“In 1960s Cuba and beyond, music considered counterrevolutionary was banned, and so Felix is careful about who he plays his American records with. It’s an element that runs through the novel and mirrors all the other things that Felix must hide from society and his family to survive.”
“This playlist is a collection of songs that brought me back to my spirit, my roots, and my resilience, which is so deeply rooted in the strength of the global majority. “
“…as I imagined writing this book, I went for comfort listens, feel-good familiar songs, that, when listened to closely, revealed an underlayer of death, destruction, loss. Apocalypse songs.”
“The melody of thought, the soul of rhythm, the solidarity of harmony – all of it must be intrinsic to the functioning of democracy, which far from being an ossified political ideology has to be the living, beating heart of individual experience if there is to be any hope for our future.”
“The music and writing are in conversation. They’re conversation partners. One influences the other.”
“Like good poetry, this song is slick, shimmering, heavy, metal, and reflective.”
“Music is always playing on the car radio, in roadside diners, on clunky boom boxes, and in the heads of many of the characters, giving context and texture to their lives. Songs help the characters explain themselves to themselves and to each other.”
“To write this novel, I built out a four-hour-long playlist that tracked the plot, beat for beat. Musical cues helped me escalate tension, or keep the energy at a simmer, or feel the longing my characters felt for their lost loved ones.”
“I remember lying back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Simon and Garfunkel, ‘Hello darkness my old friend,’ and thinking, if I could express myself even a fraction as well as these musicians express themselves, I could survive.”
“If you play these LPs while serving people huge amounts of good food and wine, guests cannot but let their hair down and disport themselves.”