I did not realize that I was listening to an abridged audio version of this novel until after 3 hours of listening when it came to an abrupt end.

When I looked it up at my library, "abridged" was not written anywhere, nor was it on the copy I borrowed. I'm not even sure I should count it as having "read" it.

Also, the narrator was a surprisingly poor choice. He sounded like he was having an asthma attack while reading, so I heard every heavy intake of his breath for 3 hours.

I am giving this novel 2 stars. I cannot write a review because I must have missed most of the story, and from what I've heard from my informed friends, all of the sex scenes. What a waste of time.

It's really disappointing that I spent 3 hours listening to this abridged version without even being aware of it. The lack of indication about the abridgment is quite frustrating.

The narrator's breathing issues also significantly affected my listening experience. It was distracting and made it difficult to fully engage with the story.

Overall, I feel like I didn't get the full experience of the novel, and I'm not satisfied with what I heard. I hope that in the future, publishers will be more transparent about whether a version is abridged or not.

A while ago, I happened to come across a list of bestselling books in the year I was born. According to that particular list, "The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love" was the it book of 1990, which is my birth year.

I was truly surprised that I had never heard of this first Pulitzer Prize-winning book by a Hispanic-American. The premise of mambo mania in the 1950s sounded extremely interesting to me.

... Maybe the reason I hadn't heard of it was because it's not actually that great.

There are indeed some evocative passages in the book. For example, the pages leading up to Nestor's death immediately spring to mind. I was also quite interested in the character of Nestor, a melancholy guy who seemed to be grappling with depression in a culture and time when such matters weren't openly talked about.

However, Nestor isn't the main character of this book. That honor belongs to his brother Cesar, the mambo king. And unfortunately, Cesar is rather dull and repetitious, which in turn makes the book too.

I think I can understand the thought process behind the repetitiveness. Most of the book consists of Cesar reminiscing about meaningful events and people in his life, such as the I Love Lucy appearance, the brief fame of the Mambo Kings, Nestor, and all the great sex he had with a large number (and I truly mean a large number) of hot women, which is sometimes (ugh) rape. He's an old man looking back on his life, so of course there's a lot of dwelling on what mattered most to him.

However, having a theory as to why the book is the way it is doesn't necessarily make it an enjoyable read. And overall, I didn't find it very enjoyable. I believe it would have been more effective if it was considerably shorter.

Well, it was good enough.

I have to admit to a little bit of disappointment. The nostalgia and the mood are thick in this novel, which is perhaps its strongest element in my opinion.

However, the narrative structure is a bit chaotic. It works in the sense that the reader doesn't get too completely lost in the different time frames in which the story is told, and one can figure it out.

But it's not so intuitive as it could be, and you have to work at figuring out when Cesar, the man in his dying days, is narrating, or when Cesar, the bandleader, is narrating, or when Cesar, the has-been musician and aging building superintendent is narrating.

It's too choppy, I think, and thus a bit distracting.

Also, and this is probably just me, the description of sex and sexual desire was a bit too soft-core pornographic to me, and also a bit too overdone throughout the novel.

Hijuelos could have conveyed Cesar's macho sexuality and clear sex addiction without referring to sexual encounters in graphic detail so many times.

After a while, it seemed just too gratuitous.

And the casual date rape that Cesar admits to, and which is presented way too cavalierly with a careless dismissiveness, shocks the modern sensibilities.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a prude about such things; but I think it overpowered the story of immigrant displacement, longing, loneliness, and sentiments of profound loss that were at the heart of the story.

I'm also a bit bummed that I saw the film before I read the novel. Even though it has been many years since I saw the film and I only vaguely remember it, the impressions that it left with me and which undoubtedly influenced my approach to the novel now, were very mistaken.

The movie was much more about Nestor's longing for Maria, but, really, that factored so very little to the overall story, which was really about Cesar than about Nestor or Maria.

I know that Hollywood has to sell a nice story in a short time, but the Hijuelos text doesn't really lend itself to a Hollywood style story, which means that the film had to take a lot of creative liberties.

And so if you go into reading the novel thinking about the movie, you are setting yourself up for some disappointment.

Needless to say, I am glad the book won the Pulitzer because it was a worthy effort and it did contribute to a greater popularity for Latinx authors, which I am glad happened.

I truly desired to fall in love with this book. It exudes an authentic essence of a bygone era, specifically the days preceding and during the Cuban revolution that catapulted Castro to power and led to the emigration of numerous Cuban citizens to America. It offers a peek behind the curtain, into a distinct culture and the hopes and dreams of a handsome musician, Cesar Castillo, and his brother, Nestor.

However, much as I wanted to love it, I simply couldn't. There were certain segments that were truly remarkable, yet there was this intangible shadow that seemed to stand between me and Cesar. I found myself merely observing him from a distance, rather than truly getting to know him or experiencing his emotions. This is rather ironic, considering that understanding his emotions is supposed to be a significant part of the book. For Cesar is a self-proclaimed "macho," a man of excessive virility, who seemingly beds every woman he encounters and even has inappropriate desires towards his sister-in-law. It seems that he can find little else to admire in a woman apart from her sexuality.

The life Cesar leads is filled with a certain sadness, and his preoccupation with sex is a contributing factor. His excessive focus on sexual exploits prevents him from forming lasting connections. He is a man of dreams, but in the end, his moment of fame amounts to a guest appearance on I Love Lucy and a tenuous connection with Desi Arnaz. He spends his entire life relying on that one moment and a song written by his brother that almost brought them fame.

He has friends and family, but I was left wondering whether we were supposed to believe that this was sufficient to make his life meaningful or if we should view it as a desolate wasteland. I must admit that I inclined towards the latter perspective, which made the book hold no appeal for me and left me with a sense of disappointment and despair, as if I had witnessed a painting depicting nothing but sadness. I struggled to find a single character in the entire book who lived a fulfilling or happy life.

I don't consider myself a prude. I understand that the sexual exploits in Cesar's life are an essential part of the narrative to help us understand his character and motivations. However, I don't require explicit and detailed descriptions of every single carnal act, thought, and desire. I believe that some things can be left to the reader's imagination, and I feel a bit resentful when an author assumes that he is the only one who knows about sex and feels the need to explain it to the rest of us. I would think it would be far more effective to convey how these experiences make Cesar feel and why he behaves the way he does, rather than providing a three-page description of a particular sexual act. In fact, my main gripe with the book is the repeated (and I emphasize that it's not just once or twice) descriptions of body parts and the fact that Cesar can't even attend a funeral without having sexual thoughts about the women present. I realize that this almost pornographic element might not bother everyone and could even be appealing to some. Apparently, it managed to impress the Pulitzer Committee.

Perhaps I'm just tired of this theme. The last novel I read before this one, The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, was filled with one sexual escapade after another, and the The Saga of Gösta Berling, which I read before that, was much the same. I'm definitely in the market for a book about a celibate character for my next read. Maybe it's time to pick up another Brother Cadfael.

I had an extremely difficult time locating this book, and now I'm beginning to think there was a valid reason for it.

This book was exquisitely written, much like what I've grown to anticipate from most Pulitzer Prize-winning works. It boasted a flowery, meandering style, effortlessly weaving in and out of the past and present. For that very reason, I am awarding the book two full stars. Regrettably, for me, that is where the positives for this book come to an end.

Frankly speaking, this book is shockingly dirty. Ninety percent of the time, I felt as if I was perusing soft core porn. Besides the near-constant and explicitly detailed descriptions of the sexual conquests of the main character, Cesar, what was truly disheartening was how all-consuming the sex was to the plot. The story revolved around getting, leaving, and then getting another woman into bed, to the detriment of some of the other tragically underdeveloped plot points, such as the truly heart-rending melancholy of the younger brother, Nester. All the female characters present in the book were valued not for their character, but rather by descriptions of their posterior, and I found myself actually loathing Cesar throughout the entire book - and not in a charming "Confederacy of Dunces" kind of way. I find it hard to fathom that this book is a complete snapshot of the life of the times and the culture it purports to describe. If the only thing that occupies a man's mind from pre-adolescence until death is his genitalia, then what a disappointment. A truly disgusting disappointment.

I was rather astonished to discover that the sex in this book bothered me to such a great extent. I'm usually quite liberal when it comes to that sort of content in a well-written story. However, there simply wasn't enough to salvage this one. Therefore, it's a big thumbs down from me. This book will not be passed on by me. It'll go onto the shelf and remain there (sorry, Mom).

As the weather heats up, it becomes incredibly easy to envision oneself lounging on a beautiful beach, a refreshing rum and Coke held firmly in hand. Before Castro's takeover, rum was the preferred beverage in Cuba, and it invokes vivid images of Havana as a city pulsating with vibrant nightlife, rivaling Miami as the gateway to Latin America. It is with this sensuous and evocative imagery firmly in mind that I selected Oscar Hijuelos' "Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love" as the next book in my ongoing Pulitzer challenge. Hijuelos, the first Hispanic to win this prestigious award, has crafted a steamy and captivating book that transports its readers back to a classy and glamorous time when Mambo and its talented musicians truly reigned supreme.

Brothers Cesar and Nestor Castillo hailed from the Oriente province of Cuba. They came from the simple peasant class, and initially, neither seemed to have much of a promising future. Their demanding father expected them to stay on the farm and continue the family's agricultural traditions. However, one fateful day, Cesar heard a local band leader practicing and was immediately captivated. He demanded lessons, and from that moment on, their lives took a dramatic turn. Soon, Cesar played his way out of Oriente, first to Santiago, then to Havana, and eventually all the way to New York. Alongside Nestor, a gifted trumpet player, Cesar was regarded as a top band leader. Together, they founded the Mambo Kings band and quickly catapulted to the top of the Latin music circuit in New York during the late 1940s.

Leaving Cuba even before the revolution was not without its fair share of anguish and heartache. Cesar epitomized the Hispanic machismo culture, bedding one woman after another. He attempted marriage but soon grew restless, and his wife divorced him, forcing him to leave his beloved daughter Mariela behind on the island. Nestor, on the other hand, did not share his brother's cockiness. He was an introvert and a brooding man who fell deeply in love with a pretty girl named Maria. Their long affair ended in heartbreak when she married another man. Nestor never fully recovered from this emotional setback, even after marrying his wife Dolores in New York and having two children, Eugenio and Leticia. The torment and pain that the brothers felt led them to write their one hit song, "Dulce Maria de mi Alma" (Beautiful Maria of my Soul), which nearly led them to stardom.

A chance meeting with Cuban star Desi Arnaz changed their lives forever. The brothers were invited to perform "Dulce Maria de mi Alma" on the popular "I Love Lucy Show." At that time, especially as Castro continued to gain power in Cuba, all Cubans living in the United States stuck close together for support and a sense of community. Even Arnaz, who had achieved great success as a Hollywood star, was no exception. After this performance, Cesar dwelt on this momentous episode for the rest of his life, reminiscing about his one shining moment and constantly reminding all of his friends and acquaintances that he was the famous Mambo King who had once performed with Desi Arnaz. Tragically, Nestor passed away a few years later, leaving behind a young family. However, Cesar continued to look back on this experience on television, for better or worse.

Hijuelos writes this poignant tale as a two-sided record complete with a coda. He tells Cesar's story in a series of flashbacks as both Cesar and his nephew Eugenio look back on a time when Cesar was the undisputed Mambo King of New York. In addition to leading a successful band, Cesar also worked a full-time day job to support himself, his sister-in-law and her family, as well as his friends, musicians, and a countless number of Cubans who had just arrived in the United States. Cesar oozed machismo until his dying day, bedding one woman after another in true Latin lover fashion. The prose in this book drips with sensuous love, intertwined with pain – the pain of love lost and the schism that developed between Cubans in the United States and those on the island following the revolution. As I read this tale of lust and heartbreak, I couldn't help but have Cuban hits such as "Guantamera" playing in my mind, setting Cesar Castillo's conflicted life to a beautiful and evocative musical backdrop. The Mambo King will be long remembered by me, as I felt a deep sense of sympathy for this complex man who could only relate to women in the bedroom while leading a life filled with turmoil and inner conflict.

With his luscious and evocative writing, which can also be seen as a heartfelt homage to his native Cuba, Hijuelos has truly merited the Pulitzer for this poignant and captivating tale. "The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love" is a story of immigrants who briefly brushed with fame, were scorned by love, and yet managed to maintain their proud and machismo Cuban culture throughout their lives. It is a scintillating and unforgettable tale that kept me engaged from beginning to end. I had previously read Hijuelos' "The Fourteen Sisters of Emilio Montez O'Brien," and as before, I was completely enamored by his writing. As the first Hispanic-authored book to earn the Pulitzer, "Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love" is truly a jewel of a book, deserving of a rating of 4.5 sparkling stars.

I truly loathed this book.

I came across so many positive ratings and deeply wished that I could be one of those who adored it. However, as I progress through the Pulitzers, this is merely the second (out of 63 that I have completed) that I have despised with a passion.

The book seemed to have all the elements that I should have liked. But, unfortunately, the emphasis on sex was so overwhelming. The descriptions of this character's penis and the numerous vaginas he encountered along the way were so abundant that it completely robbed me of the ability to relish the story.

If you have a penchant for stories that involve a significant amount of sex and the descriptions of human anatomy in a titillating manner, then perhaps you may have a great affinity for this book. But for me, it was a major disappointment.

Now, the rumba has its roots in the guaguanco, which dates back many hundreds of years.

It was during the time when the Spaniards first introduced the flamenco style of music to Cuba. This Spanish style, when combined with the rhythms of the Africans played on the drums, gave rise to the early forms of the rumba.

The mambo is another dance that has its own unique charm.

This story was truly captivating. It lived up to all the aspects I love about reading Pulitzer winners. It was always written by an American and usually focused on some niche aspect of Americana. In this case, it centered around the Cubans in the 20th century, delving into their culture, music, and of course, their revolution.

While reading this, there was no way to avoid a deep immersion into the Cuban culture, which I really enjoyed.

However, I only gave it three stars. I found Hijuelos’ writing style to be good, but his constant emphasis on sex in the life of the main character was excessive.

Honestly, during several parts of the story, I felt like I was reading the daydreams of an oversexed teenage boy. If he had simply omitted these parts, I would have given four stars to a story that would have been 100 pages shorter.

All in all, I liked the story and loved the immersion into Cuban culture, but was embarrassed by the constant cheapening of the story with juvenile sexual images. If this kind of content doesn't bother you, you'll probably like this book.

A novel that takes the reader on a very long, detailed, and self-indulgent nostalgia trip. It is about an aging Cuban musician who spends a great deal of time reminiscing about his past glories. However, most of these glories seem to revolve around his sexual exploits. I initially found this book to be mildly interesting. It offers a slice-of-life portrait of a particular time, place, and culture. It also serves as an exploration of toxic masculinity. But as I continued reading, I couldn't help but feel that it was too repetitive. The same themes and events were being rehashed over and over again. Additionally, the pacing was extremely slow. This made it difficult for me to enjoy the book as a novel. I often found myself losing interest and having to force myself to keep reading.

PULITZER PRIZE WINNER: 1990
===
2.5 rounded down

I didn't dislike this work quite as much as I had initially anticipated. However, I can't precisely claim that I enjoyed it either. It was far too long, by half in my opinion. The entire B-side could have been cut. The portrayal of women and the characters' fixation on sex came across as rather grimy. It seemed as if the author had numerous frustrated fantasies that he was desperate to pen down. This was bad enough, but the way they were written was so awkward. I lost count of the number of times the brothers referred to their "big thing", and when a man's "penis [is] weeping semen tears", I was just done, man. *shudders* Oh, and then there was the scene where Cesar fondly recalls the time he raped a woman, with absolutely nothing in the text to suggest that it was all that bad. The time period covered here, the so-called "golden age" of mambo in NYC from a Cuban immigrant's point of view, was definitely interesting. There were some good aspects as well, but they were buried beneath hundreds of pages of misogyny and gratuitous (and grossly written) exploitative smut and obsession with women, which made it extremely off-putting.

DNF.

So much penis. It seems that every possible place where a penis might be mentioned, he just can't resist slipping it in. It's like sitting next to an old drunk at a dive bar at 1 am. You don't really want to be there, but there you are, and the old drunk just keeps going on and on about things that are completely inappropriate.

In this case, it's the constant mention of penis that is making the whole situation rather uncomfortable. It's as if the person has an obsession with this particular body part and feels the need to bring it up at every opportunity.

One can only wonder what the point of all this is. Is it to shock? To get a reaction? Or perhaps it's just a strange quirk of this individual's personality. Whatever the reason, it's not exactly something that makes for a pleasant or engaging experience.

Maybe it's time for this person to find a new topic of conversation or at least tone down the excessive use of this particular word. Otherwise, they're likely to continue to drive people away with their rather strange and off-putting behavior.

The prose found within the pages of this book is both playful and energetic, bearing a resemblance to that of Junot Diaz's writing, almost serving as a precursor.

The main character indeed possesses a certain charm and charisma that initially draws the reader in. However, it must be noted that this is a rather long book. As one progresses through it, the constant repetition of sex scenes and the detailed descriptions of huge penises begin to wear thin and become extremely tiresome.

Moreover, the situation takes a turn for the worse when Nestor dies halfway through the book. At the start, the story had a strong foundation and seemed to hold great promise. But unfortunately, after Nestor's demise, it devolves into a huge slog with no real plot to speak of.

Adding to the overall dissatisfaction is the character of Cesar. There is simply no way around it - he is just such an asshole, which further detracts from the reading experience.