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Content Warning: This part of the guide features depictions of gender discrimination, antigay bias, sexual violence and/or harassment, mental illness, substance use, addiction, graphic violence, sexual content, illness or death, physical abuse, and emotional abuse.
Five narrators in March-June 1981 reflect on Lima and Belano.
Rafael Barrios, in San Diego, compares Lima and Belano to Dennis Hopper in Easy Rider—fast-moving, high-energy figures—while Müller resembled Peter Fonda. Just before their 1976 Sonora trip, Barrios came to understand their conduct as an unorthodox form of political engagement.
His partner, Barbara Patterson, dismisses this, recounting how she worked and ran the household while he did nothing. In Mexico, she once arranged a meeting with a visiting Cuban poet, forbidding any mention of visceral realism and inventing a funding source for a magazine. When the Cuban unexpectedly mentioned the movement himself, Patterson involuntarily cried out. Rafael described the visceral realists; the Cuban pushed for manifestos and ideological clarity. Patterson cut in to say those days were over. Rafael left the Cuban a manuscript.
Journalist José “Zopilote” Colina recalls a 1975 scene at El Nacional, where editor Don Juan Rejano was visited by a young blonde named Verónica Volkow—identified to Belano afterward as Trotsky’s great-granddaughter. All three poets immediately abandoned their wait and ran after her. Colina later spotted them laughing with her at a café.
Volkow, from the airport in April 1981, corrects Colina’s assumption that they never met again, recalling a second encounter in mid-1976 outside a film premiere on Reforma, where the poets appeared disheveled and out of place. A short, dark third man recognized her and praised her poetry. They were gone by the time the film ended.
Pérez Camarga insists that Lima and Belano were primarily drug dealers, supplying marijuana and mushrooms to a circle of artists including himself, introduced by the architect Quim Font. They were professional but emotionally cold, openly contemptuous of established figures like Octavio Paz and José Luis Cuevas, and showed no real interest in sex.
Hugo Montero, a cultural organizer, testifies from a Mexico City bar in May 1982 about placing Lima on a January writers’ delegation to Sandinista Nicaragua as a last-minute fill-in. The delegation’s head, the poet Álamo, was furious to find Lima aboard the flight.
In Managua, Lima attended none of the official events and did not return to the hotel for several nights. On the morning of departure, Lima’s roommate confirmed he had disappeared after the second day. Álamo stripped Montero of his role. Julio Labarca, the delegation’s Marxist theoretician, took charge: He called the police and led a meeting, concluding the group should depart on schedule. A Sandinista inspector questioned Álamo, Labarca, and Montero, with the interview dissolving into a comic dispute over Mexican versus Cuban tobacco.
Montero was the last to leave, writing Lima a letter urging him to contact the Mexican embassy. Before departing, Don Pancracio, a veteran Guatemalan writer, told him a riddle about a lost poet who survives despite losing everything—the poet loses everything but does not die.
Jacinto Requena went to the airport, expecting Lima to be among the returning delegation, but found only the other writers. He learned Lima had vanished in Managua. The next day, Montero told him the incident would cost him his job.
Xóchitl García pushed Jacinto to call Lima’s mother, but Jacinto framed the disappearance in literary terms, comparing Lima to Ambrose Bierce and Pushkin. Xóchitl rejected these analogies and went to tell Lima’s mother herself.
Rafael Barrios heard the news in September 1982. Barbara Patterson notes it worsened their already bleak domestic situation, with Rafael completely idle and spending his days with neighborhood teenagers who called him “Poet Man” (366).
Luis Sebastián Rosado recalls how, in March 1983, he received a call from Luscious Skin after more than a year of silence. They spend a month together, during which time Luscious Skin developed a theory: Lima and Belano’s 1976 Sonora trip to find the poet Cesárea Tinajero put them in the crosshairs of an unnamed organization. They fled together, then separately to Europe; Lima’s return to Mexico triggered renewed danger. The source is María Font, who had it from her institutionalized father, Quim Font. Rosado’s literary contacts find no record of Tinajero. One morning while Rosado is at work, Luscious Skin vanishes, taking money and clothes. He leaves no note.
Four narrators cover January 1976 through February 1984.
Amadeo Salvatierra’s account turns to General Diego Carvajal, Cesárea Tinajero’s employer and patron of the stridentists. Initially cold and suspicious, Carvajal won the poets over by ordering tequila, bread, and cheese. He had planned to help Maples Arce build the ideologically-designed city, Stridentopolis, in Jalapa. In 1930, Carvajal was killed at the Rojo y Negro brothel along with his bodyguard, a sex worker, and three gunmen. Amadeo describes it as a political assassination.
Joaquín Font testifies from La Fortaleza in March 1983. When his daughter visited and mentioned Lima’s disappearance, Font pretended he had read it in a newspaper, concealing that a fellow inmate had whispered the news to him two weeks earlier.
Xóchitl García, in January 1984, describes her life after separating from Jacinto: She deepened her friendship with María Font and devoted herself to writing poetry while working as a cashier. María had stopped writing by this time and cycled through a series of lovers.
Luis Sebastián Rosado testifies in February 1984 that Luscious Skin was dead. Police killed everyone at a Tlalnepantla boardinghouse during a drug raid. Luscious Skin carried no identification; the only clue was a slip of paper with the address of Julita, the sister of Rosado’s friend, Albertito Moore. Albertito and Julita spent the night finding and identifying the badly disfigured body at the morgue but declined to take custody of it. Luscious Skin had been seeing Julita after leaving Rosado, having taken her number from his address book.
Four narrators speak from September 1985 through January 1986.
Jacinto Requena reports that in September 1985, Lima returned quietly to Mexico nearly four years after his disappearance. He lives in a tenement in Colonia Guerrero, sells marijuana, and shares the space with a woman named Lola and her young son. Lima tells Jacinto he spent his time on a metaphorical river between Mexico and Central America, passing two allegorical islands: one frozen in nostalgia, where inhabitants sink comfortably under the weight of the past, and one oriented entirely toward the future, where restless planners threaten to destroy one another.
Joaquín Font testifies from La Fortaleza in September 1985. The Mexico City earthquake triggers a vision of the deceased Laura Damián, who assures him everything is fine. Afterward, Font lies to her spirit that the young poets of Mexico are doing well.
Xóchitl García testifies in January 1986 about her failed attempts to publish her work. Editors, she remembers, either do not know the visceral realists or turn her away because of the association. She eventually publishes in a minor magazine, Tamal, learns the trade, and begins an affair with the married editor, López Tapia, using her position to publish work by Jacinto and María. When she refuses his proposal that they live together, the relationship deteriorates. She secures newspaper copyediting work, quits her cashier job, and ends things with López Tapia.
Back in January 1976, Amadeo shows Belano and Lima the only surviving issue of Cesárea Tinajero’s magazine, Caborca. Her sole published poem, Sión, consists of three drawings: a rectangle, a straight line, and a wavy line. Amadeo confesses he has never understood it in over 40 years. Lima claims he once glimpsed the poem in a childhood fever dream. After a long examination, the boys claim to have understood the poem’s meaning.
Joaquín Font testifies in August 1987 following his release from La Fortaleza. He returns home to find his wife gone and remarried, his daughters scattered, and his son living with a quiet girlfriend named Lola. Font is mugged twice on neighborhood walks and lies to former colleagues about having traveled abroad in order to find work as a draftsman. He befriends his young employer, Juan Arenas, but Arenas eventually disappears without notice. At a party, Font spots his long-lost 1974 Ford Impala passing slowly outside the gate. When his glasses fall in shock, he realizes for the first time that he wears them—a moment he interprets as suddenly being able to perceive change. He looks for the driver, half expecting to see Cesárea Tinajero, but finds only a stranger or no one. The car vanishes, and Font concludes that fate governs everything.
Andrés Ramírez, a Chilean exile, testifies from Barcelona in December 1988. He stowed away aboard the cargo ship Napoli in March 1975, nearly dying of fever before reaching the city. He soon found dishwashing work and began experiencing involuntary numerical visions that led him to win a large soccer pool prize. He regularized his immigration status, opened bars and a restaurant, and brought his family from Chile. Still haunted by the origin of his luck, he hired Arturo Belano as a dishwasher and confided his secret visions to him. One night, Ramírez fell into a waking vision in which his entire Barcelona life seemed a hallucination in the Napoli’s hold; opening his eyes, he saw numbers swarming the walls. He resolved never to play again and gave Belano his final pay with a generous bonus.
Abel Romero testifies from a Paris café in September 1989. At a gathering of Chilean exiles on September 11, 1983, he met Belano and identified himself as a former policeman, now running an office-cleaning cooperative. Walking together afterward, Romero put his central question to Belano: If evil operates with purpose, there is a fighting chance against it; if it is entirely random, there is none.
Throughout Part 2, the protagonists’ identities are endlessly renegotiated by conflicting testimonies. The deeper the reader moves into Part 2, the further away the protagonists seem, as the conflicting accounts and subjective interpretations of the characters stray further from any kind of certainty. The narrative form of the novel deepens this effect through repetition. Rather than providing a cohesive portrait of Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima, the narrative presents a mosaic of contradictory perceptions which become increasingly fragmented and more abstract as the characters move further away from Mexico. For instance, the painter Alfonso Pérez Camarga dismisses the duo as emotionally cold drug dealers, asserting, “They were salesmen, and that was all” (348). Conversely, the journalist José Colina remembers them laughing with Verónica Volkow, viewing them romantically as young rebels adjacent to Bolshevik history. Furthermore, Luis Sebastián Rosado’s former lover, Luscious Skin, invents an elaborate, paranoid conspiracy theory to explain the poets’ sudden flight to Sonora, illustrating how individuals project their own anxieties onto the visceral realists. Luscious Skin’s account, in particular, is even further removed from objective reality because it is related through the perspective of Luis Sebastián Rosado. Even peripheral members like Rafael Barrios are subjected to conflicting views; he considers his behavior an unorthodox political engagement, while his partner, Barbara Patterson, dismisses it as mere idleness. These juxtaposed voices refuse to yield a single, authoritative truth. By filtering the characters through a dizzying array of subjective lenses, the text structurally mirrors a post-Boom aesthetic, discarding sweeping national allegories in favor of a decentralized reality sustained by the subjective projections of disparate witnesses.
Lima’s disappearance during a Sandinista-sponsored literary delegation to Managua exemplifies his refusal to compromise his anti-authoritarian ethos. By vanishing and completely ignoring the official schedule, Lima implicitly rejects the performative, state-sanctioned solidarity of the delegation’s older poets. This ideological purity, however, offers no shelter from material hardship. Back in Mexico City, Xóchitl García’s struggle to survive as a single mother forces her to abandon poetic purity. Whereas Lima can vanish into the ether, she is confronted with the material reality of poverty, a far more substantial and pressing consequence of devoting a life to poetry. She trades writing for a grueling cashier job, then subsequently engages in an affair with a married magazine editor to secure publication for herself and her friends. Xóchitl’s pragmatic compromises starkly contrast with Lima’s rebellious drifting, yet both underscore the intense economic precariousness of their generation and the refusal to glorify the life of a poet. These narrative arcs reflect the broader political disillusionment following the 1968 Tlatelolco massacre. Stripped of faith in official institutions, the characters attempt to forge independent artistic lives, only to discover that their bohemian rebellion is unsustainable when directly confronted with the crushing demands of poverty and social marginalization.
When Amadeo Salvatierra finally presents Belano and Lima with the sole surviving issue of the stridentist magazine Caborca, the revelation is notably anticlimactic. Tinajero’s only published work, Sión, is not a profound verse, as might have been expected for the founding text of a poetry movement. Instead, it is a visual poem consisting merely of a rectangle and straight, wavy, and jagged lines. After extensively studying the cryptic artifact, the two young poets simply declare that “there is no mystery” (399). Their reaction strips the foundational relic of its esoteric grandeur, proving that the poem itself is functionally less important than the mythology they have built (and will continue to build) around it. The visceral realists rely on Tinajero’s absence to project their own radical ideals onto her, constructing an anti-establishment lineage out of an unreadable image. By elevating such an abstract work of non-poetry as their literary touchstone, the protagonists reject the idea of an established canon. Their quest thrives precisely because its object is devoid of conventional meaning, allowing the poets to sustain a literary pilgrimage that fundamentally prioritizes the radical act of interpretation over any definitive academic answer. As in the form of the novel, in which the conflicting subjective accounts of the poets’ lives defy any attempt to define objective reality, the poets emphasize the importance of interpretation rather than the significance of the text itself.
Finally, the testimonies emphasize the psychological casualties of a decentralized, post-nationalist landscape. Following his release from the psychiatric hospital La Fortaleza, Joaquín Font is entirely unable to anchor himself in his drastically altered family life. The familiar, familial atmosphere of Part 1 is completely dissolved. His alienation peaks when he hallucinates his missing 1974 Ford Impala crawling down the street with no driver, an image that encapsulates his inability to process loss. Similarly, the Chilean exile Andrés Ramírez is haunted by involuntary, swarming numerical visions that arise from the trauma of stowing away in a ship’s hold, framing his economic survival as a psychological fracture. Meanwhile, Luscious Skin meets a violent, anonymous end during a police drug raid in Tlalnepantla. Carrying no identification, his body is reduced to “dead flesh with no memories” (386), identified only through a scrap of paper linking him to a former lover. The interpretation of this paper, like the interpretation of Tinajero’s poem, is what defines his identity. These men exist on the extreme periphery of society—Font and Ramírez trapped by their fractured minds, and Luscious Skin erased by state violence. Through these marginal figures, the narrative suggests that history is equally defined by the trauma and erasure of its wandering outcasts.



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