Guillermo Cabrera Infante - Works

Works

  • Así en la paz como en la guerra (1960, "In peace as in war"; a pun on a line from the Lord's Prayer)
  • Twentieth Century Job (1963, a collection film reviews, published in Spanish as "Un oficio del siglo XX")
  • Tres Tristes Tigres (1967, novel, published in English as Three Trapped Tigers; the original title refers to a Spanish-language tongue-twister, and literally means "Three Sad Tigers"); portions of this were later republished as Ella cantaba boleros
  • Vista del amanecer en el trópico (1974, novel, published in English as "A View of Dawn in the Tropics")
  • Exorcismos de esti(l)o (1976, novel, "Exorcisms of style"; estilo means style and estío, summertime)
  • La Habana para un Infante Difunto (1979, memoir, published in English as Infante's Inferno; the Spanish title is a pun on "Pavane pour une infante defunte", title of a piano piece by Maurice Ravel)
  • Holy Smoke, 1985 (in English, later translated into Spanish as Puro Humo)
  • Delito por bailar el chachachá, 1995 (in English: Guilty of Dancing the ChaChaCha, 2001, translated by himself)
  • Cine o sardina (1997, "Cinema or sardine", alludes to the choice his mother gave him between eating and going to the movies)
  • Vidas para leerlas (1998, essays, "Lives to be read")
  • Arcadia todas las noches ("Arcadia every night")
  • Mea Cuba (1991, political essays, the title means "Cuba Pisses" or "Cuba is Pissing" and is a pun on "Mea Culpa")
  • Infantería (title is a pun on his name and the Spanish for "infantry")

Cabrera Infante also translated James Joyce's Dubliners into Spanish (1972) and wrote screenplays, including Vanishing Point and the adaptation of Malcolm Lowry's Under the Volcano.

Read more about this topic:  Guillermo Cabrera Infante

Famous quotes containing the word works:

    Now they express
    All that’s content to wear a worn-out coat,
    All actions done in patient hopelessness,
    All that ignores the silences of death,
    Thinking no further than the hand can hold,
    All that grows old,
    Yet works on uselessly with shortened breath.
    Philip Larkin (1922–1986)

    The works of women are symbolical.
    We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull our sight,
    Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
    To put on when you’re weary or a stool
    To stumble over and vex you ... “curse that stool!”
    Or else at best, a cushion, where you lean
    And sleep, and dream of something we are not,
    But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
    This hurts most, this ... that, after all, we are paid
    The worth of our work, perhaps.
    Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)

    We thus worked our way up this river, gradually adjusting our thoughts to novelties, beholding from its placid bosom a new nature and new works of men, and, as it were with increasing confidence, finding nature still habitable, genial, and propitious to us; not following any beaten path, but the windings of the river, as ever the nearest way for us. Fortunately, we had no business in this country.
    Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)