Word: esteban
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...AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A RUNAWAY SLAVE by Esteban Monfejo. Edited by Miguel Barnet. 223 pages. Pantheon...
...Esteban Montejo's autobiography is no more and no less than that. Shaped from notes and tape recordings, the recollections of this 107-year-old Cuban, now living in an old soldiers' home outside Havana, have all the rough charm of folk art. Such praise is not patronizing. Behind Montejo's colorful directness is a robust self-consciousness and dignity that should be the envy of his more sophisticated readers. The key to Montejo's attitude toward the ups and downs of his life is his phrase, "This is not sad because it is true...
Yglesias' family is almost Dostoevskian in size and complexity. Its three generations stem from three aged sisters-Dolores, Clemencia and Mina. Among the younger men, Armando is a sex-starved punk who works for the local numbers racketeer; Esteban runs guns to a revolutionist named Castro; Robert fiddles on the periphery of the left wing but lacks the will to fish or cut bait. A domineering, money-mad daughter, Elena, is married to a Batista speechwriter who regularly hauls huge bundles of cash from Havana to a Miami bank and is contemptuous of all the pin-poor folk...
...Atheneum exhibition should do away with one outworn illusion: that abstract artists are abstract because they cannot paint images. Esteban Vicente's portrait of his little daughter and the early sculptured heads by Sculptors Reuben Nakian and Louise Nevelson prove that these artists could have successfully stuck to representation had they chosen to. Other early works are not so reassuring. Mark Rothko's floating rectangles, controversial though they are, at least have an air of mystery, and many admirers have fallen under their spell. Had Rothko stuck to realism, as in his Two Women in a Window...
...night last week all was quiet in Ribadelago. In the tavern men were playing cards. At the church Father Plácido Esteban-Gonzalez had just arrived on his motor scooter from the provincial capital of Zamora. An electrician named Rey was working late in his shop. Shortly after midnight the lights in the village flickered out. At the tavern, irritated cardplayers lit candles, went on with their game. Suddenly, a distant, muffled roar was heard. To woodcutters in the mountains, it sounded like a "great stampede." To one villager, the noise resembled "a continuous dynamite blast." Father Placido went...