Fernando del Paso's Palinuro of Mexico describes a universe in which all things gravitate between the poles of entropy and love; the entropy of history, specifically Mexican history, the entropy of science, specifically medicine, the entropy of capitalism by way of advertising; and the chaotic love of knowledge for its own sake, the forbidden love of body parts, the sometimes obstreperous love of objects, the naive, boisterous love of students, and, mostly, the achingly pure and tellingly damned love between Palinuro and his cousin, Estefania. It is impossible to compress
del Paso's work into an easy synopsis; the universe it describes is the universe of Palinuro's own fantastical consciousness. Read it for the meditations of myth and history; read it for the bawdy comedy; read it for the "Shakespearean invention" (and plagiarism); read it
for the sheer delirious luminous perverse willful drunkenness with words which del Paso effortlessly spins into dadaesque flesh. This is heady stuff, insanely readable, artfully compelling and damnably
entertaining. Drink it deep.