Monthly Archives: April 2023

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Final thoughts and Goodbye

As “Topics in Hispanic Literature” comes to an end, I’m surprised to find myself quite emotional. It feels great to complete the course and come one step closer to graduating, but this course has had a profound impact on me and I’ll truly be sad to see it go. Throughout the semester, we delved into a diverse and captivating selection of texts, exploring themes such as death, temporality, colonialism, violence, gender, dreams, childhood, nature, and translation. My favorite aspect of the course by far was the prominent presence of female authors in the syllabus, and the unique perspectives they brought to my understanding of the “Latin American experience.” I tried to be intentional in my “chosen adventure” to prioritize the texts written by women and I feel so grateful for that decision. It was incredible to experience culture, injustice, and freedom through their eyes.

Mama Blanca’s Memoirs by Teresa de la Parra, Madwomen by Gabriela Mistral, The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector, I, Rigoberta Menchú by Rigoberta Menchú, and Papi by Rita Indiana are just some of these powerful works that will stay with me for a very long time to come. These authors inspired me to deeply reflect on the complexities of identity, the quest for self-expression, and the unapologetic hope for freedom. These texts left a deep impression on me and I hope to re-read them soon in the near future.

The course also introduced me to masterpieces of Latin American literature such as Cartucho by Nellie Campobello, Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges, Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo, and One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. These texts captivated me with their rich imagery, intricate narratives, and thought-provoking explorations of the human condition. I have been curious about these books for years and I’m so grateful this course allowed me to explore them in such a personal and meaningful way.

Ending the term with Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin was an incredible crescendo. It really stood out with its surreal and haunting narrative, blurring the boundaries between reality and fever. Its connections to real environmental and social devastation in Argentina left me extremely contemplative and grateful that such beautiful and haunting art can come out of such injustice.

Overall, this course has truly been a revelation, providing me with a fresh and diverse perspective on Latin American literature. As both a Latina and a STEM major who has had very little academic contact with literature, I’m so grateful for the reprieve and affirmation this class has offered me. It’s been nothing short of amazing to get the opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of the complexities, nuances, and beauty of Latin American culture, history, and society. This class has been one of my favorites of university, and it has left an indelible mark on my literary and cultural sensibilities. I can’t think of a better way to finish off my time at UBC.

Huge thank-yous to Jon and Daniel for crafting such an engaging and delightful class, and also to my classmates for always providing such fun and thought-provoking discussions. You will be missed!

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Schweblin

Week 13: Fever Dream and the Contamination of Anxiety

Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin was haunting to say the very least. I read the entire book in one sitting – less out of choice, and more out of an inability to ever comfortably set it down and step away. From the very start, the reader is invaded with anxieties and disorientation. We are placed in the body of Amanda, who we quickly learn knows about as much as we do in regards to what is taking place in this town. As Jon says, there is a low-level anxiety and paranoia that permeates the narrative and we are never really able to escape. There is no moment of refuge, no pause in the spiral of disturbing events to catch our breath. We are stumbling through a fever dream of horror as much as our narrator, Amanda, is. Even the cadence of the dialogue and the hazy, but simple scene descriptions were downright creepy and reminiscent of jarring horror movie moments.

The frequent references to time running out and the need for urgency, kept me constantly on my toes, terrified of what I’d read on the next page. David and Amanda exchanging innumerable hot-and-cold guesses, like “we are very close now,” “this is the moment isn’t it?,” “this is the last moment of peace” (paraphrased), kept me activated and uneasy through every page. The sense of ever-nearing doom was inescapable. The lack of any answers or context further heightened this experience. It was frustrating and almost suffocating to feel as in the dark as Amanda; I found myself feeling indignant that we (the readers) were not given more context than the narrator, it was maddening to feel so blind and uninformed.

Learning about the history behind the very real horror of the novel made me appreciate the narrative style so much more. I can only imagine that the Argentinians affected by glyphosate poisoning felt this same maddening frustration and confusion on a massive scale. The fear that environmental contamination inspires is so visceral and unmoving. Fever Dream, if inspired by real experiences, is a heartbreaking but understandable reaction to this nightmare – meaning-making in dark, magical forces, desperation for dubious cures, and enduring paranoia about everyone in sight. In this light, Fever Dream is really a beautiful, if difficult, portrayal of this very real and devastating sociopolitical issue. Like Jon, suggests generational poisoning of rural Argentina is just the painful manifestation of real, contaminating forces that continue to seep into Latin America via exploitation, colonization, and violence: “The poison was always there,” says David (169).

Question for discussion: What are your thoughts on Amanda’s increasingly heightened paranoia for Carla? There’s a moment when she believe Carla’s fallen bikini strap and overwhelming perfume were perhaps intentional, malevolent distractions. Do you think Carla had intentions to poison Amanda? What do you think became of Nina?

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Indiana

Week 12: Papi, Saint and Tyrant

Rita Indiana’s Papi was a nostalgic and emotional read for me. My family hails from Santo Domingo, La República Dominicana, like the narrator, and the many allusions to Dominican life and culture were both comforting and amusing. Mentions of mangú, Malecón, polo shirts, palm fronds, merengue, Taino idols, loud speakers mounted to cars, welcoming parties at Las Américas airport, dominoes, discos, and bayrum immediately transported me to the streets of my family’s home.

The excess machismo, U.S. glorification, and consumerism were familiar themes as well. The hyperbolic descriptions of Papi returning from the states like a prince, fawned over by extended family and friends, felt all too real. In particular, this passage in the very beginning made me laugh out loud: “your nieces and nephews, cousins, siblings, friends, your siblings’ siblings-in-law, your nearest and dearest, neighbors, classmates, aunts and uncles, godparents, compatriots, the friends of that guy who’s married to the lady whose brother is some dude who graduated from the navy a year after you” (4). This quote captures the bizarre yet amusing community culture of the Dominican so well; there always seems to be friends of friends of relatives of friends hanging around and calling themselves your uncle or cousin. Everyone is family and therefore everyone feels both entitled and obligated to you. This theme felt present throughout the text.

Without a doubt, my favorite aspect of the book was the musical nature of Indiana’s writing. Her career as a musician felt apparent in this sense. She captured the voice and poetic imagination of an 8-year old so vividly. I read the book in English but found a few chapters of the original Spanish online, and, despite being a very impressive translation, I found that the cadence of the original Spanish was missed. The language is very rhythmic and all-consuming; in addition to the magical realism and mythology throughout, Indiana is able to create this beautiful chorus of music with her words.

As the book progresses, the narrative slowly gains coherence, but it always retains this tumultuous, non-linear nature like one long, extended fever dream. There are lots of unexpected tonal shifts and scene changes that speak to the turbulent upbringing of the narrator with her father. He is a man flooded with contradictions: generous, heroic, and protective yet violent, reckless, and misogynistic. The girl details sweet moments of fatherly love, followed by intense images of violence, drugs, and greed. At a distance, her father is larger than life and too good to be true. As he approaches the narrator and their relationship comes into greater relief, we see that he is actually more of a cruel, inconsiderate despot.

There are many more things I’d like to say about this novel and its reflections of Dominican culture. It’s a text I foresee returning to repeatedly. Question for discussion: What aspect of Dominican culture was most striking to you in Indiana’s imagining? How did it strike you?

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