Once Upon a Honeymoon Suite

On Ana Diosdado’s 321, 322

Ana Diosdado
(Buenos Aires, 1938 - Madrid, 2015)

An interesting innovation was posed by playwright (and novelist and actress) Ana Diosdado when 321, 322 premiered in 1991. Unlike Noël Coward’s Suite in Three Keys (1966), or Neil Simon’s Plaza Suite (1968) and California Suite (1976), which showed different occupants of the same hotel suite in each act, Diosdado’s two-act play stages what is happening in both suite 321 and suite 322 at the same time. No, we are not meaning a scenic design split in half; the whole stage represents both suites, so their occupants share the same space (i.e., during performance, the actors playing characters from one suite take no notice of the presence of the others throughout the show).

Regarding what is the predominant interest for us here in spanishgayfiction.blogspot.com, we are going to respectfully ignore the events in suite 321, and focus on what is cooking in the other suite. Let’s take a sneak peek. . .

Jorge and Sara are newlyweds: both young and beautiful and shiny happy at first sight ― what could be wrong with them? They love playing charades envisioning what their marriage would become several years from then. . .and the audience can soon notice through these games an obvious underlying dialogue dripping unexpectedly disillusioned, disquieting thoughts for honeymooners.

Sara seems far from being the typical bride. In her opinion, the wedding has been ridiculous: both her mother and Jorge’s quickly took charge of the plans, preventing the bride and groom from making any single choice. Why the rush after only a three-month engagement? Jorge told his mother that Sara was pregnant; his family is a wealthy traditional family, so the wedding had to be celebrated. Concerning Sara, she does not care; just living with Jorge and remaining unmarried is OK with her, but ― given her working-class background, the in-laws presume that she has married Jorge so as to climb the social ladder. Is she really that ambitious?

The truth is that Sara is not expecting. How could she? They have never had sex with each other. Sara has been waiting for tonight to ask Jorge the reason of his unjustified respect for her all along, as Jorge has already been in the know that she is sexually experienced. Jorge is reluctant to answer but, after Sara’s strong insistence, he shyly admits his genuine virginity. His wife finds it peculiar, so she suggests whether Jorge may not like women at all; Jorge gets serious and claims that he does indeed. The wife gives in (for the time being) and blames his unspoiled status on his mother’s hidebound influence. This controlling lady even makes an urging call to her sonny that night: Thou shalt not covet thy own wife. . .until she gives birth!! On account of the official version stating that Sara is only at her second month of pregnancy ― Just do the math. Now that the bride and groom can enjoy the sweet advantages of marriage, Jorge wants it to happen pronto; as if it were about a surgical intervention the patient is hoping to end soon. . .

Another of Jorge’s singularities is that he usually interacts with an invisible St. Bernard called Buby. According to him, Buby sleeps every night at the foot of his bed, and tonight is no exception. Sara has always been understanding and gone along with Jorge, but she also wonders whether this delusion of his should last much longer ― It seems to be the night of disclosure, so Jorge reveals that Buby truly existed in real life; his late father gave it to him when he was a child, and some years later a truck ran over poor Buby and. . .Back then Mother explained that heaven is no place for canines, therefore Jorge determined that Buby would stick around, though unseen. Sara gets emotional, and you can see in her disposition that she will never try to change her husband’s mind again; Jorge sees her resolution as a bigger act of love.

Jorge’s life goal was becoming a professional musician, but his mother persuaded him to get a degree in business administration instead; furthermore, an occupation in the family business and a brand-new sumptuous flat are waiting for him after the honeymoon. As long as they stay together, Sara does not mind Jorge’s career decision. On the contrary, Jorge feels that his wife got captivated by the flawless property acquisition, exposing her feigned attitude of unselfish girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Straightforwardly, Sara questions her husband whether he believes that she is a gold digger. Jorge does not bother to deny; then Sara breaks out and asserts that his only aim is acting as a regular heterosexual guy in his mother’s eyes, since Jorge secretly loves his gay friend Chema ― What a bomb! Jorge gets incensed; he opts to take Buby for a walk, and the woeful wife shuts herself in the bedroom.

Later, Jorge comes back to the suite under the influence, seeking after Sara into the bedroom. After a while, Sara emerges furiously: she condemns Jorge’s disgusting macho behavior there in, as if he needed to prove his cojones. Jorge suggests that they would rather pretend nothing happened and give it another shot; Sara agrees. . .but this time she will leave the bedroom all disenchanted.

Subsequently, Sara remembers how gleeful Jorge looked the happy occasion when they two and Chema danced avidly all together; now it is about time that Jorge must choose only one dancing partner. Eventually, Jorge confesses that he has been in love with Chema; Sara reacts proposing a separation. He worries about scandal, and vows to be always faithful. But now Sara is positive that Jorge got married because this is a much comfier position for him than an openly gay relationship;[1] she recommends Jorge to quit the family job and go on tour with his band, of which Chema is also a member. Some months later, when Jorge will be back, they can discuss their future; right now he must leave Sara alone in the suite and book another one ― tomorrow he shall take Sara back to her family home.

All is over for this young couple. . .Or at least that is what it seemed; before tomorrow comes, Jorge enters back the suite determined to talk Sara into not throwing in the towel for now. Jorge agrees about the tour, but with a difference this time: one band member less ― yes, that one ― and for good. Sara is finally at ease now; so the reunited are ready for their first breakfast together as a married couple. . .and Buby can wait outside. THE END.

However ― what will become of these poor guys? Why should Sara trust that her husband will never break his vow? How can Jorge be sure that he will never fall for another man again? Are they really going to make each other happy, or devastatingly frustrated instead? Well, life is too complicated ― we all should agree about that. While we keep caught in this web of mingled yarn, Diosdado’s characters decide to put the ill aside. It might only take the time they are enjoying their breakfast, but no one can refuse to this pair their right to esteem that they have found Prince Charming in each other for a while ― the rest of their lives? Not our business.

We are not going to conceal that we have an annoying feeling with this play. Jorge’s homosexuality is more or less subtly related to an absent father and a possessive mother; thus, Jorge is depicted as quite naïve and confused. . .He even stays friends with an invisible dog from childhood now in his twenties! ― No problem so far: a positive picture of a gay man does not need to portray a kind of absolute superman. But we find rather controversial the idea that his sexual orientation is just a childish stage from which one could get over with the little help of a regular woman with a down-to-earth viewpoint that Sara (arguably) represents. We are dealing with a piece of literature from the last decade of the 20^th century here; not too distant from our times and customs ― that is why we expect a less therapeutic, more normalized treatment of the topic.[2]

Anyway, our reading might be much more serious than what Ana Diosdado could probably expect when she wrote the play: the stage directions suggest an unreal atmosphere, so let’s think that the author was, just like her creations, fooling around.

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[1] Remember the fact that 321, 322 premiered in the early 1990s, when same-sex marriage was a still-to-be-legalized right to fight for.

[2] We can find a similar situation in Diosdado’s script for a popular Spanish TV series: Segunda enseñanza (“Secondary Education”), 1986. In episode 8, “Tabúes” (“Taboos”), a female student, Sisi (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón), expresses her feelings for her female teacher Rosa (Ana Marzoa); in response, Rosa hopes that Sisi’s homosexuality is just a teen phase that she is just going through ― if not, the girl will have a friend in her, in any case.

The Girlfriendless Dream-Boy Mystery

On Andreu Martín and Jaume Ribera’s El diario rojo de Flanagan (“Flanagan’s Red Notebook”)

In 1987 a new hero showed up in the world of Spanish young-adult fiction: Juan Anguera, commonly known by his nickname, Flanagan. A high-school amateur detective, his investigations usually start in his own school or in his working class neighborhood in Barcelona, and then lead the way to actual hardboiled adventures. Despite his youth, Flanagan stoically endures punches and beatings from the typical sour-faced villains, as well as he lives impossible romances in a series of hugely entertaining mystery books.

However, in 2004 Martín and Ribera got their creation embarked on a quest for something different; El diario rojo de Flanagan means quite a personal, intimate adventure for our teen sleuth. After a misunderstanding with Carlota, a young girl whose wallet Flanagan gets recovered in an attempted robbery in the subway, they both will experience a feverish infatuation (like dogs in heat, if I may say so), taking them to explore the always fascinating territory of sex.

Hope the reader is not now thinking of the novel as an erotic book—The approach by these two brainy, thoughtful teenagers will be done from the researcher’s perspective. They purchase a red notebook each[1] where they will take down anything related to the world of sexuality: statistical data (such as teen pregnancy annual rate), explanations on sexual organs functions, mixed feelings experienced by adolescents in their first sexual intercourse. . .Nonetheless, this is not all a cold chain of listed data; as I have previously noted in my canine & meteorological expression, Flanagan and Carlota live a passionate romance which will reach its highest point in their first sexual relationship. A relationship full of doubts, surprises, curiosities, insecurities, and—no wonder—some dissatisfaction.

In the meantime Flanagan is (as usual) undertaking one of his high school investigations. Classmate Jorge Castells is consumingly jealous of Jenny Gómez, who does not seem to be interested at all in him but has it bad for Guillermo Mira (a.k.a. El Mirage, a nickname given by his naughty female classmates, implying he is so tall that looking at his face is just as looking at a plane up in the sky, as well as a reference to his distant attitude towards them all; quite a snub, as we are talking about the most sought-after hot guy in the whole school). Apparently, Mira seems to want nothing but a simple friendship from Jenny. But Flanagan—at suspicious Castells’s request—tails Mira through the city of Barcelona, and finds out that he usually visits trendy restaurant owner Yolanda Cabanach’s apartment at night.

Flanagan gets shocked at first that Mirage may have an affair with a woman older than him (a funny teen remark, don’t you think?). Eventually, Mirage’s object of affection does not happen to be Mrs. Cabanach, but her son. Flanagan catches Mira hooking up with Cabanach Jr. at their surprise (not only Mira and his partner’s, but also the teen detective’s). Then Mira asks his spying classmate to keep it a secret; a promise Flanagan will certainly fulfill.

How come a 21^st century European young citizen anxiously wishes to keep his sexual orientation a secret from his fellow classmates—this really is a thought-provoking question.[2]

This wonderfully written novel is not only a good, delightful reference book for all those teenagers curious about sexuality, but also a helpful tool for parents to talk openly and honestly about sex with their children. As educational as enjoyable. Flanagan hits the target once again.

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[1] Carlota’s own view on this same story is told in Gemma Lienas’s novel El diario rojo de Carlota (“Carlota’s Red Notebook”). Carlota, as Flanagan, leads her own literary saga: a series of books where Carlota writes down her experience and reflections on various topics—particularly women’s— in notebooks, a different color each. Needless to say that the obvious inspiration of Lienas’s creation is Anna Wulf, the unforgettable protagonist of Nobel Prize-winning Doris Lessing’s 1962 novel The Golden Notebook.

[2] In the abovementioned Lienas’s book, Carlota also has a homosexual classmate, Gabi. As opposed to El Mirage’s case, Gabi’s male classmates make fun of him because of his mild, unmanly attitude—Let’s say Gabi’s homosexuality is an open secret—. Anyway, when he admits it to Carlota, he will ask her to keep it a secret as well.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Gay Man

On Eduardo Mendicutti's El ángel descuidado (The Careless Angel)

It was by the end of 2002 when El ángel descuidado showed up in Spanish libraries. The author, Eduardo Mendicutti, is a well-known national writer, particularly unconditional to gay-themed fiction. Let me try to give my personal account on this appealing novel.

One can find in Mendicutti's work some usual clichés in gay fiction. First of all, the romantic couple: Rafael Lacave and Nicolás Camacho represent the stereotyped gay lovers. Rafael is the smart, high-class, sensitive, imaginative, and effeminate half; Nicolás, the tough, low-class, manly, and sexy one. God also gifted him with a big fat-sized penis--the icing of this ultra-macho (beef)cake of desire--Besides, the environment they live in is none other than a religious congregation. The pattern of homosexual relationships in a deep Christian atmosphere has been discussed many times and can be found in other works of fiction or films (i.e., Pedro Almodóvar's Bad Education or C. Jay Cox’s Latter Days).

These two young novitiates will experience the sprout of sexuality in 1965, in a place where clandestine sex intercourse is punished despite frequently-occurring masturbation between fellows under their robes.

His main protagonist, Rafael, is portrayed as a man with artistic inclinations, both in music and, especially, in literature (his praised paragraphs for the Congregation common journal as early lights of his talent). The fact that 35 years later Rafael is a celebrity well known for his television appearances suggests that Rafael may be an alter ego of Mendicutti himself. (Another evidence that could hint at this coincidence is the foreign air of both Lacave and Mendicutti surnames for Spanish-speaking readers.) Anyway, do not assume Rafael is presented as a mature boy. He even develops a childish fantasy, considering several stage names for him and Nicolás in their probable (at least for him) brilliant, smashing acting careers on Broadway after leaving the Congregation.

Perhaps the most attractive aspect of the novel in my extremely subjective, personal opinion is not so much in the resolution of the love story itself (something the none-but-either-happy-or-tragic ending fans will find so disappointing), but the importance of sexuality in self-construction not only as individual, but also as an artist. It could be said that the sentimental relationship Rafael maintains with Nicolás will mark his education in much more than sentimental terms. The moment Rafael starts to take aware of his sexuality he will deviate from the Congregation rules. This is obvious in moments like the music competition, where Rafael will execute a passionate performance resulting in the hilarity of fellow novitiates and the indignation of the jury, who will refuse to judge; or the time when the brothers are proposed to vote in the question of keeping their baptismal name within the Congregation, when up to that time it used to be changed: Everyone will vote for or against... less Rafael, who refuses to vote. Moreover, before this voting, Rafael’s invention of Leafar (his name spelled backwards), the careless angel,[1] is an evidence of both his creativity and nonconformity: the choice of a name impossible anyone else can select, as well as the reaffirmation of his self--by the use of his own name anyhow--proves Rafael does not want to give up with his individuality.

Then not so much his breaking with the chastity vow but the obedience vow will cause his expulsion. It was just clear that Rafael was not made for becoming the perfect missionary.

The ending, a completely naked Rafael looking at his reflection for the first time (mirrors were prohibited in the Congregation), secluded in the toilets of the train that takes him back home, means not only an act of sexual awareness, but also an ultimate affirmation of his self, his individuality, his freedom to do whatever he wants.

But all that happened in 1965… Mendicutti tells their story in two periods. The present time is 2000. A new millennium. A new age. Rafael is no longer in the Congregation, where monitored permanently by elder brothers, but in a friendly, urbanite atmosphere, with places expressly designed so that gay men can meet and have fun freely. In one of those clubs Rafael will meet Vicente--I find very interesting (and amusing) this character.

Vicente is a little younger than Rafael and Nicolás and from the same place than the latter. He will give news of Nicolás’s whereabouts to a cold-but-curious Rafael 35 years later. Vicente is presented as an aged, small-town man, occasionally spending a few weekends a year in the capital of Spain to meet men. He is quite naive and somewhat nosy, as one can see in his talks with alternately Rafael and Nicolás, shamelessly intrigued about their past love story and the state of things in the present. His tactlessness is embarrassingly proved when he tells Rafael that Nicolás refers to him as a faggot.

It must be borne in mind when reading the novel that the story is told from the point of view of Rafael, thus his way of portraying Nicolás, especially in 2000, can make us think it is quite biased. To Rafael, it is clear that Nicolás is a closeted gay, married (though childless) to an ugly woman in order to follow the social conventions. However, we can see in his intimate exposure to Vicente that Nicolás speaks openly and unaffectedly about that experience, only presenting the situation as something easy to understand since the same kind of things happens between men in prisons in the absence of the opposite sex. When big-mouth Vicente reveals Nicolás’s version of their story, Rafael does not give any credit to this explanation, as he remembers the moment Nicolás promised, 35 years ago, that he would never ever love anyone as much as he did to Rafael. No wonder Rafael prefers to live with the memory of such a romantic vow--but the reader can also believe (why not?) in Nicolás's words.

Another possibility: Nicolás might also be bisexual, as he had proposed Rafael to marry each other's sisters in order to be together for ever... In any case, the interest he showed to Rafael's family fortune suggests Nicolás happens to be a self-interested rather than hasty, infatuated young boy. (35 years later, Nicolás has become the richest self-made man in his humble town). Ambiguity in such a delicate issue is achieved thanks to the elegant, precise sobriety of Mendicutti’s style all along this bittersweet narration.

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[1] That kind of proverb Rafael makes up about a third angel of Sodom who carelessly preferred to go with the Sodomites instead of assisting Lot and his family (another case of Rafael’s creativity displayed).