Interview with Pedro Medina León
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Miami-based Peruvian author Pedro Medina León has brought the city’s underbelly to life in Comanche, P.I., a gritty, atmospheric noir novel now available in English. The book follows Comanche, a hard-living, coke-using, occasionally love-straying private investigator who is called in to solve crimes “on the down low” for Miami’s police force. Medina León’s Miami is a city of strip clubs, raves, and literary events where Latin American immigrants hustle for survival while dreaming of art. The novel blends crime fiction, social portrait, and metafictional reflections on Miami’s literary history, creating a “tropical noir,” which is also an important part of the New Latino Boom. I am thrilled to talk with Pedro Medina León about Comanche, P.I., its characters, and the city that inspired them.
TERESA DOVALPAGE: Comanche, P.I. has been described as a “neo-Miami noir” novel where all the characters are Latinos and deeply embedded in the city’s underground culture. How did you approach writing a noir novel that is rooted in Miami’s cultural mix, and how do you see it as different from classic noir set in cities like Los Angeles or Chicago? PEDRO MEDINA LEÓN: Miami has the particular distinction of harboring a rich and fascinating multicultural Latin American underworld, where all kinds of characters coexist: artists, writers, waiters, mechanics, and even cocaine dealers. This vast and diverse fabric remains invisible because it is largely made up of undocumented immigrants, a sector of society that is increasingly marginalized today. That is the world I am interested in exploring, and it is precisely within this environment that my characters move and the novel unfolds. I believe this is one of the main differences from the classic noir of cities like Los Angeles or Chicago: in Miami, the crime narrative emerges from a distinctly Latin American multiculturalism. Telling the story of that underworld in the United States strikes me as something—if not unique—then certainly very particular and singular. |
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Another distinguishing element is the setting itself. Unlike cities traditionally associated with noir—such as Chicago, Los Angeles, or New York—Miami is not defined by dark alleyways or a gloomy atmosphere. On the contrary, in the collective imagination, it is a luminous city of beaches, sun, and ocean. Yet that image is only a surface layer. Because of its underworld, Miami lends itself perfectly to the crime genre. What arises here is a different kind of noir: not one of shadowy alleys, but rather a noir in the open air, right by the sea.
DOVALPAGE: I loved the way you show Miami’s many faces, from the coffee windows where people buy their cortaditos to the rather sleazy Casa de Muñecas. Now, let’s take a look at the characters. Though readers only get to know Gregorio Lizárraga through other characters’ recollections, he is still a poignant character himself: an Argentine cashier with a sad family history and big literary dreams whose novel Ciudad Maldita is published posthumously. What inspired Lizárraga’s character, and what does his dream of becoming a writer in Miami (“the most antiliterate city on the planet”) say about art and survival, and the survival of art, in that city?
MEDINA LEÓN: One of Miami’s particular traits is that it is a city where countless dreams lie behind counters and cash registers. I have met many Gregorios Lizárragas: people with immense culture, who have read extensively, who know so much, and yet remain forgotten, reclusive—sometimes behind a shop counter, at a supermarket cash register, or parking cars at night. These are people with remarkable intellectual wealth, a deep literary background, and, above all, great dreams and aspirations.
Miami is a city that shelters many people’s second chances at life. In that sense, I have known many Gregorios Lizárragas—people who may not have died, but who were left behind, consigned to oblivion. I don’t even remember the names of many of them, yet they all shared an illusion.
Many dreamed of becoming writers, of consolidating their careers in literature. Some are no longer here; they left for other places. And the truth is that Miami sometimes pushes you away—it is an expensive, aggressive city that forces many to move on.
That is why I say Lizárraga is not inspired by a single person, but rather is a synthesis of many of those truncated or deferred dreams of immigrants with artistic and literary aspirations. He embodies multiple stories of that silent struggle for art and writing in a hostile environment.
DOVALPAGE: That’s what I thought while reading the novel. Names kept coming to my mid…too many Gregorios…and Gregorias in Miami and many other places. As for the detective, Comanche himself is a fascinating protagonist: a detective who drinks freely and abundantly, uses cocaine, and cheats on his “official” girlfriend Mariolys, yet readers root for him. How do you balance creating a protagonist who is both flawed and likable, and what does his personal chaos add to the story’s atmosphere?
MEDINA LEÓN: Comanche is, in many ways, a reflection of all of us. He is neither good nor bad. The idea was to humanize him, to shape him as a flesh-and-blood character filled with humanity. And like every human being, he has both a dark side and a lighter side, with virtues and flaws. In his case, his weaknesses are alcohol and, occasionally, cocaine. Yet at the same time, he retains a strong sense of ethics: he seeks justice, he strives to do good. That contradiction defines him and brings him closer to the reader—because we are all, to some extent, contradictory beings.
With Comanche, I didn’t want to create a meticulous, by-the-book detective who follows flawless clues and solves crimes while dropping hints on every page. Quite the opposite: I wanted someone messy, imperfect, profoundly human. His personal chaos adds authenticity and makes him relatable. It’s not about suggesting that readers share his vices, but about showing that we all carry hidden sins, temptations, and weaknesses. And within that blend of flaws and virtues, the novel’s atmosphere emerges: a noir where humanity itself, with all its contradictions, becomes the true setting.
DOVALPAGE: The messy part is what makes him so endearing! Can’t wait to read about his next adventures in Miami’s underworld. Back to the city, the novel doesn’t just take place in Miami, it also feels like Miami itself is a character, with its bars, strip clubs, raves and yes, even literary events. How do you capture the city’s multiple faces and why is Miami the perfect setting for Comanche’s investigations?
MEDINA LEÓN: I’ve always been drawn to novels where the city itself becomes a main character. I am an avid reader of Patrick Modiano, for his Paris; of Leonardo Padura, for his Havana; and of Paul Auster, for his Brooklyn. With that in mind, I wanted to give Miami its own personality in the novel. My goal was to capture a side of the city that is unknown to many, though for those of us who live here, it is part of everyday life.
That’s why I focus on exploring those hidden corners, paying close attention to detail and infusing the narrative with oral rhythms and atmosphere, so that the reader feels immersed in the story, as if walking through Miami. In fact, many readers have told me that when they visit places like South Beach, they look for the fictional bars and cafés from the novel—like Al Capone, Street Club Casa de Muñecas, or Ilusiones—convinced that they actually exist. Those reactions confirm for me that I managed to transport readers into the city, which is one of my main aims.
Comanche is the perfect vehicle for navigating these spaces. His rebellious nature and relentless pursuit of justice—often at the cost of breaking rules or crossing boundaries—make him the ideal guide to explore Miami’s underworld. He moves freely within the undocumented community, the nightlife, the world of vice, and through his eyes, that other face of the city comes to life.
DOVALPAGE: It certainly does. The book includes articles written by a character named Wild Cat about real authors and books connected to Miami, like Maurice Coons and Edna Buchanan. There is even a mention of Viaje One Way, antología de narradores en Miami, that you coedited. What role does this metafictional layer play in the novel? Is it your way of placing Comanche, P.I. within a larger literary conversation about Miami and its stories?
MEDINA LEÓN: Of course, the idea is to place Comanche within that broader context while also debunking the notion of Miami as a frivolous or empty city. Through the novel, I aim to showcase, from my own writing, the city’s cultural and literary richness. Miami has an extensive literary tradition that goes back to Anglo authors of the 1920s and continues to this day. Today, there is also a vibrant body of work in Spanish, which coexists with the Anglo tradition and strengthens the city’s literary character.
In that sense, I am interested in showing that Miami is not just beaches and entertainment, but also a city with a distinctive literary background. That facet is part of its personality, and I wanted to bring it into the novel. I do this through the articles written by Wild Cat, which serve as a metafictional layer: they break the linearity of the plot, add a different narrative texture, and at the same time document Miami’s literary richness.
In this way, the novel does more than tell a crime story—it also situates Comanche within a larger literary conversation about Miami, its cultural memory, and its many voices.
DOVALPAGE: And there are many Wild Cats, just like there are many Gregorios Lizárragas there! Beyond solving a murder, Comanche, P.I. also explores memory, community and the need for closure. What do you hope readers will take away from Comanche’s search for truth, not only about the crimes but about Miami itself?
MEDINA LEÓN: I hope readers come to empathize with Comanche. He is part of a larger saga—there are five books about him, though this is the first one translated into English. My wish is that he accompanies readers throughout their journeys, staying with them for as long as possible.
I also want to show them another side of the city, a Miami that goes beyond the clichés. I want readers to discover the literary world that thrives here—vast, rich, and with a strong tradition that often goes unnoticed. For those of us who live in Miami, the idea that it is a frivolous city is simply untrue: it is anything but.
Ultimately, I hope Comanche becomes a bridge—not only to a crime story, but also to the memory, the community, and the cultural wealth of this city.
DOVALPAGE: And I hope that there are more novels featuring Comanche soon, in English and Spanish! Thank you, Pedro.
DOVALPAGE: I loved the way you show Miami’s many faces, from the coffee windows where people buy their cortaditos to the rather sleazy Casa de Muñecas. Now, let’s take a look at the characters. Though readers only get to know Gregorio Lizárraga through other characters’ recollections, he is still a poignant character himself: an Argentine cashier with a sad family history and big literary dreams whose novel Ciudad Maldita is published posthumously. What inspired Lizárraga’s character, and what does his dream of becoming a writer in Miami (“the most antiliterate city on the planet”) say about art and survival, and the survival of art, in that city?
MEDINA LEÓN: One of Miami’s particular traits is that it is a city where countless dreams lie behind counters and cash registers. I have met many Gregorios Lizárragas: people with immense culture, who have read extensively, who know so much, and yet remain forgotten, reclusive—sometimes behind a shop counter, at a supermarket cash register, or parking cars at night. These are people with remarkable intellectual wealth, a deep literary background, and, above all, great dreams and aspirations.
Miami is a city that shelters many people’s second chances at life. In that sense, I have known many Gregorios Lizárragas—people who may not have died, but who were left behind, consigned to oblivion. I don’t even remember the names of many of them, yet they all shared an illusion.
Many dreamed of becoming writers, of consolidating their careers in literature. Some are no longer here; they left for other places. And the truth is that Miami sometimes pushes you away—it is an expensive, aggressive city that forces many to move on.
That is why I say Lizárraga is not inspired by a single person, but rather is a synthesis of many of those truncated or deferred dreams of immigrants with artistic and literary aspirations. He embodies multiple stories of that silent struggle for art and writing in a hostile environment.
DOVALPAGE: That’s what I thought while reading the novel. Names kept coming to my mid…too many Gregorios…and Gregorias in Miami and many other places. As for the detective, Comanche himself is a fascinating protagonist: a detective who drinks freely and abundantly, uses cocaine, and cheats on his “official” girlfriend Mariolys, yet readers root for him. How do you balance creating a protagonist who is both flawed and likable, and what does his personal chaos add to the story’s atmosphere?
MEDINA LEÓN: Comanche is, in many ways, a reflection of all of us. He is neither good nor bad. The idea was to humanize him, to shape him as a flesh-and-blood character filled with humanity. And like every human being, he has both a dark side and a lighter side, with virtues and flaws. In his case, his weaknesses are alcohol and, occasionally, cocaine. Yet at the same time, he retains a strong sense of ethics: he seeks justice, he strives to do good. That contradiction defines him and brings him closer to the reader—because we are all, to some extent, contradictory beings.
With Comanche, I didn’t want to create a meticulous, by-the-book detective who follows flawless clues and solves crimes while dropping hints on every page. Quite the opposite: I wanted someone messy, imperfect, profoundly human. His personal chaos adds authenticity and makes him relatable. It’s not about suggesting that readers share his vices, but about showing that we all carry hidden sins, temptations, and weaknesses. And within that blend of flaws and virtues, the novel’s atmosphere emerges: a noir where humanity itself, with all its contradictions, becomes the true setting.
DOVALPAGE: The messy part is what makes him so endearing! Can’t wait to read about his next adventures in Miami’s underworld. Back to the city, the novel doesn’t just take place in Miami, it also feels like Miami itself is a character, with its bars, strip clubs, raves and yes, even literary events. How do you capture the city’s multiple faces and why is Miami the perfect setting for Comanche’s investigations?
MEDINA LEÓN: I’ve always been drawn to novels where the city itself becomes a main character. I am an avid reader of Patrick Modiano, for his Paris; of Leonardo Padura, for his Havana; and of Paul Auster, for his Brooklyn. With that in mind, I wanted to give Miami its own personality in the novel. My goal was to capture a side of the city that is unknown to many, though for those of us who live here, it is part of everyday life.
That’s why I focus on exploring those hidden corners, paying close attention to detail and infusing the narrative with oral rhythms and atmosphere, so that the reader feels immersed in the story, as if walking through Miami. In fact, many readers have told me that when they visit places like South Beach, they look for the fictional bars and cafés from the novel—like Al Capone, Street Club Casa de Muñecas, or Ilusiones—convinced that they actually exist. Those reactions confirm for me that I managed to transport readers into the city, which is one of my main aims.
Comanche is the perfect vehicle for navigating these spaces. His rebellious nature and relentless pursuit of justice—often at the cost of breaking rules or crossing boundaries—make him the ideal guide to explore Miami’s underworld. He moves freely within the undocumented community, the nightlife, the world of vice, and through his eyes, that other face of the city comes to life.
DOVALPAGE: It certainly does. The book includes articles written by a character named Wild Cat about real authors and books connected to Miami, like Maurice Coons and Edna Buchanan. There is even a mention of Viaje One Way, antología de narradores en Miami, that you coedited. What role does this metafictional layer play in the novel? Is it your way of placing Comanche, P.I. within a larger literary conversation about Miami and its stories?
MEDINA LEÓN: Of course, the idea is to place Comanche within that broader context while also debunking the notion of Miami as a frivolous or empty city. Through the novel, I aim to showcase, from my own writing, the city’s cultural and literary richness. Miami has an extensive literary tradition that goes back to Anglo authors of the 1920s and continues to this day. Today, there is also a vibrant body of work in Spanish, which coexists with the Anglo tradition and strengthens the city’s literary character.
In that sense, I am interested in showing that Miami is not just beaches and entertainment, but also a city with a distinctive literary background. That facet is part of its personality, and I wanted to bring it into the novel. I do this through the articles written by Wild Cat, which serve as a metafictional layer: they break the linearity of the plot, add a different narrative texture, and at the same time document Miami’s literary richness.
In this way, the novel does more than tell a crime story—it also situates Comanche within a larger literary conversation about Miami, its cultural memory, and its many voices.
DOVALPAGE: And there are many Wild Cats, just like there are many Gregorios Lizárragas there! Beyond solving a murder, Comanche, P.I. also explores memory, community and the need for closure. What do you hope readers will take away from Comanche’s search for truth, not only about the crimes but about Miami itself?
MEDINA LEÓN: I hope readers come to empathize with Comanche. He is part of a larger saga—there are five books about him, though this is the first one translated into English. My wish is that he accompanies readers throughout their journeys, staying with them for as long as possible.
I also want to show them another side of the city, a Miami that goes beyond the clichés. I want readers to discover the literary world that thrives here—vast, rich, and with a strong tradition that often goes unnoticed. For those of us who live in Miami, the idea that it is a frivolous city is simply untrue: it is anything but.
Ultimately, I hope Comanche becomes a bridge—not only to a crime story, but also to the memory, the community, and the cultural wealth of this city.
DOVALPAGE: And I hope that there are more novels featuring Comanche soon, in English and Spanish! Thank you, Pedro.
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