Reinaldo Arenas (1943–1990) is considered to be one of the most extreme nonconformist authors in Cuban literature. It is particularly relevant to approach his novels, articles and short stories in the light of the circumstances of his life. His creative life was dominated by tension with the Cuban authorities and the struggle to preserve his sexual and intellectual identities. Arenas often fused autobiographical material with a political denunciation of Fidel Castro's regime in his fictional works, articles and personal letters. An extraordinary writer, Arenas managed to leave behind a legacy describing his personal struggle to overcome his invisibility in Cuba. Since his well-publicised suicide in 1990 in New York, Arenas's discourse has become one of the most important points of reference for the younger generations of Cuban homosexuals in exile.

In reference to visibility and invisibility, the aim of this chapter is to show that Arenas passed through three stages following his arrival in Havana in 1960. His intermittent presence in the Cuban cultural panorama in the second half of the 1960s is referred to as his ‘penumbra’. His mythical ubiquity was perceived as a destabilising element for the ethos of the revolution. Arenas's ability to move within the margins of visibility in the years before his imprisonment has fascinated critics. Barnet and Diego wrote positive reviews of Arenas's literary works in La Gaceta de Cuba in 1967 (Barnet 1967; Diego 1967: 162–6). A dramatic adaptation of Celestino antes del alba was broadcast on national TV. Arenas read two significant papers at Havana University that had been published in the literary magazines Casa de las Américas and La Gaceta de Cuba (Arenas 1968a: 134–8; Arenas 1968b: 13–17). Arenas's popularity in intellectual circles in France and the US, however, provoked a deep sense of unease among the leaders of UNEAC who refused to publish his work in Cuba (Arenas 1992: 43). Arenas's penumbra status turned into invisibility during the 1970s as a result of his imprisonment for a year and a half and the definitive censorship of his literary work from then onwards. Subsequently, during the 1980s he was both visible and invisible: visible to the intelligentsia in Cuba, the US and Europe, but invisible to the Cuban people. Knowing that Cubans were not allowed to read his books enhanced his sense of frustration and nostalgia for his homeland.