Guapa is the name of the worst lounge of an unidentified Middle Eastern town, in a nation that could be Iraq at Saddam's time as well as Syria's Assad or the Egypt of Mubarak. By Guapa, guests can be themselves and get rid of the constraints of a society that values ​​the facade more than feelings, where, indeed, feelings must be denied, and where being different is, rather than immoral, bad taste. Rasa, raised by his grandmother after the ambiguous disappearance of his mother and his father's death, is Guapa's typical customer. Homosexual, on the night before the wedding of his secret lover, he revives his life, from the years spent discovering his homosexuality through nightly sightings of forbidden television channels, to the study in America where, because of his shy pruderie, he mistakes a graceful gesture for promise of love, deeply digging into the memories, and in the reasons that led his mother to leave, and his grandmother to tell a sea of ​​lies. The book is incostant, sometimes very deep, interesting, capable of digging into the soul, sometimes too full of words to have something to say. Above all prevails, because of its desecrating humor and fierce anger, the wedding's chapter, when Rasa finally decides to be himself in spite of all.
I thank Other Press and Netgalley for providing me a free copy in exchange for an honest review.