It's truly challenging when a dear friend highly recommends a book and you're unable to join the party.

Take Artemio Cruz, the so-called great Latin American novel. I just can't seem to see its greatness. In its synopsis, perhaps it has all the elements the genre demands. An ex-revolutionary soldier, who becomes a landowner through a loveless relationship with a big man's daughter, turns into a corrupt politician and media magnate, and reflects on his deathbed about all the people he's wronged. It's like the Citizen Kane of Mexico. But for me, it doesn't have half the power of Juan Rulfo's Pedro Paramo. Pedro Paramo treats of similar themes (albeit less explicitly) in a third of the space. And if you include Rulfo's short stories (another 100 pages, still less than Cruz's 300), then I'm certain which revolutionary Mexican I'll be on the side of. Not Carlos Fuentes.

What's good about Artemio Cruz? Well, it does have some exciting action and serious drama, mainly in the flashbacks to the Revolution, which take up at least half of the narrative. The words seem to flow effortlessly from Fuentes's pen, and the story moves at a fast pace. By the end, you're left with an elemental, hard-boiled, cartoon-like portrayal of revolutionary Mexico that's not dissimilar to a Sergio Leone film, although lacking the soundtrack and humour, and given an extra weight by its aura of historical accuracy and passion. It's deeply felt, but it's as if felt by someone obsessive, fixated on only one kind of feeling – a bitter sensualist obsessed with thwarted love and evil. Which is fine – of course we need those kinds of books too. But it's limited. That being said, there are some epic sequences here. The battle in the ravine and Cruz's subsequent escape into the mine and duel with the rival Colonel come to mind as the best of them.

Still, to this reviewer, it all seems rather contrived. The deathbed reflections of a corrupt magnate? Well, there better be a twist. And maybe that's what Fuentes had in mind with the – to me, arbitrary, elementary, mechanical – supposedly experimental structure. It's an unvarying repeated A/B/C pattern, where A is a third-person flashback (focused on Cruz, never omniscient), B is a first-person view of the hospital room, and C is a second-person inner monologue that seemed like pure show business to me, unnecessary for anything but establishing Fuentes's avant-garde credentials. Tellingly, the third person takes up by far the most space here, and I, for one, gritted my teeth through the other sections for the sake of getting back to the main body of the story. A sample:

… but I look at my fingernails when I reach out to touch my frozen feet which I no longer feel, I look at my brand-new blue, blackish fingernails that I've put on especially to die, ahhh! it won't go away, I don't want that blue skin, that skin painted over with lifeless blood, no, no, I don't want it, blue is for other things, blue for the sky, blue for memories, blue for horses that ford rivers, blue for shiny horses and green for the sea, blue for flowers, but not blue for me, no, no, no, ahhh! ahhh! and I have to lie back because I don't know where to go, how to move, I don't know where to put my arms and the legs I don't feel, I don't know where to look, I don't want to get up anymore…

And so on. Now, it's not my place to demand that every sentence in a book be beautiful. Pedro Paramo, for example, has many sentences that, taken alone, don't make much of an impression at all. But they're to the point. That above passage, and pages and pages like it, I'd just as soon Fuentes had thrown in the trash. But if you start cutting a big, jumbled mess like this, you might just find that all you have left is a kind of James M. Cain wartime potboiler, and I dare say that's not what Fuentes was aiming for. It might have made a better read than this, though. Spare me the trimmings.

This novel was recommended to me by Daisyread, and I am very grateful to her for that.

Innovative and full of literary experiments, with a complex composition, the novel presents the stream of consciousness of a dying man, looping, starting from agony, then passing through memories of a whole life, from leading a business empire, marrying Catalina to gain her property, loving Rechina, participating in the civil war, childhood, birth, and ending with death.

"I, You, He" - thus thinks the dying millionaire Artemio Cruz about himself and his life, and these three self-identifications form three overlapping layers of the narrative. "I" is the current period, the period of physical suffering, when he is in pain, experiencing the agony and fear of dying, but still manages to give orders to his loyal administrator Padilla, orders related to strengthening the power of his business empire. "He" is Artemio in his youth, when he fought among the Carrancistas during the Mexican Revolution. "You" is the voice of the future from the past or the present, if you will, the voice of fate, the voice of predestination, the divine within oneself.

One of the writer's objects of attention is time, and it is precisely for this purpose that the temporal layers of the narrative are divided into "I", "You", and "He". In the Aztec calendar, a cycle lasts 52 years, which is exactly how long Artemio Cruz's active social life lasts, and his date of birth coincides with his date of death.

The misfortune of the country lies in the fact that each new generation has to overthrow the previous rulers and replace them with new masters, just as rapacious and greedy as the previous ones. And here, He comes to replace the old man Gamaliel. He doesn't even mention the purpose of his visit when he enters the house. The old man immediately realizes that this is a man of new life principles, forged in the furnace of war - to play va-bank because he has nothing to lose, to strive to gain the rights won at the cost of sacrifices, battles, and wounds.

He is dying in the company of his relatives, but in fact, he is terribly lonely. Catalina, his wife, is a bundle of contradictions. At night, she enjoys being in Artemio's arms, but during the day, she behaves demonstratively coldly. She cannot forgive her husband for the death of her brother Gonzalo Bernal, with whom he was held captive by the Villistas. Her brother was executed, and Artemio cunningly made Colonel Sagal participate in a duel, reached an invisible barrier, after which they agreed that Sagal would not shoot, and then treacherously shot him.

The novel poses philosophical questions: for what did this man live? For what did he kill people during the civil war? For what did he ruin peasants when managing Gamaliel's estate? For what did he suppress the free press with dirty methods, fight against trade unions, and create fakes, disinformation, slander, and calumny in his newspaper to deal with competitors or opponents? He admits that the only thing he loved was things, luxurious things. Would he have become a different person if Rechina had remained alive, or would everything have been the same, just with her? In the name of what was this revolution and fratricidal war?

The book's title truly reflects its contents. We find ourselves at the bedside of a 71-year-old man. He is reminiscing about his life, and in doing so, he provides us with a concise history of modern Mexico. However, he also details his pains and symptoms in excruciating detail. [As the young people would say, TMI.] His wife, daughter, and son-in-law are often by his side, yet he despises them all.

Like many war veterans, in his old age, he returns to those events as the most significant in his life. In Artemio's case, it was the episodes during the Mexican Revolution/civil war from approximately 1910-1920. He fought and triumphed on the side of the revolutionaries, overthrowing the landed estate owners and other wealthy individuals.

But Artemio lost his idealism and ultimately became one of the 1% he had once helped topple. He was elected to national politics and promptly used his position to amass wealth. He engaged in various business ventures, dealing in railroads, timber, minerals, and farmland. He bought and sold land outside of the ever-expanding Mexico City. He married the daughter of a wealthy landowner and took over his estate.

He had a son whom he encouraged to fight in the Spanish Civil War. Perhaps this was an attempt to recapture his youthful idealism? However, his son died in the war, and his wife ended up hating him for their son's death and for ruining her father's estate.

Throughout all his business affairs, Artemio felt that an accident of geography had placed him on the Mexican side of the border. In his heart, he "belonged on the other side" with the Norte Americanos – the Donald Trump-like characters he dealt with in his business dealings.

The book jumps around chronologically, from the past to the present, and at times, it can be confusing. We move from 1919, during the fighting, back to 1913 when he met the love of his life, who was later killed in the Civil War, and then to his son in the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s. We don't learn the details of his birth and childhood until the last chapter, which is set in the 1890s.

Of course, he had numerous mistresses along the way, and we get glimpses of his relationships with some of them. His immense wealth is on full display when we read about his annual New Year's bash for 100 of Mexico's elite at his magnificent mansion. There is an abundance of food, singers, and waste, while low-paid busboys rush to serve drinks and cooks slave in the kitchen.

But in the end, all Artemio is left with are memories of the war, of his first love, and the bitter taste of ash.

Death of Artemus Cruz.

Carlos Fuentes.

Translated by Mehdi Sahebi.

Poor this country that in each generation it eliminates the old powerful ones and does not place new masters in their place who are as ambitious and eager.

The world, whether it is a handmade creation or a result of necessity and coincidence, is not a simple thing. If you are negative and give your destiny to the hands of chance, you cannot understand it. You must think so that dangers do not lurk for you. You must imagine so that guesses and speculations do not disappear for you. You must smell so that your ignorance is not taken advantage of. You will survive. You will know yourself. You will know others and you will let them know you. And you know that you will have to deal with each individual. Because each person is an obstacle that does not allow your excessive desires to pass.

This story seems to be a profound exploration of the nature of power, destiny, and the human condition. It reflects on how a country's cycle of power can impact its people and how individuals must navigate through life's uncertainties. The use of vivid language and imagery helps to bring the story to life and engage the reader's imagination. Overall, it is a thought-provoking piece that leaves the reader with much to ponder.

Through the stories of Artemio Cruz about his life on his deathbed,

Carlos Fuentes writes in intertwined narrative paths about the history of Mexico.

The political history, the Mexican Revolution, the economic situation, and the details of people's daily lives.

Fuentes moves between the present and the past to tell about memories, dreams, and illusions.

And most importantly, about the personal transformations and human contradictions that change the nature of life and the human being over a long life.

These stories offer a vivid and complex picture of Mexico's past and present, as well as the inner world of its people.

They show how history and personal experiences shape our identities and the way we view the world.

Carlos Fuentes' writing style is rich and descriptive, making the reader feel as if they are a part of the story.

His exploration of the human condition and the impact of history is both profound and thought-provoking.

Overall, these stories are a testament to the power of literature to capture the essence of a nation and its people.

This was the very first Fuentes book that I had ever read, and right from the start, he hooked me completely.

I was so captivated that I am now on a mission to buy and read all the rest of his works.

He is truly one of the great writers of the 21st century, yet unfortunately, he is often overshadowed by Garcia Marquez and Vargas Llossa.

This particular book tells the story of Artemio Cruz as he reflects upon his life during the Mexican Revolution.

He managed to amass great wealth and did some rather dubious things to gain power.

He appears to have no regrets, but I won't reveal the details of the story here.

Written in the early 1960s, Fuentes employs an early postmodern style.

This means that his paragraphs can sometimes be pages long, similar to the style of James Joyce.

The most striking section for me was his use of a certain word about Mexico.

I read it aloud just to understand his intended meaning.

I can only imagine how powerful it must be in the original Spanish.

However, the flow and the train of thought writing, blended with the flashbacks, made this a "hard to put down book".

Thanks to the excellent translation, his language comes across as rich and engaging.

Carlos Fuentes is yet another one of those Latin American writers who makes me loathe myself.

Beyond his remarkable talent as a novelist, he is also good looking, well dressed, worldly, dashing, and daring. He even claims to have slept with Jean Seberg and Jeanne Moreau. The bastard.

And then I come across the article below and all my self-hatred is directed solely at him. The series mentioned would surely be my favorite bunch of books ever written... except they don't exist.

"In the fall of 1967, I happened to be in London at the same time as the Peruvian novelist Mario Vargas Llosa. We had both recently read, with admiration and a touch of envy, Edmund Wilson's portraits of the American Civil War in 'Patriotic Gore'. Sitting in a pub in Hampstead, we thought it would be a great idea to have a comparable book on Latin America. An imaginary portrait gallery immediately emerged, demanding incarnation: the Latin American dictators.

Individuals such as Mexico's Santa Anna, the peg-legged cockfighter who lost the Southwest to President James K. Polk's Manifest Destiny; or Venezuela's Juan Vicente Gomez, who announced his own death to punish those who dared celebrate it; or El Salvador's Maximiliano Hernandez Martinez, who fought off scarlet fever by having street lights wrapped in red paper; or Bolivia's Enrique Penaranda, of whom his mother said, 'If I had known that my son was going to be president, I would have taught him to read and write' - all of them pose enormous challenges for Latin American novelists: How to compete with history? How to create characters richer, crazier, more imaginative than those provided by history?

Mr. Vargas Llosa and I sought an answer by inviting a dozen Latin American authors to write a novella each - no more than 50 pages per capita - on their favorite national tyrant. The collective volume would be called 'Los Padres de las Patrias' ('The Fathers of the Fatherlands'), and the French publisher Claude Gallimard was immediately interested. Unfortunately, it proved impossible to coordinate the multiple tempos and diverse wills of a wide variety of writers who included, if my memory is as good as that of Augusto Roa Bastos' character El Supremo, Mr. Roa Bastos himself, Argentina's Julio Cortazar, Venezuela's Miguel Otero Silva, Colombia's Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Cuba's Alejo Carpentier, the Dominican Republic's Juan Bosch and Chile's Jose Donoso and Jorge Edwards (one of them promised to take on a Bolivian dictator). When the project failed, three of these authors went on to write full-length novels of their own: Mr. Carpentier ('Reasons of State'), Mr. Garcia Marquez ('The Autumn of the Patriarch') and Mr. Roa Bastos ('I the Supreme')."

Bastard.

The book is written from the perspective of the main character, Artemio Cruz, who is currently on his deathbed in a hospital.

Every other chapter alternates between his incoherent thoughts at the end of his physical life and a clearer style that takes us back to his younger days. We are meant to follow how a brave revolutionary loses the love of his life and becomes calculating and cold, ultimately turning into a tyrant and a corrupt figure in the country he once fought for. It's all about the minor decisions that gradually lead his moral fiber astray.

The first such selfish decision was when he chose to essentially desert in the middle of battle, seeing that they were going to lose anyway. It wasn't entirely selfish, as he did it for Regina, the woman he loved, so as not to put her through the pain of losing him. He believed that since their love had materialized, his body and life no longer belonged to him but to her, and thus he couldn't harm them.

Even after losing her, he still had a chance at redemption. He convinced an old school quasi-aristocratic moneylender to give him his lands and his daughter's hand in marriage as part of the transition from the old guard to the new. However, his new wife decides to hate him despite feeling attracted to him and often having to fight her feelings. It's one of those things that makes him a tragic figure.

Eventually, their children will also be lost to him. The daughter, influenced by her mother and her anti-father education, and the son, who, despite having a good relationship with him, tries to follow in his footsteps and dies on the war front. Every step of the way, the path leads Artemio Cruz further away from having a good and fulfilling life or being on good terms with his wife.

Occasionally, the narrative becomes simply descriptive, in the third person POV style, especially in the chapters about his life with other women during his marriage.

I like how the story touches on some profound social and historical themes and really makes you feel the atmosphere of Mexico's renaissance. I also like that it makes you sympathize with the main character to some extent, even though he is repulsive in many situations.

The pink masks hide the stony faces. They seem kind and innocent, yet impassive and dead. These masks create the night, inflate the black sail with wind, and make Artemio Cruz close his eyes. The scene is filled with an air of mystery and solemnity. The contrast between the seemingly gentle masks and the stony expressions beneath them adds an element of intrigue. As the wind blows the black sail, it仿佛 is as if the night is being shaped and molded. Artemio Cruz, with his eyes closed, is perhaps lost in thought or succumbing to the atmosphere created by these masks and the night. The description paints a vivid picture that leaves the reader with a sense of wonder and a desire to know more about what lies behind these masks and within the mind of Artemio Cruz.

Time of great social cataclysms… Time of youth… Ideals are calling…

A revolution begins on the battlefields. However, once it becomes corrupted, even if military battles are still being won, it is ultimately lost. And we are all to blame. We have allowed ourselves to be divided and led by the lustful, the ambitious, and the mediocre. Sadly, those who desire a real, radical, unyielding revolution are often ignorant and bloody men.

Ideals perish… Cynicism survives…

Artemio Cruz. That was the name of the new world emerging from the civil war; that was the name of those who had come to take his place. What an unfortunate land that has to destroy its old possessors with each new generation and replace them with new owners just as greedy and ambitious as the old ones.

Power beckons… Overtake everyone… Seize power with ease… But power corrupts…

Love passes away… Hate remains… But hate does not bring happiness…

You will not stop to consider the fact that your blood circulates, your heart beats, your gallbladder empties itself of serous liquids, your liver secretes bile, your kidney produces urine, and your pancreas regulates the sugar in your blood. You have not caused these functions by thinking about them. You will know that you breathe, but you will not think about it because it does not depend on your thoughts. You will turn your back on it and live… Until today. Today, when your involuntary functions will force you to take notice of them, will prevail, and ultimately destroy your being.

Money won't save… Power won't save… Religion won't save… Everyone has their last hour lurking.

In May of 2012, Carlos Fuentes passed away.

Recently, a Mexican colleague returned from Mexico and brought me a Spanish copy of The Death of Artemio Cruz. This made me think it was the right time to take on this literary work. I had read the English version a few years ago and was deeply in love with the story and his language, which I experienced through a translator.

My Spanish is improving, and this is the biggest book I have read in Spanish so far. I have to admit that it was a challenge, but at the same time, it was very rewarding.

I came to two main observations. First, I really love how Fuentes rants, and it is even more remarkable in Spanish. His play with words makes reading a pure pleasure just for the sake of the language. There is simply nothing that can beat this.

Second, and this is the weirdest part, I felt differently towards the hero when I read the book in Spanish compared to when I read it in English. Artemio Cruz is a rich and pompous newspaper magnate who is on his deathbed reflecting on his life. In the English version, I really disliked the guy. However, in the Spanish version, I found myself having empathy for him. I don't really know why this is the case.

This is a classic of Mexican literature, written in 1962. Artemio Cruz is symbolic of Mexico and its history, especially noting the dying part. Fuentes presents us with Mexican history in small bursts, so you don't necessarily need to be an expert. But his characterization of the man, from birth to death, is the strength of the story.

Just think about it. Torn apart by the Mexican revolution, spurred on by industrialism and the greed of the PRI in the 1940s, and challenged by its neighbor to the north in the 1950s, this man went through a great deal! Fuentes' point of view still holds up after 50 years. Viva Mexico!

Impresionante y como mexicano: reveladora novela.

As I delved into the pages of the novel, I initially regarded the narrative as historical. It features a character who, having lived through a period of great significance for Mexico, draws on his memories as he falls ill, endures agony, and finally succumbs to death.

However, what is memory if not a construction of the imagination? This is where the magic of the Catedra edition works its charm on my opinion.

Fuentes' work is truly admirable as he employs literary resources to immerse us in a unique perspective on the various landscapes described, the semi-encapsulated emotions of the characters, or the historical period that still consumes us Mexicans.

The rhythm and form of the narration, through the continuous detachment and incorporation of Artemio to tell the story from both within and outside his own existence, give the novel a specific cadence. In the first reading, it may generate a sense of disorientation, but it remains in balance, settling the debts that are continuously generated during the reading until the end of the story.

The use of language is characteristic of the authors of his generation. Since the novel can be found in the subcategory of caudillo stories, it may seem slow or tiresome. I would have loved to read it during a visit to Veracruz or Puebla, perhaps inside a church or in the central plaza of a small town. There, where we Mexicans know that "not even the revolution passed through there." Perhaps the scene would have helped me mount the horse of time and breathe in the flavor of Fuentes' prose.