All posts by Janae Lam

The End !

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Hi everyone!! This would be my last blog post for this class. I honestly feel proud of everyone and myself for reading all the books that we had contracted for, and I hope that we have at least found one novel that we resonate with!

This course was definitely one of my favourite classes for the entire year. I have never taken any literature courses at UBC before, but I genuinely hope that other classes can adopt the same structure as well. Apart from its flexible grading structure, I find the class discussions generally help generate precious, insightful ideas. While I already had some thoughts on the novels in mind, it was a great experience to exchange thoughts with our peers in small groups as well as listen to what others had to say in class. Class discussions have immensely broadened my preconceived conceptions of the novels. In particular, I really liked our discussion of the significance of bodies in “Black Shack Alley”. While I only thought about how the bodies of Black people were viewed as economic assets that were instrumentalized to fulfill white settlers’ financial needs, I had never given much thought to the aesthetic element of it. I vividly remember that some of my classmates gave impressive analyses regarding the aestheticization of Black bodies when the labourers are swimming in the sea, and how bodies symbolize the temporary repossession of autonomy under a white supremacist societal structure. This notion strikes me as an extraordinary one, and I am truly grateful that their insights have deepened my understanding of the novel.

Most of the books that we covered in class had somewhat a grim yet realistic worldview. I find the novels “Mad Toy”, “Black Shack Alley”, and “The Shrouded Woman” speak to this the most. These three novels depict the harshness of reality, human nature, and societal themes such as poverty, patriarchy, the continuity of white supremacy etc. Among them, my favourite book would be “The Shrouded Woman”. I am confident to say that I have achieved my goal set in my introductory blog post as Bombal’s novel very much resonates with me. I appreciate how Bombal deconstructs the conventional, rigid dualism of life and death. Since it is written from the perspective of a deceased woman, it very much reminds me of how death illuminates Ana Maria in the sense that she gets to re-configure and reflect on her relationships, which is something that she wouldn’t have a chance to do so while she’s alive. It is as if death is only a stage, but not the termination of life. I also admire Bombal narrative style as she collectively depicts the struggles of women under patriarchy, and at the same time reflects on her dysfunctional relationship with her husband, highlighting her own conflicted emotions as well.

As for my least favourite novel, it would be “Combray” by Proust. Though Proust exemplifies the intricacy between love and melancholy in that relationship, adding complexity to emotions and rejecting binary assumptions that misery cannot be associated with love, it is a bit challenging for me to follow along with the lack of commas and lengthy sentences. I would lose track of the plot and narration and had to re-read it afterwards.

I never once regretted my decision to take this course, and I would definitely recommend this course to my friends 😀

Thank you for everything, and hope you have a restful summer!

My question for this final blog post is: Which book do you resonate with the most and why?

Faces in the Crowd – What Did I Just Read???

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“Faces in the Crowd” was undoubtedly one of the most challenging books I have ever read in this class. This novel requires immense attention and sophistication as the narrator constantly switches back and forth from the perspective of the narrator to Gilberto Owen, a Mexican poet who is featured mostly in the latter half of the novel. Initially, I thought that the narrator and Owen have separate storylines featured in the same novel. However, upon further reading and reflection, I noticed that this trend has become more complex. On several occasions, I had to rewind and re-read the parts that I had overlooked, but seemed rather significant to the plot. For instance, Luiselli writes, “But the days those things begin to arrive – the blindness, the cats, the ghosts, the pieces of furniture… I knew it was the beginning of the end” (37), and “All novels lack something or someone. In this novel there’s no one. No one except a ghost that I used to see sometimes in the subway” (38). As for Owen, he says, “He replied that I was a ‘subwanker’ and that instead of going around looking for ghosts where there weren’t any, I should send him a poem about a subway…” (48). The multiple references to ghosts from both voices evoke a sense of unconsciousness and the blurred boundaries between fictionality and facts. The element of “ghosts” is shared by both voices as if they form a parallel narrative with one another. The fragmentation of memories from both characters brings about realism; at the same time, I don’t think it’s entirely appropriate for me to categorize Luiselli’s novel as a work of fiction. This novel transcends the conventional boundaries of what constitutes fiction or not.

The convergence of the two voices is most prominent toward the end of the novel, especially when the narrator and Owen seem to be in conversation with one another. The narrator says, “Autumn leaves are falling down and Papa’s missing” (76), and this is instantly replied by Owen “I feel the blazer that covers my eyes rising, the heart of the room entering and shaking my body, the excited voice of a little boy beating my face: Found!” (77). I think that this key scenario is when the two storylines ultimately converge as one; no one is stealing anyone’s light here. As the narrator’s son plays hide and seek in his own space, he discovers Owen, as evident by Owen’s line above. It seems that Owen has even become the father in the narrator’s storyline. Owen physically senses the boy beating his face; this makes me wonder if the characters finally perceive each other’s existence in the same space now. The idea of space alludes to the constant references to ghosts that I have previously mentioned since ghosts are not constrained by time and space. Hence, this allows Luiselli to deconstruct the linearity of time and utilize the idea of space to develop a parallel plot.

My question for this reading is: How does the anonymity of the narrator contribute to the idea of fictionality and fact featured in the novel?

Death with Interruptions – Power and Violence

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“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

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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?

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“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?

The Time of the Doves – Motherhood, Femininity, and Perspectives

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At first glance, the title “The Time of the Doves” immediately reminded me of peace, hope, and freedom; however, having read the novel, I find this contrary to what Natalia endures in reality as she unfolds a feminine perspective of the Spanish Civil War, and the effects it had on her life. I view Natalia’s relationship with Quimet as a strong indicator of her constraint, just like the consistent imagery of how the doves are caged. Quimet is portrayed as a dominant and manipulative man who imposes his desires on Natalia. Rodoreda writes, “He called me Colometa, his little dove… and when I said my name was Natalia he kept laughing and said I could have only one name: Colometa” (18). In this sentence, the idea of doves parallelizes with the title and perhaps shows how in the eyes of Quimet, Natalia will always remain a “little dove”, which is something to be possessed and controlled.

I noticed there were multiple biblical references as well as the imagery of nature, which I think are connected to Quimet’s dominance in the household. Rodoreda writes, “He talked about Adam and Eve, and how woman was made from man’s rib… Because Adam, who was the father of all men, desired only the good” (40). Quimet emphasizes the causal principle of women, and how their existence is contingent on men, hence women’s compliance to men. Biblical references help Quimet reinforce the centrality of his doctrine as he has a preconceived plan for their lives, with Quimet being the carpenter and Natalia being the caregiver. In this way, Quimet parallelizes religion and the idea of singularity with his beliefs, thinking that his ideas are the sacred way to be obliged, just like biblical teachings.

At the same time, I was also a bit confused about the dynamics of their relationship because it seemed to me that Natalia yielded to Quimet’s psychological abuse and authority, even after his death. When Quimet refuses to apologize for his tardiness and claims that he has seen Natalia with Pere, her former fiance, Natalia displays passivity and obedience by adhering to his manipulation, leading her into thinking that she has truly gone out with Pere. Moreover, after Quimet’s death, Rodoreda writes about how the pigeons remind Natalia of Quimet. “So It turned back to the door and took my knife and carved ‘Colometa’ on it in big, deep letters” (197). Natalia may still have an emotional connection with Quimet, and I wonder if this means that Natalia embraces her identity of “Colometa” even more after Quimet’s death. It is interesting to see the transition from being conditioned to be referred to as “Colometa” to her carving “Colometa” voluntarily.

The scene where Natalia contemplates how to kill her children is something I find interesting because it allows me to see the unique point of view illustrated by Natalia, a mother and a widow. I interpret her decision to kill her children as a sign of motherhood guilt rather than despair, though both play vital roles in her decision. “…With their ribs sticking out and all their bodies all lined with bright blue veins, I decided to kill them” (145). The war devastates her life with the loss of her husband. Coupled with her failure to provide for her children owing to their financial constraints, this manifests her guilt since she is inclined to fulfill her role as a loving mother who cares for her children. She first loses her identity as a wife, then is stripped of her identity as an adequate mother. Both losses have a detrimental effect on her life, and it seems that she sees no purpose in living anymore, now that they have been taken away from her.

My questions for this reading are: What is the symbolism of doves? How do they relate to the idea of motherhood and femininity?

Black Shack Alley – Community, Resistance, and Empowerment

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Despite finding “Black Shack Alley” a bit slow-going at first, I appreciate how Zobel depicts the reality of Caribbean society following the abolition of slavery in implicit, but nevertheless, powerful ways. His emphasis on the sense of community throughout the novel goes hand in hand with the idea of resistance. Zobel illustrates his childhood memories, such as his daily interactions with his grandmother, as well as his neighbours. They all originate from the same community, which reminds me of how they hold a shared identity. I also notice how the presence of white people is scarcely mentioned in Chapter 1; Zobel unfolds his memories from the perspective of his community and neighbourhood. In particular, JosĂ©’s relationship with Mr. MĂ©douze adequately exemplifies the idea of collectiveness. Though MĂ©douze is not kin to JosĂ©, he takes up the role of a parental figure, being the first person to enlighten JosĂ© in terms of his political consciousness. MĂ©douze says, “But when the intoxication of freedom was spent, I was forced to remark that nothing had hanged for me nor my comrades in chains… I remained like all the blacks in this damned country: the bekĂ©s kept the land, all the land in the country, and we continued working for them…” (45). Zobel highlights the change and continuity of poverty and white supremacy following the abolition of slavery through the perspective of MĂ©douze, constantly alluding to the idea the Caribbean people remained a tool for white settlers to maximize their economic interests, and that blackness inevitably entails oppression. Zobel rarely condemned colonialism in a militant way in the sense that he would explicitly incite his readers to resist, yet his narrative style makes me reflect on the continuity of injustice in Martinique.

I love how Zobel depicts the relationship between JosĂ© and M’man Tine, JosĂ©’s grandmother. JosĂ© is raised by his strict yet loving grandmother; M’man Tine perceives the harshness of reality, especially with the fact that JosĂ© and her are in a white supremacist society, and therefore seeks the best interests of her grandson. She frequently scolds and punishes him as if she intentionally finds faults in JosĂ©, but her unconditional love for JosĂ© is evident by her refusal to let him work. She says, “Well! If I didn’t put your mother in one (petitĂ©s-bandes), I’m not going to out you!” (56) M’man Tine is determined to break the perpetual and generational cycle of impoverishment, deprivation of education, and bondage. With the frequent absence of JosĂ©’s mother during his childhood, M’man Tine’s feminine role as a caregiver features a nurturing and motherly figure to JosĂ©.

Another aspect that I want to explore is the simplicity of language used in the novel. I think language plays a significant role in delivering the theme of nationalism. MĂ©douze and other neighbours always say “Eh cric” and “Eh crac” before telling stories. Zobel also brings a number of superstitions and cultural beliefs to light. He writes, “And when at night, you smell anything bad, don’t say a word, for your nose will rot like an old banana” (45). These cultural beliefs that he holds onto contrast with the assimilative education system that he is in in which the language of instruction in school is French. I interpret the contrast as a symbol of resistance that shows how Zobel is inclined to preserve his Martinican culture despite the environment that he is in. Again, Zobel retaliates against colonialism in an implicit yet empowering manner.

My question for this reading is: How does the imagery of the black shacks represent inequality and resistance?

Agostino – A Shattered Dream

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In the beginning, Agostino’s jealousy toward his mother’s lover immediately reminds me of Proust, since he also yearns for his mother’s kisses. Both characters coveted attention from their mothers; their identities are partly contingent upon their mothers’ affection. For instance, the kisses from Prosut’s mother give him satisfaction and a sense of connection with her. As for Agostino, Moravia writes, “…Agostino was filled with pride every time he got in the boat with her for one of their morning rides” (3). Agostino’s sense of pride is attached to his mother’s presence, and this, in my opinion, helps mould his identity. Later on, when the boys mock him and say, “…Go back to your mamma” (22), this reinforces how Agostino’s sense of self is inseparable from his mother.

Agostino’s romanticized image of his mother may exacerbate his mingled feelings of devastation, loneliness, and betrayal when he knows of the presence of his mother’s lover. Moravia says, “He would dive into the mother’s wake and even feel as if even cold compact water conserved traces of the passage of that beloved body” (4). His mother, a feminine figure, is characterized by flawlessness in the eyes of Agostino. Everything is in harmony, and it seems to me that Agostino does not want any of that to change. The appearance of the young man is described as “a shadow obstructing the sunlight shining down on him (Agostino)” (5). The juxtaposition of light and darkness, with Agostino’s initial relationship with his mother as “light”, and the presence of the young man as “a shadow” highlights his abrupt appearance. Just like how the shadow “obstructs” Agostino, the young man breaks the harmonious cycle between Agostino and his mother.

I am saddened by Agostino’s failure to successfully become a mature “man” in the end because it is something that he has longed for since he was acquainted with the gang of boys. What stuck with me the most was Agostino’s conflicting perception of his mother. “All of these gestures, which had once seemed so natural to Agostino, now seemed to take on meaning and become an almost visible part of a larger, more dangerous reality…” (69). His mind is torn between his initial understanding of his mother as a nurturing mother and his newfound perception as a woman. The transition of his understanding becomes evident when his mother is reduced to “the woman” on page 88. Referring to Agostino’s mother as merely “a woman” toward the end strips her identity from a loving figure to an ordinary woman, alienating the intimacy between Agostino and his mother. At the same time, I find Agostino’s determination to become a “man” when he thinks that visiting the house with Tortima will affirm his identity only shows his immaturity. His identity is again partly contingent on other people’s expectations to perceive him as a mature man. The fact that he is rejected from entering the house and is told to “be home at this hour of the night” (97) highlights his failure to be recognized as a man. Similar to his humiliation when he sees his mother getting cozy with the young man, Agostino still feels humiliated when he is rejected from entering the house. In both cases, Agostino is still deemed as a “boy”. Hence, I don’t think that Agostino has fully transformed into a man, the one that he has longed for.

My question for this reading is: How does the setting at the beach and the seaside help bring out the themes of growth and adolescence?

MarĂ­a Luisa Bombal, “The Shrouded Woman”

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Bombal’s “The Shrouded Woman” presents a complex perspective on love. Written from the perspective of a deceased woman, Ana MarĂ­a takes on a variety of roles to unfold her memories and complicated relationships around her. Being a wife whose marriage is disastrous and lifeless, a mother whose children all encounter troubles of their own, and a selfish lover who manipulates Fernando, I find Bombal’s depiction of Ana MarĂ­a captivating. In particular, I like how Bombal parallelizes Ana MarĂ­a to Ricardo while Ana Maria is in an affair with Fernando. In both cases, Ana Maria and Fernando’s unrequited love are vivid. It is interesting to see the transition from Ana MarĂ­a’s despair owing to Ricardo’s abandonment to her selfishness, allowing Fernando to pursue her. Having gone through abandonment, I wonder if Ana MarĂ­a’s behaviour here reflects her inclination to elevate her self-worth about men.

Bombal’s peaceful portrayal of death highlights the transcendence of the soul. She writes, “But now, now that I am dead, it occurs to me that possibly all men once in their lifetime long to make some great reunifications…” (166), and “The woman in the shroud did not feel the slightest desire to rise again. Alone, she would at last be able to rest, to die…” (259). It seems to me an epiphany occurs within Ana MarĂ­a in the sense that her death brings about insights that she would never have gained when she was alive. Having re-figured the fragments of memories in her life, she ultimately embraces death and liberates herself from the chaos, sorrow, and resentment in her lifetime. I find this amazing because she rejects the binary concepts of life/death, and implies that her life is not complete without the said mental process.

I like how the relationship between Ricardo and Ana MarĂ­a makes multiple references to nature. Physical intimacy between them, such as arms touching and Ana MarĂ­a’s cheeks pressing against Ricardo’s chest, took place in nature. I think the plainness of nature here connects to Ana MarĂ­a’s emotional nakedness to Ricardo. Ana MarĂ­a shows her side of fragility when she begs Ricardo not to leave her, and her physical submission to Ricardo. I find this connection very beautiful and vivid since it enables readers to experience her infatuation with Ricardo through readers’ senses.

I also noticed how Bombal contrasts Ana MarĂ­a’s relationship with Fernando with Antonio’s relationship with Sophia. The moral lines become complicated to me; Ana MarĂ­a retains the reputation of being a “loyal” wife since Fernando never kissed her; on the other hand, Antonio was seen kissing Sophia. Their unfulfilling marriage, marked by jealousy and suspicion, connects with Antonio’s indifference toward his infidelity. He says, “For a few kisses I took from her (Sophia), she is now treated like nothing at all and you even ignore the great affection she had for you” (245). I see Antonio’s behaviour as a sign of vengeance, alluding to patriarchy. Ricardo’s presence in Ana MarĂ­a’s life humiliates Antonio and is perceived as a threat to his manliness. His desire to re-assert control over his wife displays his insecurity. Women also develop emotional dependence on men; their sense of identity derives from their husband’s affection and attention. Bombal writes, “Indeed, as a woman, she understands Silvia’s frenzy, her desire to measure herself against Maria Griselda” (189). Alberto also says, “There is always something that escapes out of everything… It’s just like Maria Griselda! As soon as she moves, I feel her already distant…” (198). Lateral oppression among women owing to insecurity shows how they yearn for their husbands’ affection to reinforce their self-confidence. At the same time, patriarchy indoctrinates men into thinking that they must look dominant; possessing their wives is seen as a symbol of success and manliness. In this case, I think patriarchy oppresses both women and men.

My question is: What roles do religion and gender play in depicting the miseries of male and female characters in “The Shrouded Woman?”

Robert Arlt, “Mad Toy”

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Reading Arlt’s “Mad Toy” left me with a heavy heart. As I read through the chapters, I feel that Arlt’s narration of his life only gets more depressing. It seems to me that Arlt has never had a genuine connection with anyone before he met Rengo, yet he loses him in the end. From joining the band of thieves, and working at a bookstore, to his attempt to commit suicide, they all ended in failure; toward the end of these chapters, they all manifest loneliness in Arlt’s life. Just when I thought that Arlt finally had a connection with other people, as evidenced by Rengo’s disclosure of his plan to rob Vitri’s place, the chapter ends with Arlt’s betrayal of Rengo, which makes me feel more upset. He says, “…inside of me there is joy, a full, conscious kind of joy” (150). After everything that he had been through, I feel his calmness in the end makes the atmosphere even more sinister.

I like Arlt’s structure of his novel into four different parts, with the previous three ending with illicit behaviour, and the last one ending with a seemingly righteous act. I also interpret that Arlt centres his novel on the idea of justice, and its relationship to society. In the first chapter, Arlt says, “I don’t remember what subtleties and twisted reasoning we used to convince ourselves that robbery was a noble and beautiful act…” (29). He also mentions, “Don’t talk about money, Mama, please!” The financial pressure he is burdened with diminishes his happiness in his childhood. Coupled with his critique of the affluent young ladies who exploit the working class yet call them “riffraff” on p.40, arson, and the insults that he has to bear while working at the bookstore, they all instigate his deep-seated resentment of the highly classist society where people in the working class, like Arlt, have scarce social mobility. The oppression that Arlt feels channels to retaliation, hence his criminal behaviour as he seeks justice for himself. I see Arlt’s behaviour not only as a symbol of rebellion, but a desire to deconstruct the system that almost everyone he encounters seems to adhere to. The sarcasm in the end is that the righteous act, which is normally embraced by society, in his case entails a brutal betrayal, which makes me question the binary opposites of righteousness/betrayal, and whether they are in fact interconnected.

Another feature that I noticed was the dysfunctional relationships between people and their constant reference to life in the novel, which I found interesting. For instance, Maria shouted at Don Gaetano multiple times, “I was beautiful. What you done with my life” (68). This reminds me of Senora Naidath as she tells Arlt’s mother about her arguments with her husband and says, “What a life, Frau, what a life…” (87). Toward the end, Arlt says, “I know that life will always be extraordinarily beautiful for me…” (162). Though Arlt does not have a partner, all these people seem to detest their stages in their lives, and they all feel repressed in different ways, thus depriving their abilities to express their true identity. Despite being an adolescent, I think the case for Arlt is more complicated than the adults. At a young age, he already knows that poverty is despised by society, the harshness of reality, and the volatility of life while he is still trying to make sense of where he is situated in society.

My question for this reading is: How does Silvio’s tranquillity toward the end reveal his outlook on life?