Book Review & Critical Analysis: The Job by William S. Burroughs

The Job

by William S. Burroughs

      Do you have trouble understanding William S. Burroughs? That’s not exactly your fault. A lot of his writings throw you into a labyrinth of sewers without a life jacket or a set of instructions. You may be able to grasp ahold of whatever chunks of garbage float by, but those will dissolve soon after being touched. If you are perceptive enough, you will know somewhere in the back of your mind that there is something being said, however. It just isn’t obvious. So it might be helpful if you have some sort of roadmap or outline to make all the filthy mess a little more comprehensible. That is where The Job comes in.

The Job is mostly a collection of interviews Burroughs did with Daniel Odier, a Swiss author and teacher of tantric yoga. The interviews are blended in with essays, short stories, and pieces of experimental writing in a way that is true to Burroughs’ desire to explode the traditional forms of writing. The lines of demarcation between the passages aren’t clearly marked so the writing drifts from one passage to the next like globs in a lava lamp. Burroughs’ himself said this book is intended to read the way you might experience a documentary film. The form reflects the function since a big part of Burroughs’ theories is that boundaries of any kind are soft and mutable; any kind of rigid structuring is arbitrary, resulting from a sick desire to control and dominate the nature of reality.

Topics covered include the usual things Burroughs always discusses. The nature of narcotics usage and addiction to opiates fill up one section. If you think he intends to glamorize morphine or heroin use, you’ve missed the point. Burroughs would be the first to tell you to stay as far away from heroin as you possibly can. Having said that, he also advocates for addicts by claiming they are essentially harmless people who interfere with nobody else as long as they have access to their drugs. Given the hallucinatory nature of his writings, it’s interesting that he doesn’t like LSD.

He also explains the cut up method and the dream machine for about the thousandth time. Fortunately he doesn’t dwell on these for too long since they have been explained in depth in so many other places. Other topics covered are the biological function and meaning of viruses, ancient Mayan society, and the relationship between matriarchy, family, nations, and control. As he sees it, matriarchies are inherently authoritarian since families are dominated by mothers and nations are essentially extensions of the family unit. His belief is that control and domination can be eliminated by destroying the family which will inevitably makes nations an impossibility. Reproduction should be asexual and children should be given over to the state to prevent parents from passing their neuroses down to their children.

You might be tempted to say that Burroughs’ misogyny is rooted in his relations with his parents, but that is a little too easy. It is true that he had an overbearing mother and an effeminate father, but he is said to have had a warm and loving relationship with them. Familial conflicts were minimal. He was also deeply attached to the family’s nanny who introduced him to witchcraft at a young age and biographers have say that he used to have temper tantrums when she wasn’t around to watch over him . The source of Burroughs’ misogyny is a mystery that can’t easily be traced back to the places you would ordinarily think to look such as childhood trauma or poor family relations. But of course, this is William S. Burroughs and his program is that of chaos magic. He immerses you in a cyclone of filth then leaves you alone to see what is left after the storm has passed. It’s not about making sense in the conventional meaning of that term.

The big ideas in The Job relate to the connection between sound and image, and the language virus as a mechanism of control. Regarding sound and image, Burroughs claims that how we interpret what we see is dominated by what we hear. Sound is a dominant force and shapes vision and imagery without our conscious consent. He gives the example of a film clip showing people in a city running to catch a bus. By removing the accompanying soundtrack and replacing it with a recording of machine gun fire, the viewer will see the running crowd in an entirely different light, one in which they are running for their lives.

Any film maker will tell you this is a truism, but Burroughs’ extends this idea into the realm of experimental art with his tape recorder experiments. Peoples’ perceptions of reality and time can be altered by using his cut up method to randomly splice sound and image recordings together. But Burroughs doesn’t stop with film studio experimentation. He advocates taking the technology into the streets by hiding tape players on body under a trench coat and walking along crowded city streets while they play. The tapes should have the sounds of riots. The idea is that the sound of riots can override the reality of what people see and cause them to act as if a riot is really happening. Any skeptic would deny the possibility of this working and the ethics of carrying out such an experiment are dubious. Still, it makes you wonder what would happen if you tried it. More importantly, the undertone of humor in this should not be ignored. Burroughs may be pulling your leg, but then again maybe not. He probably would say that disregarding the illusions of linear time and causality make magic possible. Or is that theory just the drugs speaking? Iny any case, he draws out attention to the way that media channels like film, TV, and radio are designed to manipulate our perceptions and behavior while conditioning us for obedience.

His concept of obedience is lifted directly from Scientology in what is dubbed the Reactive Mind or RM as he calls it throughout the text. The RM is the impulsive, motivational center of our mind. It reacts in response to external stimuli, but it is fractured and rendered ineffective through contradictions accumulated during childhood. The contradictions are encoded in the RM with language and as long as these contradictions remain fossilized in the RM, the individual is limited in their potential for self-determination. Therefore, erasing the language codes in the RM will liberate the person, making them less vulnerable to control from outside forces.

This brings us back to Burroughs’ concept of the language virus. His theory of language is heavily influenced by the linguist Alfred Korzybski who is considered to be a founding father in the branches of semantics and semiotics. Korzybski articulated the arbitrary connection between signs and what they signify. There is nothing in the nature of a cat to determine that the signifier “cat” is an accurate representation of the signified animal. But a drawing of a cat bears a closer resemblance to the authentic nature of a cat than the word we use to described it.

Since language, sound, and image can be so easily manipulated to control human perceptions and behavior, Burroughs’ solution is to disconnect language from any signified images. Burroughs suggests liberation by utilizing either a pictorial language in which images without connections to sounds are used to communicate or else a scripted language that doesn’t signify visual images can be used as well. He demonstrates the latter in an experimental writing piece that makes it impossible to attach an images to the written words he uses. You could argue that this kind of abstract writing doesn’t communicate anything at all though, making the purpose of language ineffective, maybe even making communcation impossible. Enter Jacques Derrida. The ultimate goal is to think solely in images without any words attached to them. Burroughs belives we should evolve to replace spoken and written language with telepathy. This could be the next step in evolution, something that won’t take place until we leave the planet. It’s kind of like a sea animal evolving into a land animal by losing its fins and scales and evolving into gorwing lungs and limbs to adapt to its new environment.

Another linguistic concept of Burroughs involves the elimination of binary opposition which he says limits the human capacity for interpreting reality. Pairs like hot/cold or tall/short foreclose the possibilities for any kind of nuanced understanding. But he completely ignores the use of other words and concepts we use to describe temperature like freezing, burning, warm, cool and so on. Also concepts of tall and short can vary depending on who you are considering. Being five feet in height would be tall for a three year old, but if that individual is still five feet at the age of forty he would be considered short by American standards. So the meaning of tall and short is nuanced and dependent on context. I would say that eliminating pairs of binary opposites would further limit our ability to express concepts rather than heighten our awareness of nuances since it would provide less language to work with.

He also wants to eliminate the pairings of the definite and indefinite articles “the/a” and use only the indefinite article “a”. But he doesn’t recognize that those articles each represent different categories of specificity and generality. “A book is good to read” has a different meaning than “the book is good to read”, the former referring to any one unspecified book out of all books in existence while the latter refers to one specific book, the title of which was presumably given in a previous sentence. Thus eliminating the definite article “the” would greatly reduce our ability for nuanced discussion rather than liberating us from semantic restrictions. Burroughs also doesn’t appear to know that many languages, especially Slavic languages, don’t contain any articles at all so unless he wants to argue that people who speak Slavic languages are dominated less than people who speak Latin or Germanic languages, or even Arabic or Albanian, he doesn’t have much to go on here. Russian was the language of the Soviet Union, so drawing a direct connection between the semantics and syntax of a language and the degree of individual liberties possessed by the speakers of the language isn’t a connection that can be made.

Burroughs’ knowledge of linguistics was superficial, but we aren’t talking about ontology here; we are talking about literary theory combined with fictional world building and in the context of his science-fiction novels it clarifies some of what he is trying to accomplish, or at least it indicates why some of his writings are deliberately meant to perplex you.

The universe Burroughs’ creates is one that is deterministic. Humans have no free will as we are motivated internally by genes, hormones, and unconscious drives. We are pushed and pulled through life by reacting to external stimuli in our surrounding environments and the ones who have the most control over our environments have the most control over us. And their motivations don’t take our welfare into consideration. Humans, as biological agents, have very little free will and very little chance of escaping from the prisons of our lives. If we decimate all systems of linearity, logic, and mechanization then we might have a chance to build on whatever shapes emerge from the ruins. But probably not. Burroughs doesn’t think it’s likely, but we might as well try. There is nothing better to do. You have to wonder how much of his philosophy is meant to convey the truth as he sees it and how much is just the result of being unable to control a drug addiction or alter his sexual orientation. I have long wondered if William Burroughs was a solipsist.

The Job is important for anyone who wants to understand Burroughs. All of the ideas contained in this book are theoretical frameworks for his fiction which can be disorienting and sometimes hard to follow. He says the same things here that he says in all his other books; he’s just laying it all out in plain language so you can grasp ahold of the concepts more readily. It is a good strategy to read his biography, read his fiction, and then read The Job. After that, go back and re-read his fiction. It will be easier to see how it all fits together and when you come to the parts that are incomprehensible, just remember that incomprehensibility is a part of what he is trying to express. Don’t forget to look for hidden messages though. Sometimes there are signals submerged in all the noise. Sometimes those signals emerge in part or in whole.

In conclusion, The Job is a key text for those who are serious about studying William S. Burroughs. It is like a Rosetta Stone that unlocks the meaning of all his other fiction. His explicitly stated literary theories and philosophical worldview are supplemented with short stories and essays nested within the interviews. This succeeds in clarifying some his more obscure ideas. And if you don’t agree with some of it, or any of it, don’t despair since his ideas are all about world building in the realms of science-fiction and surrealism. That may be a cop out when it comes to defending a system of unjustifiable beliefs, but it functions well when you want to interpret the more evasive aspects of his literature. You have to understand it before you can accept or dismiss it. If you don’t make the effort to interpret it, you can’t contribute much of any value in a discussion on what its value is. Besides, being the stubborn individualist that William S. Burroughs was, you can conclude that he probably didn’t want you to agree with a lot of it anyways. His philosophy can be seen as a defensive measure against the riff raff of humanity so if it was easy to understand and easy to agree with, it wouldn’t be strong enough to serve its purpose.

As clearly articulated as the ideas in The Job are, I only have one major complaint. If you’ve heard William S. Burroughs speak, you know that he was avuncular and authoritative in his mannerisms. You might have found it hard to disagree with him when in his presence. When these interviews are written out in text, his unique form of magnetism is partially lost and the words lose the kind of gravity they carry when he speaks. Therefore, it may be more convincing to listen to him explaining his ideas rather than reading them in this book. But whatever works best for you is what works.

Now if only I can get my head around the idea of an author whose intention it was to eradicate language...

 

Book Review & Critical Analysis: Cuban Counterpoint: Tobacco & Sugar by Fernando Ortiz

Cuban Counterpoint:

Tobacco & Sugar

by Fernando Ortiz

      If you mention Cuba, the first thing most people will think of is revolution, politics, Fidel Castro, and Che Guevara. The second thing would probably be music and dancing. After that, I’m guessing another strong association with that Caribbean island nation would be cigars. There might be a few other general associations like beaches, palm trees, jungles, Ernest Hemingway, and rum. Somewhere in there you might also find sugarcane. This is significant for Cuban anthropologist Fernando Ortiz since the titular essay of his book Cuban Counterpoint: Tobacco & Sugar is about defining his country’s national identity through its most prevalent economic industries.

While Fernando Ortiz is considered to have been Cuba’s premier anthropologist to date, the titular essay really isn’t a work of social science. The point of it is to compare and contrast Cuba’s sugar and tobacco industries in order to define the national character of the Cuban people. From the start it is clear that he believes tobacco to be the ultimate symbol of Cubanismo and that he has a less favorable view of the sugarcane industry even though it has been the backbone of Cuba’s economy for at least two centuries.

His argument is provocative. Tobacco is a native plant to Cuban soil and its cultivation and use was a part of the Taino and Arawak indigenous people’s culture before the arrival of European colonialists. Tobacco is grown in dry riverbeds called “vegas” and even though some cigars are manufactured using machinery, those of the highest quality are hand-rolled. Thus, making a good cigar is a craft or an art form, as he puts it, more than an industrially produced commodity. Cuban cigars are also a source of national pride because they are popular worldwide and considered to be the gold standard of smokes by connoisseurs. That is why if you tell someone you have a box of habanas or puro cubanos they know by association that it is a box of the best cigars you can buy. Even cigars from neighboring countries like the Dominican Republic or Jamaica don’t compare. The use of the words “habanas” and “cubanos” to mean cigars proves semantically just how closely people outside the country associate cigars with Cuba.

Sugar, on the other hand, is just sugar. While the quality of tobacco can range from putrid to a champagne-like elegance, there is little to no difference once sugar crystals have been processed and granulated into the white powder we find in any grocery store around the world. Sugar that comes from sugarcane is also indistinguishable from that produced by sugar beets. People generally don’t associate sugar with any particular nation the way tobacco is strongly associated with Cuba. Sugarcane was also imported by colonialists and is therefore, not native to the Caribbean. Sugarcane cultivation and the manufacture of processed sugar is also the primary reason so many slaves were imported into Cuba. This is a source of shame to Ortiz who also uses this as a chance to take a swipe at capitalism since it requires that laborers, be they slaves, indentured servants, or wage laborers, get treated as commodities for production rather than as human beings. You could easily counter this claim by arguing that communism does the same thing. Thus that problem probably has more to do with the technology of industrialization than it does with whatever politico-economic system that utilizes it.

So as it stands according to Fernando Ortiz, tobacco is far superior to sugar when it comes to symbolically defining Cuba’s national identity.

I’ll be honest at this point. I have no emotional investment in this subject. I have no ancestral ties to Cuba, but I find the history and culture of the nation endlessly fascinating. I do appreciate sweet foods, but I gave up smoking long ago when I became wise enough to admit that I am afraid of getting cancer. So the argument over whether tobacco or sugar is more suitable for defining Cuba’s identity is of no importance to me. I could weigh the pros and cons of Ortiz’s reasoning, but I don’t feel its necessary to expend my mental energy on the matter. It reminds me of John Milton’s rhetorical argument that the moon is superior to the sun. But Milton’s essay on that matter is a great work of art. I’d say that Fernando Ortiz’s essay is a great work of art too. It is fascinating to read from beginning to end and, even if you don’t agree with his opinion, or even care all that much, it does say a lot about Cuban history and society. It certainly serves as a good introduction to anybody who wants to learn about tobacco or sugar cultivation and how it relates to Cuban culture.

Some of the ideas might be outdated though. Ortiz argues that tobacco is masculine and sugar is feminine in a way that relies on traditional gender stereotypes. Even considering those stereotypes, I find his reasoning on that point to be vague and insufficient to make his case. And his attempt at defining national character leads in the direction of essentializing in a way that would get labeled problematic by hyper-sensitive social theorists today. I have some problems with the concept of “essentializing” to beging with, but this is not the place to take that up. The use of outdated words like “Negro” “retarded”, and “Mongoloid” will also be jarring to some, but this essay was written in the 1940s when those words were considered neutral terminologies. Any offense you might naively take will also be undercut by that fact that Ortiz was a strong proponent of racial equality and the bulk of his work was done to document the cultural practices and patterns Afro-Cuban people. Hopefully someday more of his works will be translated into English.

The following essay in the book is of some interest up to a point. Ortiz examines the cultural uses of tobacco in pre- and post-contact indigenous societies. Although he starts by examining the practices of the Taino, Arawak, and Carib peoples, the scope extends farther into what we now call North, Central, and South America. The cultural uses of tobacco fall into four main categories being the social, the medicinal, the ritual/spiritual/religious/shamanistic, and the individual/leisure uses. He examines the history of how tobacco was ingested and the paraphernalia used as well as the social etiquette and praxis. He also examines whether or not tobacco was the only substance used in these ways. Various other writers have labeled tobacco and nicotine with contradictory terms like “stimulant”, “depressant” amd “hallucinogen”. Thus he analyzes evidence from colonial, missionary, archaeological, and pharmacological sources to figure out if some naive scholars in the past, not paying careful attention to details, mistakenly designated plants other than tobacco as tobacco. A lot of the essay is also devoted to disputes amongst anthropologists and archaeologists over what tools and paraphernalia were used for ingesting tobacco smoke and snuff. I feel like those debates are of more interest to specialists in this field and not so much for the general reader. His arguments aren’t hard to follow though and if you want to learn about the reasoning process and problem-solving methodologies in the social sciences, this is an accessible place to look.

The remaining essays are about the history of sugarcane cultivation and the effects of the Industrial Revolution on mass production and consumption of sugar. Again, these essays are well-researched and easy to follow, however, they feel more like filler than anything substantially related to the supposed main theme of the book which is Cuba and the importance of tobacco and sugarcane to its culture and economy. These filler essays stand on their own but stray too far outside the subject of Cuban national identity to be worthwhile in the larger context of the book. If you are solely interested in the subject of Cuban culture, you might want to consider reading the titular essay only and skipping the rest of the book. If you’re interested in the history of tobacco and sugar from a global perspective than the whole book will be of value. I fall into the former category, not the latter, so reading a lot of this felt like a chore even though all the essays are well-written.

Cuban Counterpoint was written at the end of World War II when the post-colonial era was taking off. Cuba was politically turbulent at the time, but it was also at the peak of its pre-Revolution cultural development. At that time the island nation was asserting itself internationally as a tourist destination and a producer of goods for international trade. In this context you can see how the subject of national identity and character could be of importance to a social scientist like Fernando Ortiz, especially considering his high academic stature then and now. Still, the book feels a bit dated. The negative health effects of smoking tobacco have caused it to be associated more with lung cancer than Cuba. Processed sugar is now associated with obesity, tooth decay, and other diseases. The tobacco and sugar industries plus communism should have made outsiders’ perceptions of Cuba inherently bad yet the country’s reputation is still alluring. Maybe it’s time for Cuba to choose a new symbol to redefine its national character. I’d choose their music to be a symbol of that identity if it were up to me (it’s not). Who couldn’t be enticed by those beautiful curvaceous women in tight skirts and stilleto heels defying the laws of gravity while dancing to mambo, rumba, charanga, salsa, cha cha cha, or Latin jazz. And if this book is dated, it still can evoke fantasies of sipping rum in a shack on a beach, palm trees swaying in the wind while clear waved waters wash ashore as you relax with a burning puro, its tip dipped in honey, while the silvery blue smoke you exhale disperses in the Caribbean breeze. If we lived in a just world, cigar smoke wouldn’t be harmful. But we don’t. Your dreams, however, won’t hurt you. Let those dreams keep you alive. 

 

Book Review & Interpretive Analysis: Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs

Naked Lunch

by William S. Burroughs

      The 1950s were a time of repression, or at least that’s what popular media would have you believe. Married couples on television shows had separate beds in those rare instances when bedrooms were allowed to be shown. When people got shot in the movies they didn’t bleed. Elvis Presley could only be shown on TV from the waist up. Interracial social relationships of any kind were forbidden while lynchings were common in the South. But they would never put that on the evening news. Politics were a taboo subject. Simply saying you disagreed with certain politicians could get you labeled a communist and your career could be ruined even if you weren’t actually a communist. Any discussions about sexuality of any sort were censored either by law or by choice. The use of narcotics was hidden from public view and Cold War era paranoia about the nuclear bomb was rampant and even encouraged by the government through the spread of propaganda.

But all this was going on fifty years after the publication of Ulysses. The ideas of Freud and Nietzsche were no longer new. People were aware that a chthonic, underground world existed and there was a whole lot more going on in America just beyond the surface of what was socially acceptible. But things were bubbling up to the surface. One of them was the Beat Generation, a new manifestation of the bohemian tradition in which poets and criminals listened to jazz, experimented with drugs and free love, and lived the life they wanted according to their own rules. Out of this counter culture came the gay, heroin addicted author William S. Burroughs, who may or may not have accidentally shot his wife in Mexico City, and his ground breaking novel Naked Lunch. The title says a lot because it is a work that reveals the hidden and the suppressed without restraint in all its naked glory. But glorious it isn’t, and in fact most would say it is a literary expression of all that is vile and repulsive.

Burroughs started out writing short pieces that were like bursts or explosions of verbiage depicting the underworld life he was familiar with. Some are like vignettes or prose poems. Sometimes they are almost like stories. But Burroughs couldn’t get his life together enough to put a whole novel together so Allen Ginsberg and Brion Gysin pieced some of these into a montage that came to be known as Naked Lunch.

The book begins with descriptions of heroin addiction and the lifestyle that accompanies it. The unpleasant tactile sensations and smells of filth, grime, slime, stickiness, and bodily fluids are ever present. Insects and other vermin are more numerous than people. The difference between people and vermin is hard to distinguish at times. Also the boundaries between the body and all the rotten mess is permeable and sometimes hard to identify. The reader is immediately plunged into a pool of sewage.

And as far as ugly creatures go, some of the ugliest are the Mugwumps. These are humanoid beings straight out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting that are half insect and half man. They secrete a substance that is addicting to some other creatures that suck it off their skin. This may be a metaphor for the relationship between the drug pusher and their buyers with a gay element thrown in. If that creepy image is what Burroughs meant to represent, you might say he isn’t comfortable with fitting into either category. The term “mugwump” by the way, refers to a constituent of voters in the 19^th century at the end of the Reconstruction era. They were disgusted with both the Democrats and Republicans and insisted on voting according to a candidates policies and moral character rather than partisan alliance. The word itself is derived from an Algonquin word meaning “superior man” or “boss”. It’s hard to tell if a political statement is intended here, but the concept of Mugwumps as a voting bloc would fit in with the passages later in the novel that satirize American political parties, none of which are made to sound appealing from Burroughs’ point of view.

As the passages take on more form, we are introduced to the recurring character of Dr. Benway, the sleazy surgeon who massages a patient’s heart with a toilet plunger while dropping cigarette ashes into the incision. He gives an unnamed narrator a tour through his hospital where he performs arbitrary operations of no medical value whatsoever. The tour ends with a visit to a locked ward where patients have been reduced to a vegetative state of idiocy because of Dr. Benway’s experiments with behavior control. The passage ends when inmates of a psychiatric ward break out, have a riot, and do all kinds of foul and disgusting things to each other and the people on the street. In another scenario, Dr. Benway does surgery on a stage in front of an audience as if he is a practitioner of the performing arts just as much as he is of the medical arts. The term “operating theater” actually goes back to the Renaissance when surgeries were performed for educational purposes in front of an audienc. But Dr. Benway’s arbitrary and pointless surgery is interrupted by what we might call a heckler with a scalpel.

Dr. Benway is the crux of a lot of Burroughs’ writings post-Naked Lunch. He is an agent of control whose medical practices serve two purposes. One is mind and behavior control, although he usually fails in this by either destroying his patients or unwittingly causing outbreaks of chaos. The other is art. Dr. Benway performs surgery for surgery’s sake the way artists creates art for art’s sake. He is amoral, unethical, has no interest in helping his patients and his surgeries make no sense from a rational point of view, but he does them because that’s all he can do. He doesn’t know how to do anything else. He is just an agent, an elementary force who acts out of inner necessity. You can say a lot of artists, especially in the modern era, do the same, channeling what they do, letting the artistic process guide their hands rather than creating with definite intention.

Dr. Benway makes a further appearance near the end of the book when he brings Carl Peterson, another recurring character in Burroughs’ works, into his office to run some tests designed to uncover any hidden traces of homosexuality in the ex-soldier. Carl struggles to repress any evidence of an affair he had with another man while in the military. Here again we have the element of control and chaos because Dr. Benway represents the attempted institutional control over sexual behavior while Carl Peterson’s sexual orientation is something outside the scope of psychiatric domination. For lovers of obscure literary references, the passage ends with Carl trying and failing to approach a green door; the term “green door” is a military terminology meaning “top secret” or “highly classified”. Carl wants to open the door and reveal his sexual secret but he is unable to because he is a rat caught in Dr. Benway’s maze. The theme of control through repression is on full display here.

On the other side of the control through repression theme is the continual outbreaks of sex and violence that permeate the novel. The riot resulting from patients’ escaping from Dr. Benway’s psychiatric hospital has already been mentioned, but other passages have things like “Hassan’s Rumpus Room”, where a surreal, unresrticted orgy takes place, and the film introduced by Slashtubitch is shown. (I’ve read this book several times and still have no idea who Slashtubitch is supposed to be. Hassan is possibly Hassan I Sabbah, another recurring character in later works) The film is pornographic and shows a love making scene between Mary and Johnny involving the use of the Steely Dan dildo. And yes, the rock band Steely Dan did lift their name from Naked Lunch. The film ends with Mary hanging Johnny who ejaculates when he dies. Burroughs is obsessed with this image since it appears ad nauseum in almost every book he ever wrote. Mary then eats his face reminscent of the way a female praying mantis eats the head of the male after sexual intercourse, something that also preoccupied the Surrealist pioneer Andre Breton. Here we have another recurring theme in Burroughs’ works, that of the female as a destructive force of control. His portrayal of women is unapologetically misogynist and his obsessive, hyper-masculine writings about guns and exotic weaponry can be interpreted as a defense against what he perceives to be the controlling instincts of women.

One other interesting chapter is that of “The Talking Asshole”. A man discovers that his asshole can talk. At first the novelty of this amuses people and he becomes famous, but then his asshole takes over his life and he turns into nothing more than a giant asshole that never shuts up. This is obviously a satire of people who “talk out their ass”, be they politicians, drunks, college students, or other varieties of know-it-alls who don’t know what they’re talking about. The internet is bursting with these types and in the days of Fox News and the Trump presidency, the Talking Asshole rings more true than ever. In the twisted mind of Burroughs, there is also an element of opiate addiction in this passage since the asshole starts out by being amusing and then grows so large it consumes the man’s entire life. Kind of like heroin addiction. What Burroughs is getting at is that talking, especially bullshitting, can be an addiction like anything else. This comes back to Dr. Benway who is characterized as a control addict with the commentary added that control serves no purpose other than control in the same way that heroin addiction serves no other purpose than addiction. Burroughs may be projecting his own problems onto the world, but when elements of his problems correspond to reality, it feels like a revelation.

On the surface, a lot of Naked Lunch appears to be little more than obscene drivel. It’s true that some parts are nothing but surreal imagery, nonsense, and literary diarrhea. By the way, this was written before Burroughs began using the cut up technique so anything that confuses you is done on purpose; it is meant to be disorienting. But then the passages about control are those that are most clearly written and those are surrounded by other passages of explosive violence and chaos. The explosive nature of those passages serves to illustrate the results of repression. Burroughs’ obsessions with guns, orgasms, orgies, defecation, dismemberment, hangings, and all other outbursts of violence can be seen as the repression of his homosexuality and drug addiction coming undone and bursting out into plain sight. The repressive nature of American society creates a pressure cooker leading to explosions of everything we aren’t supposed to see. The more American society tries to repress the underground cultures of sexual expression, drug use, and criminality, the more those cultures try to undo their repression and the result is the rise of counter cultures concerned with free expression of desires and artistic projects like the novel that is Naked Lunch.

This novel doesn’t represent Burroughs’ best writing. What makes it so great is that it introduces so many themes that pre-occupied him in his later years when he went in the direction of more science-fiction type books. It is also a lot more accessible than his later works, at least for the first time reader. Even if you don’t understand everything written or struggle to put it together as a whole, it still has a strong impact that will stay with you for years to come. Even after 70 years, the wild and untamed nature of this legendary book can still blow your hair back the other way. Burroughs’ ability to write great sentences that create imagery is first rate as well. The language he uses is like a mixture of surrealist poetry and bare bones, pulp crime novel directness. In fact, during the obscenity trial in which the government tried to censor and ban this book, one of the things that saved it was the lyrical use of vocabulary that sometimes captured snippets of haunting beauty.

Finally, I’d like to address a couple stray thoughts. The first is that of the racism depicted in the book. Some people have complained about it, but I feel they are misreading what Burroughs is saying. The racist comments are sick, but you have to consider the context and who is making them. They entirely come from the mouths of police, bureaucrats, rednecks, and other boorish kinds of people. If you understand the author, you know that he despises these kinds of people. Their offensive racist humor is depicted here as more shit and garbage flowing through the sewer world being portrayed. He isn’t celebrating the world he is writing about; he is showing us how terrible it all is.

The other stray thought is related to some obscure details regarding Burroughs’ wife Joan, the one he shot in Mexico City. In one paragraph, and without any context, Willy Jr. gets angry because the unnamed narrator eats his sugar skull on the Day Of the Dead. Then the narrator says that after he moved to Tangier, someone told him that his wife had died. Those in the know will recognize the reference to the unwanted son Burroughs had with his wife and his move, minus his wife, from Mexico to Tangier. Another subtle reference to Joan comes when Carl Peterson is in Dr. Benway’s office being accosted about his gay tendencies. Dr. Benway says that sometimes gay men get married and the result is...here Dr. Benway’s speech trails off with the implication that gay men who marry women sometimes murder their wives. It is fair to consider that William S. Burroughs is arguable one of the most autobiographical authors in history, something that becomes clear if you know his biography and understand how to decode his writings. But if this is so, why are there so few references to the killing of his wife as some critics have said? The answer is that they are there all over the place. He hides it in plain sight and if you understand how psychological displacement operates, you can see it more clearly.

Naked Lunch is an ancestral work that rides on the coattails of Freud and James Joyce. Freud said that being a member of society means suppressing the selfish desires of the individual where they get left to fester as the id, sometimes breaking into consciousness in the form of dreams. James Joyce in Ulysses used stream of consciousness writing to turn away from the public and go inwards to portray the inner workings and linguistic free associations of the human mind with no restrictions on what that might be including any bodily functions or disturbing thoughts. Naked Lunch is an expression of the id, the inner landscape, the unconscious, and everything we aren’t supposed to see in public. William S. Burroughs ingested elements of human society, disgested them in the inner workings of his mind, and then expressed them in the dream state of writing without holding anything back. It’s too easy to say it’s all a projection of his inner landscape onto the world because what he projects is a product of what he experienced in the world. He reminds us that vomit and feces started out as food. In this way, Naked Lunch is like shitting on a plate and serving it to you as a meal as to remind us of what we do that we wish to hide. Hell isn’t in some dimension we go to when we die. It is in the hidden recesses of our minds and all around us wherever we go and in whoever we meet. You are a part of it, like it or not.

 

Book Review: Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba by Tom Gjelten

Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba

by Tom Gjelten

      Who doesn’t like an occasional pina colada or a cuba libre? Well actually I don’t drink cuba libres because coca cola rots both your stomach and your teeth while making you obese. But I love a good mai tai or a mojito. Shots of dark rum are good too especially when you want an instant mental vacation in the tropics which is happens often if you live in a dismal, freezing cold climate like upstate New York with its grey skies and five foot mountains of lake effect snow on a weekly basis every winter. Why not just fly down to the Caribbean for a break, you might ask. Because it’s the 21^st century and working on a teacher’s salary makes it nearly impossible, that’s why. And to be honest a bottle of rum is just plain more affordable. You must know all these great cocktails might not even be possible if it weren’t for the Bacardi rum company. It’s not just that the Bacardis made drinkable rum available to the masses, but it’s also true because the family business saved the company’s brand from the Cuban Revolution. They didn’t just fight for the legal right to their own name and product though; the Bacardis also fought for freedom and justice in their homeland of Cuba in political conflicts dating back to the early 19^th century. Journalist Tom Gjelten tells the whole story in Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba.

The Bacardi family were Catalans who immigrated to Cuba while it was still a colony under the Spanish crown. They settled in Santiago de Cuba on the southeast coast of the island. Sugarcane farming and the production of granulated sugar were the backbone of the fledgling economy at the time. Industrial sugar production yields a byproduct which we now know as molasses. This byproduct is what is distilled to make rum. This drink was basically swill they made by sugar mills to sell to sailors, unskilled laborers, and other drunks in order to make some extra profits and keep the proletariat too inebriated to think about rising above their station.

Rum production turned a corner when the Bacardi family business entered the liquor market. Under the guidance of Emilio Bacardi, they developed a method of distillation that made rum more palatable to the middle and upper classes. Emilio Bacardi was also an intellectual who wrote poetry and kept extensive historical records of happenings in Santiago de Cuba. Researchers are still referencing his works today. He was also a liberal in the sense of free market economics as it was practiced in the 19^th century and a philanthropist with progressive ideas on politics and social issues. The Bacardi family were prominent in using their wealth to build infrastructure in Santiago de Cuba, financing schools, hospitals, and charity funds for the poor. They were deeply involved in Cuba’s Wars of Independence and supported the abolition of slavery on humanitarian grounds.

During the 20^th century, Bacardi’s aggressive international marketing and advertising campaigns made them the one brand that people most associated with Cuba aside from some cigar manufacturers like Cohiba and Romeo y Julieta. They also helped promote the image of Havana as a sophisticated hang out in the tropics with first rate nightclubs, opulent hotels, casinos, high end restaurants, and pristine beaches lined with palm trees. Part of their marketing strategy involved pampering tourists by keeping them drunk.

By the time the Cuban Revolution complicated the Bacardis’ privileged position in Cuba, Pepin Bosch was in charge of operations. Being the progressives that they were, the Bacardi corporation supported and funded Fidel Castro as he led his peasant army out of the Sierra Maestra in Oriente Province to seize Havana and conquer the island nation. This decision came back to bite them when Castro and Che Guevara nationalized all the rum factories. Even worse, Guevara, who knew little about economics and even less about rum production, tried to change the company’s method of making rum. Pepin Bosch, along with thousands of other Cubans, fled to Miami, leaving the factory in Santago de Cuba in the hands of a less experienced relative.

Castro failed when he attempted to sell post-Revolution manufactured Bacardi rum internationally due to Pepin Bosch’s shrewd maneuvering around international trademark law. Cuba was allowed to manufacture Bacardi rum, but were unable to sell it outside the country. Castro and company eventually began producing rum under the label of Havana Club which became one of the only sources of export product revenue that Cuba could obtain after the fall of communism. Meanwhile, Bacardi set up shop in Puerto Rico and has been associated with that island ever since. The company has also been involved in American politics and lobbying, guiding the the government’s hands into their deep trouser pockets since the 1970s So if you wonder why the United States have had some odd policies regarding Cuba in the past several decades, be aware that Bacardi Inc. has a lot to do with it.

Tom Gjelten has an obviously favorable view of the Bacardi corporation and the nation of Cuba in general. It is also obvious that he is strongly biased against the Castro regime. With all political opinions aside, this book is valuable in portraying Cuban history and society from multiple levels. He demonstrates that the Bacardis have been so deeply enmeshed in the development and historical events of Cuba that the history of the family and the company is impossible to tell without relating it to the evolution of the country itself. By reading this, you learn the most important parts of Cuban history. By approaching the subject from an angle of business and industry, Gjelten also offers a sharp critique of a nation that got derailed by a political movement that went wrong. You also learn a bit about the Cuban exile community in the U.S. and how they have shaped international relations. Finally you get some insight into how corporate branding can play a role in international perceptions of a sovereign country and whether those perceptions are accurate or not. Gjelten thoroughly vindicates the Bacardi family business, but then again, I haven’t heard of any books written as detractions of them either, so this book stands alone as a unique take on Cuba, business, and economics.

The other benefit of this book is its readability. Gjelten juggles passages about history, business, culture, industry, and biography. You may not be enthusiastic about all the fine details of industrial rum manufacturing, but you can be sure that when those parts of the history come up, he won’t dwell on the subject too long and eventually he will move on to something of more interest to you. In this way, Gjelten creates hooks for a wide ranging audience with varied interests and puts you in the company of details and ideas you might not otherwise pursue out of general interest. This is good for the flexibility of the reader’s mind.

From the start, the history of the Bacardi family business is a typical one like so many stories we hear of immigrants arriving in the New World with virtually nothing who built up a fortune through hard work, brainpower, and dedication. But Bacardi and the Long Fight for Cuba shows that this story is not always unique to the United States. It also shows how the small empire built on a foundation of enterprise and good intentions can be little more than a sand castle being washed away by the waves of the Caribbean Sea. Pepin Bosch had the foresight to build Bacardi castles all over the world so that when the hurricane came, the family didn’t lose everything. Tom Gjelten also informs you as to why there is a bat on the labels of Bacardi rum bottles. The reason for that is more mundane than you might expect.

 

Book Review & Analysis: The Yage Letters by William S. Burroughs & Allen Ginsberg

The Yage Letters

by William S. Burroughs & Allen Ginsberg

      William S. Burroughs wasn’t doing so well in the 1950s. While Naked Lunch and its accompanying obscenity trials put him on the international literary stage, he was also dealing with heroin addiction, alcoholism, and mental illness. He did some time in jail, got peripherally involved in a murder case, and had a son he didn’t want with the woman he married even though he was gay. He ended up shooting the woman and being a lousy father to William Burroughs Jr. So when he wrote The Yage Letters with a passage by Allen Ginsberg, he wasn’t in the best state of mind.

This slim volume is made up of correspondences Burroughs made with Ginsberg soon after he shot his wife Joan, fled from Mexico, and went traveling in South America. He wanted to find the drug yage which is now more commonly known as ayahuasca. His main interest in yage derived from a rumor that it made telepathy possible. Reading between the lines gives a sense that he hoped it would help him to cure his heroin addiction or, at the very least, escape from reality.

The overriding sense of absolute misery is present from the beginning of the book. Burroughs is racist and unfairly judgmental of everybody he encounters as he makes his way through Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru. Other than the man who gives him yage, who may or may not be a legitimate shaman, he encounters researchers and scholars, government bureaucrats, corrupt police, and gay prostitutes. Burroughs can legitimately be criticized for being an asshole in these pages, but you have to admit he didn’t exactly associate with the best and the brightest members of Latin American society. His assessments of the countries he visits are based on his association with marginal people like petty criminals and police who abuse their power. If you think that corrupt police and bureaucrats aren’t a major problem in developing nations then I’d be more than certain that you’ve never set foot in a third world country. The shaman who gives him yage isn’t of high moral standards either since he is more concerned with collecting money for alcohol than he is for administering the drug. Burroughs suggests that he may even be a fraud. And as for the universities, let’s just say that not every researcher in the world is actually interesting to talk to. especially if they’ve gotten so deeply into their rabbit holes that they forget how to relate to other people.

The subjective mind of Burroughs lays like a thick coating of mud, sewage, and vomit over everything he sees. He was struggling with a lot of problems when he wrote this, one of which was a crippling low self-esteem. To make matters worse, dealing with addiction, mental illness, and the guilt of accidentally killing someone by wandering around foreign countries, getting drunk, and taking hallucinogenic drugs isn’t one of the most effective ways of coping with your problems. More than anything, this isn’t a book about South America or the drug experience; it is the details of a man in crisis. After all the racism and disillusionment, he does say one thing to redeem himself while traveling in Peru. Burroughs says he admires the Latin American people for their laid back, easy going approach to life, even believing that their cultural style should be the default for most humans. Maybe such a statement is too little too late, but it does drive home the point that all his nasty comments about the people there are nothing but projections from his own warped perceptions.

And there really isn’t much about taking yage in this book. He tries it once with the alcoholic shaman and not much happens except that he sees blue spots in his eyes and vomits excessively. Telepathy never happens. The one passage written by Allen Ginsberg describes the psychedelic experience under yage, but to be honest if I didn’t know that beforehand, I wouldn’t have known what the hell he was writing about. This book doesn’t do a good job of making me want to try ayahuasca.

But the crafting of the language is so good. Like in Junky, Burroughs writes in short, clear, direct sentences that paint a much bigger picture than what is presented on the surface. He writes the kind of simple sentences that Hemingway tried to write but failed. If there is anything worth recommending about this book, it is the prose itself more than the content, although I will say the content is interesting if you want to pick apart the mind of a deeply troubled man who is so lost in his wretched mind that he can’t see the world with clear eyes. It’s like he is wearing shit colored glasses.

The Yage Letters is a minor work of literature by any standard. It’s probably of little interest to anybody outside the counter-culture literary scene. That’s probably for the best. I wouldn’t judge the works of William S. Burroughs on this book alone. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if he had regretted writing it when in the later years of his life. 

 

Book Review & Analysis: The Soft Machine by William S. Burroughs

The Soft Machine

by William S. Burroughs

      By the time William S. Burroughs wrote The Soft Machine, the first novel in the Nova Trilogy (sometimes called the Cut Up Trilogy), he had developed a coherent world view and theoretical framework for his literature. It is a world view that incorporates linguistic theory, sexuality, gender relations, drugs, altered states of consciousness, secret agents, space aliens, a dark view of science, and the conflict between control and chaos that will eventually lead to planetary demise. Yet while his world view takes on a semblance of consistency, its realization in his fiction is anything but orderly. That’s all a part of his artistic vision. In contrast, the conventional linear narrative of his first novel Junky is pure autobiography while his most famous novel Naked Lunch is a montage of vignettes depicting the misanthropic hellscape of life for modern humans. It introduces Burroughs as the inventor of a new style without providing any definite hypothesis for how he views the world. The Soft Machine initiated the next phase of his literary career and set the tone for everything that would come after.

Like Naked Munch, this novel is in part a series of vignettes that are grotesque and arresting in their impact. None of them are complete stories in the ordinary sense of the word, but more like situations that only on occasion contain a narrative arc. The plot is as basic as it can be. Alien forces have invaded the Earth, operate through authoritarian systems of control, and manipulate people through the use of words and images. Another alien force, the Nova Mob, is engaged in constant warfare to create chaos and destruction in an attempt to drive the world to self-annihilation, probably with nuclear weapons. In the middle, there are the Nova Police who try to balance the control and the chaos to prevent global catastrophe. On first encounter, this plot is evasive and takes some effort to see. Some background information on Burroughs’ life and theories does a lot to make it easier to understand how the different pieces of the novel fit together. Or does it fit together? Part of Burroughs’ intention is to disrupt the lines of communication being utilized by the controlling machine to enslave us. Therefore, disrupting the linear patterns and structures of language are meant to be liberating. Despite this intention, patterns do emerge even if they are rough and incomplete.

The vignettes are easy enough to follow in the beginning. Some junkies meet in a Manhattan restaurant to buy and sell heroin. A secret agent beats up a gay drug user in a subway bathroom claiming this violence to have been ordered by his superiors while admitting he doesn’t know where the instructions came from or what the larger purpose of his mission is. In a vision of near-paradise, a multi-racial group of youths have an orgy in a river.

Then things take a turn towards the bizarre as two separate passages depict a man who travels back in time to Yucatan to live among the Mayas. In the first passage, he joins up with some agricultural workers, finding out that they are being controlled by priests who own codices full of hieroglyphs and calendars that are utilized like knobs to manipulate the population’s behavior. In the second passage, a man takes hallucinogenic drugs that allow him to return to the Yucatan so that he can liberate the workers from their slavery. Crab men, priests dressed in lobster costumes, and a foul smelling giant centipede are part of the action.

The meaning of the Soft Machine as a metaphor for the human body is revealed in a night club where a man changes into a woman while being covered in gelatinous ooze. An audience of men in a movie theater masturbate while watching movies of men ejaculating while being hung from a gallows; a technician makes the audience speed up and slow down by operating a control panel as if they are on a film strip. A junky, suspecting that the two detectives who have come to arrest him, are undercover agents from the Nova Police, kills them just as he is about to shoot up. At the heart of the novel is the classic sequence where the battle between the Nova Mob and the Nova Police becomes so fierce that the Nova Police recall all agents and the notorious Doctor Benway is called in to restore order and exert control over the crowd. Memorable passages towards the end of the book involve the destruction of a control machine located in the office of a news agency and the invasion of a virus from outer space that attacks the larynxes of primates, causing them to make sounds in agony that will later evolve into language. Burroughs portrays a world that is strange, disturbing, and permeated with paranoia. But every once in a while he gives us a glimpse of a better world and if you really look closely enough, you might conclude that he is motivated by a hidden morality. After all, Burroughs isn’t celebrating all the filth, violence, and absurdity he portrays; instead he is showing us how humanity has failed miserably to live up to its potential for freedom and dignity.

These vignettes are separated by, and sometimes overlapping with, passages of cut ups, surrealistic imagery, and nonsense. My favorite image was of a man ejaculating Montgomery Ward catalogs while sitting in an outhouse. These parts may be frustrating at first, but the effect of orderly or semi-orderly narratives alternating and emerging out of an back into the non-linear language has an interesting effect. If anything, the cut ups, which are made by splicing together texts that have been cut into four pieces and reassembled forming random word patterns, provide some interesting imagery. If you are already familiar with the texts being used in the cut ups, it feels like reading scrambled messages or codes that emerge and fade away before you can fully grasp their meanings. I’ve often compared the cut ups to French Symbolist poetry which is meant to convey pure emotion through imagery without any interference from rationality, but French Symbolism is composed deliberately while cut ups are experimental and any meaning that emerges out of them is random, accidental, and purely by chance. Thus Burroughs has no control over the outcome of the cut ups. There can be no semantic connection between the sender and the receiver of the language. The signals carry minimal content, if any. Burroughs believes that by cutting the lines between the sign and the signified object, we become less vulnerable to control by outside forces. I can’t say this is scientifically valid, but it does illustrates an artistic vision, supplementing the easier to follow prose of other passages. And keep in mind that Burroughs is an author of fiction, meaning he has less restrictions on his portrayal of reality.

This novel is a satire of human society. My interpretation is that institutions like government, media, corporations, and law enforcement seek to control and dominate society. Meanwhile, people pursue freedom from this domination in drug use, sex, dreams, altered states of consciousness, crime, insanity, imagination, art, literature, and nature. But the pursuit of these means of liberation carry their own risks and can enslave or destroy us in other ways if we aren’t careful. Thus, true liberation from the forces of domination is an impossibility. We are stuck in the mechanized slime pits of the world whether we like it or not so we might as well have a dark sense of human and write a book or two. In the middle of it all is the single human being, the Soft Machine, the body and mind that are malleable enough to be shaped by the Control Machine, but also malleable enough to shape itself in ways that don’t fit with the Cotrol Machine and can possibly even disrupt or destroy it. The idea that the Nova Mob, the Nova Police, and the language virus all originated in outer space and invaded the Earth, thereby creating all the problems of human existence, conveys the sense that we aren’t living as nature intended us to be. We got hijacked by alien forces beyond our control and those forces are preventing us from living out our true potential. Finally, I think the theme of secret agents says something about who the author is. A secret agent is a shadowy figure, operating clandestinely in a foreign land to transmit and receive coded messages that possibly have grave significance for the course of the world. He operates between worlds, taking on different disguises and personae to accomplish his tasks. It is a lonely, solitary life too and full of risk. Could you possibly think of a better metaphor for an author or a better symbol for the gay, heroin addicted author that Burroughs was?

The Soft Machine is one of William S. Burroughs’ best novels. It takes a re-reading or two in order to see that though. It’s one of those books that demands multiple attempts in order to really make sense of it even though you probably will never understand it in entirety. That’s by design. And I highly recommend hunting down a British impression of this book since it contains chapters that were never included in the American editions; those extra chapters really do a lot to tie the whole chaotic literary mess together. By the way, did I happen to mention that William S. Burroughs was completely nuts? Knowing that will help you to unlock the enigmas of his writing.

 

Book Review: Voice Of the Leopard: African Secret Societies and Cuba by Ivor L. Miller

Voice Of the Leopard:

African Secret Societies and Cuba

by Ivor L. Miller

     The general public is familiar with African diaspora religions in the Caribbean and South America via popular culture. Most of what people think of in association with Voudou (voodoo) or Lukumi (Santeria) involves skulls, drums, zombies, and black magic. It isn’t hard to see how film makers, artists, writers, and musicians have appropriated elements from these religions since mystical and sometimes dark imagery can easily capture the imagination. But not so many people realize that African diaspora religions are complex social systems that exist within broader historical, socio-political, and economic systems and thereby have function and meaning as groups within those larger systems. One of the lesser acknowledged African diaspora religions is Abakua, a secret society that began in Cuba in the 19^th century and continues to thrive today. Voice Of the Leopard, by the American anthropologist Ivor L. Miller, gives a broad overview of this group and the role they played in Cuban history.

When West African people were brought to Cuba as slaves, their religious practices accompanied them. While these religions were mostly forbidden in the United States, slave owners in places like Brazil, Haiti, Puerto Rico, and Cuba allowed them to flourish, mostly because they relieved some psychological pressure that built up under the living conditions of slavery. This may have worked to some degree, but the number of slaves who escaped to live in isolated communities in the Sierra Maestra mountains, called “cimmanrones” or “maroons”, proves their situation was not one to envy. Nonetheless, Cuba was unique in that the colonialists allowed slaves to earn and save money which they could use to buy their way to freedom. That is one reason for Cuba having a small population of free African criollos who survived by working as craftsmen. According to members of Abakua societies, there was even a smaller number of West African immigrants who voluntarily came to Cuba to give slaves guidance on how to safeguard their religion in the new land. The accuracy of that belief is of no importance in this book because that is what the Abakua believe and it influences how they see the world.

Using linguistics and cross-cultural comparisons along with historical records, Miller has traced the origins of Abakua back to the Cross Rivers region along the border of Nigeria and Cameroon. In that part of Africa, fraternal societies called Ekpe have existed since times long before colonialism. The language, rituals, and mythologies of Abakua and Ekpe bear too many similarities to be coincidental. This is especially true because Abakua initiates have their own language that is only spoken with Abakua members and, although time and distance have caused morphological changes, it is essentially the same language spoken by Ekpe initiates. A similar linguistic analysis has been used to trace the origins of Roma (Gypsy) people to Rajastan in northern India, a significant discovery since that ethnic group existed for centuries without knowing precisely where they originated. The mapping of the human genome has recently justified these ancestral histories.

Miller gives some brief explanations about what Abakua members do. He starts by analyzing what kind of a group they are. He prefers the term “initiate society” over “secret society” since membership in the group is not kept secret, only their beliefs and practices are. Readers hoping for a detailed explanation of those beliefs and practices will inevitably be disappointed since such information is only transmitted to initiates who have risen through s series of degrees and offices to widen their scope of Abakua. Some basic information is shared with the public though, for example various motifs from the Ekpe/Abakua mythology, their transmission of historical narratives through call and response chanting done to the accompaniment of drumming and dancing, and the presence of the fundamento in every juego (lodge). The fundamento is the ceremonial centerpiece, or omphalos, of each juego. The original is said to have been brought over from Africa by the aforementioned voluntary immigrants from the Cross Rivers region who taught the slaves how to practice Abakua in Cuba. The Abakua juegos are open to men only. There is no discussion as to whether Abakua is actually a religion or not. From my limited knowledge of the society, I prefer to think it doesn’t fit easily into any category, containing elements of religion, magic, political secret societies, social clubs, and mutual aid fraternities.

Abakua juegos serve various functions. One is that of a mutual aid society. Dues collected by each juego can be used as health or life insurance for each member. Money is also collected for charity or educational funding. During the 19^th century, illiterate slaves who joined Abakua could receive some education they wouldn’t get elsewhere. At a local level, lodges provided a means for upward social mobility in a colony where such mobility was limited for free Afro-Cubans and usually unobtainable for slaves. Membership in a lodge required the mastery of knowledge, commitment, and responsibility. Money could also be raised in an Abakua society to help a slave buy their own freedom. Plus, the hierarchical nature of the juegos gave motivated individuals a means for moving up a social ladder thereby growing and maturing as people.

Abakua was also important for historical reasons. Since juego activities were secret and only accessible to initiates, they served as near-perfect places for clandestine political activity. Afro-Cubans who sought for an end to slavery were deeply committed to the two Cuban Wars of Independence and used their gathering places for planning military and political strategies. The Independence leader and national hero Antonio Maceo was a member of Abakua for this reason. Freemasonry also had a strong presence in 19^th century Cuba and pro-Independence Masons collaborated with Abakua to fight against the Spanish crown. The Wars of Independence also led to the establishment of Abakua juegos for both white and Chinese members who were dedicated to the Cuban nationhood cause.

Other topics covered by Miller include the reasons why Abakua has not spread further geographically than it already has and the influence Abakua has had on Cuban music and art. In the latter case, Abakua drum rhythms have a strong presence in the syncretistic styles of mambo and son. The chapter covering music is not highly detailed so deeper insights into the subject should be looked for elsewhere. In the former topic, the explanation is that strict and complicated protocols for establishing new lodges has made it nearly impossible for Abakua to spread much farther than the regions surrounding Havana and and the nearby city of Matanzas. If you want to join, your only option would be to move to Cuba. Miller also writes about recent contact and collaboration between Ekpe initiates in Nigeria and Abakua members in Cuba who have traveled to Nigeria recently with assistance from the author who is an Ekpe initiate himself aside from being an anthropologist.

Since the practice of Abakua is kept secret and only accessible to members, this book is mostly historical in nature. However, some of their ceremonies, including dances, drumming, and call and response chanting, are publicly accessible since some ceremonies are done in the yards of juegos were neighbors can observe them or hear them from a distance. I speculate that this is done as a means of proselytizing and arousing the curiosity of potential recruits. Despite not providing much information about the inner workings of this society, its influence on Cuban history is a fascinating story to learn about, especially because mainstream historians have given so little space to Abakua’s role in achieving independence and building national identity. Unfortunately, there is nothing said about Abakua in their relation to the Cuban Revolution of 1958 and Fidel Castro’s subsequent dictatorship. Abakua survived throughout all of that so there must be something to be said about them during those times.

Voice Of the Leopard gives a good overview of Abakua and its history. It serves the purpose of demonstrating how such a secret society can maintain social stability and mental health in the midst of a chaotic and ever-changing world. By giving members a sense of participation in history and having roots in an antiquarian culture, a direct line between past and present is maintained which contributes stability to the community. In this way, Abakua has acted as a positive force in Cuban society. Up until recent times, America had societies based around common interests in much the same way that the Cubans have Abakua. In 2025, fraternal orders like the Masons or the Elks, hobbyist groups, bowling leagues, labor unions, social clubs, and other societies in which people create social bonds and a sense of belonging are mostly on life support if they still exist at all. As a result of the internet, people spend more time looking at screens on laptops and cell phones then they do in the presence of others. As a result, the rates of loneliness, depression, mental illness, and suicide have spiked, especially among young people. It would be interesting to research what the rate of these ailments are in African diaspora religions. My educated guess is that they would be far less frequent than in American society. Maybe a few more groups like the Abakua could save us from ourselves.