I thought I'd be done with the hedonism/nihilism self-destruction confession narrative after "I Pass Like Night," but months ago in Mexico, Miguel Calderon told me I had to find "El Vampiro de la Colonia Roma" by Luis Zapata, to see just how glorious rotten living can be when filtered as high fiction. The novel, which I found in the Spanish-language section of the downtown Central Library, follows the exploits of Adonis Garcia, a male street hustler in 1970s Mexico City.
Adonis -- cynical, lonesome, an addict of various substances, blissfully perverted -- wanders the city's restaurants, subway stations, parks and cinemas, collecting experiences as a prostitute, live-in sextoy for the extravagantly wealthy, and just a general fiend for sex with men. It's shocking how far he goes to satisfy whatever twisted cravings burn at his heart. Even so, anyone can come to love Adonis for his frankness and wanderlust, his verve.
"Vampiro" is written in a streaming style, without punctuation or proper sentences, as if a voice recorder were capturing Adonis' rambling recollections over several days. Apparently there's an English translation, retitled "Adonis Garcia." See this interesting post on it at The Mex Files.
"El Vampiro de la Colonia Roma" is a raw, grating story, and often very funny. The narrator has a very satisfying sense of humor and perspective. As soon as his voice trails off for good, you begin to miss Adonis, a nickname he acquires on the streets. "Si uno no es feliz es por pendejo," he says. (Basically, If one isn't happy it's because one's an idiot.)
The sick bastard, though, would surely never have been invited to join the ranks of "The Savage Detectives."