Nobel-Prize-winner Mario Vargas Llosa has been described as “a literary colossus”. He might well be, but certainly not on the merits of The Neighbourhood. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that that this 2016 novel is badly written. But, certainly, I expected better from one of the biggest names in South American fiction.

In essence, The Neighbourhood is a crime thriller set in 1990s Peru, against the backdrop of the Fujimori regime. It is a time of political unrest. Kidnappings and violent terrorist attacks, curfews and blackouts are the order of the day. Despite these “inconveniences”, industrialist Enrique, his bosom friend (and legal advisor) Luciano, and their respective wives Marisa and Chabelo, lead a privileged existence, waited upon by maids and servants, enjoying parties and the occasional trip to Miami. Things go awry when a sleazy journalist Rolando Garro blackmails Enrique with some compromising photographs. This is just the start of Enrique’s troubles. When Garro is found dead, Enrique becomes a suspect in a tangled skein which will have implications up to the highest echelons of Peruvian power, reaching Fujimori himself (and giving Vargas Llosa, Fujimori’s real-life political rival, the opportunity for sweet, literary revenge).

The story is enjoyable enough and Vargas Llosa occasionally spices it up with some stylistic experiments – such as a chapter written in the form of an interview, and another in which, like a frenzied film director, the third person narrator jumps from one scene/character to another in a feverish vortex. But at the end of it all, the novel feels shallow, much like the vacuous, cringe-worthy dialogue between the book’s “star couples”.

And then there’s the sex. Marisa and Chabela, who identify themselves as heterosexual, suddenly discover a physical desire for each other and, later in the novel, a passion for threesomes. OK, I get the point about this aspect of the novel standing for the dishonesty, cheating and secrecy which taint all the characters. However, the voyeuristic sex scenes, radical as they might have been, say, forty years ago, now come across as, at best, unnecessary and, at worst, disturbingly like a prurient male fantasy.

I have read some great translations by veteran Edith Grossman, and I’m sure she does a great job here – this is not enough, however, to assuage my sense of disappointment at this novel.

https://endsoftheword.blogspot.com/2021/09/the-neighbourhood-by-mario-vargas-llo... ( )

Llosa is edging towards becoming my favorite author... This definitely helped. A wonderful exploration of the fragility of power, the hypocrisy of conservatives, and most of all- a very different and damning description of life under the Fujimori government. ( )

Nobel-Prize-winner Mario Vargas Llosa has been described as “a literary colossus”. He might well be, but certainly not on the merits of The Neighbourhood. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that that this 2016 novel is badly written. But, certainly, I expected better from one of the biggest names in South American fiction.

In essence, The Neighbourhood is a crime thriller set in 1990s Peru, against the backdrop of the Fujimori regime. It is a time of political unrest. Kidnappings and violent terrorist attacks, curfews and blackouts are the order of the day. Despite these “inconveniences”, industrialist Enrique, his bosom friend (and legal advisor) Luciano, and their respective wives Marisa and Chabelo, lead a privileged existence, waited upon by maids and servants, enjoying parties and the occasional trip to Miami. Things go awry when a sleazy journalist Rolando Garro blackmails Enrique with some compromising photographs. This is just the start of Enrique’s troubles. When Garro is found dead, Enrique becomes a suspect in a tangled skein which will have implications up to the highest echelons of Peruvian power, reaching Fujimori himself (and giving Vargas Llosa, Fujimori’s real-life political rival, the opportunity for sweet, literary revenge).

The story is enjoyable enough and Vargas Llosa occasionally spices it up with some stylistic experiments – such as a chapter written in the form of an interview, and another in which, like a frenzied film director, the third person narrator jumps from one scene/character to another in a feverish vortex. But at the end of it all, the novel feels shallow, much like the vacuous, cringe-worthy dialogue between the book’s “star couples”.

And then there’s the sex. Marisa and Chabela, who identify themselves as heterosexual, suddenly discover a physical desire for each other and, later in the novel, a passion for threesomes. OK, I get the point about this aspect of the novel standing for the dishonesty, cheating and secrecy which taint all the characters. However, the voyeuristic sex scenes, radical as they might have been, say, forty years ago, now come across as, at best, unnecessary and, at worst, disturbingly like a prurient male fantasy.

I have read some great translations by veteran Edith Grossman, and I’m sure she does a great job here – this is not enough, however, to assuage my sense of disappointment at this novel.

https://endsoftheword.blogspot.com/2021/09/the-neighbourhood-by-mario-vargas-llo... ( )

I expected more from Vargas Llosa but this is a failed effort. I have liked his books for a long time but this one is not up to par. The Feast of the Goat and The War of The End of the World are my favorites. Which is why this one is a disappointment. The characters are one-note, one-dimensional. The chapters are repetitive and voyeuristic. More on the context of Peru during the late years of the Fujimori regime, and more on the doings of infamous Vladimiro Montesinos, along with doings of the Shining Path and MRTA would have added some dimensions and depth. Instead, it's mostly rich people complaining about how tiresome the curfew, and terrorism, and kidnappings are. Give this one a hard pass. ( )

Hmm. This isn't easy to review. At first it seems Vargas Llosa wants to write a detective story, partially through the prism of gossip magazine journalism. Its as if he has been reading James Ellroy, especially L.A Confidential, and wants to write a Peruvian version. Sounds promising, and in fact the set-up is efficient enough. The seedy proprietor of a trashy magazine is dead. Scores of people might have had a motive, but the narrative focuses on four; a businessman being blackmailed by the magazine for compromising photographs of him with prostitutes, his bitter wife, an ex-TV comedian fallen on hard times after losing his career due to the magazine, and the proprietor's protege. Looming over all of this - because its set in the 1990s rather than now - is the baleful presence of the Peruvian security service led by a character clearly based on Vladimiro Montesinos, ex head of that entity

But - so far so good. But then the problems start to creep up. Firstly, Mario Vargas Llosa has the Nobel Prize for Literature, and I do not, so if he wants to write bad lesbian sex scenes, and add the Bad Sex in Fiction award to his numerous other honours, well, that's up to him. But the sex writing is bad - its really bad. Adolescents would be embarrassed. At first I thought he was trying to draw a contrast between the pampered bourgeousie, so bored that all that excites them is increasingly risky sex, and the trampled working class, simply trying to keep their heads above water. Perhaps that was the initial intent - but in the end, its just bad sex. Try not to laugh too loudly.

Secondly, is Peruvian politics of the 1990s. If a Peruvian author wants to criticise ex President Alberto Fujimori, well fine, there's plenty to criticise. But then the reader remembers Vargas Llosa was Fujimori's opponent in the 1990 Presidential Election. And in this book, a false birtherist claim against Fujimori, that he was born in Japan rather than Peru (and so should not have been eligible for the Presidency) . Alright, this is a work of fiction, and some people at the time did believe it. But the reader starts to wonder whether this is fiction or a platform for the author to attach his past political enemies.

Thirdly, the plot expires about half way through the book. Its clear who is guilty, and why, and what the outcome will be. The rest of the book is Llosa's imagination of the Montesimos character. And this is not uninteresting, but we are just waiting for the final, inevitable revelation, which it appears even the author is too tired to put much effort into. And a final twist seems to be more about what the author would have liked to have happened in 1990s Peru than what did.

So.. not unreadable, it fairly zips along. But probably the least good work of a very good writer. If you haven't, read The Green House, or The Real Life of Alejandro Mayta or even Aunt Julia and The Scriptwriter, read those instead ( )