The Other/Argentina: Jews, Gender, and Sexuality in the Making of a Modern Nation by Amy K. Kaminsky (review)

Indeed, delirious. As an aid, the author includes an insert, a roadmap of sorts: a genealogical diagram detailing what is to him the convoluted nature of modern Latin American cultural and political history. Granés’s focus is, on the one hand, vast: He gives consideration to a plethora of poets, painters, essayists, dictators, and so on, from all the regions (and subregions) of Latin America during the time period in question. He could have started his account prior to Martí (with Bolívar, for instance, or even Spanish colonialism itself), but a longer temporal framework was not necessary for Granés’s argument. Opening the book with Martí’s reckless charge sets the stage in dramatic fashion; in addition, Latin American cultural and political history post Martí is (as the author shows) already intricate enough. On the other hand, there are recurring dramatis personae, ideas, and debates in Delirio americano: these serve as guides in what is otherwise a lengthy and dense text of more than five hundred pages before the endnotes. Some of these include the longstanding impact of José Enrique Rodo’s essay “Ariel,” related notions of anti-Yankeeism, and the skepticism toward science and pragmatism often found in the region. The author is adept at showing, through many examples, how poets and novelists in the region influenced the ideologies of political leaders; indeed, it was not uncommon for Latin American writers to become rulers of their countries. In many respects, as Granés makes plain, at stake in its various intellectual debates are views regarding the nature and destiny of Latin America: is the region, on account of its history and demography, destined (doomed, even) to frenzied and cacophonous political experiments that often lead to dictatorship, tyranny, and a pervasive sense of victimhood? Similarly, is Latin America the land of magical realism, opaque to—and essentially different from—the rest of the world? Or is it best, as intellectuals like Mario Vargas Llosa have posited in what might be described as a counter option, for the region to commit to the path of liberalism and democracy, messy and protracted though this path may be? Granés argues for the counter option, placing himself firmly in the camp of Vargas Llosa and other Latin American intellectuals who became disillusioned with the upheavals, power grabs, and polarization characteristic of the region (and which are becoming, Granés observes, increasingly common beyond the region). In contrast, readers committed to the first array of options will almost certainly find Granés’s book unconvincing (if not misguided). In addition, one could further critique Delirio americano as paying too much attention to masculine, patriarchal cultural and political figures and institutions. Granted, there are counterexamples of female artists, intellectuals, and political figures (e.g., Nahui Olin, Doris Salcedo, and Evita Perón), but in the study they are probably best considered the exceptions that prove the rule. Conversely, however, it is also clear in Granés’s book that the delirium he observes in Latin America has mostly masculine and patriarchal roots. Readers who have yet to make up their minds about Latin America will find Delirio americano a worthwhile and educational read: the writing (in Spanish) is clear and aimed at a general readership curious about Latin American culture, and there are many insights (both large and small) on the region, its history, and its thinkers. Rudyard Alcocer University of Tennessee