March 2024

Death with Interruptions – Power and Violence

Saramago, , View all 2 comments

“Death with Interruptions” has to be the most complicated novel that I have read so far in this course, not because of its content, but its exploration of death. Apart from philosophical works by Kant, Descartes, Plato, and Aristotle, I have rarely come across novels that centre on philosophical matters, so it took me quite a while to unpack the novel. The first observation that I made was the narrative style and use of punctuation. The lengthy sentences that are only connected by commas, and the lack of quotation marks when dialogues are in place made me wonder why Saramago writes in this way. Perhaps he intends to invite readers to reflect upon the content as well as the theme of death with him as readers read along the lines.

The absence of periods may also symbolize a collective stream of consciousness that knows no end; the characters in the novel yield a sense of urgency to me. For instance, Saramago writes, “But things would not stop there, People, without having to make any perceptible effort, continued not to die, and so another popular mass movement, endowed with a more ambitious vision of future, would declare that humanity’s greatest dream since the beginning of time, the happy enjoyment of eternal life here on earth, has become a gift within the grasp of everyone” (6). This line stuck with me the most regarding the connection between excessive commas and the sense of urgency because it seems to me that humans are always in pursuit of something seemingly daunting, resembling the ongoing flux of sentences, yet when they think they have attained it (in this case, immortality), they don’t settle. The quote that I have picked above hints at another popular movement arising from newfound immortality. Our unfulfilled desire seems to be inherent in us, and I think Saramago does a brilliant job of unveiling human nature.

Moreover, I find the conversation between the Prime Minister and the cardinal evokes a strong sense of violence in me regarding human nature. Saramago depicts the scene where with temporal immortality, the cardinal feels threatened because immortality means no resurrection, which in turn diminishes the power of the church. Saramago writes, “The church has never been asked to explain anything, our specialty, along with the ballistics, has always been the neutralization of the overly curious mind through faith” (12), and “The advantage of the church has is that by managing what is on high, it governs what is down below” (12). The unquestioning authority of the church enables the cardinal to situate himself at the top of the hierarchy to manipulate the people “down below”. These lines bring out the idea of chaos and violence to me because the authorities seem to care about their own political interests when it comes to a national crisis, but not as much about the people. The lack of collectiveness and communal support alludes to the idea of flawed human nature.

Toward the end of the novel, I find the humanization of death interesting because Saramago deconstructs the dualism of life and death. He writes, “… For the first time, death knew what it felt like to have a dog on her lap” (172), and “Death went back to bed, our her arms around the man and, without understanding what was happening to her, she who never slept felt gently closing her eyelids. The following day, no one died” (238). By attributing human-like qualities, such as external sensory impressions and thoughts to death, death’s omniscience and horror seem to be undermined. The parallelization between death and humans reverses my understanding. Maybe it is humans’ fear that strengthens our image of death as something detestable and daunting. Instead of treating it as something formidable, embracing death might even bring peace of mind.

One major aspect that I am confused about is the gendered depiction of death, so my question for this reading is: Why does Saramago assign death as a female character?

Money to Burn – Criminality and Justice

Piglia, , , , One Comment

Among all the novels that I have read so far, “Money to Burn” is definitely unique in the sense that its narrative style is not constrained to one single genre. Though I know that the novel is based on a true event that happened in Argentina, I find the constant switching of narration interesting; I don’t think I have ever encountered similar works before. There are times when I feel like I am watching a movie; other times an informative documentary. For instance, the scenes where the gang flees from the pursuit of the police after the robbery very much resemble a movie-like scenario. Piglia writes, “The gang sought refuge at a flat in apartment number nine at 1182 Herrera and Obes Street” (111), and “They had to go back across the 200 metres that separated the Bank (on one corner of the square)…” (21). The specific details, coupled with the live actions of the gang, evoke a strong sense of realism, which is something that I find refreshing.

Though Piglia is describing a scene based on a true event, I think he inserts these thrilling scenes subjectively, making them suspenseful. At the same time, Piglia depicts the scenario objectively by constantly making references to primary and secondary sources, which makes me feel like he is speaking from the perspective of the public. Piglia writes, “Two guys leapt on to the pavement and one pulled a woman’s stocking over his face (or some witnesses said)” (22), and “According to one version, armed guards in a building opposite the Town Hall managed to exchange fire with the gunmen, but this remained unconfirmed” (28). I also notice how Piglia switches the lens from the public to the lens of a detective, as evident by the line “From inside the car they recovered” one long-sleeved grey pullover, one hand towel… There were traces of blood on the car floor, as well as several syringes…” (39). The multi-faceted approach to illustrating a true event truly deconstructs my understanding that every literary work must fall into the category of a specific genre.

Expanding on Piglia’s distinct narrative style, I think this connects to the element of criminality and justice in the novel. As mentioned above, Piglia brings in multiple perspectives and perhaps enhances readers’ understanding of the event. This may even prompt people to contemplate the question regarding who is the real perpetrator here, the corrupt authorities, or the violent gang? There are times when I find myself torn between supporting the gang and condemning their behaviour, particularly the scene in the end when Dorda talks about how he killed the girl because of the voices in his head. Piglia vividly portrays Dorda’s resentment to the police in the line “He’d killed him, that Gaucho Dorda, not because the policeman posed a threat but just because. He killed him because he loathed the police more than anything else in the world…” (26). His resentment is thus tied to his sense of justice as he strives to overpower the authority by literally annihilating the person who executes the law. While Commissioner Silva portrays the gang members as “dangerous individuals, antisocial elements, homosexuals, and drug addicts” (72), the El Mundo journalist states that the gang’s courage is “directly proportional to the willingness to die” (144). I find the stark contrast unveils the complexity of their power dynamics. Though the police and the gang diverge from one another because of their dichotomous roles in society (law enforcers vs. criminals), it seems to me that the two parties are not so different after all. Piglia talks about the normalization of police brutality, such as torturing inmates with lashes and electricity on page 121. In this case, both parties exhibit immense violence to society and themselves as they have to endure the repercussions of their horrifying behaviour for the rest of their lives. Hence, Piglia’s narrative style consolidates people’s conceptualization of the event.

My question for this reading is: How does violence manifest in society, the gang, and the authorities?

The Lover – Where Does Duras Situate Herself in Her Relationship?

Duras, , , , View all 4 comments

“The Lover” left me in a state of perplexity long after I had finished reading the novel not because of its plot, but because of its power dynamics between Duras and her lover, the Chinese man. I find the title “The Lover” intriguing because it seems to me that Duras refuses to be identified as the lover of the man; instead, she reverses the narrative by establishing the Chinese man as her own lover, thus asserting possession and power in their relationship.

Initially, I was inclined to pass judgment on the older man as a despicable person because of his willingness to be in a sexual relationship with Duras, who then was just a young girl. However, as I progressed through the novel, I became increasingly confused as to whether Duras feels she has control over the man. For instance, she writes, “She tells him she doesn’t want him to talk, what she wants is for him to do as she usually does with the women he brings to his flat… And she, slow, patient, draws him to her and starts to undress him…” (38). This sentence makes me reflect on the power dynamics in their relationship. Duras lacks a tone of condemnation, nor does she resist the man. This corresponds to the part where she describes how outsiders would view her relationship with the man. Duras says, “Don’t tell me that hat’s innocent, or the lipstick, it all means something, it’s not innocent, it means something, it’s to attract attention, money…” (88). Contrary to conventional societal norms, it seems to me that Duras embraces her identity and behaviour in the sense that she deconstructs people’s conception of what should be deemed as “decent”. I find her alienation of people’s obscene judgement powerful because it only reinforces Duras’ centrality in her relationship with the man. Duras also writes, “I discover he hasn’t the strength to love me in opposition to his father, to possess me, take me away… his heroism is me, his cravenness is his father’s money” (49). Her contemptuous tone enables her to attribute cowardice to the grown man. By doing so, Duras displays authority by belittling her lover since bravery is usually one of the qualities that is associated with males.

Another element that I want to explore is Duras and her relationship with her mother. On multiple occasions, I find it sinister when she mentions how her family is depicted as dysfunctional. She writes, “She shouts, for the whole town to hear, that her daughter’s a prostitute, she’s going to throw her out, she wishes she’d die, no one will have anything to do with her…” (58). However, later on, her mother personally asks the head of the boarding school to let Duras return to the dormitories whenever Duras wishes. This is the part where I got confused. Her mother’s decision seems to give Duras a moral license to remain in her relationship with the man; it also makes me wonder if Duras’ mother is torn between financial pressure and moral boundaries, or if she knows that she cannot possibly “restrain” her daughter in a conventional sense.

My question for this week is: The ending of the novel illustrates the scene where the man phones Duras and expresses his love for her. How might the sense of irresolution enhance our analysis of Duras’ relationship with the man?