Unfortunately, this is one of the worst pieces of literature I have ever read. To my surprise Gamboa falls into a boring an unnecessary overextended autobiography of his life in Paris and his experiences with other immigrants. It does depict a more obscure Paris, but it doesn't elucidate on anything new or alluring to the globalized culture of this century. His stream of consciousness becomes boring after the first 50 pages. For being such a famous writer, his style is too basic and relies too much on extremely detailed descriptive prose, delivering a novel very predictable for an amateur reader. The plot is spiced up by Paula's nymphomaniac practices that start to get boring by page 120.This is as bad as reading Marquez's "Memorias de mis putas tristes" with the difference that Marquez's novel is less painful to read just because is shorter.