Linden Lewis, ed. The Culture of Gender and Sexuality in the Caribbean. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2003. 328 pp; and James J. Pancrazio, The Logic of Fetishism: Alejo Carpentier and the Cuban Tradition. Lewisburg, Pa.: Bucknell University Press, 2004. 296 pp.Sexual and violent media content are often justified as financially imperative; sex and violence, it is argued, sell.1 Never has this adage seemed truer than it does now, when looking at trends in research and publishing in the area of historiography and cultural criticism. Particularly scintillating are the contemporary critical approaches based on the exploration of gender and sexuality. Nowadays, it seems, sex sells books to intellectuals and academics even when we don't have a dollar to spare, thus keeping in business university publishers who are in crisis. A quick glance at the new release lists of academic presses will verify the current popularity of and studies, queer studies (and queer theory), gender studies (especially the newer twists focusing on transgender, transvestitism, and constructions of masculinity), and studies of other non-normative sexualities.I'm not complaining; as a matter of fact, gender and sexuality are my favorite topics, particularly when studied in the context of Latin American, Caribbean, and U.S. Latina/o literature and culture. I am thrilled at the outpouring of titillating titles over the last fifteen or twenty years, luscious and provocative studies that provide a richer understanding of queer history, culture, and literature.2 Some of the books live up to their tacit promise to delve into the steamier side of culture, and others are regular scholarly fare that nevertheless extend our academic understanding of gender and sexuality. Several articles and a small number of books have begun to sketch out a picture of the complex tapestry of sexualities in the Caribbean, especially in Cuba.1 One of the dangers faced by writers focusing on the centrality of sex and gender in the Antilles is the repetition of the historical sexualization, fetishization, and eroticization of these island nations. The proliferation of a Cuban literatura sordida, which may have begun with exile Zoe Valdes but that also has flourished on the island since the 1990s, makes this all too tempting. These super sexy and violent novels and short stories that focus on today's Havana as sort of a newly decadent Sodom and Gomorrah perpetuate old stereotypes and lend themselves to skewed, if interesting, interpretations of contemporary culture. Another critical hazard to avoid is the erroneous imposition of foreign sexual politics or mores when interpreting Caribbean culture; for instance, the terms gay and lesbian may not accurately describe same-sex desire portrayed in Cuban cultural production. In the recuperation of queer voices and rereading of cultural production, critics have had to tread a fine line in order to scrutinize what has not yet been seen, rather than inventing that which does not exist. Therefore, to find new books that manage to capitalize on current interest in gender and sexuality in Cuba without resorting to cheap or easy (and intellectually suspect) thrills is a distinct pleasure.Pancrazio's outrageous title, mirrored by the extravagant jacket art of Dora Ramirez (La mascara, 1980), suggest that his book will be both erotic and exotic. The more staid subtitle, on the other hand, prompts a questioning of whether the promise of sex and excitement will be fulfilled. Not that Carpentier's work itself is prim, boring, or even heteronormative. Rather, the subtitle implies a strictly bounded and literary focus that could limit the appeal (not to mention, sex appeal) of the book. Happily, the author is able to tease out enough transgression from the texts to delight most readers. Pancrazio may have focused principally on Carpentier's oeuvre as a way to provide focus, but he cogently argues that his observations about the nature of fetishism and transvestitism more accurately describe Cuban culture as a whole. …
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