The Labyrinth of Solitude, by Octavio Paz (Grove Press, 398 pp., $9.95)
In 1950, when The Labyrinth of Solitude (to which the book of the same name under review is a belated appendage) first came out, it must have seemed a national indiscretion, as if Deng Xiaoping had spoken on infant exposure or Satyajit Ray about Delhi belly. Mexican men—need I remind you—are macho.




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