What a delight this book this is— a sort of Tom Sawyerish memoir of a young boy from a privileged family growing up in pre-Castro Cuba. His strange fears and fantasies, the Jesus eyes, the Candlestick Lady, lizards, his love of firecrackers and bangs, and general joie de vivre in spite of strict and boring teachers at his Catholic private school. (See link between chauffeurs and dirty magazines.) Eire was put on a plane and air-lifted out of the country to save him from being brought up by the Castro regime. His mother finally came, but by then she was a burden on her sons instead of a comfort. The adjustments of living in the cold city of Chicago. It is written as a semi-fantasy, as many Latin American books seem to be, which is delightful after one gets into the swing of it.
‘Waiting for Snow in Havana,’ by Carlos Eire
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