Conclusion of RMST 202

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I truly loved this class. I am a Psychology major minoring in Creative Writing, so this class itched the nerve that’s been left neglected for a long time. It gave us openings to history, narratives, validating reflections, and many more. My favourite aspect of this class was our ability to speak freely with no censorship. I noticed censorship, whether a lack of or unwelcomed, was a recurring theme in some of our readings. So I enjoyed that we were welcomed to be utterly uncensored in our words (to some extent). 

Some passages I loved dearly and looked forward to recommending to my friends because of the feelings they invoked and the reflections they brought. I also enjoy that I have this blog to look back and admire my writing because I genuinely believe I am my own biggest fan. I love reading, but I mainly read to unlock a part of my mind that ignites and opens after reading something I admire, relate to, or feel strongly about.

In some of our readings, there were passages I did not appreciate. In fact, few of the texts were bigoted. They lacked experiential knowledge, speaking on settings and people they evidently neglected to read. As writers, we learn about the act of conduct when writing. Although writing is an individual journey, reading is just as immersive and taxing. You owe no one common courtesy as a writer; you often write certain things to invoke a reaction that won’t be positive. But we also don’t owe someone a thank you or a please in ordinary interactions. We do not need to greet people when entering a room, and we don’t need to turn the faucet off after washing our hands. Nonetheless, these are all things that we must become accustomed to as functioning and considerate citizens in society. 

I missed reading, and this course challenged me to be able to read with the incentive of academic validation, with which you can never go wrong. I would recommend not only this course but Professor Jon to any student here at UBC. To Jon, you are as great a teacher as a listener; to be heard is a gift not many students can say they’ve had. I appreciate your contributions to our class and our learning outside the classroom.

Questions:

Did you take this class as a literature requirement, or thought you would be reading romance novels for credits?

If you would retake this class, would you contract for a lower, higher, or same grade?

Speaking Out: Agualusa’s The Society of Reluctant Dreamers

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As the last reading for this course, I made sure to take notes and reflect on the text as heavily as possible. I wanted to bring something more significant from it than a blog post, and I feel I did.

In this novella written by Jose Eduardo Agualusa, we meet our protagonist, Daniel Benchimol, who dreams of meeting and interviewing numerous historical figures from all across the political spectrum, some deviating completely into literature.

One of his interviewees was Muammar Gaddafi, whose tyranny I witnessed from the first row. I could bet every dollar in my bank account that Agualusa was no witness to the horrors the citizens under Gaddafi’s regime had to endure. The novel’s account of Gaddafi “fleeing” to his “hometown” seems as though Gaddafi is a lost orphan trying to escape the chaos to find the arms of a loving mother. After interviewing him, Daniel says he saw him on TV, where people found him with blood on his face as he shaded his body, trying to protect himself from the punches. He’s described as dazed and astonished with Daniel, further enhancing his perceived doe-eyed innocence by expressing that he feels sorry for him. I don’t know if this was more aggravating or if it was the fact that when the soldiers who were rightfully fighting against his tyranny yelled, “God is Great!” they were described as murderers.
Furthermore, he adds, “I felt sorry for him. I felt even sorrier for God.” This passage was taxing to read, knowing I worship the same God they worship. They were yelling God is great, because finding Gaddafi in his humiliated state was a symbol of an ending to the suffering they encountered under his rule. They were belittled, cheated, and ridiculed by a man finally under their feet, receiving their fists. These were only a few sentences, but the amount was enough to analyze his language. He sounded like one whose opinion no war victim welcomes, an outsider looking in. God requires, appreciates, and asks for remorse from no one.

My frustration reminded me of Professor Jon’s words; the author is never as prominent as the book. However, the author has responsibility for the effects of the book, how they make us feel, and what the words bring forth. The power of narrative in the Libyan Revolution was censored and stripped from its victims for so long that passing by this text in a class I take in a university far out of my tax bracket in a town far from home sickens and baffles me. I get shell shock from balloons and sweat when a sound startles my ears. Reading about someone who took an apathetic rather than empathetic approach to history and whose cultural footprint has no trace upsets me beyond belief.

With all due respect to Mr. Agualusa, writing is a journey and often a selfish one, however, it reminds me that when writing, the words we write can be soft on our tongue but thorns to the heart of another.

Questions (because we must):
Do you write for you? Even if you believe it won’t be read, is there a voice inside that says “some thoughts must remain thoughts due to their weight”?

Soldiers of Salamis: A reflection

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I see a steady decline in my enjoyment of these readings but it is much more blamed on final burnout rather than the quality of the books. I hope my blog posts continue to attempt to give them justice as we have discussed; the authors might not be bigger than us but their books are.

This novel written by Javier Cercas gives us introductory knowledge to the Spanish Civil War, setting the scene for the book and the tension it owes. The book is divided into three sections: one, how Cercas came to know of Rafael Sanchez Mazas’ story of perseverance; two, a first-person account of Mazas’ war experience and how he escaped his execution and three, how Cercas comes in contact with the soldier who allegedly spared Mazas’ life.  I enjoyed that the book had references to reality and autobiographical passages that refer to historical figures relevant to the novel. It was almost difficult to follow whether or not the book contained hints of fiction, and if so, where were they? I enjoyed the way the text was written so that we, as readers, were walking through the text alongside the narrator. As though we were both unsuspecting of what was ahead of use. It truly enhanced the reading experience. This ties into our course theme of the surreal and the unreal and even reminded me of our reading by Perec titled W, or the memory of childhood.  Our current reading narrates tales of the past in order to keep these stories alive, to remember relevant names and to extract lessons. The story is cut into different sections, all with a different purpose much like Perec’s text. the switch between the unreal and the real to give us a sense of reality and grant weight to the text but to also allow us some subjectivity in our reading; to freely ask questions and think critically about the texts implications and intentions.

I enjoyed how this text instilled in me the feeling that fiction and non-fiction are distinguishable by fact and fact alone. Reading fiction allows us to reflect on our reality and non-fiction contains an element of fantasy or fiction. I have always felt that we are characters in someone’s story and inspiration for a world that is yet to exist. I appreciate this text for reminding us of that.

Do you feel in a state of surrealism often and do you delve into it or disregard it?

My Head Hurts: Roberto Bolano’s Amuleto

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I found it very difficult to enjoy this book. I tried so intently to read the words and give them the credit they deserved but I stand firmly in that a book is significant as the feelings it gives you. This novella made me feel nothing if not frustration. The beginning line held me well as it reads “This is going to be a horror story … But it won’t appear to be, for the simple reason that I am the teller.”(1) This captivated me as the main characteristic I could grab onto for clarity was the fact that she is a poet. Whether or not she is confident in her abilities, she writes like a poet; nonsensical at times and begging for decipher. I feel as though I would be deducing the text of its value by offering any reflection as I feel I was unable to form coherent thoughts so I look forward to the classroom discussion. However, the main thing I am curious about is the scattered nature of the events, the past mixing with the present and the future as well as the narrator speaking in first, second, and third person point of view. It makes me feel as though any conclusion I come to with the book would not be far-fetched.

Midway through the book, the narrator has a friend, Arturito Belano, come back to Mexico City after leaving to fight for the left wing of Chile. I feel this character could be closer to the narrator, Auxilio, than she narrates. I would almost go as far as saying they are one in each other simply from the similarity of their names and how big of a role Arturito immediately plays in the narrative.

I found the scene where she is hiding in the university’s lavatories particularly difficult to read but also refreshing as here she seems most present in her narrative. She reflects on her family and her friends and literature and life as she knows it. She speaks about her displacement as a woman in Mexico, originally from Uruguay, actively contributing to Mexico’s literary enrichment. Auxilio even goes as far as calling herself “the mother of Mexican poetry”. Even though this part of the book was easier to comprehend from the others, it will still difficult to decipher how she felt insecure in her poetry abilities but would go as far as giving herself a maternal label in the movement.

My questions:

  1. What were your thoughts on the book? Did you like it or not?
  2. Do you believe Arturio could be a part of Auxilio’s memory or identity rather than a secondary character?

Lost and Found: Norman Manea’s The Trenchcoat

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At our last class, Professor lightly hinted that I often overanalyze texts to find a deeper meaning that perhaps might not exist so I carried this with me in the reading of this text. Without the lecture as a precursor, this text was nearly incomprehensible with a familiarity necessary to understanding the setting of the novella. This novel had me making hypotheses as it was filled with unclear antecedents but ending them each with a question mark. Is the Kid a symbol for the panic the couples felt when trying to find the owner of the trenchcoat? or did it not have any significance and aimed solely to instill this uneasiness in the reader as well?

This novel had me incredibly anxious and watching over my shoulder with every passing chapter as the frantic, panicked moods of the characters were properly transported into the reader. Even when they would crack jokes during the dinner and speak on the Securitate, I felt uneasy as though I would be pinched if I were to breathe unevenly. As though I were there. My anxiety was validated when the trenchcoat revealed itself, and the characters obsess and breakdown over the appearance of this article of clothing, claimed by none. Dina, the host, decides to clear this anguish by taking the trenchcoat and wearing it herself, defining this undefined and unaffiliated symbol.

This novel speaks on the privilege upper-class citizens suppose they have in speaking on certain topics and humorously and lightly discussing their opinions. This privilege is stripped when they panic over something as simple as an unclaimed coat as a dinner party. To place this in a completely neutral setting, the overcoat would become an inside joke. A jacket spawned from who knows where. Yet due to the politically-charged environment and setting of the novella, something as simple and mundane as a coat can be cause for concern, dialogue review, and prolonged panic.

I acknowledge that I may overcomplicate my analyses of the course readings but I feel this novella requires that approach. Not necessarily as concluding points or to form an overall opinion, but to ask questions and ignite thought processes outside of the authorial intent. In Libya’s civil war, dinner parties and gathering were often filled with the similar awkward fog of dancing around words in fear of the walls hearing their state criticisms. As though the walls would run with their secrets and return with a brutal punishment. The amount of unclear, undefined symbols such as the trench coat, the Kid, and the Child, all alluded to our need for answers and clarity in settings where they are not promised. Sometimes symbols were remain unclear antecedents, they will bring anxiety, and that is the way it is.

 

VV or W? Does it Matter?: Georges Perec’s W or the Memory of Childhood

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This novel had me spiralling fro numerous reasons; however, for the purpose of this blog post, I shall focus on the contrasting chapters alone. It is rare that I come across a reading that I relate to so closely and envy the author for their ability to encapsulate a rare feeling so vividly. The feeling of displacement between two worlds is what I was able to extract from this text and although I often start my posts with a summary, I will jump right into my reflections for this week. To effectively dissect the text I will refer to the dystopian and the autobiographical sections separately.

Now I would like to pre-curse my thoughts with the warning that in no way is the narrator’s trauma anywhere near mine however I believe every living individual has lived a life that has distinguished for them a threshold of trauma. In the case of the dystopian narrator, a deleterious turn of events took the shape of his father dying in battle and his mother dying at the hands of Nazis with no emotional capacity to properly mourn. The switching between memories and dystopia is disorienting but I cannot help but wonder about authorial intent. I know that was a big buzz term in our previous week’s class. How we should acknowledge that an author’s work is often more powerful than the author. The pieces they put out and the interpretations they bring are many more than the author could have intended.

I know in my circumstances, I was once a victim of war. I had constructed little worlds in my mind that I was the main citizen of, with complex plots and characters that were more realistic than fantastical. I would escape from my home to a place I called home. When these two homes begin to merge, the line between the real and the unreal becomes blurry. You find solace in each world from the other and lose balance of what you once knew. The nature of the narrator’s life is excruciatingly depressing and real that as a reader I found myself skipping ahead to the dystopian parts to give my mind a break. Even then, I wouldn’t be comforted knowing what the inevitable coming chapters would bring. When one lives a life that can no longer be pinpointed, outlined, controlled, or predicted, life beyond the physical realm may not be heaven but at least it’s not “here”.

My questions for the class:

Is your imagination an escape or a way to make real or an unreal situation?

Simply put, what did you take from the book? What were your initial concluding thoughts?

Doves Die, So Do People: Rodoreda’s The Time of the Doves

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In the critical lens, I can hypothesize that Natalia may have betrayed people in her lens to be economically smart so in that sense it can be justified. However, not once in the text could I describe her as happy. Intelligent, beautiful, insightful? Perhaps, but definitely filled with melancholy in every domain of her life. Her family has set expectations for her, but her ordinary  nature suppresses her of rebellion so she leads an ordinary life. She marries Quimet, a richer lover than the last, has children with him, and maintains the textbook housewife image. She carries the weight in the cooking, cleaning, and continues sugarcoating her life with her bare minimum husband. This despondent household is shaken and challenged when the socio-economic and political setting of the novel is shifted by the Spanish War. When Quimet goes to war and eventually dies, it could be argued that Natalia is mainly devastated by the cut off of funds during the great economic fatigue of the war rather than the loss of her husband. All in all, if he contributed anything it was company, a wavering presence that she would prefer not do without.

Now, to interrogate the text’s title, the doves Quimet decided to father had been sabotaged by Natalia as she distracted the mother from her chicks, leaving them malnourished and dead. I would argue that this was foreshadowing for Natalia’s suicide plot. Like the doves, as soon as she was uncomfortable with her situation, she decided to do away with it … permanently.

In the empathetic lens, Natalia reminds me of a time in my life where I had ulcers forming in my stomach from the constant stress and anxiety I was under. Humorously enough, I was also a victim of war at the time but by all means, had no responsibilities like her during the time. Perhaps I held the same amount of emotional intelligence and spatial awareness but no children by any means. Everything she did was for survival, from the opening scene of the party.     She had no excitement coming from her previous lover, so she emotionally eloped. She never argued with her husband when “his leg would hurt”. Until ultimately, her only way to survive was to find closure in death not only for herself but her children as well. The grocer being a saving grace and scooping her up. Suddenly, life is only slightly good enough to live again. Her personal demons and internal struggles persist but whose don’t? I know the same demons that caused those ulcers still persist in me now but I know somewhere in between the lines and chapters of the novel, Natalia found someone or something that gave her hope. The children, the grocer, a third variable hiding as a purpose? We don’t know but I admire Natalia for being the protagonist who selflessly gives up her happy ending for us to learn that they aren’t promised.

My question is:

What kept Natalia afloat?

Should Natalia have turned down Quimet at the party? Would it have changed anything?

Children Raising Children: Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse

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This reading, by far, trumps Agostino in the genre of Oedipus complexes in the coming-of-age era. The relationship between Cecile and her father is much like the dynamic between Agostino and his mother in the sense that it felt like children raising children. The father did not care for Cecile’s education and let her go about as she wished with the same occuring for Agostino. In fact, Cecile’s father’s comments on her physique were no way near normal in today’s standards as he describes himself wanting a “lovely, buxom, fair-haired daughter with china-blue eyes” (10). There was little responsibility taken by the parents as they continued to live a care-free life that included them as the desirable epicentre. In this novel, Cecile herself has a love interest who she ends up intertwining into her father’s affairs by posing as a competition figure. Cyril, the man in question, poses as the lover of Cecile’s dad’s mistress, Elsa, in order to make him jealous and break off the relationship he has with the “too mature” Anne. This plan of theirs obviously goes out of control (no pun intended) as Anne drives off a cliff, debatably taking her own life. A question we can ask ourselves is: Did this story have a happy ending? We understand that the plan worked and Anne is now out of their lives … forever. But at what expense? Furthermore, did Cyril deserve to have his emotions played with and is Cecile still worthy of him after the plan’s outcome? Tying this theme back to Agostino, he was able to at least gain a lesson out of his antics with little to no expense. Furthermore, the journey he went through was arguable alone. Agostino took in the actions and intentions of others and acted on them accordingly, whereas Cecile got roundhouse kicked in the face by reality all while sharing the trauma with her father, Elsa, and Cyril. And this was all because she did not want to study or do chores like a normal household citizen. This text was also refreshing in the sense that the main character was not the protagonist in my opinion. I felt Anne properly depicted a protagonist and although Cecile’s intentions were not ill, her actions could land herself a spot on the antagonists’ list. Anne simply fell in love with a man of her stature and class with whom he had a daughter she adored. With this adoration came a hope that she could see Cecile bloom into the woman Anne had wanted her to be. This text shows that a lack of empathy for others and irresponsibility in the grand scheme of life is not only detrimental to yourself but to others as well.

Alberto Moravia’s Agostino: The Immature Conformity in Adolescence

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The juxtaposition between Agostino’s summer as an Italian boy compared to the crudely honest  and undeniable thought processes of a growing boy were evident in this reading. The boy who is so incredibly reliant emotionally on his mother has been catapulted and ridiculed into a no longer sheltered reality when he meets a gang of boys around his age. They all welcome him as one of their own in the most brutal and hesitant of ways while his curiosity in a domain so foreign of his own compels him to stick around. His mother accepting the love and embrace of a man besides himself brings out a freudian-driven mindset as he starts to see his mother in the way the rest of his explicit-minded friends do. He slightly resents her for it as he comes to the realization that he is growing into a man who has failed him time and time again.

There was so much to unpack out of this reading. At first it was sheer disgust from the fact that Agostino was looking at his mom in a certain way to a frustration in the way the boys dealt with him. I was frustrated that he wasn’t fighting back or standing up for himself but then again no matter how strongly his anger drove him, he was raised in a setting where his masculinity wasn’t praised or entertained. i think the gang of boys had picked up on this seeing as they had believed he fell victim to one of Saro’s boat ride activities. Homs had also seemed a victim of Saro’s grooming in the way they teased him, possibly because he was seen as the weaker of the litter as well. I also wondered why Homs was his name and even had a passing thought that it was a nickname given to him by the boys, short for homosexual, but that could very well be a reach. Then in the end, with the brothel scene, he had thought that this new-found bravery and sense of assertion into this gang accompanied by his new perspective on his mom would be his merciless catapult into manhood. But the second he clutched his money and approached the lady, she said he was too young and ought to be back home. This scene just shows that no matter what goes on in his head or what experienced might make him feel like a man or otherwise, it will not always coincide with what others think.

Reflection Questions:

Do you think Agostino would have had an alternate ending if his father were still alive?

Did you think at any point in the book that his mother was a bad parent? If so, why?

Bombal’s Disorienting Reminder in The Shrouded Woman

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This text was the easiest to comprehend but the hardest to part with. I felt that every time I discovered something new between the lines, I would go back and delve further into Ana-Maria’s words. Bombal’s juxtaposition between the regret in death and the egotistical way we live life made for a reality check that disoriented me as I continued to read. It began as a romance where Ricardo was a focus for a while, a forbidden lover who she continues to remember and love following her departure. Her negligence towards Antonio, her husband, as she thinks about how her coldness towards him in the real world made her corpse even colder. It all came full circle to making sense of the forbidden. It reminds me of my religion Islam and how we are constantly reminded that this world is a test and tomorrow is not promised. How we are to consistently work towards a greater purpose and a life beyond the physical realm so that we are rewarded with boundless treasures. But reading Ana-Maria’s accounts made me reflect on how our efforts to the hereafter surpass religion or beliefs. No longer accountability for a task completed but upholding a promise to oneself to be greater than the soil we stand, work, love, and fight on.

Like Ana-Maria, I have regrets and I know I am not alone in this but unlike her I am alive. As cold as it sounds, her conscious regretfulness, although unrealistic, shakes the living into a realization that we take nothing away with us when we depart. The feelings we gift people and the impressions we leave behind are what live on. Whether that be relationships or friendships, romantic ties or platonic bonds, we owe ourselves the courage to make a lasting impression on the world and live a selfish life. Circling back to Islam, we believe that the only way for our souls to live on in the dunya (Arabic for “world”) is through the eyes of our loved ones and those we have wronged. If our effects are negative, they will negatively impact us even after we are lowered into the ground. But the same applies for our positive effects. A smile, a gesture, or an expression of love are all ways we can detach from our pride and make a lasting impression on people who may or may not be here when we depart. The Shrouded Woman was my favourite reading thus far because I learned from it, I took something away. This world does not define us as much we define this world.

I ask :

Did this reading make you think of a specific someone in your life? Someone you would think deeply of if you were a conscious corpse awaiting your approaching loved ones, one by one? 

Would you approach this text again at a different angle, knowing what it has seemed to teach you and hoping to learn more?