminar (15).
The
notion of an infectious homosexuality is present here once again,
and in this case it is directly linked not just to the prison, but to
the city
itself. The implication, thus, is
that Pascasio, “un hombre primitivo”
is pure, coming from a bucolic, although certainly exploitative
background, where he was
not exposed to
such blatant homosexuality. As a
physically powerful, virile, “primitive” black man, Pascasio falls
in line with a character type customary to the criollista novel. As Carlos J. Alonso explains, in the
1920’s and 30’s (Hombres sin mujer
was first published in 1938) the criollista movement, “put literature
back in touch with an avowedly primeval essence whose power derived precisely from its primordial status, and
which was constructed along various ethnic lines – the black, the
Indian”(197). Pascasio embodies this
autochthonous
noble savagery, a quality which binds him to nature and the natural,
and which
on the surface, appears to be the strength which allows him to
withstand the corrupting
unnatural forces of the city and the prison for so long.
The
closeness to nature that Pascasio evinces develops along two
ostensibly incongruous lines that are also in accord with the
criollista vision
of nature. The natural environment
is portrayed simultaneously as both “transcendent” and as a
“man-eating vortex” in the criollista novel (Alonso 212).
Similarly, as Emilio Bejel notes,
“Pascasio’s ‘primitive’ trait has a paradoxical
meaning, since on the one hand it implies his situation within the
accepted
sociosexual norms, and on the other his nearness to the
‘animalistic,’ the ‘bestial’” (86). Bejel
goes on to state that,
“these are the two sides of the concept of the ‘natural’ that
are in conflict within Pascasio’s character and are in fact one of the
central paradoxes of the text” (86). However,
while both natural morality and
natural savagery are at play in Pascasio’s character, this natural
morality only “implies” a heterosexual standard. In
a closer analysis of the
representations of nature within the text, both those of a violent
bestial
nature and those of a harmonious nature have links to homosexual or
pansexual
desires or actions. Thus,
“the two sides of the concept of the ‘natural’” are not
truly in conflict, but rather in confluence within Pascasio’s
character,
and this confluence belies the supposed connection between the
“natural” and the heteronormative.
Nature
and (homo)sexuality converge from the very first chapter of Hombres
sin mujer. Even as the narrator
defends the concept
of situational homosexuality by stating, “El hombre privado
de mujer años tras años acaba
por descubrir en otro hombre lo que echa de menos” (15), he goes
on to associate these homosexual behaviors with the natural world
beyond the
walls of the penitentiary. “No importa que de
pronto
no se vea la carne: el sexo está en todo. El sexo está
recóndito en la calceta de Juan; en aquél que tiene
domesticada
una araña . . . Está en todas partes: en los rincones, en
las
columnas, en dondequiera que cae un poco de sombra o de sol . . . ¡En el clima!” (15). The narrator
constantly reinforces the fact that this sexual tension occurs in the
absence
of women and between men. Sex moves
beyond more stereotypical homosexual imagery, such as “la calceta de
Juan,” to permeate anywhere there is “un poco de sombra
o de sol.” Although this expression links
the sun,
a natural force, to the homosexual activities occurring within the
prison, the
preceding list of man-made architectural elements suggests a removal of
the sun
from its natural context and confines it, and its association to
homosexuality,
within the boundaries of the prison walls.
However, the fact that the climate expresses homosexual tensions
indicates that these same-sex inclinations are not limited to the
prison, but
are part of nature itself and truly present everywhere under the sun,
further
fostering the criollista stereotype of a lusty tropical paradise. Additionally, the image of the inmate
with the domesticated spider further links sexual desire, in this case
homosexual desire, to nature.
Domestication acts as a form of domination, and within the
violent
prison environment, sexual domination is a constant presence. In this instance, however, the loaded
concepts of sex and domination are not linked to the human but to the
animal,
to a spider.
A
connection between the bestial and the homosexual is omnipresent in
the novel. While this relationship between man and beast does
underscore the
objectification or dehumanization of the inmates by the prison system
(Tamayo
Fernández 66), it also links them to the natural animal world
and to
homoeroticism. The very terms that
the inmates use to denominate the stereotypical types of homosexuals
among them
are the names of different animals.
The prisoners refer to those who take on the characteristically
masculine
or macho role of penetration during the sex act as “toros.” The prisoners who show the most brute
force, often through acts of sexual violence, are denominated “los
toros
que más meaban” (102), evoking images of an animal marking his
territory with his urine.
As the
figure or name of the bull represents the aggressive male within
the language of the text, Pascasio’s fantasy of capturing and wrestling
a
bullock, a close relative of the bull, takes on new meaning. At the very beginning of the novel,
before Pascasio even meets Andrés, the adolescent who finally
manages to
bring his homosexual urges to the forefront, he dreams of being,
“¡Libre! . . . ¡Al sol
The
narrator, recounting this fantasy through the perspective of
Pascasio, goes on to directly connect the encounter with the bullock to
a
sexual encounter, albeit a heterosexual one. “ . . . y,
rodando, rodando, no solo, sino con ella, con su hembra, hasta perderse
en la
yerba alta del río, o en los manglares . . . ” (15).
The ellipses bridge the eroticized description of wrestling with
a
bullock to the actual introduction of a female sexual partner. The pause represented by this
punctuation, however, allows for the interpretation of the sexual
encounter
with the women to act as justification, or a cover for the homoerotic
passage
just before it. The need to state
that he is not alone but with a woman reinforces this interpretation,
as does
the fact that this sentence is immediately followed by the recounting
of
Pascasio’s initial discomfort at witnessing the rampant homosexuality
within the prison. The ellipses act not simply as a transition, but as
an
awkward pause before a forced change of sexual object from the
masculine
“buey”
to the feminine “hembra,” indicating a repressed homosexual
drive. Thus, even the heterosexual
part of the fantasy further conflates nature with homosexuality.
In
addition to bulls, sharks are also representative of “machos”
who engage in homosexual encounters.
The inmates and the guards use this term to refer to “los
incorrigibles,” the most dangerous prisoners deemed incapable of
reform. When bringing Macaco, a
new, psychologically ill prisoner to the section of the penitentiary
inhabited
by the “incorrigibles”, the corrupt guard Rompemontes yells,
“¡Vaya, comida para los tiburones!”(101). The inmates then proceed to violently rape Macaco,
leaving behind only “un cuerpo inerte”
(114). Significantly, Macaco, though a
nickname
rather than a general term, is also the name of an animal, a type of
monkey. Both the aggressors and the
victims of this violent homosexual act take on attributes of the
natural,
primitive world of predator and prey through their animal nicknames.
The
image of a predator eating or attacking its prey, as in the case of
the “tiburones” and Macaco, is a recurring one which goes hand in
hand with the denomination of the aggressive, “macho,” as animal
when committing homosexual acts. These “tiburones” are explicitly “bestias hambrientas que se dispusieron
a saltar sobre su presa” (101).
Manuel Chiquito uses a
similar metaphor to show how he obtains the sexual services of the new
inmates
in order to satisfy his homosexual urges.
Thinking about how he will force Andrés to submit to his
will, he
explains,
Había que trabajarlo bajito, engañándolo; fingiéndole primero protección, después amistad; más tarde comprometerlo poco a poco, hasta que se ve enredado por todas partes, como una mosca en una telaraña, en tal forma que cuando se quisiera rehacer ya fuera tarde (31).
If
Andrés is the fly, then Manuel Chiquito is the spider weaving
the web of deceit in which to trap him. Although Manuel Chiquito is not
acting
with the same brute force and violence as the “tiburones” he is
still contriving to capture his prey, and associating an animal, a part
of the
natural world, with his efforts to do so.
Pascasio
himself, while at first not fully taking on the role of a
predator hunting Andrés, does take on a bestial character to
protect
him. When Candela, in an effort to
help break down Andrés and make him more susceptible to Manuel
Chiquito’s
advances, forces Andrés into hard labor, Pascasio violently
confronts
Candela. Despite the gallons of
boiling water that Candela throws on him, Pascasio holds his ground. This prompts one of the onlookers to
shout, “¡Ese animal está cojeando!”(149). Pascasio is both
literally and
figuratively limping. He is
weakened by the injuries he sustains in his fight to protect
Andrés, the
object of his affection.
Additionally, he is about to fall in the sense that he is on the
verge
of giving in to his desire for Andrés. While
Pascasio may be a limping animal
rather than a violent predatory one, he is still an animal. His feelings for Andrés are
linked to the bestial, natural part of his character.
It is
this savage part of his nature that takes control of Pascasio when
he does attack Andrés. After
the incident with Candela, Pascasio is sent to a confined part of the
prison
and tortured. Overwhelmed with feelings
of love and guilt, Andrés turns to Manuel Chiquito for help,
offering
him sexual services in return for getting Pascasio released from his
punishment. When Pascasio walks in
on Manuel Chiquito collecting this debt, he falls into a jealous rage. “Su
pensamiento se había detenido, y sólo lo movía una
fuerza
ciega e irrefrenable, como si estuviera poseído por su bestia
ancestral” (211). It
is the betrayal of a male love that finally
manages to completely transform Pascasio into the primitive, primeval
beast
with which he has been associated all along. The narrator emphasizes
this
savage nature throughout Pascasio’s violent reaction to Manuel
Chiquito’s tryst with Andrés.
He describes our fallen hero
as a “bestia irritado,” and
a “fiera
hambrienta en caza.” “Si
lo hubieran soltado desnudo, en la selva, tal vez, hubiera caminado
dándole golpes en el pecho con los puños cerrados como un
gorila.” Pascasio’s
body language completely changes;
“caminaba encorvado, alargando el cuello hacia adelante, dilatando las
ventanas de la nariz
It is
not only the “macho” men who engage in homosexual
practices, however, who have a connection to the natural world. Those who take on the supposedly
feminine role, those who are penetrated, are also linked to nature
through
animal names. They are
“pájaros,” “yeguas,”
or “carne de puerco”. It is, in fact, when Candela calls
Pascasio “yegua” that his inability to remain celibate and conform
to heterosocial norms is first questioned.
Pascasio’s prestige is dependent on his not engaging in
homosexual
acts (1), and thus he responds with violence to
Candela’s taunt
and involves himself in the world of the homosexual inmates, for the
only way
to demonstrate that one is not a “yegua” is to show oneself to be a
“toro”. It is this
involvement which ultimately leads him to succumb to his repressed
desires. The narrator, speaking from
Pascasio’s point of view, compares the interpolative force of
Candela’s comment to another non-animal force of nature: a river; “Sabía por experiencia que caer en la boca de los
presos era lo
mismo que caer en un río sin saber nadar . . . Y ahora estaba
él
resbalando, con los pies ya en el agua, agarrándose para que el
torrente
no lo arrastrara” (16). The narrator and the inmates thus relate both
that which initiates and that which carries Pascasio through his voyage
into
homosexuality with forces of nature.
The narrator picks up this motif again towards the end of the
novel. After Pascasio realizes that
he has feelings for Andrés, the narrator comments,
“no podían detener el curso de la naturaleza,
Whereas
the forceful torrent of the prisoner’s gossip and nature
itself drag Pascasio into homosexuality, and the “macho” sexual
aggressors act as predators trapping or attacking their sexual victims,
La
Morita, the homosexual who aims to attract the attentions of Pascasio,
takes on
the characteristics of treacherous plant life. Pascasio attacks La
Morita in an
attempt to stave off any further sexual advances from him, yet, after
their
fight and the subsequent accounting of it to the authorities, the
protagonist
finds himself strangely drawn to this thoroughly effeminate figure. “Se vio semejante a un pedazo de tierra en el que La Morita,
como
una planta, crecía, extendiendo dentro de él las
raíces que
le trepaban por el pecho, por los músculos de los brazos y por
la
garganta, hasta abrazarlo todo” (57). That La Morita is trapping Pascasio, perhaps against his
will, does not
change the fact that, within this image, the natural, supposedly pure
world of
plants and soil mixes with homoerotic imagery. As
a plant, La Morita’s body grows
larger, enters Pascasio’s body, and caresses every part of him. The simile which directly links Pascasio
to “un pedazo de tierra,” to the very land itself, also
marks him as an object of sexual
desire to other men, for, while La Morita is feminized, he is still
male. This sexually charged comparison of
Pascasio to the land echoes the first altercation that he has with
Candela. After
Candela calls Pascasio “yegua,” he also calls him “mi
tierra” (10). This is both an
expression of affection and of possession.
Thus, while Candela once again links Pascasio to the earth, this
association
does not evoke “natural” heterosexual “purity” but
rather a homosexual relationship.
The pure
and gentle and even moral side of nature is, however, also
present within the novel. Whereas
the river of convict gossip threatens to drown Pascasio violently, in the context of the
inmates washing themselves, the image of a river becomes purifying,
evoking the
idea of baptism. Under the showers,
por un minuto aquellos hombres parecieron otros, como desarraigados de todo lo inmoral, para entregarse ebrios a aquel goce simple que la naturaleza les deparaba. Si hubieron podido lanzarse a un río o al mar, se habrían sentido, acaso, completamente limpios y dichosos (80).
Nature,
in the form of water, has the power to cleanse these men of their
sins. Yet this purifying act of
nature takes place in an entirely homoerotic setting.
The showers are full of naked men eyeing
each other lasciviously, and the description of the showers which
precedes the
comment on their purifying effects is full of sexual innuendo. “Los que
habían logrado coger puestos bajo las duchas se frotaban el
rostro, vuelto
a lo alto, y con los ojos cerrados para recibir, plenos de euforia, la
caricia
del agua, a la que daban el pecho y
las partes nobles” (79). The words “coger” and “frotar” are reminiscent of Pascasio’s
fantasy about the bullock, but in this section of the text the
eroticism is
even more explicit. The water
caresses the “partes
nobles” of this group of nude male inmates, causing “euforia.” Thus,
within the context of the
showers, the purity of nature directly connects to homosexual activity.
Whereas
the savage and primal aspects of nature lead to the
dehumanization of the inmates, turning them into beasts, this softer
more
harmonious part of nature brings out their more humane sides while at
the same
time continuing to reference homosexuality. At
night, before the prisoners go
to sleep, some talk,
con las caras casi unidas, buscando en los ojos que tenían delante la imagen de ellos mismos; o tratando de arrancar una palabra que aún no había sido dicha, o repitiendo la pasión ya declarada. Sentimientos groseros que hacían vibrar el ancestro de los hombres primitivos, humanizándolos (33).
These
images of close contact between inmates are loving and romantic
rather than violent and savage.
These men are gazing into each others eyes and declaring their
passion
for each other, rather than attacking or raping each other. Yet, just as violent homosexual acts
were linked to primal man and nature, so too are these loving ones.
Despite the
fact that the narrator describes these inmates’ feelings as crude,
these
feelings none the less touch the “primitive” part of their
natures. The difference is that
this time the confluence of the natural and the homosexual humanizes
the
inmates rather than objectifying them.
Pascasio’s
savage, bestial nature bonds him to his homosexual
urges, yet his pure and moral side, also springing from his
“primitive” natural qualities, bears upon his attraction to and
seduction of Andrés as well.
As Pascasio serves food to his fellow inmates, he cruelly toys
with
them, leading them to believe that they will receive the one good piece
of meat
in the pot, and then dashing their hopes by only serving them a meager
ration. The narrator blames this
cruelty and lack of morality on Pascasio’s extended abstinence stating, “la abstinencia fue poco a poco limando sus impulses
naturales,
hasta convertir su energía en una fuerza pasiva, tarada de la
morbosidad
de todo lo que está descentrado, fuera
If
taunting other prisoners with a morsel of food that they will not be
able to eat demonstrates savage cruelty, then giving this food to a
starving
inmate should demonstrate the “sabia
armonía
de la naturaleza.” Thus,
when Pascasio gives the piece of
meat he uses to toy with his fellow
inmates to Andrés, who is purposefully being denied his proper
ration of
food by Manuel Chiquito’s cronies, one can consider his actions to be
moral and in accordance with nature.
Yet this action is also an expression of his love and desire for
Andrés. Pascasio essentially
woos Andrés with food. After
giving Andrés the extra meat, Pascasio realizes that he has
entered into
the same type of homosexual behavior as his fellow inmates; “se veía manchado, a punto de sentirse pegajoso,
semejante a sus compañeros
que despreciaba” (125). He
recognizes that this favor he shows
Andrés, although coming from a more innocent and loving place
than the
favors proffered by Manuel Chiquito, has the same end goal: the
seduction of another
male inmate. Nevertheless, this type of seduction follows the moral
guidelines
of his “hermoso primitivismo,” despite Pascasio’s
guilt at
feeling “manchado” for
having these homosexual urges.
The
manner in which Pascasio expresses his joy at finally releasing his
pent up sexual tension through his feelings with Andrés further
associates a kind and beautiful nature with homosexual love. Contemplating his act of kindness
towards Andrés, Pascasio moves away from feeling guilty and
dirty, and
starts to understand his romantic feelings. He becomes elated.
“Era como si le hubiera llegado la libertad y fuera a hacer su
camino hacia los campos maravillosos de sus sueños” (124). Previously, Pascasio’s dream about the
countryside expressed a
repressed desire to engage in homosexual activity, and in that
scenario, the
“campos” were filled with the sexually charged, animal violence of
wrestling with a bullock. Now that
Pascasio is no longer repressing his urges and does not have to employ
an
animal representative of a man, as he has feelings for a man of flesh
and
blood, the countryside of his dreams becomes marvelous instead of
violent. Pascasio’s homosexual urges
develop into more complicated homoerotic feelings and even love for
another
man. Nature still links him to
homosexual behavior, but this time it is liberating rather than savage.
When
Pascasio continues his seduction of Andrés, he relies on
feeling and impulse rather than logical calculation.
He is guided by his primitive nature.
After Pascasio fights against Candela to protect him, Andrés
tries to
thank his champion. Before he can
finish his sentence, however, “el brazo de
Pascasio
lo había envuelto y atraído hacia si, confundiendo las
dos bocas.
Andrés no opuso resistencia
alguna: cerró los ojos abandonándose, hasta que Pascasio
asombrado de lo que hacía lo soltó” (152).
Pascasio is barely even aware of what he
is doing. He is confused and
surprised by his actions. Enrique
J. Pujals comments that in this scene “Pascasio actuaba así impulsado por el instinto . . . Las fuerzas
interiores
tantas veces reprimidas se desbordaron” (125). Instead of
repressing his instincts, that which comes naturally to him, Pascasio
finally
succumbs to his true desires. These
desires for another man are a part of his primitiveness and closeness
to nature
finally released within the prison atmosphere, not unnatural desires
created by
it.
Despite
La teoría de Montenegro queda debilitada por el hecho de que, en varios momentos se refieren a él <<como una mujer>> (pg. 83) (2), y otras como un <<pájaro legítimo>> (pg. 84), y por las fugas referencias que él mismo hace de la vida fuera del presidio de otros homosexuales conocidos, lo cual de una ligera impresión de tener una historia anterior a relación con este mundo y de cierta <<legitimidad>> en su actitud homosexual (74).
That La
Morita is a homosexual “legítimo” would indicate that the others with whom he is compared are
simply situational homosexuals. However, at the same time, that there
can be
such a thing as a “legitimate” homosexual underscores the fact that
homosexuality does not necessarily have to be situational.
La Morita likely comes from an urban
environment and does not share the same ties to the primordial as does
Pascasio,
thus La Morita’s “legitimate” homosexuality may be linked to
an urban environment and a distance from the natural.
Nevertheless, La Morita’s
homosexuality is intrinsic to him, constituting a part of his own human
nature
and not a behavior acquired in prison.
Andrés,
too, demonstrates that homosexuality can be innate rather
than acquired. After first
encountering the desire that he stirs in his fellow inmates,
Andrés
questions his own sexuality. The
narrator, penetrating Andrés’ unconscious asks, “¿Sería posible que en él hubiera un
anormal?” (53). The
question is not whether or not
Andrés will turn into a homosexual, un “anormal,” but whether one is already existent
inside of him. Later, as
Andrés, broken down by hard labor, contemplates his options in
regard to
the prisoners who desire him sexually, he reminisces about the
homosexual
contact he has already experienced in prison;
No se hacía ilusiones; en los quince días que llevaba en el presidio había encontrado algo ambiguo dentro de sí. No se olvidaba de cuando fue besado por Matienzo; cuando, en el baño, la presión y la mirada de Pascasio primero, y después la atención general de los presos, le sacaron del cuerpo un extraño rubor femenino (95).
Andrés’
sexual ambiguity is something found within him, not
imposed upon him. Being an
adolescent, his youth enters into this equation. He
has not yet had time to form himself
into a “macho” man, a fact that allows him to more easily embrace
his femininity and the sexual inclinations that accompany it. This may indicate that his homosexuality
is more likely to come out in prison, under the lustful gaze of the
other men
and in the absence of women. At the
same time, it also implies that Andrés has the innate capacity
to be
homosexual or at least to engage in homosexual actions. The gaze and
pressures
of the other prisoners are only extracting pre-existing feminine
qualities from
Andrés, not forcing them onto or into him in the first place.
The
narrator alludes to the fact that if Andrés had remained out of
prison,
his “masculine” heterosexual side may have overtaken his
“feminine” homosexual side, but this in turn continues to indicate
that this homosexual side was a part of his nature even before he
entered into
the penitentiary. Thus, the
narrator contradicts his own stance on the nature of homosexuality in
prison.
While he presents
Andrés’ sexual development as situational, he nonetheless
underscores that homosexual tendencies in this character are natural
and innate
until they are suppressed by societal teachings, and that the
situational sex
in which an inmate engages while in prison does contribute to the
sexual
identity of that inmate.
Like La
Morita, however, Andrés does not hold the same connection
to primitive nature as does Pascasio.
Andrés is white, weak, and anything but brutish or savage. He completely lacks the “primeval
essence” (Alonso 197) that marks Pascasio. This
could once again lead to the
characterization of homosexuality as “natural” only to those who
are removed from their primal connection to the land and natural man. Yet, the narrator states that Pascasio
himself is possessed of an intrinsic homosexual instinct as well. He affirms that Pascasio has deep
feelings for Andrés, that this beast of a man has succumbed to,
lo vergonzante, ¡la enfermedad del presidio! . . . Decididamente estaba loco; y ahora reconocía que ya lo estaba desde el día en que fijó los ojos en el muchacho; acaso, desde antes, desde que le pegó a La Morita; tal vez desde siempre. Probablemente la tara había nacida con él y por eso llegó al presidio convertido en un basilisco contra todo lo que le parecía anormal (126).
Pascasio
most likely always had innate homosexual urges. He
was born with them. This sexuality
naturally formed part of his person until he was made aware that it was
“anormal” and “vergonzante.” Thus, he
overcompensated for his own sexual identity and bisexual nature by
lashing out
at the homosexuality that he was forced to face when he was imprisoned. Even though he equates his homosexuality
to mental illness, aware that he “estaba loco,” he is also aware that this
illness comes to him naturally and forms a part of his essential being. Pascasio, the natural man, is naturally
homosexual.
While
Montenegro, from the very outset of Hombres sin mujer,
claims that prison homosexuality is an
unnatural vice caused only by the situation of incarceration in which
there are
no women to act as sexual outlets for the men, his treatment of nature
and the
natural within the novel contradicts this very standpoint.
Nature, both human and environmental,
savage and moral, is consistently linked to homoeroticism and
homosexual
acts. Pascasio, the
“primitive” man who acts in accordance with the “wise harmony
of nature” and who initially abhors homosexuality, in the end
recognizes
that he has always been repressing his innate homosexual impulses. Thus, Hombres sin mujer
expresses a very different view of the nature of
homosexuality than
Notes
(1)
This idea was expressed by Prof. Jorge Marturano in his class on Prison
Literature at UCLA in the winter of 2009.
(2)
Here Tamayo Fernández cites the 1994 edition of Hombres
sin Mujer published by Editorial Letras Cubanas.
Works
Cited
Alonso, Carlos J.
“The Criollista Novel.” The
Bejel, Emilio. Gay
Cuban Nation.
Kunzel,
Montenegro, Carlos. Hombres sin mujer. México: Editorial Oasis, 1981.
Pujals, Enrique J. La obra narrativa de Carlos Montenegro. Miami: Ediciones Universal, 1980.
Tamayo Fernández, Caridad. Hombres sin mujer y mujeres sin hombre: Tanteos al universo carcelario en la novela hispanoamericana. Habana: Editorial Letras Cubanas, 2005.